coldrod

Buenas a tod@s!

Just got back from my first incursion into Asia andfelt I had to share some insights with you, as I used to do in the old good days…The trip started with a nearly 2 weeks stay in Kuala Lumpur, Malasya.

The whole idea of the trip came afterthe organisers of the conference we were gonna work for in Dhaka, Bangladesh, decided to change the venue due to the unstable political situation. We, ofcourse, celebrated the idea and planned a nice routearound SE Asia.Malaysian people were extremely nice and generous,just the perfect host. Some may disagree, but thesociety model of this country, even with its cast’s stratification and social problems, is something unique in the world. A melting pot of different religions that live in apparent harmony. Malays, Hindus, Budists and Muslims mixing and interacting with little prejudices. Something unconceivable inother places of the world. We enjoyed very warm daysin Kuala and a couple of days in Ipoh in some rural squatted area, where we spent the night sleeping insome slums. The hindi tribe that squatted the land 50 years ago is now being kicked away and many local activist are helping them to get at least a cheap house in the place where they have been living alltheir lives, 3rd generation now. They welcomed us with opened arms (amazing to see how sometimes you get somuch and without giving anything ) and we took part insome debates with the local activist that are helping them.

We also had the chance to spend some hours in somewhite sand beach, Blue Lagoon, not without a funny desperate atmosphere, we wanted the perfect beach….

I had an obvious fear that finally was confirmed: 2 weeks for travelling around Vietnam, Camboya and Thailand was in fact too short time. But the 7th ofJuly, after a non-sleep-byebye celebration night, Carla and me took a flight to Hanoi. We had planned to meet with 2 more friends up there,“camioneras” (truck drivers) coming from Finland. Butthey were not in Hanoi yet, so we visited the city and booked a cruise for Halong Bay, near Haiphong. From the first minute we could see how cheeky, funny and sweet Vitnamese are. Someone came into hour taxi when we were getting out from the airport and he told us that that hotel we just arrived to was full and hewould take us to another one his family owns nearby. All a big lie, but we found a room…

Then we discover how Lonely planet has created a whole network of fake hostels that have a different name but use the onethat the guide recommends in order to cheat and confuse the tourist, blind-devoted followers of Lonely Planet sect.We did not care and stayed with the rats and the fake hotel idea, which I finally loved. Hanoi offered agreat experience, with Confuzzio temples, Ho chi min museum and mausoleum and the craziest cross –the- road experience, when thousands of motorbikes do not brakewhen u cross. After that we went to Halong bay, the place where dragons and the Earth merge in one. Floating villages,amazing caves and kayaking to paradise beaches wouldmake the experience unforgettable. The people in the boat would help to make the trip a very funny one,with perfect company, Juan Carlos and Maria Jose, 2 Spanish teachers spending their 2 months holidays inthe region, among them. Back to Hanoi we went to the Puppets Theatre and watered our throats with the cheap street beer. That was the night we saw camioneras and decided we would meet in Saigon or Cambodia; they were some days behind and looked exhausted from some tough days in NorthernVietnam.

Next morning we flew to Saigon, now called Ho chi min city in honour to Uncle Ho, from where we wanted to start a tour around Mekong River. French legacy everywhere, Notre Dames and war museum would bring aweird feeling, the consequences of the Vietnam war can be seen in the people, in the streets, the napalm and orange gas among others now serve as propaganda tools,show the world what Americans did there and show how proud of the victory Vietnamese people are.

Quite a nation pride, museums show the arms stolen and destroyed while the war.

1 hour morning bus took us to the beginning of theMekong Tour. We visited and experienced how people live from the river, with farms, tourism, markets andrice noodles factories. Though a bit intrusive, theexperience was enriching, 23 million people make their leaving out this river in Vietnam, and the rice youate today most probably comes from this area. Snakes,crocodiles, frogs and some weird fruits gave theexotic touch. We spent 2 nights in 2 big cities in thearea, Cantho and Mytho. Rowing, steam or engine boatswould shows us the way in the channels, among crazyMonsoon rains and humble locals that see nowadaystourism as the way to look for a better future in anofficially socialist country. Far from reality, the ideological approach might be that, but in practice,capitalism is the everyday ruling religion.

Camboya would open its doors at the end of the tour, with a different face of the same river, calmer, less exploited and much poorer.Then came the greatest surprise, Cambodia. Phon Pheng, its capital, tops the list of most beautiful temples in the region. Once the centre of the Khmer empire,today Cambodia lives still under the sad threat ofstepping on a landmine. In the late 70s, the Khmer rouges also brought the country to a non-stop civilwar that only today seems to be considered as over, reconciliation is on the way, and people are full of hope to see a future in peace, something most Cambodians have never experienced. We made a nice team out of the Mekong tour and would stay together until the end of our stay in Cambodia. Fatty on the run, also know as Curt and Milena, anItalian nurse, would bring new faces and goof fun.After a visit to some Khmer rouge prisons and silver,gold and emerald palaces, we plunged into the Backpackers quarter of the lake side, a paradise for low budget travellers with the best atmosphere in townand better restaurants. Siem Reap was our next destination. Angkor Watt, the biggest worship building in the world lying next to it.

Early wake up in Phong Phen to take the fast boat to the floating village on the north of the biggest lake of SE Asia, Tonle Sap. Before that, attempt ofthe hostel to rip us off some dollars. Tuk tuk that breaks because they are not supposed to take 4 people, chaotic moment with Curt in the floor, me doing the monkey in the opposite side and Carla saying her “Ohmy god”, imitated by the locals when trying to help usto balance the machine, broken and ready to be thrownto the garbage. Degeneration into “Oh my Budha”! with American accent that would make us laugh for the restof the week. But we made it to the boat and had a lovely trip.

Siem Reap, gateway to Angkor, the magic and the mysticism. First sunset in the temples after seeingthe city flooded with a nice late afternoon Monsoon,from a Tuk tuk, of course, though kayaking would have been faster.3 more days in Siam Reap, exploring the temples,merging with the locals and enjoying the wonderful local Khmer food. Amazing to see how locals leave nextto the temples, make their living out of them and the tourists. Illusions and dreams of the kids that are everywhere, trained to make you cry, pure to make you smile, wise and curious to show you that the poor are also happy and with less.

A bicycle day by myself, enjoying my favourite temples, the trees, the lotus flowers and the sun promising to produce again that reflection in the Bayon´s temples faces, would leave the taste that only some places in the world can give,unique and magic. But eventually magic comes to an end.

After a flight to Bangkok, where I spent 3 days in Khao San Road, Thailand was the last station. Tuk tuking, pretending I wanted to buy gold to get free gasoline vouchers for the tuk tuk drivers and temple visiting took most ofmy time there. The kings birthday and the army incontrol gave me a very weird impression of this country, spicy and dirty but peculiar and very colourful. People were willing to help at all times,and they all wear yellow, in honour of the King, toshow how monarchies can still be popular and belovedin some corners of the world. Extreme stuff for a Spaniard, with our nice useless monarchs.

After 3 days, my month away was coming to and end. I took off for Tampere, where a cloudy and grey working friday gives me the inspiration needed to put the full stop to this text.

It was probably the most anxious and lively trip most os us ever did, seasoned with a horror movie landing in Stansted, a long coach trip through London´s gods and a Polisarian mate´s hope.
But that was just the beggining. Once in the fog of Nairobi´s airport, blinded in a morning we never expected, we started to realise of the new waves around us. No hurry, nothing seems to be hasty, time dances like it never did before, trying to catch it would be our task for the following days. New faces, new smiles, new day.

Mr Mutanga brings the hope of a cheap ride, that easily vanishes without prior warning. The price of being a tourist; despite the forum, we started learning quickly: Africa treats you as you treat her, with no mercy, but always with a smile, unlike we do.

Soon we gather our first group of volunteer interpreters with whom we shared the days in Kenya. 20$ each would compensate Mr. Mutanga´s disappearance, and the way to Kasarani started, towards the venue of the Forum, the Athletes Hostel next to it. And just started our journey, some long necks on the distance strike our attention. The jirafe sanctuary next to the airport was just the prelude of the ever lasting day we had just started. The drive through the slams would bring us back to Earth. It was for most of us the first contact with what we thought was poverty, graves shops and the handcraft-subsistence economy. The centre of Nairobi would follow, with little attraction for the western tourist. Local buses, “matatos” flood the roads of the capital. The chaos is everywhere, we wonder how we have not seen any accident yet. Time again does not seem to exist, some minutes later, maybe hours, we arrive to Kasarani.

The hostel is kind of funny, full of staff, it seems to be crowded, like ready for the great occassions. Fighting for a single room did not succeed. Luckily I found a nice coleague to share with. By this time I thought I started to to assimilate the surreal bee flying in the air. The mosquito net in the bed and the little lake in the toilet increased my excitment. I lost my cigarretes, had to find something, Carlos would help me.

Most of the newly arrived went to sleep. I could not keep my curiosity limited to that room and had to leave, even though it was 13 and we had slept a couple of hours the night before, and had had a trip of more than 24 hours, I had to go and see what was out there. The sun was punishing the poorly protected tourist. I had nothing to counterpart his power, soon I decided to look for some shade, as I knew I was soon going to burn. The sourroundings of the stadium increase my awareness of the location, we are out from the city, in another village, with no houses, shops or anything, just stadiums and buildings of the kind. Soon I am back in the hostel, ready for lunch with the rest. New, faces enlighten the day, a great team starts to assemble.

14:00 brings the fresh team to the main stadium. An unexpected but espectacular meeting locates our souls in the interpreting frecuency, that´s why we are here, we recalled. Our host, Thomas from the organising comittee, and Judith from Babels explain to the around 400 attendants what they think is relevant before we start interpreting in the Forum. Some kind of revolution seems to start when the topic of the money is discussed. Kenyans want to be paid daily, arguing they have to pay for their transport. The idea is quite simple, many want the money as fast as possible cause they life the day, without a savings account or anything of the kind. I personally start to think that we will get the per diem at the end, if that ever happened. In the meeting itself, the first robbery happens, nobody knows how, but a bag is stolen from a Spanish girl, with all kind of valuable documents inside.

The afternoon and evening go on in the Kasarani aera, planning something to do for the following day. Two options in the air, opening ceremony and wondering around Nairobi or trip to the holy hills on Ngong. The late negotiations with the local safari business people will finally divide us. Some would go to the march starting from the slams, the famous Kibera quarter, others booked a trip to the mentioned hills. Exhausted from a long journey and an intense day, I decide to go and have some sleep. Entering the mosquito net for the first time brings a big smile before the rest.

We had arranged with the driver to be picked up early, around eight, but it´s nealy ten when we are all together heading to Ngong. The Ngong Hills, at the southweast of Nairobi, are considered by the Masai as the hands of God graving the Earth.. Mithology and reality create here a wonderful link for the local tribes. During the journey we get to see more of Nairobi, the Wilson airport and the Kibera quarter among other places. We get out of the city and small villages and churches appear every now and then. Our driver tells us stories of the Masais while we try to catch with our cameras the everyday life in Africa. Once arrived to Ngong, and after having found the path to walk up the hills, we get out of the car. Three soldiers negotiate with our driver the price to be paid for the scort. The place is said to be full of bandits, and we hear that some days ago two american guys were robbed because they did not want to pay for the scort and their bandits were executed by those relaxed soldiers of the beggining of the path. One of them comes with us, together with our guide. We start walking towards the 2.700 meters of the highest of the last of the four hills. Our scort goes first, searching for bandits with his rifle. The sun strikes hardly, we did not expect such a long walk and soon we start to consider the idea of going back. Some cows line up for drinking from a brown water pond. Soon we have great views of Nairobi, on the other side the Rift Valley with a blurred late morning misterious landscape. We spot some Masai villages, our guide tells us more stories about the tribe and our soldier gathers the group picture. The idea of danger we had brought with us is gone, we fell safe with a machine gun next to us, hakuna matata. The owner tells us how his brother is being trained in Spain by a famous athletes trainer.

Tired and purified from the walk up hill we start descending towards the car. Once inside, we say goodbye to the locals, not without first buying nearly every necklace and bracelet that they bring with them. Some kids benefit from our spontaneous and volatile generosity, I am offered candies, but instead I give them those I had with me. We promise them we will back soon. Back in the car, we enjoy some calm, we are hungry and want to stop in a western-like toilet and eat something western-like looking. We stop once, a local bar, visit the toilet, but that is not the kind of place we want to eat in, the search contiues. Pizza restaurant receives the acceptance of nearly all the crew. We go for our second day of ugali, rice and some fried beef. The after lunch takes us back to town, stopping before in a armoured supermarket to buy some solar cream and some bottled water. Back in the hostel we listen to the stories about the march, the opening ceremony and the day the forum officially started. We share our trip with the rest of the interpreters. Tusker beers and more ugali, rice, beef and goat fill our plates for the dinner. The late gathering at night clarifies when and where we have to be for the seminars of the following morning. After two days, the first feeling of usefulness appears, the forum is about to start and we have to give our best. Burnt by the sun of the hills, I am obliged soon to go back to my mosquito net. Some holes on it, together with some bites in my damaged skin, make me doubt of the effectiveness of such invention.

The 7th edition of the world social forum has brought the movement to Africa. This fact has had a very significant impact on the attendance. Few participants seen around once the doors are open. The first morning just brings sad images of empty rooms, seminar organisers not turning out and many of our team members frustrated due to the precarious organisation arrangements. The interpreting system is missing in most of the rooms, the registration price for westerners is around 80$, local have to pay around 4$. Most of people in Kenya live with less than 2$ per day. The entrance fee creates the first barrier for the poor of Nairobi, those who supposedly are the one to benefit from the forum. Soon the People´s Parliament of Nairobi creates an alternative free event in the city centre, “the forum of the poor” as they named it. Talking about barriers, the chosen venue itself was another one. Kasarani, around 12km from the city centre was not accesible for all, traffic jams and even the few cents of the matato ticket kept many away from joining the event. The massive number of Swahili interpreters, more than 400, was a paradox considering the few rooms provided with interpreting equippment. The more than 50.000 radios available, stored somewhere in the stadium due to the fears of theft, made the whole thing a big joke, why on earth they paid for our tickets and accomodation and then silent us in such a stupid way?