February 28, 2010 by Michael McGuerty.

“We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

T.S. Eliot
The Little Gidding

As I was cycling within the mystical grounds of Sukothai, the ancient Siam Kingdom, I could feel the tropical sun’s intensity peaking early. Setting my bicycle aside, I found the shade from a bodhi tree provided that perfect respite in which to relax and reflect upon life. I also took comfort from the accompanying statue of Buddha and his serene smile that so calmly embraced the world around me.

Finding clear vision or as defined here as objectivity is a very satisfying discovery, much like finding that key piece to a puzzle you’ve been working on forever, especially if the puzzle is a rendition of an M.C.Escher painting. My recent Southeast Asia travel experience, has as with every world travel experience of mine, provided me with another enriching, incremental step toward self-discovery and an increased awareness of one’s place in the world.

There’s a popular phrase I’ve heard and seen on T-shirts in numerous South American and Asian marketplaces that goes “same, same, only different”. This whimsical seemingly nonsensical phrase may carry greater wisdom than first observed. There’s a fascinating new scientific field which involves the study of fractal formations. Fractals are often defined as self-similarity. Self-similarity in Nature can be defined as the repetition of a unit pattern on different size scales or, stated another way, having parts that resemble the whole. A tree, representing the whole, with its individual parts; root system, branches and leaves, is a classic self-similarity example.

Self-similarity patterns continue throughout Nature in the form of seasons, cloud formations, coastline formations, tidal movements, so numerous you want to just relax under a shady tree, light up a joint, take in the Zen moment and whisper softly, “WHOA!”

A great gift that can be revealed through world travels is the gift of objectivity. Once I’m physically removed from my normal daily rituals, tasks, routines and influences, coupled by my swift adaptability to new surroundings, my mind becomes unencumbered, able to transcend and observe life objectively.
As a world traveler and having concluded my fifty-fourth country visit, in Cambodia, I’m observing numerous repetitive patterns in mankind’s habits and behaviors as well. It’s deja vu all over again! These fractal patterns happen everywhere, no matter how diverse the societies may appear; whether in Ecuador, Nepal, Poland, or Vietnam, each society sharing common humanity and topographical traits.

For example, I’ll be sitting on a bus, gazing out the window looking at the Cambodian countryside, and I’ll suddenly notice my travel experiences merging, folding and unfolding within my memory with the passing scenes: rural Cambodia, with its bucolic landscapes and impoverished family compounds; food- preparing mothers, structure-building fathers, laughing kids, and roaming, sleepy farm animals, will merge in my mind with similar scenes found in rural Nepal, Ecuador, Poland and Vietnam. The landscapes alter, some lush, some dry, depending on the season.

Fields yield to hills which yield to mountains which yield back to fields again. The passing harvests with the workers in the fields vary slightly, crops ranging from rice to coffee beans to wheat, most work still conducted by manual labor. Divided only by languages, these cultures conduct similar tasks simultaneously throughout the world, yesterday, today and tomorrow: birth, childhood, adulthood, marriage, kids, family, death, rebirth, as certain as the sunrise each and every morning.

A similar transcendental moment occurred while I was riding a hot, slow-moving train through the rural Czech Republic countryside. Across from my seat, I’d see the passengers’ faces slowly transform with each half conscious sleepy nod of my head as passengers arrive and depart with each incremental train station stop. I would glance up and find sitting across from me a talkative pair of students who would suddenly transform into a quiet, tired-looking middle-aged working couple who, after another nod, would transform into a fragile, forlorn-looking elderly couple. Were they different people or the same couple seen through the years on the same train?

Travelers too exhibit repeating patterns and routines. The routines will vary depending on the types of individual that travel. They may be routines that make us feel comfortable, make us feel safe, or make us feel alive. Kindred spirits will intersect on the travelers’ road more often than unlike souls. As independent and individualistic as I am my recent Southeast Asia travels during the winter months will still be closely repeated and experienced by another person in the succeeding two months or the same winter months next year. Years later, I may meet that same person in a coffee shop, this recognition perhaps only acknowledged by a friendly nod or smile. Are our two holographic universe intersections a part of a thousand similar “chance” meetings taking place simultaneously in the world?

In my objective traveler’s role I enjoy observing the locals’ daily routines as they make preparations for the tourists; cleaning the streets and sidewalks, opening cafes, restaurants, stores, positioning themselves with motorbikes and rickshaws for hire, or cooking in food stalls, breaking for lunch, weaving, gossiping, yawning, closing shop and returning home to prepare their evening meal, to be all repeated the very next day, unless its a holiday or religious event. This scene is in each city, each town, and each village “uniquely the same only different”

These scenes of relative peace and contentment that societies exhibit sometimes get rudely interrupted by wars initiated by powerful greedy mad men who show evidence of similar sociopathic behaviors, inflicting pain upon the people they rule or manipulate until the people finally have had enough of them. One can simply study human history, whether in Europe, Asia, the Americas or Africa, and find these repetitive patterns. No surprise the symbol for mankind in the Hopi Indian mythology is a foolish character that the gods just smile at, shaking their heads in disbelief.

Yet, while humankind may exhibit similar behavioral fractal patterns…certain individuals and cultures concurrently demonstrate unique characteristics as to how to deal with life patterns we can not avoid.
In Southeast Asia, whether in Thailand, Laos, Cambodia or Vietnam, the Buddhist philosophical /spiritual influence is strongly evident among the people, revealed through good healthy physical routines such as sunrise exercises, healthy nutritional diets and healthy mental attitudes. I was impressed by the average Thai or Vietnamese’s peaceful demeanor, consistent genuine kindness, friendliness and respectfulness for all living entities.
Such kind behaviors and mental outlooks are not always as prevalent in other regions of the world. This distinction was so profoundly felt by one Canadian fellow I met that he was going to make a concerted effort to be friendlier to strangers when he returned home, a transference that could alter the fractal dynamics of humankind! Could one ask for a better example to the benefits of world travel.

Back under that Bodhi tree I swore I could hear the Buddha whisper “seize the moment, gain perspective, find objectivity, and live in the present.”

These words reminded me of a passage from one of my favorite books, The Zen Book, which summarized my feelings at that moment: “Happiness just IS. It isn’t something you have to earn, look for, or wait to receive- it’s always there. To find it, simply stop looking and become it.” Enough said.

To read more of my travel writing, and to see my photography from my Southeast Asia travels, and more, please visit www.michaelmcguerty.com

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October 1, 2009 by Michael McGuerty.

(Writings from my recent Southeast Asia Travels, sometime in mid-March)

Remember, when exploring Angkor Wat, it’s best to arrive at the crack of dawn. That’s the bewitching hour when the Khmer ancestral faces embedded in the temple rocks come alive!

While other tourists waited patiently in front of Angkor Wat to snap a picture of the morning sun rising over the temple’s shoulders, I continued riding my bicycle toward the “great city” Angkor Thom. The path led me across the moat and through the first stone gate that guarded the great city. A light mist rolled across the mischievous stone faces that encompass the legendary Bayan temple towers.

Several hundred yards up ahead, I could see a dozen elephants lumbering through the tall trees, each driven by a determined master. As I closed the distance on the temple, to my puzzlement, I could find neither elephant nor its driver in sight. Had the dawn’s flickering beams tricked my eyes?

Suddenly, the temple’s smiling faces burst into laughter, generating such a force the very foundation that held the stone walkway where I stood quaked. The reverberation sent a fleet of small, nimble monkeys clamoring from the temple’s westernmost shadows, gaining momentum as the monkeys scurried in my direction.

Now the laughter turned ugly as the stone faces’ eyes narrowed. In unison, a low frequency baritone mantra followed: “Boom Shaka Laka Boom!”; a low frequency mantra that stirred earthly objects. Within seconds, enormous tree roots flowed forward, carrying themselves and panic-stricken monkeys dangerously close to me.

My instincts keen, I swung my right hand to my side and miraculously whipped out a paintbrush and a can of green paint. I wildly swung, painting everything green in my path; first monkeys, then giant roots, progressing forward toward the temple. Every stone face gasped as I covered them in green paint, swiftly sequestering them into silence.
At a fevered pitch I continued, adorning Bayon, then the Terrace of the Elephants and the Terrace of the Leper King in a fresh coat of emerald green. Finally reaching exhaustion, I stopped, resting on a stone elephant. So exhausted I must have dozed off for I was awoken by the gasps from a crowd of stunned tourists staring at me and the shining green temples. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE !!!!!”, they yelled.

The scream in my head awakened me from my incredulous dream. I glanced about my hotel room and sighed. “Wow”, I thought. “I guess I shouldn’t have gone to bed with Angkor Wat and St. Patrick’s Day on my mind!”

The ancient Kmer kingdom Angkor Wat is Cambodia’s heart and soul, a revered heritage and symbol of Cambodian pride that can be seen on everything from the Cambodian flag to its premier beer.
The Angkor Wat complex is vast, spreading across a level plain for many miles, the largest structures being Angkor Wat and the “great city” Angkor Thom. The rectangular moats that encompass these two complexes, the intricately carved bas reliefs and rock sculptures, the architectural complexities and the impressive city planning layout of the entire kingdom represented an incredible achievement by its artisans, engineers and architects of not only their time, but any time in man’s history.

Angkor Wat’s prominence primarily came from its strategic position along the pilgrim trade route that connected India with China, reaching its pinnacle in the 13th century. Quite interesting how so many of the world’s great ancient kingdoms reached great heights during this century. While Europeans were still stacking dung in the countryside and chasing rats away from their dinner plates, wealthy kingdoms such as Kmer’s Angkor Wat, Siam’s Sukothai, Peru’s Incas, the Mongolian Empire ruled by the Khan family (Kubla, Ganghis, and Shaka), the Ottoman Empire in Turkey, and the Anasazi Indians in the American Southwest were all flourishing.
Yet look at today’s societies in Peru, Mongolia, Cambodia, or even Italy or Greece today compared to their Roman and Greek Empire heritage. What rises, falls, nothing is permanent, and what falls may rise again.

Where Angkor Wat reign supreme, ruling lands that included parts of Thailand and Laos, today’s Cambodia ranks as the poorest nation in Southeast Asia, still struggling to get on its feet after the devastating effects of its 1970s civil war and the Kmer Rouge reign of terror.

Strange how in a poor country such as Cambodia when you’re driving through the countryside in a bus how much more picturesque the villages and landscape appear; ample rural scenes, villagers still living in wooden huts on stilts, animals in the family courtyard, oxen in the fields and pulling carts of wood, naked kids running around in the yard laughing, moms preparing dinner as the intense rays of the sun start to fade. One man’s picturesque is another man’s poverty. Yet is it poverty and how would one define poverty.

The Cambodian Buddhist monks I met in the wat courtyard in Siem Reap live life modestly, performing work around their wat while also relying on food from others’ generosity. The fellows I met were all well spoken, speaking English, smiles broad and explaining how they hope to pass on their education by teaching Cambodian kids English and other life skills. One even bid me goodbye in French.

My best conversation while in Siem Reap came just hours before I had to leave Cambodia, speaking with a Cambodian man, thirty years of age who managed a nice small restaurant. He’d seen me order my morning cup of coffee the last three days and that morning sat down to talk. He grew up in one of those same poor picturesque villages I had witnessed through a passing bus window, a village where his family had farmed for a modest living.

They moved to Siem Reap in 1991. It was still a small village at that time. There was no markets, no goods for sale, one lone foreigner hotel, few motorbikes, fewer cars. Clothes were old traditional sarongs, shoes were made from old tires. Yet his family was large and no one went hungry, well not too hungry. He said soldiers would occasionally fire their rifles at birds in the trees for a source of food.

His family and friends made ends meet through bartering of food and services. His grandfather had escaped Cambodia to Thailand with many of his uncles and aunts during the Kmer Rouge purges, coming back in the early 90s to Cambodia with some money to invest in a restaurant. With the early 90s recent renovations and tourist promotion of Angkor Wat, investment money came to Siem Reap and the tourist economy grew. He wears good shoes and good clothes now. He’s lived poor and now lives well, at least by Cambodian standards.

And so I thanked him for his story, a very Cambodian story, and we wished each other well.

To see more of my travel photography, and travel books, please visit www.michaelmcguerty.com

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September 8, 2009 by Michael McGuerty.

(Writing excerpt from my South America travels)

What I did on my summer vacation….
Completing my sixth week exploring Camp Ecuador, I decided with one week left before returning back to the States to venture north to Columbia….Camp Columbia.

An auspicious beginning, the border crossing was painless. I left the Ecuadorian border town, Tulcan, early Sunday morning by minibus, covering the few remaining kilometers to the border. A naturally defined border, a bridge traverses an Andean river overlooking lush surroundings. The Ecuadorian side had no immigration line, so with a quick passport stamp I nonchalantly cross the bridge to Columbia where I as effortlessly received my entrance passport stamp, quickly exchange money, and begin my journey into Columbia.

In Ecuador, the massive Andean mountain range forms a singular spinal column up the country’s midsection. Upon reaching Columbia, the Andes splits into three separate mountain ranges. The tumultuous division is dramatically illustrated along the road to Popayan, a colonial city some 200 hundred miles north of the Ecuadorian border.

The journey’s first phase is defined by verdant mountainous terrain and chilled air. As the range begins to formulate its divergences, wider, deeper valleys emerge as the road begins its descent. Soon, deep valleys transform into dramatic, plummeting gorges, the landscape now barren and desert-like. Villagers set up modest restaurants to serve passing travelers, their worn structures perched precariously on the mountainside edge.

The road continues weaving downward to a river crossing, suddenly rising precipitously back upward, then downward again, continuing this rollercoaster ride for many more miles as buses and trucks steadily strain their gears.

I must have dosed off during this rollercoaster ride for I soon awoke to discover a sharply contrasting tropical scene outside my window; tall jungle growth encroaching the edges of the pavement. Here’s where the journey gets interesting.

As the bus approached a small village a roadblock impeded our advancement. A half dozen men dressed in guerrilla camouflage fatigues waved our bus to a full stop. They identified themselves as members of the guerrilla group FURC, a benign offshoot of the more notorious group FARC. They were looking for people to volunteer themselves as hostages. I was the only foreigner on board. Seeing my hesitation they quickly announce that tonight back at the guerrilla camp they were having an outdoor showing of classic Laurel and Hardy movies, popcorn included. The enticement worked…. I volunteered.

A covered truck was waiting for us. To keep their whereabouts secret, I allowed the men to blindfold me. The journey seemed an eternity, bouncing around in the back of their truck. Finally we stopped and my blindfold was removed. Squinting, my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim jungle light. The compound was modest in size. My nostrils stung from the pungent odors of farm animals and human sweat. Fortunately, the aroma from the freshly buttered popcorn mollified the less pleasant odors.

As I started to sit down on a log to watch the movies, I saw her: caramel-colored skin, statuesque and garbed in jungle camouflage, the Columbian woman introduced herself as FURC’s leader. The moment was lust at first sight. While the FURC men were preoccupied laughing and eating popcorn, we snuck into her large canvas tent and made passionate love.

The next few days flowed lazily like the tropical heat. Good Columbian espresso in the morning followed by volleyball games between the guerrillas and the hostages. The guerrillas had mistakenly taken as hostages, two champion volleyball players; one Brazilian and one Swedish. Needless to say our hostage team kicked ass!

Finally Friday arrived and although nobody in the outside world had paid my dollar hostage ransom I told the FURC members I had to get back to Ecuador. The Columbian woman reluctantly agreed. Since the group had cunningly confiscated a helicopter from a military installation many months back, they hoped to use the helicopter to haul a lavish jacuzzi from a prominent political figure’s residence back to their compound, to help them entice more volunteer hostages. I told them to e-mail me when they do.

I thought to mention that, as a possible alternative income source, they might consider getting on the ecotourism bandwagon by creating FURC tours. They pondered this new idea.

After saying our goodbyes, they retied my blindfold, we jumped into the truck and returned through the jungle to civilization.

That’s one version of what happened during my Columbian visit. Now…here’s another.

One of the joys and challenges to traveling is separating fact from fiction, the truth from the myth. Though far from completely safe, guerrilla encounters along the major Columbian travel routes have diminished considerably in recent years. My journey to and from Popayan went very smoothly, without incident.
The occasional bus robbery does occur, primarily at night. Are they FARC influenced or just the criminal habits of thieves and thugs. Who knows?

FARC does wield considerable influence in the outlying countryside and villages near Popayan however no tourist, from what I’ve heard, has been bothered. All travelers I’ve spoken with had not encountered any problems and were thoroughly enjoying their travels through Columbia. The usual safeguards and cautions to traveling certainly still apply, especially in the big cities.

Popayan is a very easygoing city, especially in the old town’s colonial section; Whitewashed buildings, wrought iron balconies, churches around every other corner. Popayan had been the seat of power several centuries ago while the region was still under Spanish rule. Power later ceded to Bogota and Popayan, probably to its benefit, has maintained backseat status ever since.

After suffering a devastating earthquake in 1983, within the last ten years, Popayan has gone through a complete renovation, resurrecting itself to surpass its former glory.
My first night in Popayan I experienced a 6.8 magnitude earthquake while sitting in my hostal. The epicenter was over 150 miles away deep below the Columbian coast surface. No damage done in Popayan, just a wild rolling sensation.

A university town, the cultural amenities in Popayan are plentiful as are the beautiful women. The cafes are plentiful as well. Their interiors speak volumes, alluding to a rich colorful history; old, dark wooden chairs and tables, hard wood floors and balconies, cracked stucco and faded cultural posters.

Sipping my espresso I gazed toward the open door and the passing crowd. I can imagine militias and guerrillas running past, protesters marching by, workmen moving their horse drawn work carts and colorful villagers moving their produce on the backs of llamas. Was it yesterday or was it two, three centuries ago. Not too much has changed here in Columbia. And, what great coffee!

To view my travel books and see more of my travel photography, please visit www.michaelmcguerty.com
Also, please feel free to comment on this post and other articles of mine. I appreciate the feedback!

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July 22, 2009 by Michael McGuerty.

( Writings from my recent Southeast Asia travels )

HIHO, HIHO, it’s down the Ho Chi Minh Trail I go!

The journey south began on an overnight sleeper bus. Picture a train sleeper car, equipped with bunk beds, only inside a bus; a dorm on wheels. China’s overnight buses are very similar.
Since I was picked up after Hanoi, the more comfortable individual beds were already taken, thus my remaining choice was the very back of the bus where four people are aligned in an overly cozy row. I mentioned to the Vietnamese man next to me that I felt cheap since he didn’t even buy me dinner. He didn’t get the joke but the German fellow nearby chuckled.

Our route was on the main highway, the only highway in fact, that linked the elongated nation from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City, connecting some 80 million people in the process. Financial news stations lauder Vietnam’s burgeoning economic engine. Chief exports include rice, textiles, coffee and people. Yet, coming from the western world, I find it difficult to envision this growing economic powerhouse while our bus drives a maximum forty miles and hour speed down a two lane road; a two lane road where the interstate buses and trucks must honk their horns and slow down for motorbike traffic and little old ladies crossing the street. Even road construction is accomplished mostly through manual labor, with men using crowbars to break up old tarmac.

Today, Vietnam’s northern and southern regions are unified, cultural differences side, into one singular Vietnam, so our sunrise crossing of the Ben Hai River, the physical boundary that defined the DMZ, held little fanfare. The only activity I saw that morning on the river were several fishing boats and some sleepy-looking fishermen.

Of course, the region was the center of the bloodiest battles of the conflict (DON’T MENTION THE …!). Situated throughout this Central Vietnam region are places like the Vinh Moc tunnels, DMZ, Hamburger Hill, Hue, Danang and China Beach; names that I only vaguely recall as a child and are more recognizable to me through movies and television. Poignant reminders of a troubled period, today, with a touch of surrealism, these former battlefields are remembered through day tours offered to international tourists. Hue has been rebuilt and China Beach is soon to go condo. Living history…yet still history.

I stopped for a few days in Hue before continuing on to Hoi An. Hue is famous for establishing the ubiquitous surname Nguyen, a name you find among the majority of the Vietnamese population. Long ago in a place called the Forbidden Purple City, the imperial Nguyen Dynasty ruled the land from their fortress in Hue. Funny, I don’t recall any Smith and Jones Dynasties back in the States?

Hoi An is a very charming town. Whereas Hanoi is a good place to leave, Hoi An is a place you want to stay awhile. Designated a World Heritage Site, Hoi An’s attributes are many. A very laid-back riverfront town, the colorful French colonial-style architecture is reminiscent of New Orlean’s French Quarter or the Portuguese influenced narrow streets and plazas found in Salvador Do Bahia in Northeastern Brazil.

The town also boast colorful characters and delicious food. A few riverfront characters I have given names to such as FuManChu, Hoi An Princess and Gold Tooth. There’s also the jolly gentleman who operates the Easy Rider Danang branch, a group of Vietnamese bikers who take tourist on motorcycles, offering them a Born to be Wild travel experience through the Central Highlands.

Some favorite food dishes I enjoy eating while I’m watching the riverfront world walk by are Cao Lau, a local noodle favorite, spring rolls dipped in fish or chil sauce, a variety combination of yellow noodles with beef, chicken or shrimp, fresh vegetables picked straight from the garden or local lily pond, and hot Vietnamese coffee.

in particular, there’s a food stall canopy I frequent, where each bench area represents a different entrepreneurial cook; a placard designates who is cooking for you. Let me introduce them to you: Mr Son, Ms Bay, Mr. Com Ga, Mr Tung, Ms Nam, Mr Rin, my favorite Ms Quyen, and of course, MR DONG.

Hoi An also serves as a travelers’ harmonic convergence vortex for seeing past travelers. Here, you have a more relaxed opportunity to begin conversations and make friendships with those passing faces you saw on prior buses, street corners, and hotel lobbies.

Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree
Travel the world and the Seven Seas
Everybody is looking for something….
(Song verse from Eu rhythmics Sweet Dreams )

Sipping a Vietnamese coffee at a Hoi An cafe served well as a proper respite for reflection, reviewing fellow traveler experiences thus far into my journey.

The vibration or energy a lone traveler must transmit seems to attract and resonate with other like souls for those I’ve conversed with the most have primarily been other independent travelers.

Their stories and reasons for travel ring familiar: people displaced and disillusioned with modern societies gone wrong, whether they quit their jobs in Quebec and Vancouver or were laid off in New York City. Individuals reevaluating their lives, discovering new ways to live, including living with less. Discovering old ways to live before our personal world became awash in unfulfillable stuff acquired through burgeoning credit. These “everybodies” are looking for something, something better in their lives like happiness and sweet dreams…….

An Englishman born for music, continuing a tradition established by his father and father’s father. An accomplished guitarist, he lost his way as a young adult, consumed by rage in a blue collar English city that was consumed by rage. Today…no more. A wife that would not follow, ten year marriage over, he lives contented, peaceful in Thailand learning Buddhism and playing beautiful music with an equally accomplished Thai musician.

An Italian gentleman who teaches meditation and lives half his year in India and the other half in Italy.

A Canadian who bought raw land years ago on Prince Edward Island, built his home, became small town postal delivery man, worked as an NGO volunteer, is an accomplished drummer, has traveled the world and lives life large.

A Dutchman who balances seasonal housesitting and personal apartment rental for lodging and cash flow until he’s ready to get creative, inspired through travel to return home and sculpt.

Then there are the American Vietnam Vets returning to Vietnam, revisiting a land and people they knew long ago during a time of war: today a time of peace. A personal journey for reflection, reconciliation and renewed respect.

To see my Vietnam photography, my travel books, and more, please visit www.michaelmcguerty.com

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July 22, 2009 by Michael McGuerty.

(Writings from my recent Southeast Asia travels)

Cliche or no cliche, after such a wonderful day I had yesterday cycling through the countryside waving to hundreds of Vietnamese saying “HELLO!” I’m unabashedly ready to proclaim, nay, open the bedroom window shutters and joyously shout, to a sea of glorious stained, brutally gray cinder block roof tops…..GOOOOOOD MORNING VIETNAM !!!!!!!!!!!

In Vietnam, with the currency exchange rate pegged at 17,000 dong to the dollar, it’s easy to feel like a millionaire. You ask the waitress, “How much for my breakfast? “Only 85 thousand. Here’s a hundred thousand…keep the change!”
Of course, back in America, if you arrived flushed with a million dong (sounds dirty doesn’t it) you could barely pay for a bus ticket from Albuquerque to Flagstaff, Arizona.

However, millionaire or no millionaire, February in Hanoi, even staying in its most charming Old Quarter section, provides little inspiration to shout Good Morning salutations to the world.

One might be tempted to say Hanoi is a great city to leave however I shall try to emphasize Hanoi’s positives. For instance, highlights included the best spring rolls I’ve ever tasted and the incredible artwork you see in the different galleries/shops. At night, sections of the Old Quarter look elegant thanks to draping, graceful trees, bright Chinese lanterns and a charming French ambiance, while the city’s prominent lake makes for a pleasant evening stroll. There’s also that unique Vietnamese energy in the streets; people sitting around the sidewalks eating from steaming pots and bowls while women wearing their conical hats pass by carrying everything from pineapples to bricks.

That said, the downside to Hanoi is the February weather; drizzly, gray with insufferable humidity; the motorbikes, creating total mayhem madness in the streets; the touts or hawkers, difficult to walk two blocks without a half dozen “Hey mister, hello, hello!” solicitors trying to sell you something, and the exhaust pollution which leaves you gasping for air.

Hopping on the southbound bus for Ninh Binh was a smart move. Renting a bicycle and “getting lost” among the villagers in the countryside an absolutely brilliant move! I was in my element, peddling away, taking pictures of picturesque karst peaks and ricefields, and encountering numerous smiley-faced Vietnamese, waving and shouting “HELLO, HELLO” a gazillion times; their motivations not self-serving, simply genuine greetings to this strange long-haired stranger riding through their village and sneaking up on them in their ricefields.

School kids in particular were fun to interact with and I received big smiles and “hellos” from a group of girls dressed in their Communist Party High School brown uniforms. Did I mention this was the Peace and Love tour? Just trying to bridge the cultural gap, remember…there is no “ism” in smile. Wait…actually there is, just the letters rearranged. Anyway, it sounds profound.

Creating a nice touch, occasionally I would hear soft Vietnamese music playing over the distant Communist Party community center loudspeaker. I assumed this was music to soothe “THE WORKERS” while they sowed the rice stalks for the next harvest. This reminded me of the MUSAK or elevator music that is played in some corporate capitalist workplaces to soothe the “OFFICE WORKERS” while they sow the seeds for the next set of useless corporate reports.

Are our worlds REALLY so different? Who is ready for a group hug!!!!!!

And, if life couldn’t get any better, even the village dogs (who are, contrary to popular myth, kept as pets, not as appetizers) were very friendly!

To see my Vietnam photography, travel books, and more, please visit www.michaelmcguerty.com

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February 22, 2009 by Michael McGuerty.

…Thank you for stopping by. The Pecoskid is currently out of his cyber office. He has gone traveling. This time of year, in New Mexico, it is cold while in Southeast Asia, it is not. Need I say more. The search for the endless summer continues.

I have left the keys to the country with President Obama so the country should be in good hands while I’m away.

Please feel free to follow my Southeast Asia travel adventures at my travel journal web site: www.travelpod.com/members/pecoskid

Besides my In My Opinion writings, please feel free to peruse other aspects of my blog including the Integrity section, and for a giggle, my Funnybone section, each located on the right-side of the site. I would love any and all feedback you have on these sections.

Also, please utilize this site as a resource facilitator to other fabulous sites located under my social / political links.

In the wake of the current global economic crisis, remember these sage words taught to me by a Thai Buddhist monk: Don’t sweat the petty stuff AND don’t pet the sweaty stuff!

Please leave a cyber message…………
(Preferably before December 22nd, 2012)

Ciao!

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December 8, 2008 by Michael McGuerty.

The following travel essay is an excerpt from my travel book South America - Pictures, Prose, and Poetry.

I had a good conversation with a Peruvian gentleman on the bus to Puno, Peru. Sharing a common birthday we naturally struck up a quick friendship.

He was a traveling salesman returning to Lima, where he lived with his family. He had a particularly favorable opinion of the Bolivian women in Santa Cruz. He established distribution contacts for the company Nestle throughout Bolivia. He was formerly an engineer recently downsized to make room for cheaper trainees. He said multinational corporations have been conducting this management cost measure of its employees for the last few years. On a macroeconomic level, Peru’s economy and standard of living have improved within the last ten years, now reaching a level near par with Chile.

However, these statistical improvements tend to shine brighter on the accounting ledgers for those in the glass offices. The reality of improvements for those within the middle and lower class ranks tended to be less distinct and measurable.

While our bus waited outside a village marketplace, I pointed out to my gentleman friend the enormous bags of pasta to which he did a surprising facial double take. He explained to me best not to say the word “pasta” when in Peru for the word may get confused with a similar Peruvian word that means “cocaine” and official ears could get nervous.

Within this region of South America all roads north lead to Cusco. Wonderful fellow travelers I’d met as far south as Ushuaia, Argentina and all points in between weeks ago would reappear on the city streets of Cusco. Our origins covered the globe yet we shared a simple lust for life and a yearning for healthier, happier roles for ourselves within life’s intricate web. Some contemplated relocating themselves in South America, utilizing their skills in ecology and biology.
One Brazilian I met was from Porto Alegre, Brazil, where the World Social forum was held, a humane based forum established to counter the gathering of the world’s powerful in Davos, Switzerland. His band had performed for this year’s gathering and he was was currently traveling through other South American countries to learn new styles of music.

Other travelers include the various Motorcycle Diary adventurers who were spotted along this Andean Gringo Trail circuit. Throughout these human encounters the global dialogue exchange was always revealing, extremely informative and vastly entertaining.

The journey from Puno to Cusco is extremely scenic, especially through the lush, verdant mountainous terrain and river valleys that to lead to the ancient Inca capital.

I wish I could have told the bus driver to stop so I could take photos. The rural scenery is always the most picturesque, the passing people, livestock, adobe abodes and beautiful landscape. Along the drive we did stop at some interesting Inca ruin sites and some baroque Spanish churches. Conducting the observations via tour group style is just not the same however as when I have a freer independent approach to my observations. Maybe I should rent a motorbike and conduct my own motorcycle diary journey.

The Spanish colonial churches that were established along the former Inca trail bear a heavy, oppressive, spiritual load within the darkened confines of the church. Dark wooden crucifixes, brutal Biblical scenes and ominous looking saints and bishops, all draped ostentatiously in boastful gold trim, seem to send signals other than love, peace and tranquility to its parishioners.

The Catholic followers who enter the cathedrals and churches are quick to create with their index finger the sign of the cross in a very nervous, stressed manner, fearful of the alleged consequences if they don’t.

Nestled within the Andean highlands is the town of Cusco. The downtown section is quite stunning, especially at night when the plaza, cathedral and neighboring smaller churches are illuminated. It evokes memories of Old World European cities at night. Many of the church structures have kept the older Inca stone walls and foundations both for their durability and cultural appeasement value.

Adjacent to the churches, above street level, are restaurants each with wooden balconies that offer excellent viewing while you’re sipping your coffee. Traditionally dressed men and women still carry their wares on their backs through the plaza on their way to market.

One Friday morning, a group of protesters came marching in solidarity through the plaza. A dose of reality that was refreshing compared to the robotic atmosphere of the street peddlers or the incredibly boring military parade last Sunday. Their chants were in Spanish, but the tempo was strangely familiar, strongly resembling the anti-globalization protest rhythm as in Seattle and Prague. No doubt the subject dealt with either indigenous land rights or better working conditions for local laborers. The political climate in several South American countries, of late Bolivia and Ecuador, is turbulent yet somehow swiftly civilized and bloodless, going through presidents at a rapid pace, almost between coffee refills.

Presidents and revolutions may come and go, but the little boy who sells you finger puppets in the streets still continues as before…

Fortunately, in Cusco anyway, the wave of theft that used to occur has been dealt with and conditions for tourists, as well as for local Peruvians, are quite safe. This has occurred in part due to the past government’s crackdown on the notorious rebel group, The Shining Path, which had wreaked havoc upon the poor villagers of the Andean highlands.

As far as my observations, whether in Bali, Peru, or Costa Rica, the new world economy of tourism within the pristine and culturally stimulating locales of developing countries has led to an overproduction of commercialism, obviously promoted by large corporations.

The usual methods of mass marketing techniques such as television, shopping malls and brass neon signs does not apply in these locations. To adjust, large corporations recruit a legion of locals from these communities to distribute the goods and to personally promote these goods at a more direct level to the public. Often the sales are conducted just as dispassionately as by the multinational’s top executives, and with this emotionless unspoken assumption that all tourists must consume, all items, all the time.

True, there are supply and demand needs being met and overall individual income levels aer being raised, though not as proportionately as the levels of the multinational corporations. However, could there also be detrimental personal impacts upon the developing countries’ population…perhaps some moral value and /or spiritual questions that should also be addressed?

For example, what happens to a community or society that becomes over-dependent on a certain intangible economy, or what becomes of a new generation within these developing countries that is learning a questionable value system i.e. the dollar is everything.

Of courser, environmental issues, such as non-biodegradable products, have become another recent, grave concern since the rise of the new tourism economy, and the proper disposal of these products. Fortunately, there are people trying to address this problem like a couple I met in Copacabana who are introducing a recycling program in their town. And fortunately there are admirable individuals like the inquisitive Peruvian college student who sought knowledge from me, the outside world, in order to better understand his evolving world. I’ll sip to that.

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To see more of my South America photography or to peruse my other travel books, please visit my site www.michaelmcguerty.com

Posted in S. America travel, Travel, philosophical | 12 Comments »

November 7, 2008 by Michael McGuerty.

“It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.” Song verse by the band REM

A few days ago, during an idyllic Indian summer afternoon, I was relaxing in my backyard, playing my guitar, soaking up the energizing sunshine. Several beautiful migratory birds stopped by, smiled, and enjoyed a quenching sip from the fountain before continuing on their journey. Suddenly from high above a less appreciative feathery friend let loose a messy blob that nearly knocked me off my chair.

This startling display of harsh reality sent my thoughts reflecting upon the latest display of corporate executive arrogance and avaricious behavior, perpetuated by the current global financial “crisis”. I thought, you know, the world would be a much more peaceful, harmonious place if it wasn’t for those few rich, greedy, powerful CEO, CFR, secret hand-shaking Freemason, Illuminati, nudge nudge wink winking Skull and Bones world dominating thugs and thieves periodically dropping a massive load on the rest of us, messing with our lives.

The same players who brought us S&L bank failures, Latin American bank loan failures, massive Wall Street financial fraud and now the housing market fraudulent irresponsible manipulations, are once again gorging themselves at the taxpayers’ trough, demanding a bailout handout; corporate socialism at its best. This blatant arrogance would make Marie Antoinette blush.

Why, after crashing peoples’ housing prices, destroying our economy, creating unemployment, depleting many Americans’ life savings and even breaking the kids’ piggy bank, while THEY continue to live an opulent lifestyle, do we still put our trust with these guys and their rigged financial institutions?

I’m reminded of the scene in the movie Animal House where Kevin Bacon’s character, desperate to join the evil-minded fraternity, is on all-fours in his underwear getting whacked by a wooden mallet screaming “thank you sir may I have another!”

I would think a more appropriate response from people today would be to open their window and, like in the movie Network yell “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!”

Where are those courageous folk who used to throw pies at the corrupt CEOs?

If these financial institution leaders’ actions have done you harm you may be tempted to contemplate a scenario where these rotten scoundrels are brought to massive public trial, justice determined by a five minute speedy deliberation followed by a good proper hanging.

Another idea could be the creation of a reality show where everyday people get to hunt CEOs, and other corrupt business executives. The average American gets to select the crooked businessman of his choosing to hunt in the wild with paintball guns, a mild form of retribution but certainly cathartic for him, or her, and an appreciative audience.

On a more optimistic note, the current global financial crisis may be evidence of the necessary breakdown in public trust toward our global and national institutions that will lead people’s belief systems to transcend to a higher level as we approach the Mayan prophesied date Dec. 22nd, 2012. Wishful thinking?

Let’s look at the tremendous success of KIVA.org, a financing organization that puts its trust in the compassion and kindness of everyday people. Here’s a micro-loan financing organization, where no profit is sought, where the default rate is practically zero, and is currently so successful that KIVA is asking loaners to be patient while they try to find more eligible loan requests for people to loan to. KIVA.org’s peoples banking system: a fine example where an individual can choose to trust in people helping people rather than our unreliable, corrupt institutional banking systems.

Of course the corporate socialism policy our government leaders have eagerly adopted doesn’t stop with financial institutions. The bailouts, preferential taxbreaks and corporate welfare continue with the auto industry, airline industry, big oil, big agribusiness, large pharmaceuticals companies, etc., rewarding bad business practices and sticking us with lower wages and higher prices at the pump, the grocery store, the hospital, and exorbitant debt.

What’s a better choice? Don’t rely on these crooks. Don’t live beyond your means and be indebted to them. Consume less, live more. Don’t allow your government and its business cronies to pick your pockets while they rummage through your luggage at the airport. Our society is entrenched in this atmosphere of distrust created by the very people who should not be trusted, and is a prevalent perverse philosophy throughout Corporate America.

Long ago, I worked for a government defense contract corporation where corporate executives instill an atmosphere of employee distrust primarily because they know they themselves can’t be trusted, as proven by their morally questionable billing practices, so they assume all people can’t be trusted. How about WalMart whose corporate ethical practices are questionable yet enforces a policy that questions your integrity as a customer by assuming you may be stealing that product you’re carrying out the door.

Our patriarchal systems and institutions say to blindly trust their authority yet as noted by acclaimed author and professor of psychology, Dr. Robert Hare, there is strong evidence that many corporate executives exhibit psychopathic behaviors. Still trust these guys?!

These high profile powerful predators prey on your weaknesses. Don’t capitulate; get strong, get smart. Explore new ideas on how to live our lives and build a better a world. Who is more trustworthy to make better decisions concerning your life than you?

Consider the approach to social/economic solutions mentioned in E.F.Schumacher’s book Small Is Beautiful - Economics As If People Mattered such as Buddhist economics. As an individual, apply Kristnamurti’s philosophy where one is encouraged to question authority. Also, educate yourself to become a citizen of the world, not a globally employable worker as promoted by our corporate influenced educational system.

Former Federal Reserve chairman Alan Greenspan’s recent apologetic admission that he had not foreseen the potential human irresponsibility and wanton greed inherent in the current financial structures may ring hollow coming from its premier architect; still, it’s a telling confirmation that their economic philosophy is a failure.

We may take encouragement from the Czech and Slovak Republic’s peaceful Velvet Revolution example in which the people just stopped listening to the failed totalitarian dogma.

This troubled period may be the necessary collapse in the failed dogma of unbridled capitalism, greed; institutions’ unchecked governance designed for the benefit of the select rich, powerful few. This is our wake up call. Rome may be burning, but the clever Phoenix is rising from the ashes.

We’re witnessing a pivotal moment in our history to rethink and reform our society; time to deconstruct our institutions, create decentralization and “small is better” solutions that better serve the people and the natural environment.

Look at the recent trend in the medical care field, thanks to new entrepreneurial companies such as House Call Doctors, where doctors are again making house calls, improving medical care while lowering costs. There’s also the innovative approach taken by Ashoka.org, an organization which financially promotes social entrepreneurs; those individuals with innovative solutions to society’s most pressing problems. Social entrepreneurs find what is not working in government and business sectors and solve the problem by changing the system, creating solutions, and persuading entire societies to join in the change.

When able, I like to test the human range of generosity within a corporation, and on a recent roadtrip to the Pacific Northwest, I was able to do just that with my morning coffee craving.
It may be McDonalds’ policy, or it may be mine, either way, I apply the free refill theory to all McDonalds’ outlets as I travel across country and without hesitancy, the employee gladly refills my coffee. While conservative and Christian radio reigns supreme over radio airwaves in America’s rural heartland sowing seeds of hate and discontent, I try to counter the corporate sponsored airwaves by initiating pleasantries and discussions with the good service industry folks you meet along the road, bringing smiles to both our faces.

Will this recent financial crisis help people recognize and understand the impermanence of market values, whether held in one’s stock portfolio, house or commodity prices, and gain greater appreciation for the true tangible values of love, friendship, good health and happiness?

Given to me as a gift by some newfound friends in Brazil, I carry in my wallet a list that contains the five principles of Reiki, Buddhism influenced principles that help me stay spiritually grounded. The five principles are: Just for today, I will give thanks for my many blessings, I will not worry, I will not be angry, I will do my work honestly, and I will be kind to my neighbor and every living thing. They help me keep life in perspective.

One may even find the occasional voice of reason within the ranks of the corporate elite. “I think that the heavens, or natural common wisdom, may be suggesting that we try to live more down-to-earth and honest lives”, says Kyocera’s Chairman Emeritus Kazuo Inamori, who is also a Zen Buddhist priest. He says profit is society’s reward for serving its interests. “In order to restore and revitalize capitalism, it is crucial that business executives regain this attitude”.

As I journeyed down the Pacific Coast, basking in the coastline’s natural beauty, my thoughts about humanity’s silly antics fading away, I was awestruck by the majestic redwood trees’ silent grandeur and the refreshing barks coming from the sealions on the ocean rocks below; Nature’s enduring symbols that supply us with a sense of spiritual clarity and humility.

And now, back home, sitting in my backyard, the sun still shining, the sky an aquamarine blue and the birds still bathing in the fountain, I think I’ll go back to playing my songs and reading my five principles.

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Posted in society, philosophical | 5 Comments »

September 4, 2008 by Michael McGuerty.

The following travel writing essay is an excerpt from my travel book Tahiti –Pictures, Prose and Poetry

I find traveling the greatest form of education an individual can obtain of the world we live in, and have a wonderful time in the process. The art of traveling requires a myriad of personal character-building skills. Travel is passionate living. It takes a person of grit to lug around that backpack, from country to country, continent to continent. Low budget travel forces you to mingle; to learn how to meet and communicate effectively with people. Travel breaks down preconceived cultural barriers, helping the individual to appreciate and understand different cultures.

Travel broadens perspectives and teaches new ways to determine quality of life. A good traveler is flexible, able to adjust to each new situation, and to adjust the pace to one’s own style. Traveling may be the last bastion of ultimate freedom.

The backpackers I’ve met here in Moorea are a very savvy, mature group of world travelers with keen insights about their travel experiences. The topic of discussion and laughter include customs, money exchange scams, bartering, and the different treatment of innocent travelers by custom officials, depending on their nationality. Stimulating conversations that cover similar and varied observations of people, cultures, and their respective governments, the locales ranging from Nepal to New Caledonia, Fiji to Chile, to Syria and Easter Island.

As the days moved on, so did different segments of travelers, the European nationalities and languages always changing around the campground. Strong friendships would swiftly emerge, and it was always a warm, emotional scene at 1:45 in the afternoon as we said our goodbyes to the travelers departing on the bus that would eventually take them back to Papeete, Tahiti. Fortunately, for those staying behind, a quick in the cool clear lagoon would swiftly help dissolve the tears.

Over the course of our stay on the islands, each traveler, through our daily discussions and actions, conveyed an intimate sense of what their idea of paradise would be and how they’re discovering it within their reach here in French Polynesia.

For Diana, a Canadian woman from Toronto, in her late 30’s, she’s discovering her paradise in her daily walks around the island of Moorea. An early to bed person, like many folks on the island, she’s up before sunrise to begin her walk toward Cooks Bay. Through these walks, Diana has found the solitude, the quiet delicate beauty of the flowers and the warmth of the people was providing an inner peace like none she has ever known. She says she’s the happiest here she’s ever felt in her life.

For Miguel, our lovable hearty sixty-seven year old Italian gentleman, he was discovering his paradise by engaging in youthful company, conversing with fellow kindred spirits who also enjoyed traveling and the invigoration it brings to oneself. Miguel said he’s the only person in his small hometown in northern Italy of 4000 inhabitants that has traveled beyond Italy. His wife and neighbors were old in spirit, and spoke of life in depressing terms. There was too much life breathing in Miguel’s bones to submit to that lifestyle for very long.

For Luke, the artist, an English bloke living in Zurich, these islands helped him find the inspiration to paint and to photograph.

For Walter and Carol, a middle-aged Canadian couple in Toronto, they are finding their own paradise by enjoying the pleasures of life through modest budget traveling, stretching their few dollars further by sharing a tent. Walter had always wanted to dance among Tahitian dancers and was thrilled to get his chance.

In the holographic universe, there are no coincidences, only holographic signposts. For Walter, this signpost came in the “chance” meeting of an older gentleman who offered him and his wife Carol a lift back to the campground. The man said he was originally from Croatia and had immigrated to French Polynesia thirty-nine years ago. The man then began to sing a Croatian song that Walter had not heard since he was a child, sung by his mother; he sang along with the man. Walter said it was very difficult to restrain the tears.

For Beverley, a beautiful British blonde, her idea of paradise was to complete the remaining days of her travel by finding a great beach and getting a perfect tan before heading back to London. Gradually, the gentle appeal of the surroundings would cause her to pause and begin to recognize a deeper richness in the meaning of her serene environment.

For a young Norwegian fellow, a financially successful salesman for a Norwegian telecommunication company, it meant leaving the rat race and pursuing his own creative artistic endeavors. He wanted to find inspiration and confirmation from others that his dream was the right course to follow.

For Dan, a young accountant from London, paradise meant the freedom to roam, to choose, to sit and marvel and take in the whole beautiful scene.

For two young French girls, paradise was a place where they’d find romance. For a young Frenchman from the south of France, paradise meant always to be by the sea, while for others, paradise was simply a place not to be in a hurry.

And finally there was Hermes. A French Adonis, his broad shoulders, tan, muscular physique, dark wavy black hair, and deep resonant French voice could easily make any woman swoon and undoubtedly a few ladies have, as I enviously bored witness. Yet, I saw no desire by Hermes to take advantage of this power he could easily wield over women. Over the course of the few days I was able to get to know Hermes; he truly was a very sincere, noble gentleman, who also genuinely loved to sing. He could have easily been the French version of Elvis. It became obvious that being a gigolo to silly American women was not the level of conduct he wished to choose. His idea of paradise was sought elsewhere. Like Gauguin, Hermes decided to journey by freighter to the mystical Marquesas islands. As we bid good-bye at the campground washbasin, Hermes demonstrated with curving hands that the women on the Marquesas are most curvaceous and beautiful. He boasts a very broad smile. Even our jovial French Adonis may find his own paradise.

For me, the Marquesas will have to remain a mystery. The paradise I was looking for I’ve already found.

————————————————————————–

You may ask yourself, is it possible this place called French Polynesia could seem so ideal, a paradise that still exists in a world that often appears over-wrought by human tragedy and suffering. Have I painted an accurate picture of this environment and its people or are there signs within this culture that describe a paradise lost?

There were indeed indications of a paradise under gray skies. The city of Papeete lacked any visible aesthetic charm except for along the waterfront. Debris littered the downtown streets. Clouds of exhaust billowed from the numerous passing trucks, cars, and motorcycles, practically asphyxiating me as an innocent passerby. Cleaner gas and catalytic converters must have been considered unnecessary concerns by the Peugeot dealerships.

Ominous signs of Western influence were not limited to Papeete either. An observant eye could hardly ignore the plastic debris which lay strewn along the beaches of Bora Bora, or the discarded structural debris of a hotel conglomerate’s abandoned plans.

The people were not immune to unsavory outside influences as well. To circumvent the prudent land ownership provisions of the Tahitians, which restricts the ownership to locals, not foreigners, the French banks have insidiously encouraged wanton materialism and exorbitant debt among many of the Tahitians. Not accustomed to this financial practice and responsibility, payments inevitably can not be made and the banks seize the land which was put up as collateral.

And while storms were thankfully limited to weather disturbances in French Polynesia, storms of political unrest were gathering in earnest across the Western Pacific theater. At a Tahiti hostel, we couldn’t help but laugh at the misfortune of a Swiss traveler who had stumbled upon every “hot spot” in Oceania on his transit here, including New Guinea, New Caledonia, and Fiji. “Man, don’t bring bad luck to our paradise here!” we exclaimed.

Yet, this rising tide of negative influences can still be halted. The people can become educated and encouraged to have a greater awareness of the destructive effects that modern debris has upon the environment. Efforts could easily be made for a community cleanup effort, and the establishing of recycling facilities.

The people of French Polynesia are amiable but far from unaware, to be easily duped. In 1996, the Tahitians voiced their strong dissent against French nuclear testing and the practice has been halted. No, I think the human tools needed to resist the pillagers and profiteers are present among the fine Tahitian people. Paradise lost can quickly become paradise reclaimed. It just takes effort.

Please feel free to comment. Click ADD COMMENTS/FEEDBACK section on right side.
Also, my travel books and Tahiti photography are found at: www.michaelmcguerty.com

Posted in Travel, philosophical | 3 Comments »

August 1, 2008 by Michael McGuerty.

(This is an epilogue to my recent travels in China. For a review of the China travel journal I kept while on the road, please click my travel journal link located in the blogroll section: www.travelpod.com/members/pecoskid located on right side.)

In life, as in one’s travels, timing can be everything. Apparently my recent stay in China this past December was occurring during respite calm, the type of calm that lingers tentatively while awaiting the next impending storm. As the clock ticks closer toward the upcoming Olympic games, the world’s attention will soon be focused on Beijing. Since I left China in late December, the country has garnered numerous world headlines, mostly tragic in form, in places I had briefly passed through during my travels: Lhasa, Tibet, where Tibetan protests against the Chinese government were met by subsequent brutal suppression by said same Chinese government, Guangzhou; in southern China, where abnormal snow storms stranded thousands during the busy Chinese New Year holiday; and Sichuan province, where a horrendous massive earthquake wreaked havoc, killing tens of thousands throughout the rural Sichuan countryside outside Chengdu.

Accurately predicting the foreseeable future may forever be mankind’s unattainable goal, save for a few seers like Nostradamus; yet, in retrospect, there were palpable signs that hinted at several of the unfortunate events’ outcomes. In Chengdu’s Tibetan neighborhood, as I strolled past the local Tibetans I sense a subtle tension in the streets, revealed in the facial responses, including by Tibetan monks, whereas I felt no tension or discerning looks from the other fellow Chinese, merely their bemusement at this goofy bearded guy walking in their midst. The Tibetan response may have been an indication of the growing frustration Tibetans were feeling toward their government and by some odd linkage to foreigners as well that, in less than two months, would manifest itself into national protests in the streets.

Another event, the unusual snowstorms in early February, may have been precipitated by a government program I was reading about during my travels. The article spoke about China’s governmental intervention in weather patterns, utilizing an advanced yet untested form of cloud seeding. When are we, the human race, going to learn not to mess with Mother Nature.

My first and final observations of China could easily serve as a metaphoric study in contrast for China both culturally and geographically. My initial impression came from high overhead. Leaving Kathmandu for China, our plane’s flight path would immediately take us across the massive Himalayan range, the mountains which form the political border that separates Nepal and Tibet. Inside Tibet, we briefly touched down in Lhasa then continued eastward across Tibet into mainland China’s Sichuan province, ultimately landing in Chengdu. The view crossing into Tibet was both dramatic and spectacular; the massive glistening white Himalayan range, with Everest rising at the range’s apex, gradually giving way to lesser yet no less imposing Tibetan barren peaks. Tibet’s desolate rugged terrain followed; endless sweeping vistas of sparse brown-colored mountains and valleys, only occasionally distinguished tonally by a layered of white snow at the higher elevations or by the brilliant aquamarine-hued mountain lakes. This Tibetan landscape was a no man’s land of wild natural beauty, inhospitable, with few indications of human settlements.

In sharp contrast, my farewell view of China rested at sea level, overlooking the bustling Hong Kong harbor. Here, every square inch of space is crammed with millions of Chinese sequestered within the confines of skyscraper walls. The population is so dense that even the skies are crowded, inundated with tall apartment buildings that house the humanity overflow.

As I settled in for my last evening in China, I leaned against the seawall railing that overlooked the Hong Kong harbor. Earlier I had spent most of the day in transport, either by metro, taxi or train, maneuvering myself through the noise and congestion of two premier Chinese cities. I will say the methods of transport in China today are very clean, modern and efficient, greatly reducing the exhausting effect of traveling. However, checking in at the lone source for cheap accommodations in Kowloon, the Chungking Mansions, was a stressful experience, a crass bombardment to the senses. Squeezed among the prime real estate along Nathan Road, the well worn Chungking Mansions still provide budget conscious travelers and recent immigrants alike with cheap albeit cramped, basic accommodations, as well as a slew of money changing and visa-oriented paperwork facilities, where eager overbearing hawkers accost you. I think every nationality in the world was represented on the crowded elevator that led to the narrow sweatshop-looking floors above. My apartment room managed to squeeze a bed, bathroom, and TV into one tiny space.

My seawall vantage thus provided the perfect respite, letting the sea air’s refreshing scent caress my face, allowing me to think calmer thoughts. Once Britain’s flagship for capitalism and commerce in the Asian theater, today Hong Kong and its neighboring Kowloon, where I currently stood, epitomize China’s recent transformation to a capitalistic economic powerhouse. An ironic twist considering the fears in the late ’90s that the former British colony would fall to ruin under Chinese communist rule. Instead, communist China transformed into a capitalistic mecca like Hong Kong. Seems money trumps ideology.

As dusk slowly faded into night, I watched Hong Kong’s skyline transform into a neon glow, each sign marking the location of another multinational corporation or bank that had established its presence in the city.

Suddenly a pang of nostalgia entered my thoughts. I had stood at this exact location over twenty five years ago as a U.S. Navy sailor. I could still picture my ship moored in that very same harbor, dwarfed by the shadows of the skyscrapers and the taller, ever-watchful Victoria Peak. One never knows where and how our future paths will crosslink with the past.
Just in the few hours since my arrival, I noticed that numerous changes had occurred in those twenty five years: first, Hong Kong was no longer a British colony, instead an autonomous economic zone under the auspice of the Chinese government. Second, an ever greater concentration of monolithic giants existed, both in Hong and Kowloon. Gone was the aromatic colorful open air food market I remembered in downtown Kowloon, replaced by an upscale enclosed retail district. The famous luxuriant Peninsula Hotel still shined, though the years had taken their toll on its former grandeur.

The most significant change, however, existed further up harbor. On my final day while taking the metro to the outlying Hong Kong airport, we passed for what seemed an eternity the massive Hong Kong/Kowloon industrial port facility. Extending for miles was a sea of cargo containers and freighters, their presence representing the final launching point for the millions of goods now produced in China. All shipments were destined for overseas markets, America the primary recipient. Later, back in the States, while driving back home, I may see those same cargo containers neatly stacked on a Santa Fe/Burlington Northern railroad car hurtling through the New Mexico landscape, eastward bound toward awaiting American cities, thus completing their economic symmetrical journey known as global commerce. Won’t WalMart be happy.

My China experience had been brief, less than three weeks, yet sufficient at least as an introductory taste of life today in China. The Chinese I met are very friendly, very polite, very modern and eager to learn Western ways including English, which had become a mandatory subject in China’s public schools. All personal encounters were pleasant with several distinguishing themselves above the rest. Such a case was Lilly, an ebullient young Chinese woman, who was very anxious to join her boyfriend in LA someday soon and experience the American dream.
There was the Chinese American gentleman who was living the American dream in San Diego. He was back in China visiting his mother in Chengdu.
There were the young Chinese girls in Lijiang, who were eager to practice their English skills and learn about American culture and an American’s response to their culture.
There were the smiling Chinese girls that worked in a Yangshuo restaurant who loved the American CD soundtracks that regularly played, especially the songs referencing California: California Dreaming and Have You Gone To San Francisco.
They wanted assistance with the English lyrics so together through the efficient beauty of the Internet, we printed a copy of the lyrics and began singing the songs.

With the exception of backpackers like myself, the foreign travelers I met were primarily on business, they the cogs that contributed to the growing wheel of China’s global economy: the American Iranian on business in Shanghai looking for cheap clothing supplies, admittedly tentative to venture away from his four star accommodations, and a young American looking to outsource cheap light bulbs for business.

The Chinese countryside offers the most in terms of natural beauty ands serenity as well as a break from the city pollutants. Here is where you still find Chinese culture’s traditional ways at as envisioned by foreigners and described in books. Even in the depths of winter I can imagine a winter’s blanket of snow must look idyllic in the Chinese countryside, whether in Lijiang or the upper Li River valley.

And in the cities, it’s greatest charm exists in the unique character of the Chinese faces and the colorful earthy variety of shops and stalls that line the busy streets. Still, I would not recommend traveling in China during the winter months. Like Europe and North America, China shares the same geographical disadvantages the approaching winter months bring to the landscape: a bleak permeating gray tone and an uncomfortable damp chill which clings to your body. Beginning in Chengdu and following me southward, this chill was rapidly descending from the Mongolian steppes to China’s northern and central interior regions. This oppressive condition is most pronounced in the big cities like Beijing, Xian, and Chengdu, where no matter what the season the blue skies are rarely witnessed. I met travelers who had spent several months in these cities without observing a clear blue sky, thanks to the uncontrolled growth of urban pollution. I do not envy the Olympic athletes visiting Beijing’s unhealthy skies, no matte what last minute attempts are made to improve conditions. Ha the recent rush to emulate the American way of life by China’s leaders and their obliging society proven to be a less than utopian path to follow? Is China’s society just beginning to recognize the adverse effects a robust industrial revolution can create both for the environment and the people?

Of course, certainly as a whole, conditions have dramatically improved for the average Chinese citizen since Chairman Mao’s Communist State reign and his disastrous policies such as the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. And, as an American, one might say who am I to criticize any other society when one can observe in Nepal and China areas where they are opening their societies to new ideas and greater societal freedoms, and most South American countries are implementing greater democratic processes, yet the United States is constricting its citizens’ social freedoms. My response…I still like Cantonese style Chinese cuisine over spicy scary Sichuan cuisine, for freedom of expression and how we choose to live our lives is really what we’re all striving for isn’t it?

So, in less than two weeks the Olympic games will shine a spotlight on a China not seen by most foreigners, a China that has gone through a dramatic transformation, for better or for worse, in relative obscurity. The Chinese government has already shown an oppressive hand in demonstrating what lengths it will go to present a favorable impression including a spit and polish massive makeover and PR promotion as well as a strict media censorship and civil liberty crackdown against any overt criticism. We’ll see how willing and how able the world press will be toward presenting an honest picture in their coverage of today’s Chinese society.

I did observe a genuine pride by the Chinese people in their country and heritage and I’m sure they feel an honest portrayal would be most beneficial.

I do wish the good people of China well and hope to return someday.

(To see my photos images of China, my travel books, and more, please visit www.michaelmcguerty.com
listed in the links section.)

Posted in china travel, Travel, philosophical | 2 Comments »