Ethel's Lonely Planet

Ethel is a daughter of a British father and a Burmese mother. Her father was a colonial officer in Burma under the Raj. The blue of Ethel’s eyes and London in her accent evoke Burma’s brutal past, prior to the 1948 Independence. They tell stories of the time when the colonizers strolled through local holy temples with their shoes on in an act of insolence. They reveal stinging memories of timid monks protesting the occupation with hunger strikes. Ethel’s face, carved with countless deep wrinkles earned each for every day of getting by in this wretched place, her gaping toothless smile, her ragged clothes, cracked lips and long fingernails laced with dirt bear witness to Burma’s cruelty after 1948.

Ethel is one of many Yangon’s self-proclaimed guides. Like her colleagues she is hoping to benefit from the recently growing tourism in Burma. Squatting on the footway of a main street, Ethel runs her makeshift office. She carefully handpicks her clients from the crowds; her biggest challenge is to spot compassionate travelers whose donations dictate the faith of her little business. Were it legitimate, most of her income would be reaped by the government. She therefore chooses to depend on foreign good will to survive. The certificate for quality assurance of her services is written on her aged face and hazy eyes which have witnessed Burma’s short-lived freedom at the time she was still an eager young woman, and observed an overstaying military regime ever since.

Like most of her compatriots, Ethel loathes her government. She took to the streets and survived the tragic 8-8-88 pro-democracy marches when the government killed 3000 people. She too prays for health and freedom of Aung San Suu Kuy, the brave democratic opposition leader, who has been under house arrest for almost 19 years. She too reveres the Lord Buddha. The patience and strength found through daily prayer give her the unwavering spirit that can withstand a lifetime of oppression. It is that spirit that has kept the rest of her nation patient and uncomplaining, knowing that sooner or later the day of justice will come and they will live free from fear and in hard-earned dignity. Hopefully sooner rather then later. Until then, Ethel’s whispered memoirs, shining spirit, and generous smile are the closest taste of what Burma would feel like if it were free.

More pics of Burma: http://picasaweb.google.com/dejana

Job Hunting

Solomon Islands are a hundred something dots on the world map in a place where I think the day begins and the world ends. But the country is only a five hour plane ride away from Australia -the closest point of reference to what I think is a remotely familiar culture to us. Good thing Ilana is in Melbourne now. We could go island hopping forever across the endless Micronesian archipelago; learn scuba-diving; eat our own catch for dinners; build a bamboo hut on the beach! Moving ten hours more to the east makes a little difference now that Iam so far anyway, right? Right. Sounds like a plan, I’ll apply for the job.

Geneva is an utterly familiar and dull place. The winters are wonderfully white in Switzerland. Parents will be happy. I miss the fresh mountain air. Bangkok’s dirty humidity and heat have taken their toll on me. Swiss discipline and perfection would be a welcome change after enduring the multibillion people chaos that is Asia. I could take up snowboarding. I think I may have some friends there. I’ll apply for the job.

The traffic in Kathmandu is just as bad as in Bangkok if not worse. The city air gives a dusty, bronzed tan, and husky lungs. It’s popular with travelers; a constant influx of colorful free spirits is important for the soul. Life is inexpensive, housing dirt cheap. I could overdose on Tali. I would see Himalayas from my bedroom window. I could climb Mount Everest. I could visit the Dalai Lama across the border in India. The Maoists might just keep their peace agreement promises. These are exciting times for Nepal. Maybe I could finally make a difference through my work. Hopefully I’ll get the job.

Unlike other hazardous UN field stations, Johannesburg does not have a special security status. Its sky-scraping crime level combined with the high risk of HIV infection don’t make it an attractive workplace. But if I live in a fenced compound with a bodyguard, it could be safe, as long as I don’t move around the town after sunset. I could go see animals I only know from Zoos back home, roaming freely in the National Kruger Park. Africa is beautiful. South Africa is dangerous. I told them a job elsewhere in Africa would be more appealing. I know they need people there. Let’s see what they say.

Moving to Paris I could make up for the last three years I missed of Anahita’s life, since the birth of her little Darius. Sarah is only a short train ride away on the UK side of the Channel. Paris does mean going back to Europe and moving away from field action. I am not getting action anyway through my work. Parents will be happy. The job concerns the neediest places in the world, at least in theory. In the interview they requested immediate start. Then I will not see Angkor Wat as planned. Nor will I go to the islands one more time. It’s cold in Europe now. I have a week until they answer. Maybe I should book a flight to the beach now before they respond?

If my contract gets renewed in Bangkok, I could explore Asia for one more year. I can learn to like Thai taxi drivers. I could learn the 100 different ways of pronouncing “meiau” so that it means cat, cow, money, death, life, etc. The traffic and the heat will still trigger my migraines. I could end up in jail for life, for murdering my banker. Why does it take an hour to pay a phone bill? I could practice Vipassana. I hate Thai food.

I want to see the Khumba Mela in India. I need to go to Bali. There is a magic place on the islands called the Sanctuary. I could hide out there forever.


Guangzhou.
Munich.
Kabul.
California.
Kazakhstan.
Belgrade.
Vienna.