The following story happened too many times along the back roads of deep Asia. And today, it got me inspired…

They offered me a cup full of hot water and they poured some tea leaves in there, too. It was too hot to handle so I put it down first while I kept observing the surroundings; so many people living in such a small room, kind of bound to it, but blessed by the unique rural environment of families providing for each other. I emptied my glass slowly as it was very hot, as I felt warm eyes all over me and my friends. When it was time to go, the family asked me to take a picture with them and we posed in front of the doorstep, smiling. When I look back at that picture today, I can’t help but laugh looking at the crown of tiny limbs creating a forest of motion behind me. Those naughty kids…
Then, it was time to go back on the road. We passed next to a column of women dressed in traditional clothing and head scarves. They transported wooden baskets full of weeds or small stones on their backs. Observing them, I tried to figure out if in my home country of Italy such kind of menial work is still conducted the way those women did. I quickly came to the conclusion that no, it belongs to the past. Or to an undefined dimension that makes some parts of Asia places where a bad wizard has cast a strong spell, and time just slipped down the crack in between the third and a fourth, incredible dimension.

In these moments, you feel lucky to be able to witness a relic of a world that is gradually losing its very own differences.

Please, if you go to such places, try to preserve the spell. Or just don’t go. It would be too sad for me to return one day, and see begging hands, instead of friendly locals willing to share a little part of their world with me, the incautious foreigner that just stumbled in their world.

As a first stop during my “charity discovery tour” in India I visited the village of Sujata, just behind Buddhist pilgrimage center – and Tibetan refugee colony – Bodhgaya, in Bihar state. If Bodhgaya is a bit more developed, although desperately poor, Sujata represents a real Bihar’s backwater: the kind of Indian village where houses are half built, their walls covered in thick cow dung’s cakes, and most people roam jobless looking for something to do under the scorching sun.

I was a host of Dinu, a young chap I met through Couchsurfing. He has been helping a local charity school, Lord Buddha, to develop and raise the foundations of the building thanks to the offers of a few foreign contributors. Dinu is still a young student: he dedicates his time to the school project for the poor kids of the adjoining villages, and he is trying to study Chinese besides the dearth of opportunities to find updated textbooks in Bihar.

Dinu also would like to be able to build a small “Couchsurfing Hostel” where he may be able to host many people passing through Bodhgaya, giving them a chance to volunteer participating to the schools’ activities. So far, the only thing Dinu has is some free land space, and some tons of bricks generously provided by a Canadian donor. Although having a vision, Dinu lacks funds, and needs help.

This post has the sole intention to let you know Dinu’s story and open up a channel in order to contact him, if interested. If you could even send him an English-Chinese dictionary or textbooks, he would be extremely thankful. Regarding the Lord Buddha school, I had a chance to visit during India’s Independence Day 2012, as the little kids put up a parade in front of the – for the moment being – single storey school building. Parents and families from the surrounding village were all present, flags were raised, dances and songs were performed, and everyone had a very sweet and entertaining morning.

I urge people to get in touch with him, at least to give some encouragement or practical tips, as this young fellow is really dedicated and has a very good heart: you can write an email to dinusinha(at)yahoo.co.in and get in touch regarding the project, or make a donation by contacting Dinu and using Paypal.

Tearing up the Silk Road: A Modern Journey from China to Istanbul, through Central Asia, Iran and the Caucasus

by Tom Coote

Garnett publishing, 2012 (buy on AMAZON)

With nine weeks on your hands, the last thing you want to do is breeze from Asia to England through the Silk Road and the Caucasus. Trust me: I know what I am saying as I completed a very similar trip in double that time. The sheer vastness of this part of the world would be enough to put such a task under the perspective of “this time, maybe better not”. However, for some determined individuals, being short on time is not necessarily a problem getting in the way to realize life-long dreams.

Tom Coote is one of them. An individual who’s not just content with the personal pride of having completed such an overland odyssey using only public transport, as he also managed to pen his experiences down in Tearing up the Silk Road. The title is explicative enough, as Tom has literally breezed through a lot of ground, still being able to visit the highlights of 8 countries, a couple of which – China and Kazakhstan – are two of the biggest colored drops on every World map. The more we get into the book, and the more we feel the hourglass inexorably passing sand to its bottom. Ancestral sands similar to those the author has felt creeping down his collar as he ventured from the wilds of Xinjiang to the barren deserted expanses of Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. (more…)

I sat down and tried to calculate how much money I spent visiting India last year, my way: the balance is ridiculously low. India is a cheap country, yes, but this would not have been possible without a few tricks.

Here is a lowdown on how I managed to spend 110$ for 6 weeks travelling from Kolkata to Delhi in North India, taking it slow, and doing a  lot side trips. Hopefully the following suggestions may be useful for someone else!

You are in India, PAY like and Indian
This is a basic rule that applies to all of my trips: I do not want to pay more. If my skin is white, it does not mean I am rich, or stupid. If an Indian pays 10, why do I have to pay 100? A tourist in India has to bear enough of this double-tier pricing when visiting all Indian main sites (more on this next), but seriously, why should I pay 20 rupees when the guy next to me pays 5 for the same auto-rickshaw ride? It is a game, and a damn funny one. Learn the local lingo: pach rupee is five, das is ten. Surprise them. Talk to them in other languages than English as they keep on talking to a clueless you in Hindi. See how much fun it is. Send five, ten, twenty drivers away before you find a honest man, because they do exist, although very rare.

Avoid the inflated tourist attractions’ entry fees
India is the most unfair country in the world when it comes to double tier pricing. A Taj Mahal ticket which costs you a whooping 750 rupees, costs an Indian 20. Yes, 20 only. It is just a little over 300% more. Because they think we are rich, and we deserve to pay. Fine, let’s pay more. But do not pay for everything, be wise. The Sun Temple in Konark, Orissa, for example: just walk around it. It will not give you the perfect visual, but it would save the 200 rupees entry fee. And you will see it even better from the outer enclosure. And whenever they ask you to pay to be able to take pictures, please hide your camera and snatch away as much as you can. (more…)

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”  –Mark Twain The Innocents Abroad/Roughing It

It’s an interesting thing to be a guest in country that your father’s generation bombed to perdition with questionable motives. From the moment we hit the ground here I’ve been looking into the eyes of every man in his sixties and wondering how he sees me. If he hates my guts. If in another decade of his lifetime he’d have killed me where I stood just because my passport has a blue back with a golden eagle emblazoned on it. Would he have shot my uncles dead if he’d crossed paths with them in the jungle? Did my older friends drop the bombs that killed his entire family? His black eyes give no hints.

We watched a beautiful and ancient woman cross the street today in the middle of a rain storm. She pulled her long pants up around her knees and gingerly stepped through the puddles in her plastic sandals. She was wearing a traditional cone shaped “rice paddy” hat and was grinning from ear to ear without one tooth left in her head. It’s likely she’s lived her whole life in Hanoi. She was likely a girl under French colonial rule. She likely saw the rise of the Vietnamese revolution, the ousting of Japan and the establishment of a Vietnamese state in the north. She may have had sons who fought against my uncles. She would certainly have spent terrified nights while bombs fell only to clear away rubble by day and pray to whatever gods she may have that those she loved be spared. She surely buried people and part of her heart with them.

What does she think of me? Of my children? What would she say to me if she could?

I wonder these things as I wander the streets here, delighting in so much that is rich and achingly beautiful about this ancient culture.

We spent the day in history lessons, first hand: First, a visit to the mausoleum where Ho Chi Minh’s body is displayed (embalmed with the help of the Russians.) We saw his homes, where he lived up until 1954 as well as the newer stilt house he had built across the pond that he lived in after that. We saw his bomb shelter, just steps from his bedroom. We saw the beautifully preserved cars that were given to him as gifts from the Russians, and Vietnamese in France.

Hoa Lo Prison, the Hanoi-Hilton as most Americans know it, was sobering. It’s not just the prison that held American Airmen shot down over Vietnam, they were some of it’s last residents. It was a prison built by the French where Vietnamese revolutionaries were held, tortured and killed. When the Vietnamese took it over not much changed, it was just the roles that were reversed.

Everything we saw today was a first hand lesson in propaganda. Of course Vietnam is Communist. They achieved independence. They won their revolutionary war. They defeated the American “puppet-government” and we all know that history is written by the victorious. To hear them tell it, the American Airmen were treated better than the Vietnamese people themselves during their incarceration, including Christmas celebrations and top notch food and medical care. Of course the incarcerated tell very different versions of that story.

It was sickening to move from room to room and read the stories of mistreatment on all sides. Vietnamese women and children harmed horribly under the French. US Airmen with blank eyes telling one story while their captors told quite another in the video footage. I tried to imagine being locked in one of those rooms in my own filth for years on end. I tried to imagine my Dad, my Uncles, my husband… my sons. It is unimaginable, and yet, it happened. It is happening now around the world, at this very instant. It is a corner of the human heart, the human condition, our capacity for wrong doing that I simply cannot get my head around having lead the carefully, gently, tenderly treated life I’ve lead. And I know that, in and of itself, skews my perceptions and my ability to understand. I strive not to judge because I know that in the truest sense of the words, I cannot understand.

And then… we sit on the side of the road munching down doner-kebab sandwiches in happy food heaven, joking with the sons of the revolutionaries who are cooking for us and counting our kids, amazed that we have FOUR, as usual. The wizened, old, toothless crone crosses the street, the rain falls, horns honk, and  here we are, in downtown Hanoi, with our children, celebrating Elisha’s 12th birthday.

He’s calling it his “Communist Birthday” because today has been one long lesson in Vietnamese history and their version of Communism. We took his picture in front of “Uncle Vladamir” in Lenin’s park. He got a t-shirt with “Uncle Ho” on the front, not because we in any way sympathize with Ho, just because that was what today’s lesson was and he wanted to remember where he’d been and who he’d celebrated his birthday with. He’s very proud of the t-shirt. I’m proud that he not only knows who Uncle Ho is, but that he understands that there are two, often very different, sides to the same story.

I don’t know what to say about today, and what we’ve learned. I don’t think I’ve lived long enough or had a broad enough experience in these things to have earned the right to say anything at all, except that we learned a lot. Our understanding is deepening, of ourselves, our culture and our government as well as that of the Vietnamese who are so very graciously welcoming us into their homes and their streets and who are stuffing our children with noodles and Pho as if they were their own.

Something occurred to me this evening when slapped hard in the face with the seething hatred and depth of pain that still lies beneath the surface on the American side of the experience. I’m very glad that I’m not often judged by the actions of my government or the governments of my country that have passed in the generations before my time. People are not refusing to feed me noodles because of President Johnson’s policies. I hope that the lesson my children take away is the same, that the Vietnamese are people, who serve a government that tells them only part of the story, just like us. I hope that they learn to separate the individual from international policy. I hope that they learn that in all countries, in all corners of the world are people, just like them, who are trying to cobble together a life out of their dreams and their realities. I hope that they can extend the same grace to the descendants of “enemies” that is being extended to us at this very moment, because it seems to me that that is the ultimate way to defeat the atrocities on both sides, to find a way to reach over and through them, allowing the next generation to build something new.

Picture credit: Flickr/ Marcio Cabral de Moura

Living in Asia and trying to have real, normal friends can often bring to “that” conversation topic: travel. And whenever I say I have been to 50 countries, my friends roll eyes and vent out some long, strange sounds before freezing in awe with open mouths. Then, their jaws drop for about 10 seconds, and the dire question always comes up next.

“How can you do it? Are you RICH?”

No, I’m not and it seems that – like in the West – most Asians cannot conceive travel without a sackcloth bag full of cash tied to their waist. What’s more, to them travel is to shell out on something they cannot have at home. Understandable: if I also lived in a tiny house with too many people, I think I would enjoy spending a weekend at the local Holiday Inn laying by the poolside.
When I start to explain how I like to travel, and how I like to do things that they consider dangerous, downright crazy or just plain boring, they lose interest and continue sipping their drinks.

Their curiosity, however, surprises me. To the contrary of most Western folks of all ages, Asians probably have a deeper sense of responsibility towards their families, or are just less inclined to “leave it and risk it”. Japanese and some Koreans have been an exception, but not casually, their currency is stronger than most other Asians. It seems that the main problem between their desire for vagabonding, and the actual realization of their dream, is fear of not having enough money to make it.
So, they think I am rich.
I do not even own an Ipad like the one they are toying with as we speak. For one of those, they are not afraid to pay roughly one month’s salary …. funny, isn’t it?

Maybe it is all related to a matter of priorities, and everything will change when Asians will realize that trying to be Western actually leads to – errr… – escapism and vagabonding.  We can just wait, and see what the future will bring…

Picture credit: Hans Kemp/Burmese Light

Visionary World  from Hong Kong is about to release “Burmese Light”, a pictorial travel book assembled by photographer Hans Kemp and travel writer Tom Vater. The project is an attempt to capture the current changing situation of Myanmar, a country that, despite its troubled past, is making waves within travelers, researchers and scholars alike. I decided to ask some questions regarding the project – to hit the streets in May 2013 – to Hans Kemp, who has traveled the country on and off the beaten track and has packed this book with some incredible pictures. They will definitely intrigue and inspire many to follow his Burmese footsteps…

Why did you decide to capture a visual/textual snapshot of Myanmar at this present time?
Hans Kemp – I have been publishing illustrated books for a long time and the idea of doing a book on Myanmar has been there a long time. What made me decide to do it now was a combination of a growing interest in the country and therefore a better economic prospect for a book and the realization that Myanmar could soon be caught in a maelstrom of “progress and destruction” with the loss of old architecture and customs, to make place for high rises and KFC. (more…)

Picture credit: Flickr/ United Nations Photo

When I moved to Asia in 2007, I was still tied under the wheels of the Machine, back home. Everything I was doing, experiencing, and trying to translate into a piece of writing, or any other form of “artistic text”, I did so with the wish that someone, back home, would recognize my efforts and get me that publishing deal I had wished for so much in virtue of my brave choice of moving abroad.

Reality is often different from our dreams. Especially when coming from a culturally under developing nation such as Italy, where trying to be an “artist” is guaranteed to put a very sorry expression across any parental face.  Back then, it was with a sense of scorn that I looked at all the rejections, the nos and the maybes, as it dawned on me that, wherever I may have roamed, I was destined to be a total failure.
Still, I put together a blog, I chose the best pieces out of it and edited them for good and self-published an Italian written book on my life as a teacher in small town China. I cannot say it was successful, as it was not. It was just barely ok not to hang the keyboard to the wall, and start playing badminton instead.

It was at that point that I travelled, and travelled, and travelled deeper and wider all across East Asia. When I finally stopped again, as Hank Williams put it “No more darkness, no more night. Now I’m so happy, no sorrow in sight. Praise the Lord, I saw the light …”
Facing the most sacred Buddha statue in the Lama temple of Beijing, China, I bowed down and I expressed my wish. Maybe I was thinking that through such a foreign surrogate I would have reached my own, white-faced version of God. Well, I was wrong. Those Asian ears were indeed openly listening to my call. Slowly – as good things do not happen overnight -, I found out that I had overlooked what was happening around me. Exactly in the place I was living THEN. Developing countries have plenty of opportunities.  Otherwise, they would not be called as such, I guess?

Asian publishers are not much different from Western ones, but possibly, they accept submission, and you do not need an agent, or spend too much money on it. It is still a tough process, but at least you will get rejection letters. Sometimes even explaining what is wrong with your stuff. The hard work is still there, the results are, however, greatest in the East. In a single hard working year, I have published more than I ever did in the past 5 or 6, kicked off the road by frustration, rejection, and let me tell it, a great dose of assholism.

My suggestion to all the wannabe writers (and another cite to one of the best movies of all times): when there is no more room in hell, look around wherever you are, and start pitching left and right. Then, your articles and stories will walk the earth.

MARCO FERRARESE explored 50 countries and lives in Penang, Malaysia since 2009. He is currently a PhD candidate at Monash University’s Sunway Campus, Kuala Lumpur, researching the anthropology of punk rock and heavy metal in Southeast Asia. Besides his academic endeavors, he blogs about overland Asian travel and extreme music in Asia at www.monkeyrockworld.com

Picture credit:Flickr/WarzauWynn

A couple weeks ago I have witnessed something quite interesting: I won’t name the company, as this is not the place to make some free advertising, BUT I was quite entertained and shocked to learn that in Malaysia, someone has decided to teach people how to travel on a budget. Obviously, for a price.

I have attended the press conference of a Malaysian company that is offering “backpacking tours” to interesting Asian destinations such as Mongolia, India and Tibet, offering a full vagabonding adventure under the tutorial of a guide. They won’t pay for your meals, they will make you sleep in gers and tents, and they will teach you how to take great travel photography. Still, you will pay to get out of your comfort zone, and have fun learning the backpacking style under expert supervision. Cool, isn’t it?

I liked the idea: as many Asians I met complain about safety issues and high costs of travel, and seem to be alien to the concept of backpacking and traveling independently without buying a full package tour, this seems to be a welcome educational improvement coming from Malaysia.
I reflected that, in Asia, what we take for granted may not be the same: a stronger money and family ethic, and the fear of the unknown are common among the young. Plus, they struggle to create their own critical thinking identities. For sure, there are quite a number of Asian backpackers on the road already, including Japanese, Taiwanese, Malaysians, Chinese, South Koreans and some Indians. But I think that, as the majority prefers organized tours, by offering a modest package to understand adventure travel and backpacking ethics, this company has made a right choice in its market.

How do you consider such an idea in the West? Do you know of any Western companies offering this sort of educational backpacking travel? Please comment below.

MARCO FERRARESE  explored 50 countries and lives in Penang, Malaysia since 2009. He is currently a PhD candidate at Monash University’s Sunway Campus, Kuala Lumpur, researching the anthropology of punk rock and heavy metal in Southeast Asia. Besides his academic endeavors, he blogs about overland Asian travel and extreme music in Asia at www.monkeyrockworld.com