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

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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.

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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

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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 »