Beach Troubles in Bangkok

A Van Ride to Nowhere (and then some adventures) 

We first met Günter and his family on a tour in Vietnam. Günter had been on the trail for about nine months and had been all over Australia, Thailand, Cambodia, Indonesia, and Malaysia. His mother and younger sister traveled all the way from Germany to have a nice pleasant stay with him in SE Asia. We met them on a Saigon City tour. Saigon City Tours operates out of Saigon, Vietnam. Most of their stay was fun and quite uneventful. However, there is one humid Bangkok day they are unlikely to forget. 

Günter's mother and sister were planning on returning to Germany in a couple of days. We were just hanging out in Bangkok trying to figure out what to do, and then decided to go to one of the beaches on the outskirts of Bangkok on a day trip. Günter went to a tour agency on KhaoSan Road, the backpackers mecca in Bangkok and arranged everything. An air-conditioned van would pick us up at 8:00AM the next day. Everything looked good so far. We were going to the beach! 

The next morning arrived and our waiting began. While waiting we managed to have a good breakfast of muesli with yogurt. The kind where they put the honey on top. Always a favorite. Then we waited and waited. Every so often some van would drive up, and assuming it was ours, we'd get up, only to be cut off at the pass by another group of travelers. 

The "air-con" van didn't arrive until 10:30. Nor was the van "air-con" van really "air-con". Angry but relieved to be on our way; we piled in and trusted our driver to safely deliver us to the beach. It looked like we could make it by 12:30, still enough time to get a tan. The driver sped off and we were on our way. About a half hour into the trip Günter noticed that the driver was going the wrong way. Günter told the driver about our apprehensions and the driver told us not to worry, that he knew just where he was going. And he did know where he was going; it just wasn't where we thought we were going. Nor was it where we should have been going. He eventually turned into a hotel parking lot. It turned out that we were there to pick up an Indian family. 

The father of this particular Indian family was extremely angry. First of all, the van was now over three hours late in picking him up. Second, the van wasn't air conditioned. His little girl, who was about nine years old, stuck her head in the van and proclaimed "This will not do. It's much too hot." The father began to argue with the driver and the manager of the hotel where he had booked the trip. They stood there arguing for about half an hour while our group waited in the van. Finally, the manager got him another ride to the beach. 

Our driver got back in the van and started the engine. We were on our way! Only problem was that it was now about 11:30 and getting the chance of getting to the beach at a decent hour seemed more and more remote. 

We discussed this situation among ourselves. The driver of the van spoke very little English and didn't seem to understand our discussion. Our final decision was to give up and return to KhaoSan Road. We then asked the driver to turn around and give us our money back. He refused. We protested. He then called the owner. The driver then offered to take us to the owner's office. We agreed with that. He then started to drive to the owner's office. Upon arriving at the building, the driver did not want to show us the owner's actual office; he wanted us to wait in the van. He took off for the owner's office; Günter and I followed him and watched him go up the stairs of the building. Günter then went up the stairs and actually got to speak to the owner. He refused to give us our money back! Amazing, but true! 

They decided that they would drive us back to KhaoSan Road. Even though we didn't get our money back (yet!), we felt that we had no choice but to go. At least that way we wouldn't have to pay for a taxi. Thinking that it was best to deal directly with the travel agency, we got back in the van and started off. A few minutes later, the driver stopped at the side of the road to get some water. He left us in the van. We waited patiently. He was gone about 15 or 20 minutes. 

While he was gone, I stopped a police car. I tried to explain our situation to the police officer. The officer didn't speak much English. The driver returned and he brought a friend. The driver explained his side of the story to the police officer. Of course, both the driver and the police officer speak fluent Thai. Naturally, we lost. He wouldn't help us but assured us that our driver would take us straight back to KhaoSan Road, with no stops. We adamantly insisted on no stops. The driver agreed. No more stops. 

We all get back into the van. About fifteen minutes later the driver pulled off the side road again, this time under a bridge. The driver got out and just left. I started to question his friend who had remained seated in the passenger side. His friend assured us that the driver would be gone for only a few minutes. By this time we were more than a little upset. We were getting pretty angry. 

Fortunately, luck was on our side this time. Foolishly, the driver had left the keys in the ignition! We began to discuss what to do. Knowing we didn't have much time, we immediately decided upon a plan. Günter and I both got out of the van. I started talking to the driver's friend from the passenger side of the van. Günter then walked around the van and took the keys out of the ignition. Everybody else jumped out of the van and ran across a crowded Bangkok street. We grabbed a taxi and got stuck in a traffic jam. The taxi drove by the parked van. Fearing that our van driver would see us, we crouched down in the taxi; but he still had not returned. The taxi driver headed for KhaoSan Road. 

Once safely back on KhaoSan, we went into the travel agency where Günter had bought the ticket. Günter explained what had happened and asked for a refund. They refused. They began to see our point of view when we showed them the keys. The travel agency then called the owner of the van. He finally agreed to refund our money, in exchange for the keys. Victory! 

We walked out with our pockets filled with Thai Bahts and had a late lunch at one of KhaoSan Road's many fine eating establishments. Even though we never made it to the beach, we had a far more exciting experience than we ever would have had just sitting in the sand. And that's what great travel is all about, isn't it?

Bangkok Rain

White man, Thai woman and a wet afternoon

As I sit in this nondescript cafe here in downtown Bangkok a typical scene is occurring, let me describe it to you. A middle aged, bald-headed, Western business man. Black designer shirt. White jeans. Cell phone in baby-blue case. Black and grey tennis shoes. He is standing in the street with his Thai sex-toy next to him. Her face is sharply chiseled with a wide nose erupting like a bull's across her nut brown skin. Shoulder-length hair bleached earth brown. She is in black today - black patent leather pumps, black silk pants, black T-shirt with a bone-white vest - and oh, yes, a small black purse too dainty to even hold money. The black of her clothes almost matches the color of the scabs over her syphilis shankers. Two of them, big as nickels, erupt like volcanoes on her left arm while one more, somewhat healed over, is puckered over her right eyebrow like a craggy moon. Her face is silent, dead as stone. 

He glances up at the brooding sky - foreboding with rain - and says something to her. She doesn't say a word. With quick, nervous jerks, like a humming bird darting from flower to flower, his long white hand points to a table in the restaurant I am sitting in and back. She still stares like a stone. He runs his left hand over his head to wipe the sweat away and frowns at us patrons within the shadowed interior. He makes his decision. Quick as thought he scrapes a metal chair in a jarring screech over the pitted tile and throws himself down. For a minute she stands not saying anything, then not for any apparent reason she sits down and crosses her legs. Her whole position is folded into itself and is cold as a suicide's razor. 

The waiter approaches, shaggy green menus in hand. The man grabs his and roughly shoves it under his nose. She doesn't even consent to glance at the one the waiter holds out at her but stares somewhere just behind my table at one unknown dot on the wall. The man places his order and the waiter shuffles, away, his over-sized blue jeans rubbing a counterpoint to the flap flap of his sandals. 

Such a charming couple. Her with her dead face already laid beneath the sod, him with his constant twitchings. His face, like the face of all bald men, seems absurdly long. In the humidity it is slick with sweat. He flips out his cell phone, punches in a few numbers and speaks sideways into the mouth piece. He snaps the lid back down and reholsters his phone. Such self-importance. It is obvious in his stance, the way he straddles the chair, the way he looks at the other patrons then frowns, that he thinks he is something -after all look what his money bought him -his fuck sitting opposite. 

The waiter arrives with a cup of coffee and sets it before the man. Then shuffles back into the shadow of the restaurant to wait the next customer. It won't be long. Soon many people will be running from the rain. 

As usual, everything the man does will be in his jerky, abrupt style, he shakes out a cigarette from its cellophaned red and white case, snaps his lighter and puffs away like a two cylinder engine chugging on one. He plops his right hand on the table and snaps up the coffee cup with his left. He too is silent now, itching back and forth in his chair. 

Any second now the rain is going to break. The clouds hanging over the soot-grey roofs are edging towards black. The air is heavy, taunt. 

The woman takes no notice. Her back is to the scene and she is still starring at the same point. It is most disconcerting the way she does not blink, the way her eyes do not move, the expressionless face. There is also something morbidly attractive to those crusted black scabs -maybe it their nickel size, maybe it is the way they erupt out of her smooth earth skin. Don't get me wrong there is nothing sexually appealing about it -it is the fascination of watching something die. 

What's this? She is moving? Her right hand inches up to her face -thumb extended. She plunges it full into her left nostril and begins to pick. Her nostril bulges to the side and her mouth, that expressionless cast clenched in steel across the prison of her lips, is covered by her hand. But not her eyes. Even now they still stare at the same point, still do not flicker. 

It has finally arrived. The rain begins to hiss upon the oily asphalt. It gathers momentum. The tin roof starts to tap in syncopation building to a pounding of bullets. Rain splatters everywhere. Quick as thought the first black wave of water pushes cigarette butts, dog shit, pieces of paper, unidentifiable bits of plastic in an oily crest along the lip of the gutter. A single stream slips through a rent in the tin awning and manages to fall full upon her left shoulder. It disappears behind her back. 

The man says something while his hands flutter. 

She does not reply, does not change her gaze but merely lowers her hand from her nose and reclenches it with the other across her knee. She does not even shift but lets the water continue down. 

I must admit that I cannot figure it out -what is desirable about having a woman who doesn't say one word to you? Is it like necrophillia? Does she just lie there, let him do what he wants, and all the while stare up at the ceiling, at that one point only she, if she can see anything, can see? Is this what he likes? 

Even as I write this the man looks around and stares full at me. We make eye contact. It is as if he immediately understand I've been writing about him. He cocks a bushy eyebrow almost as it were out of curiosity as to what I've been scribbling so intently while staring at them. I give nothing away but continue to write. With a customary frown he reaches a decision. He motions with his left hand, a flutter of the fingers, and without turning around to see if the waiter notices, he waits. 

Fate confirms his self importance. The waiter shuffles back up to his side. A faded green twenty Baht note slips out of the man's baby-blue wallet into the waiter's hand. The waiter slumps away. The man turns back to survey the rain, or maybe it is the woman still sitting motionless in front of him. 

Rain has beaded in silver pearls upon the cheap canary-colored Formica table -a minuscule world of lakes and rivers there at the edge of the corner. Her right elbow is also poised in the wet. Behind cars and tuk-tuks splash a grimy sludge that one upon a time would have been clean. The top of the crests are silver as if they can almost remember what they should be. 

There. The rain is slowing, tapering off to a few hesitant drops still uncertain in their continuance. The air is still just as heavy, just as sooty as before. 

The man jerks to his feet and without a word to his silent companion struts up to the entrance, where, hands on each hip, he stands the way Caesar no doubt stood when his ships first landed in England. With neither glance to left or right he steps down to the street and with short, quick strides begins to march across the road and down. 

All this while she has not moved. Now finally her right hand comes up and a curious finger lightly touches the tip of the scab above her eyebrow as if to remind herself of its existence. She smiles to herself, a small thing like a broken wing. Then standing up follows the man, quite carefully keeping half a block away. 

The table is empty now except for the coffee cup with its umber lip mark and the cigarette butt ground out in a fire-engine-red ash tray. But if you look very carefully you will see her smile like a ghost poised in the air. 

The waiter comes with a greasy rag and wipes the scene away. Allan. E.P

The Return of the Blog

Will be back! 

The Websnacker is out on a unconference at a beautiful tropical island deep in the Andaman sea, disconnected from the wired world and to a large extent, human civilization. Even this is an automated scheduled post. Like the iconic Terminator catchphrase, this blog will be back, very shortly! Trust the Websnacker!

Sunset in the Andaman Sea

Mid-sea Twilight from aboard the Costa Atlantica

Speaking My Mind

A local perspective adds more than just color

It's been a few weeks here now in Thailand for me. A "back to school" residential course with 'change the world' big aspirations. An altruistic social enterprise of sorts with plenty of money being spent on me and others of my kind from around the world, rather lavishly.

I did the primer in September last year but that was a small crowd maybe around two dozen. This time around, its much bigger, probably 100 or more, of many different nationalities and more women too.

Folks from the western world - Americans, Britishers and Canadians (again) as teachers & trainers and folks from Asia mostly as the trainees - Chinese, Cambodians, Indians, Pakistanis, Sri Lankans, Filipinos, Indonesians, Malaysians, many Thais of course with also a few from Fiji, Mongolia, New Zealand, Burma, Vietnam, Taiwan and Brunei. I don't know the rest - didn't I tell you it's a big crowd .

Considering our sponsors are really so considerate of our needs - what with the first class accommodations, air conditioned travel and multicuisine buffet selections everyday, I really don't get it how our western trainers can give or add any meaningful Asian or local perspective to this training exercise. I don't mean to be racist but many of our trainers seem to lack local knowledge or asian experience - almost all of them on their first visit to Thailand or for that reason, any other Asian country too.

I have to admit they have taught me brand new techniques and I have gained some great insights. I also agree they are indeed experts with extremely rich credentials and prestigious affiliations but without the local touch, it doesn't really add up much - a mission and vision statement isn't enough - at least the way it was originally intended to.

In the last one week of classes I have attended, there have been many instances of this lost opportunity and as someone chosen to head this new collective of global change makers, I am dismayed at the selections our sponsors have made. A few more local experts would have added a whole new perspective to this gathering - at its least, more depth, better insights and it would have costed cheaper too.

I will probably get a lot of flak for posting this and I am sure to annoy my sponsors, my mentor, many of my co-participants and perhaps most unfortunately my esteemed trainers who I otherwise have the highest regard.

But as someone who has always believed in speaking your mind, this seems the right thing to do - anything less would have been hypocritical!

A Flight Experience Like No Other

Helluva Ride inside the Cockpit! 

I am going to break a secret! A hush-hush pact between 4 other souls and me - two of whom who I had actually never ever met before. A secret (if known to the authorities) that’s guaranteed to make them lose their plush jobs and probably get me into a legal nightmare!! Okay, before you make vague assumptions of what whale of a sin we had all committed, I am breaking that oath for you!  

Once, I had to travel urgently from Metropolis A to Cosmopolis B and there was a mess-up with my flight ticket, boarding to realize that it was fully overbooked. Opposing all attempts to be booted down, I desperately pleaded with the senior flight attendant who as my luck would have it, happened to be a very good friend (a junior at college) to help me take this flight. Fortunately for me, the Pilot i.e the Captain was his cousin and help they did - going beyond their call of flight duty and committing a deadly sin. I was shown to be moved into the Business Class area (which was also filling up fast) and then surreptitiously invited to ride on the Jump Seat. Yes, the Jump Seat of their aircraft. And that’s a one-in-a- million luxury that no common man can afford to ride on! Seriously! 

To those uninitiated in Airline terminology, all major aircrafts have a petite, secretive, tiny seat in the cockpit area that opens out to accommodate one additional crew – the Jump Seat, perhaps named so for reasons one does not want to certainly imagine. Also known as the Auxiliary Crew Seat, it is placed between the two pilots, slightly to the back of the cockpit but believe me, it offers a spellbinding experience and spectacular views compensating for all the inconvenience of the small seat! 

I will not describe the take-off, it was too quick and all over before I could settle in but have no doubt; the scenery from the Cockpit is downright stunning. Miles and miles ahead, the visibility was crystal-clear astounding; with beautiful clouds with their weird human like patterns for company. Besides, I could actually see other aircrafts in mid-air, the ocean and mountains from over maybe 100 miles away. 

It’s like watching a National Geographic special in an IMAX 4D theater compared to the rudimentary views we are used to seeing from the puny, flight windows in any airline seat. As a passenger, you can only see sideways and you cannot get the feeling of the range and distance that the aircraft is flying but from inside the cockpit, the view is almost 180 degrees and the depth of that subtle yet dazzling experience is something that you can only realize if you ever get this chance. It would be nice if all Aircraft manufacturers realize this potential money spinner and maybe one day, build special seats that will allow the lucky passenger to witness and feel this amazing experience. 

Even when flying along at roughly 500 miles per hour, the ride on the Jump seat was super smooth and I got to listen to all the air traffic control chatter which seems to come in small incessant bursts. The sheer assortment of switches and buttons present inside the cockpit is also spectacularly perplexing but both the pilots (the Captain, a burly friendly guy in his early fifties and his young, early thirtyish co-pilot) knew how to use them with an amazing craftsmanship like ease. And if you are those who have this fancy idea from countless mid-air movies that any man, woman or that hot buxom babe in distress, preferably in a see through torn dress, can land an aircraft, ditch that. Well, I can positively tell you that it is not just improbable; it’s unquestionably impossible and is surely not as easy as it sounds. 

Tempting as it is, I was almost driven by an irresistible urge to toggle one button or two and see what happens. One lever like appendage particularly caught my attention – it read something like 'Reverse Thrusters' but sanely, just the thought of the horrified looks on the faces of my fellow passengers aboard the aircraft was more than enough to deter me from trying that stunt. 

Midway after a few minutes, when we were all offered refreshments, the Captain informed me that the aircraft was now on auto-pilot - flying all by itself and that if required, it could also equally land on its own. Not in the mood to make him try anything so adventurous, I graciously declined to experience such a landing, the thought being so audacious. Even so, the plane sped along happily like a kite, swaying beautifully as if under some type of an arcane spell. 

Anyone with a dread of flying will find the cockpit comforting. I think that a person’s fear of flying lies in the unknown – all those scary bumps, jerks, sudden drops in height, long shudders and seemingly strange noises from the aircraft ominously mean something but inside the cockpit, they vanish - you are here in the driver’s seat and all those noises and movements seem like an artisan at work. 

After almost 6 hours, it was landing time. Coming back to earthly land was oddly like slowing down your sports car in traffic and finding a nice place to park. The air traffic control chatter was suddenly back in full throttle, lots of switches were clicked, buttons pushed and screens looked at. I guess, both the Pilots deciphered all that babble and directed the craft at a runway ahead which was magnifying in size almost instantaneously. The Captain made the standard landing announcement and after a few seconds of momentarily silence, came in slowly and landed as gently as a feather touch! But I was for some strange reason, palpably tensed throughout the landing. 

After maybe a few minutes of landed leisurely ride on the runway, I could see an animated young chap on the ground with flags in hand who helped in the parking and bringing the craft to a standstill. The Pilots smiled at each other, switched off an assortment of devices and then looked at me, as if to ask “ So, how was the ride ? “ 

My flight attendant friend was soon back, telling me that I had to wait and I would be the last person to depart. On leaving, the captain gave me a firm handshake and made me promise not to tell anyone or even faintly admit that I ever got into their cockpit (hence the silly codenames for the cities). I just thanked him and the co-pilot, feebly nodding my head to convey my concurrence. The flight experience had been so exhilarating that I was visibly lost for words. 

A good 25 to 30 minutes later, when it was sure that every passenger had departed, I was stealthily escorted out and driven to the terminal. My friend repeatedly reminding that I needed to keep this promise and I owed her now a big favour!

It’s almost few years now but that ride is still all very vivid and fresh to me. And every time I board a aircraft, like a little child, I still yearn to sit up in front with the modern equivalent of the train driver and relive those delightful moments all over again. 

And to every one who has a valid ticket but still end up getting deboarded, ensure you make friends with the aircraft flying types and you never know, one day, you may get this chance and one helluva ride on undeniably the best seat on the plane!

Paris to the Moon - Adam Gopnik

Reading Adam Gopnik's Enjoyable Love and Hate Parisian Memoirs 

I've been reading, really I have! However, much of 2012 so far found me starting new books, putting them down, starting other books. I just couldn't commit! I needed real hard literary counseling! But July is here, and I feel I am on the road to recovery. Here's one of the 3 books I started and finished recently, much to my delight considering all the three are NOT my usual type! 

The book in question here is American writer Adam Gopnik’s Paris to the Moon. If we are to believe everything he says, Adam seems to have suffered the great calamity of living in Paris for five long years while writing "The Paris Journals" for the New Yorker magazine. My heart goes out to him, the poor man. 

Paris to the Moon is a compilation of wry essays that describe his misfortunes, along with previously unpublished journal entries which are equally sarcastic in style and tone. Gopnik seems to love Paris but he discusses and dissects French life and culture like no other - with plenty of self-deprecating wit, and he is perhaps at his best when describing the many differences between his Parisian existence and the good life he left behind in New York City. 

Everyday life in the French capital seems to have been troublesome. Gopnik faces minor inconveniences, like trying to purchase a Thanksgiving turkey during a general strike and figuring out the inexplicable construction of French Christmas tree lights, as well as more knotty troubles, like how to get a taxi when his wife is in labor (French taxi drivers it seems are reluctant to offer rides to very pregnant women but I disagree). Along with his wife, Gopnik's young son Luke came along for the adventure, and his impressions and preferences, including a taste for imported Barney tapes and his special soft spot for a female Parisian classmate, add an engaging allure to this thoroughly pleasant book. Though dated by over 12 years, read this bestseller if you want to see a distinctly different perspective of Paris that you may perhaps never read in any travel book.

Review of Siam Bayshore Resort and Spa, Pattaya, Thailand

Sleazy, Rundown Pattaya Resort in a Touristy Setting 

Note: This review (based on a my recent bad experience at this resort) was originally meant for TripAdvisor.com but was never approved. They wanted me to edit it, make it acceptable, subtly hinting that I remove all or most of the negative remarks if I wanted to publish my review on TripAdvisor. I didn't want to do that so here it appears now. I'll write about this TripAdvisor bias soon in a separate post!

The Siam Bayshore Resort and Spa is supposedly a posh 4 star /5 star rated Beach resort that's currently ranked #13 of around 300 odd hotels across Pattaya, Thailand. Its at the other end of the Walking Street (a Pattaya landmark) near the Mixx club (i.e if you are entering from Pattaya Beach). This is the only distinct advantage (for which even I booked) this poorly managed, run down resort seems to have. For the price you shell out here, I would recommend staying at one of the better hotels on the Beach Road which are definitely better and cheaper - an expensive insight I gained after 2 nights I stayed here.. 

Well, the key ailment the Siam Bayshore suffers from is their awful and brash staffs who man the reception, the restaurant, the pool….pretty much everywhere across the hotel. They are unnecessarily rude, apathetic and treat hotel guests as free loaders. So, take the other glowing reviews you read on TripAdvisor.com with not a pinch but loads of salt. Not believable at all considering I was at the same hotel treated by the same staff !! 

Anyway, apart from their ill-mannered and lethargic employees, some more bad pointers 

- The check in was a slow, ‘no smiles’ dismal affair. No welcome drink or cold towel that was promised and with a truly uninterested reception giving you that “ oh, here they come, one more check in” irritated look. 

- The lobby is small with a dated 80s look. Not the best of Thai architecture if you know what I mean. Nothing classy!

- The Rooms and their Balconies are in urgent need of renovation. Old furniture, faded worn out carpets, okay beds, erratic AC and a strong musty room odor and crawling insects all around. The water pressure in the shower (a must for me) was a miserable dribble that was never fixed in spite of bringing it to the hotel’s attention. 

- The entire hotel just has one single small lift that will take not more than 4 adults. I stayed at the topmost 4th floor and it was a perennial wait every time!! 

- They have 2 pools - one inside the hotel and one outside the hotel across the road facing the sea. The one inside is fairly big with a slide for children but the slide area stinks as it’s near the hotel sewer. 

- This pool is not manned by any lifeguard or staff ! I saw a near drowning of a kid who had waded deep into the pool and was rescued by a fellow guest so people with children need to beware of the hidden dangers!! 

- The pool outside on the road is used for their daily barbecue seafood buffet dinners. You don’t get access to this pool in the evenings unless you buy the dinner. It doesn't cut ice even if you are a resident guest at the hotel. Btw, don’t fall for the tempting buffet poster, I tried it – cold, limited selections with very little seafood, cheap deserts and most of all, expensive. 

- The morning buffet breakfasts were a mad rush with so-so service. Almost the exact small spread for both the days and I also found 2 of the dinner dishes too (from the previous night) repackaged in a new avatar for the morning selection. 

- The hotel concierge is a rip off. I ended up paying 3 times (more than the usual fare) for a taxi trip outing and I actually ended up at the wrong place.

- The Spa is a false suffix to the hotel name, the pricing is way over the top, and Spa staff – indolent and poorly experienced. You’ll get better quality and lesser prices just outside the hotel. 

- Night Security is lax at the gates and entry. As a late nighter, I found the inside hotel entry unmanned on both the nights and outside gates with guards who really don’t care who was entering or exiting the hotel. 

So, all in all, maybe this hotel works for desperate first timers who only visit Pattaya for all the wrong reasons and who are probably too intoxicated with all that Pattaya (and Walking Street especially can offer) but for frequent travelers and those visiting Pattaya for a nice holiday, the Siam Bayshore resort can be a complete spoilsport. I am not coming here ever again.

Big is Beautiful or Is It ?

NOT what YOU Think !!

Earthquake Scares !!

Surviving A Quake!!

Well, this post is quite late!! I was supposed to get this turned in on time along with 3 reviews for a magazine last month, honest, but then we had this little, creepy earthquake off the coast in Indonesia and then the subsequent Tsunami scares (especially about Japan) on the net and TV, countless twitter warnings, radio announcements,…maybe you read about it...

I was stuck in my beach front hotel room – momentarily feeling dizzy when it happened!! Seconds later, the alarms and car horns go wild, the phones start ringing, the road below is an explosion of worried people and I have this crazy neighbor – a harried American expat in my adjoining room banging my door – wanting to know if it indeed was a Bin Laden quake in action !! Apparently someone had tweeted him this!!

Anyway, apart from the typical “world spinning around you” feeling and “things falling down all over” picture, I was very lucky in that none of my stuff was damaged nor did I get hurt but it did knock me off my stride for not just that day but for about a full week. It was the first time I had felt an earthquake in full glory!! C’mon, a 6.9 on the Richter scale followed by constant tremors & aftershocks (both terrifying) puts a lot of things into a new perspective - more so especially when you are on the 38^rd floor with no electricity, alone, confused and they also switch off the lifts for I am told precautionary reasons (probably, they don't want you to run away without paying the bills! )

Well, it hasn’t changed my mind about travelling to quake prone countries or staying in beach front high rise hotels or on very high floors (a personal choice), but it did make me think some more about the role the Internet and the Media plays in my life, and how I, (and all of us) use it to help make sense of ourselves and our lives..in our own different ways. The incessant chatter on the net and on the Telly immediately after the quake was an insightful episode but that's the sort of reflective essay that's better suited for an other time or another blog...for now, let's say that it was pretty ‘nightmare of the elm street’ like scary and I am happy to be alive to tell you this story!! 

Balls of the Rich & Famous

Not the Balls you Think!!

Twice or thrice a year I experience an extravagant taste of the kind of glamorous celebrity parties that will sweep any mortal soul off its feet. More when I travel abroad. I would be treacherous to my generous host if I tell you where I went or what I did but I can at least say that this party, almost an institution in swanky Singapore, underwent a transformation this year, after one of the regular big-time sponsors pulled out under rather acrimonious circumstances and a new online startup (flush with VC money) took its place.

Regarded as snobby by many of town’s rich and famous, who were put off by the increase of wannabe third-pagers who seemed to frequent the ball in years gone by, elbowing out all but the very persistent, this year's guest list reflected the kind of a refined cosmopolitan Singaporean diversity, though it was still, by its very nature, expat-centric. A guest near me quipped that the women looked far better than this time, as the previous sponsor seemed to favour outfits made from the curtains and bedsheets!!

My host was in some sort of velvety ball gown with back corset lacing and a rather shoddy tiara. She seemed to be in a fetid mood, perhaps due to the hassle of organizing the party, but more likely due to the fact that the ex-sponsor was present, at the invitation of some other VIP guest.

The MC at this affair – an Englishman obviously seemed disinterested. He should have been a star in his heydays but now he appeared like a shadow of his former self, in a new rainbow colored coat, which made him look a little bit like a circus clown. He was on a hectic schedule or so I was told – apparently he had just got back from some Film Festival in Europe, where he had supposedly chatted to Angelina Jolie or so he told.

I was sitting next to one hot brunette, who was so gorgeous one couldn't stop staring at those big star-like eyes and perfect playboy like features, balanced by a trademark wine-red dress which was an exercise in fashion excessiveness. Her husband (a spouty, balding Banker or Diplomat) started getting a little edgy when the whole table which consisted of (myself and my friend, his brunette wife, a Swedish expat and his pretty Eurasian partner, a friend of my host and a couple who had entered an online draw and won two tickets to the party) went on a champagne, vodka, rum, whisky (and other assorted concoctions) ordering spree.

We had nearly abandoned all hope of ever getting any drinks at all, let alone glasses, sitting at our lushly decorated table with its flowered centrepiece and mauve lampshade emblazoned with Mozart's countenance. We felt like some saints, surrounded by plenty but never managing to wet our parched lips. But once it did arrive, there was no stopping its flow. Pity the ever-smiling Bangladeshi waiter!

At the immediate neighboring table sat this pompous designer with his beautiful wife who must be a perfect model for his clothes. She was in a sheer lacy blouse with turned back cuffs and a full back and white 50s skirt.

I caught up with an old friend at the tantalizingly setup snack bar, which was just getting into party mood, after rejecting the grand waltzes of the main ballroom, where the Anglo-Indian songstress and her band were wooing the younger set with their tunes, even enticing them into a romantic dance, which worked out to be a cross between Zorba the Greek and a dance from hell.

I was chatting with him, thinking that the glitzy evening was going rather just fine, when the impossible began to happen. People started to leave - going home. "What's happening", my friend cried, as the rooms became more and more deserted and the prospect of leaving before 6 AM became ever more real.

It was around 3 AM, and we had a real disaster on our hands. The dreaded munchies had struck, and the dinner of 8 PM was fast becoming a memory (a few satays and chicken tikkas and a little caviar just don't count under these circumstances). It was time for radical measures.

We decided to hit the clinically clean streets of Singapore in search of a meal - not a very difficult task but we wanted a proper one. Fortunately there is one place the driver recommended in Clarke Quay, so up we cruised in the Toyota Fortuner to find a enormous queue.

Now there is nothing in the world that is cooler than hitting a great joint at 4 AM in formal suits & full ballgowns. It literally stops the traffic. "Wow, cool dress," said one of the bug-eyed revellers, waiting for their delivery, probably trying to take away the taste of too many Fosters.

We ordered their best pizza and when it came, it was delicious - satisfyingly big and generously topped with the best cheese I had ever had in recent times besides the price was a steal! A total antidote for a 5 star meal! You do learn something every day.

Dim Sum On Wheels

A Dim Sum Stall at the Food Street in Kuala Lumpur!

You get the most delicous Dim Sums at the ever busy food street in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. My staple for 3 nights besides other (much bizarre) foods. More pics to follow soon.

14 Legendary Facts of the Great Keralite Lungi!

Everything That You Didn't Know About the Lungi

A funny satirical post on Malayali Men and their love for the venerable Lungi. This was originally forwarded to me and makes a hilarious read!! I have tweaked it a bit though and have added a little flavor of my own. Do note that the typos are intentional and No Offense Meant at anyone.

1. Just as the national fruit of Kerala is the Coconut, her national dress is the "Lungi'. Pronounced as 'Lu' as in loo and 'ngi ' as in 'mongey', a lungi can be identified by its floral or window-curtain pattern. Lungi is as simble and 'down to earth' like the Malayali wearing it. Infact, a Lungi is the beginning and the end of evolution in its category. 'Mundu' is the white variation of lungi and is worn on special ogasions like hartal or bandh days, weddings and Onam.

2. Wearing something on the top half of your body is optional when you are wearing a lungi. Lungi is a strategic dress. It's like a one-size-fits-all bottoms for Keralites.

3. The techique of wearing a lungi/mundu is passed on from generation to generation through word of mouth like the British Constitution.

4. If you think it is an eazy task wearing it, just try it once! It requires resilient techniques like breath control and stomach and waist yoga.

5. A Lungi/Mundu when perfectly worn won't come off even in a quake of 8 on the Richter scale. So, leading defense companies are exploring Lungis as a strategic legwear for soldiers!

6. A Lungi is not attached to the waist using duct tape, staple, rope or velcro.It's a bit of mallu magic whose formula is a closely guarded secret like the Coca Cola and Pepsi chemicals.

7. A lungi can be worn 'Full Mast' or 'Half Mast' like a national flag. A 'Full Mast' Lungi is when you are showing respect to an elderly or the dead and a "Half Mast" indicates disrespect, aggression or plain Keralite macho!

8. Wearing it at full mast has lots of disadvantages but a major disadvantage is when a rabid dog or a elephant in "musth" runs after you.

9. When you are wearing a Lungi/Mundu at full mast, the advantage is mainly for the female onlookers who are spared the ordeal of swooning at the sight of hairy legs.

10. Wearing a Lungi 'Half Mast' is when you wear it exposing yourself like those Malayali sex movie starlets. A Malayali can play cricket, football or simbly run when the lungi is worn at half mast. A Malayali can even climb a cocunut tree wearing lungi in half mast. "It's not good manners, especially for ladies from decent families, to look up at a malayali climbing a coconut tree"- Confucius (or is it Abdul Kalam?)

11. Most Malayalis do the traditional dance 'Kudiyattam'. Kudi means drinking alcohol and yattam, spelled as aattam, means random movement of the male body. Note that 'y' is silent. When you are drinking, you drink, there is no 'y'. Any alcohol related "festival" can be enjoyed to the maximum when you are topless with lungi and a towel tied around the head. "Half mast lungi makes it easy to dance and shake legs" says Candelaria Amaranto, a Salsa teacher from Spain after watching 'kudiyaattam' .

12. The 'Lungi Wearing Malayali Union' [LUWMU, pronounced LOVE MU], an NGO which works towards the 'upliftment' of the Lungi, strongly disapprove of the GenNext tendency of wearing Bermudas under the lungi. They claim Bermudas under the lungi is a conspiracy by the CIA to belittle a Keralite and Indian invention. Besides, it's also a disgrace to see a person wearing a bermuda with corporate logos like of under his lungi. What they don't know is how much these corporates are limiting their freedom of movement and expression.

13. A Mallu wears lungi round the year, all weather, all season. Lungi provides good ventilation and brings down the heat between legs. Perhaps, that's because a Mallu is scared of global warming more than anyone else in the world. After all, a lungi/mundu can be worn any time of the day/night. It can double as blanket at night or can be used as a swing, swimwear, sleeping bag, parachute, facemask while entering/exiting toddy shops, shopping basket and water filter while fishing in ponds and rivers.

14. It also has recreational uses like in 'Lungi/mundu pulling', a pastime in households having more than one male member. Lungi pulling competitions are held outside toddyshops all over Kerala during Onam and Vishu. When these lungis are decommissioned from service, they become table cloths, TV covers or put to some other use in a Keralite household. Thus the humble lungi is a cradle to grave appendage.

Long live the Lungi! For more info on the Lungi, check out the wiki page.

Lobby Beautiful

Snapshots from a Hotel Lobby
I detest most hotel meetings, especially those coffee shop and hotel lobby meet-ups as they are all pretentious, boring and bloody expensive as well. But, sometimes they can get your creative juices flowing like this one...

Amateur Cell Phone Photos

Start of Websnacker's Fotography & Co

No more procrastinations. Starting from this Saturday, I will be uploading random pics on this blog and hopefully on my dormant Flickr account too - all shot through my mobile phone. Maybe atleast one a day or two or maybe more and also wish to get my movie/music posts in regular rhythm (sorry to all who have been writing to me). If you have the time, critique my pics and let me know what you feel!

Hope, Sea Dolphins & Electric Lemons

This is my first blog post after an extended 55 day break. And I have my reasons.

I had been working overtime on a big idea, giving life to an ostensibly brilliant scheme of mine (at least that is what I wish to believe). I wanted my idea to fly like the Wright Brothers' first home-made airplane but I am not building a new aircraft in case you were curious….rather something that would spawn employment, help the poor, save the planet and also generate a fairly decent amount of money.

Alas, not even a single investor (I met three) seemed to share my social entrepreneurial beliefs. They were okay with the money angle but not with the saving the planet thing or helping the underprivileged. Can’t blame though, they wanted to fund a money-making business venture and not a Mother Teresa themed non-profit as they misread mine to be.

After almost a year of refining my idea, getting the right people on board, fixing the maths and even micro fine-tuning my elevator pitch (that’s the presentation you make to your investors), I was obviously very disappointed. And it took me almost a week of introspection at a secluded beach resort to get through the disillusion.

Perhaps the azure waters of the sea had a reassuring effect on me or maybe it was sanguine hope of the touristy young kids I befriended at the hotel. Every day, they would wait with me on the beach front, waiting to catch a glimpse of the elusive dolphins the resort brochure claimed were aplenty there. That it was a gimmick was apparently evident but the kids believed anyway. While I would lounge on the beach reading Stephen King with Cold Play and Collective Soul for company, they would sit around with binoculars and digital cameras intently inspecting the sea, waiting for the right moment. 3 days elapsed but they never lost hope and impressed with their dedication, I didn’t wish to discourage them.

During sundown on the 4th day of my stay, their efforts paid off. In true Hollywood style that even astonished the resort staff, we were entertained with a breath taking spectacle of at least 9 to 10 small dolphins, frolicking in concert, around 200 meters from the shore. It was a spectacular show indeed but what made it more special were the kids who were relishing every moment of it, shouting and juggling their digital gadgets, completely satisfied at their 4 day wait.

This episode reminded me of a similar experience during my childhood. It is about an electric lemon experiment my friend Bobby and I attempted for our sixth grade science fair project. It sounded so cool. A lemon, the library science hobby book said, could put out enough electrical energy to power a small light bulb. We rounded up a lemon, a small flashlight bulb and some copper wire from a defunct radio the day before the school fair and figured we were all set to glory.

Our experiment was aptly named ‘Lemon Electricity’. On the day of the science fair, Bobby and I poked two pieces of the copper wire into opposite ends of the lemon and wrapped the other ends around the base of the light bulb holder as the book instructed. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. We kept jabbing the wires into the other end of the lemon and fiddling with the bulb, but to no avail. We thought our lemon might be a dud or maybe the bulb was dead too so, we used the additional lemons and bulbs we had bought along for backup but it still didn’t work. We became desperate, we asked around but of course, there were no fresh lemons or bulbs to be found in the school canteen. So, Bobby and I sat at our allotted booth with our punctured lemons and a wet set of bulbs demonstrating to the fair visitors how it was, well, supposed to work.

I still love the idea that a lemon can produce electricity. And over the years, I’ve become fascinated by simple people who have the optimistic resolve to ride out failures and the courage to push the damp letter out of the wet envelope. They are the generators of hope, ordinary people you’ll encounter who are pushing extraordinary ideas in different ways. There are some people I personally know who inspire me and push me to move on; calling to mind my favorite definition of Hope which comes from the American Heritage Dictionary “the desire and search for a future good, difficult but not impossible to attain..”

So regardless of whether it’s starting a company, passing an exam or marrying the girl of your dreams, its important to never give up Hope. After all, it is Hope that inspires you to dream and encourages you to follow your own electric lemons, dolphins or other ideas, no matter how big or small.

And by the way, Bobby and I did figure out a technique to get the lemons to work (you use concentrated lemon juice instead). It also won us a prize during our seventh grade science fair. If anyone of you reading this has gotten an electric lemon to work, I’d love to hear from you on how you did it. With lots of hope, tata.

Ticket to Timbuktu, Outer Space & Back

The travails of the Travel industry 

I am not in the Travel industry but work with several companies who are from this sector including airlines, hotels and tour operators. Last month, 6 of our client's staff who were on an Incentive Holiday in Southern Thailand were abducted by insurgents and had to spend 5 harrowing days in captivity before a large ransom was paid and they were released. Added to this, the suspicious deaths last year in Croatia of a few business tourists on an organised ‘business visit ‘is a case in point. More recently, the miraculous escape of recruits of a big name IT major from their drowning cruise boat in Goa, India; the temporary suspension of flights to Bangkok and the hijack of a tourist tour bus in Timbuktu was simply the latest in a succession of incentive travel related scares affecting this sector.

Evidently no matter how outstanding some incentive travel promotions may be, none of them are worth dying for. After all, it's only exaggerated marketing. But the constant search for the exotic and the arcane can lead to silly errors of judgement when it comes to destination choices for incentive, business or leisure travel.

Our world is still safe by and large. For as long as I can remember, Pakistan is perfectly safe, provided you stay in urban areas and resist the urge to go deeper on a Taliban sight-seeing safari. Equally some parts of Sri Lanka are strictly out of bounds, unless part of the promotion is an unscheduled trip to LTTE country and an indefinite stay in a fortified Army mountain village with no road or electricity. Somalia is pirate paradise - a virtual buccaneer zone where anything and everything is possible. But all of these places are only a spit and a stride, aviationally speaking, from some of the worlds most popular and stable tourist areas. Sorting fact from gossip is not easy.

A irresponsible media also aggravates. I recall the astonishing and once-only occurrence of a failed terrorist car bomb attack at the Glasgow airport a few years back. My client, who was an Italian subsequently, cancelled a group meeting in Glasgow because Scotland was suddenly perceived as 'dangerous'. The client's office was in Palermo, Italy home of the modern Mafiosi gangster!

The 2 disastrous Gulf Wars itself produced an amazing volte-face within the incentive and business travel industry during which all outbound destinations westward received an unparalleled rise in business. Anywhere east of Paris was deemed to be inherently perilous by the corporate world. Yet, a few countries have always remained in the limelight. Thailand, Dubai, Singapore, Ibiza as an outbound destination from Europe and the US have remained in top spot for quite some time. India remains a favourite too but exorbitant hotel rates and fraudulent tour operators are a major spoiler. The recent 26/11 Mumbai attacks, bad PR, dim-witted marketing and the monthly reports of rape and molestation of foreigners have only compounded India’s already poor image.

So, who can you turn to for help? You can ask friends and business colleagues, but they are there to enjoy themselves or do a bit of business, not to do a site inspection for demanding corporate customers. You can ask a reputable travel agency, but they are unlikely to paint anywhere totally black, if there is even a small chance you might spend some money with them.

Fortunately, in some countries like England and US, the Nanny State - in the guise of Bureau of Consular Affairs or the Foreign and Commonwealth office travel advice section - can come to your rescue. If you care to visit http://travel.state.gov/ or http://www.fco.gov.uk/en/travelling-and-living-overseas/travel-advice-by-country/, you get an alphabetical listing of nations around the globe which are rated a bit risky, medium risky or very risky - so risky that the probability of you coming back alive is a question mark.

Croatia is okay now; Somalia is a strict no-entry. Apart from Malaria and Dengue fever, India is a cautious 'yes'. Algeria, Azerbaijan, Philippines, Albania, Cambodia, Colombia, Ecuador, Russian Federation, Georgia, Madagascar, Nepal, Saudi Arabia, Thailand, Uzbekistan and Yemen are advised against. Many comparatively noiseless African states like Cameroon, Chad, Djibouti, Mali and Niger (where Timbuktu is located) besides the usual suspects like Burundi, Congo, Cote d'Ivoire, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Kenya, Nigeria and Uganda also make it to the No-Go list. Needless to say Afghanistan, Chechnya, Haiti, Iran, Iraq, Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories, Kosovo, Lebanon, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Sudan, Syria and Zimbabwe are Strict No- Fly zones - out for the foreseeable future.

But as with all this information, Caveat Collector! It is well known that the situation has to be terminally bad for the UK’s FCO or USA’s Bureau of Consular Affairs to advice against traveling. After all, its true function is to sell exports abroad. Johnny Foreigner is not going to buy if he's getting bad reviews in the sales office of US & Co or U.K. plc. So if the official advice is to exercise prudence, it's already gone from bad to worse. Don't send your Champions there. They might not come back alive and with the exception of the funeral business, dead winners are no good to anyone, least of all your client!

Incentive Travel may be unsafe and complicated but there a viable 'out of this world' safe solution. In 1990, Toyohiro Akiyama, a reporter of Tokyo Broadcasting System (TBS) was flown to the MIR Russian space station where he spent a week giving the world’s first TV broadcast from outer space. Akiyama became the world’s first corporate–funded space traveler as his employer TBS bore all costs and paid the cash starved post-Perestroika/post-Cold War Russian space folks - a handsome $28 million for the full trip including space boarding, space food & galactic sight seeing!

Its 2009 now and the travel costs haven’t changed much. If you want to send your best performers on a outer space incentiviser, contact Space Adventures. Space Adventures is a real company and have been instrumental in sending all the Space Tourists (albeit self-funded) to outer space so far. For $25 million upwards per space passenger, Space Adventures will take your star employees to Outer Space aboard a Soyuz aircraft to the International Space Station for a week or more. With the recession in the background, you could perhaps negotiate a discount as well!

And if your company can’t afford those costly millions, contact the Spaceriders and they could help. A bunch of space travel aficionados who are building a private spaceship in Nevada, their super secret Spacerider as its called is allegedly capable of taking you on an extraterrestrial flight for only $100000 return, 6 people per flight, gourmet food, hi-fi virtual reality entertainment and a hot supermodel space hostess on board. I don’t know if this is a hoax as a departure date has yet to be announced but apparently, the Spacerider is soon to be tested at the Mojave Desert. Outer space as a destination is still not on the Foreign Office, CIA or the travel insurance list so I guess it must be safe and besides, even your most disgruntled employee will thank you for the Star Trek!

An Inner Journey

A Spiritual Journey for the New Year

Its a New Year and this is a Journey I intend to take. Intend? Time For a little Websnacker philosophy

We travel to discover new worlds and experience new environments. We travel to experience ourselves in different ways, free of the normal constraints of our lives. We travel to see ourselves mirrored in other people and cultures in the world - at some deep level recognizing that we are all brothers and sisters, and reveling in our diversity, our uniqueness, even our eccentricities. We travel to face our fears-and to overcome them. We travel to test our mettle and expand our own boundaries. We travel to seek fun and excitement. We travel because, at our core, we humans are explorers and yearn for adventure. We long to break the monotony of our civilized, ever-so-rational, planned-out lives.

Discovery and adventure are also accessed through an inner journey, however, and, because it ultimately holds the potential fulfilment of all our desires, the inner journey is the most exciting, challenging and rewarding one there is. It is a sacred quest fraught with challenges and opportunities for growth disguised as obstacles. So many of our wisest teachers tell us to "know ourselves" and to "go inside" to search for the answers to all our questions. Jesus said, "the kingdom of heaven is within". The Hindu sage, Nityananda, said, "the heart is the hub of all sacred places-go there and roam". Religious historian Elaine Pagels said, "when you know yourself deeply, you will know God, because you will discover that the divine is within you". In the highest sense, knowing ourselves means getting a glimpse of our ultimate divinity. Our main responsibility in life is to go within to discover who we are and then become the best "us" that we can be. Only we can do that; no one can do it for us. This is a universal imperative, regardless of gender, race, color, nationality or religious background.

So let us travel within-fearlessly. Inside is a fountain of courage and a source of infinite strength. Inside we finally find the relief of self-acceptance, the peace of understanding, the joy and humility of living with purpose. When we "come in" we are energized and enlivened by an inner resolve, a potent inner force. Inside is where we recognize our essential humanity-and connect to the spark of divinity that we all contain. It is also where we come to the realization of our oneness, where we find self-respect and, consequently, the respect of others. It is where we touch a love both tender and vulnerable -a love that hurts for the tragedy of the human condition and for our abused and neglected Earth. We discover a universe within as unfathomably limitless as the one without. Passion makes its home there, as do dreams.

On this journey we must also face our inner demons and nightmares-our shadow side that we have attempted to suppress. Throughout this never-ending journey of self-discovery, we must strive to remain open and integrate all of ourselves, the good and the bad-no longer rejecting parts of who we are. While inside, we discover how much we have become conditioned. The inner quest prompts us to analyze and often deconstruct entire systems of belief-not which we have previously interpreted reality- and which no longer serve us or fit who we are becoming. Inside we regain our lost innocence. We discover that the fear holding us back is only an illusion-a self-imposed imprisonment as pathetic and vulnerable as the Wizard in Oz trapped behind his razzle-dazzle effects, his curtain of smoke and mirrors. Inside we tap into the source of our creative expression; we discover and deepen our innate intuitive sense. Inside we find the only thing that will really fulfil us: our selves.

There are many paths leading us to the inner world. Meditation, in its various forms, is one of the most effective. The main goal of meditation is to quiet the mind, so that we can temporarily halt its constant thinking, analytic and problem-solving functions. In meditation we strive to focus the mind in the present moment, rather than giving it free rein to obsess about the past or fantasize about the future. When we learn to free ourselves from the mind's constant schemings and preoccupations, the result is an abiding peace-an indescribable scene of relief-as well as flashes of insight, increased clarity of thinking and unanticipated solutions to our problems.

In some ways, breath work, which may be considered a from of meditation, could be though of as the autobahn to the inner world. It works very fast, and even new practitioners can attain high meditative states the first time out of the pit. Traditional Indians have been using their breath for healing and as a means of reaching altered states of consciousness for thousands of years. Besides their healing effects, conscious breathing techniques, such as rebirthing or holotropic breathing, can generate a profound sense of spiritual connectedness.

Chanting is another meditative practice that helps quiet the mind, potentially leading to deepened levels of inner peace and heightened states of being. Chanting works best when done for a substantive period of time (at least 30 minutes to an hour) and helps us to allow free expression to our innate feelings of devotion. For those who are physically inclined or who have short attention spans, meditative practices involving movement may be most effective; these include yoga, tai chi, qi gong, walking the labyrinth and ecstatic dancing.

Yet another way of going within is communing with nature. Solitary moments in beautiful natural settings can lead to profound inner peace and a deep spiritual connection. Our bodies quiet and relax as they become more attuned to the cycles of nature.Besides the many benefits gained from these and other spiritual practices-such as deepened insight, an expanded sense of self and a richer awareness of our oneness with the universe-a life that works better is the icing on the cake.

It is important to realize that a likely result of exploring the inner landscapes is a propulsion into action. Having faced our inner demons and dropped our old identities of woundedness and vicitimization, we reemerge transformed as the beings that we really are: empowered compassionate, loving, ready to make a difference in the world and fully able to embrace the totality of life. In this sense, coming out means emerging as who we are really are.

Having discovered who we are at a deeper level and experienced our connection to all life and to the divine, we often emerge as spiritual travellers, environmental activists, moral leaders, change catalysts, social reformers and justice workers. In a sense, going within and coming out are two sides of the same coin, the inhale and the exhale. For, as James Allen says in As we Think (new world library), "You cannot travel within and stand still without". Once we reestablish our rightful place in relationship to nature and the rest of the universe, everything else falls into place. We begin to treat the Earth, its resources and its other inhabitants with respect.

In terms of taking action, the single most important thing we can do in life is to go for our personal best. Tom Waddell, the equal gender activist, once said, "To do one's personal best is the ultimate of all human achievement", Whether we stretch toward personal excellence step by step or leap by leap, the move forward is the ultimate goal. In making our own unique contribution, we will find fulfillment.

It all begins with the journey within. Inner space: the final frontier. This is the ultimate adventure, the real test, the answer to our questions, the resolution of problems. Therein lies our happiness and our life's fulfillment. So, start your journey today.

Alaskan Safari

Welcome to Planet Endurance

If you liked the landscape you saw in the 2007 Horror Movie - 30 Days of Night, Alaska is the place to be. Nothing in Alaska is easy. The state is colossal. The distances from the towns to tourist attractions are time-consuming and grueling. The roads are hazardous and many are unpaved. Winters are resentfully cold, overcast and stretched, with only two hours of daylight. Summers are short and sometimes absent. Everything is bloody expensive. Travel is a bitch, and there are no major cosmopolitan cities to nourish with world-class restaurants, hotels, the arts or shopping after enduring nature's punishing elements. Alaska is the only state in America where residents are actually paid a stipend to live there. But where there is challenge there is also an adventure. And this is exclusively mine.

In Alaska you take a bush plane like an urban dweller would take a public bus or a call taxi. There are more small planes in Alaska per capita than any other American state. As everything is complicated, everything becomes a mini adventure. So why do Alaskans do it? What's the pay-off?

The answer I got, from pilots to taxi drivers to musicians to road maintenance workers, was pretty much the same - after facing the immense challenges of nature's elements each day, Alaskans feel they have conquered and triumphed by mere survival. Most of us feel we have a hard enough time getting through the exigencies of the day without a daily kick in the ass by Mother Nature but not sturdy Alaskans. There's also a very strong sense that this is a restricted nonconformist realm where citizens can't, won't or have no desire to live in the undesirable outside. (The word "Outside" is always capitalized up there.)

So what's in it for us Outsiders? Lots. Astounding panoramic beauty and superb wildlife, opportunities for both hard and soft adventures and a plethora of wintry sports. The Air is so pure you would want to bottle it and market it. And, most important, a true sense of mankind's place in nature. Alaska's sheer size, the cold silence and majesty is close to a true spiritual experience. You really get to know how minuscule you are in the scheme of it all, and the result is deeply overwhelming.

An extraordinary treat for me was to clamber an observation tower to shoot the 11:30 p.m. sunsets. Autumn color starts to scream in late August along with one Alaska's unique phenomena: the Aurora Borealis, the natural gods’ light show that defies any ordinary description. Denali, formerly Mt. McKinley, the tallest mountain in North America, reaching 20,320 feet above sea level, is in Alaska, but don't expect to get a great shot with a point-and shoot camera; between the cloud cover, rain and haze, the stately mountain appears only about 25 percent of the time.

When I went to investigate Fairbanks, the base town from which tourists depart for the Alaskan good stuff, I found that one afternoon was more than enough. Most of its old-time architecture had been destroyed for parking lots and McDonald type Fast-food restaurants. Its bland streets teem with infinite and gaudy stores that sell the kind of cheap souvenirs that people buy at consumer fairs, take home, store in a drawer and eventually can't sell at yard sales. Fairbanks has one shining jewel - its beautiful history museum. Skillfully and engagingly designed, lit and presented, the museum is captivating in how it brings alive the past while also maintaining the wild spirit of Alaskan life.

Quirky Coffee shops and rustic bars are many and excess in Fairbanks, people find a place to spin good music; the local military men, of whom there are many, hear about the music and move in; the local women follow; people move to another bar, taking the music...

If your endurance fantasies or your tastes for adrenaline are highly developed, try the Haul Road to Prudhoe Bay. This 414 mile gravel road (really Dalton Highway, developed to bring supplies to the source of the Alyeska Pipeline Service Company) stretches from Fairbanks to the Arctic Ocean. You'll be able to say you traveled an outwardly never-ending gravel road where food and gas stops are 115 miles apart. You'll be able to see the Brooks Mountain Range, the stately and pompous king of Dalton Highway and you'll be able to tell your friends you have been to the Arctic Circle.

However, there is a grueling 12-hour drudge of a road. And there are draconian lodgings at Prudhoe Bay, not to mention punishingly inedible "food", which is a truly supercilious statement to Outsiders- “We’re the only restaurant in town. Eat it or beat it".

Real Beauty? Yes. A surrealistic landscape of ice-cold tundra and absolute desolation, the pipeline buildings in the misty distance, living facilities resembling correctional mental institutions, signs of humanity practically unreal, the only place in the world where you must have a permit to see the ocean-the Arctic Ocean, no less-frankly, all that fascinated me. And it was well worth the price of ticket. For those who require a level of comfort, however, this leg of the tour will not work.

The trip back down the Dalton Highway was highlighted by a stop in Wiseman, a peaceful settlement of log houses (there seems to be an unwritten law that all log houses in Alaska must have moose antlers the state icon) above the front door). Wiseman was established in the American gold rush and in 1898 it was a big boomtown with $200,000 worth of gold panned there. It's reported that half the money was spend on booze and whores. And why not? What else was there to spend it on?

According to one very sexy local, the population swings "between 27 and 30 - depending who's pregnant!" This place is so right in its place, in its feeling of a small community separate in sensibility but unified in case of crisis. The people here are kind, hushed and much attached to nature and to their heritage. Wiseman is a place that contains a real sense of serenity-holding from the last century to this one with loveliness and style.

I next took a bush plane to Paradise Valley Lodge, where true aficionados come from the four points of the earth to pan for gold, not in a tourist attraction, but where gold can really be found. If you have a big hankering for roughing it - this is the place. The cabins are spaced very far apart so you have a real sense of privacy. Essential amenities are almost absent: one room cabin, outhouse, mosquitoes, etc. You stay a half mile from the lodge and must bring your own food or make previous arrangements with the manager. And think about it, when was the last time you checked into a lodge and they gave you a can of bear mace?

My final stop took me right to the Canadian border. The small town of Eagle has 130 people or something like that, a flower-laden landing strip, four museums four, and a general store-motel-gas station all-in-one. That's it. The museums are based on memorabilia from the remains of Fort Egbert, where the army first established law and order in a wild and woolly lawless territory run by power and guns. In the one cafe in town, four men, who look like they are from a movie casting call for grizzly 19th century trappers, meet every day to discuss in dramatic detail how they like to skin animals after they've trapped them. The former town mayor is a large sized woman with mighty arms and a tattoo on her neck who lives with her dainty friend in a log cabin with the only computer in town. The Princess cruise line buses passengers to Eagle from their ships docked downriver. They don't allow them overnight stays. Good. That's how Eagle maintains its purity.

If you are the brave and energetic kind, Alaska offers generous opportunity for real thrills, pristine wildlife and peaceful quietude. Once you take it in, you will never see your world the same. As I read it somewhere, "In life you are not really living. unless you take a chance". Take a chance. Go to Alaska.