Vacanze Romane

It's a little late, but that's better than never.

At Christmas last year, Anna's family gave me one of the most wonderful gifts: an Easter costume. So what? you might think, especially looking at the pictures. However, Easter is very serious business in Bormio. In fact, for Bormini it is probably the most popular holiday of the year. Why?

Easter or Pasquale in Bormio is a tradition that is deeply rooted in history. For every Easter for the past couple hundred years, the townsfolk of Bormio dress in their traditional costume and march through the city in a parade on Easter Sunday. Prior to Easter, each of the five districts of the town build a religiously-themed float, and during the Easter Sunday parade these are carried by the district lads. The parade culminates in the kuerć or town square, where the floats are judged by a committee.
The competition between the districts is fierce, and although a marginal sum is awarded to the winners, taking first place is a great honor, and the prestige is a greater reward than the money.

The people of Bormio take Pasquale very seriously, and to dress in the traditional costume you must be from Bormio. Indeed, even people from the neighboring villages who dress in the costume on Easter are scorned; don't even mention those from Milan who own second homes in Bormio and dress to participate in the parade.
Thus, receiving a costume for Easter was a great honor as, to a certain extent, it made me a real Bormino. On Easter morning I woke up, threaded up my boot coverings, and we went to town to participate in the parade.
My brother-in-law offered to let me carry the float he and his friends had made, and although it is a great honor I had to decline: I felt it to be fraudulent to carry a float I hadn't helped make. Seeing the floats at the beginning of the parade however, I saw this was a foolish train of thought. Each float must be made of wood and certain types of moss and flowers, and this means they are fucking heavy. Perhaps he asked me not so much as a courtesy as much as he and his lads needed an extra set of muscles. Their float looked particularly heavy, as it included a working fountain and a depiction of the last supper hand-carved from stone. Like I said, the pasquale is serious business.

Matteo's winning pasquale.

The third place pasquale.

For the record their float won, and this meant drinking (indeed, Teo did not come back until 5 in the morning the next day). Although religious in nature, Easter in Bormio is about celebrating among the young folk, and by 5 o'clock PM most of the parade-goers were three sheets to the wind.
I nonetheless was happy to finally be in Bormio for Easter, as it is something that only happens in Bormio, not across Italy, and as a result is a famous and popular event. I was honored to wear the costume and participate in the parade, although Fabio told me that if we come back for Pasquale next year I would have to carry the float with him and his lads (as he put it after viewing this picture on Facebook: You won't be smiling next year after you carry it!!)

Un vero bormino. 

Muh booties!

Since we only had about 10 days off, and because Anna's friend Sara has insisted over the years, after Easter we took the train to visit her in Rome for a few days. Before visiting, Rome was reluctantly on my bucket list, as Anna had always told me how many American tourists there are in Rome (something I like to steer clear of). But since visiting Rome is a sort of rite of passage for Italians (you have to go at least once in your life), I figured why the hell not. Plus it was good to see Sara.

Rome, as expected, was beautiful. We got lucky with the weather, and pretty much walked all over the city for the duration of our two-day stay so we were exhausted by the end. There were a lot of tourists, as one would expect, but they were from everywhere. In the end I had wished we had more time in Rome -- for eating!

St. Peter's

The Pantheon.

Piazza Navona. 

Best coffee ever. 

ශ්‍රී ලංකා

It is a yearly requirement at the school we teach at that during February/March teachers plan a special course (I cannot give its name here) that lasts three weeks and can be on campus or off campus. It is something unique to the school that has been going on for the last fifteen years, and while most teachers plan a travel trip, last year Anna and I chose to do an on campus course as it seemed easier to plan. Big mistake. For three weeks straight we were stuck with twenty students for eight hours a day with only a break for lunch. We swore that we would never do an on campus course again, so when the school year began in August we had already started thinking about where we would go for an off campus course. Over 15 years the school had traveled nearly everywhere, but asking around we found one destination to which there had never been a trip: Sri Lanka. The administration happily approved it, and after months of planning and budgeting on February 25th we were on our way to Colombo via Abu Dhabi with 17 students in tow. 

The reality of bringing 17 kids -- some of which were my own students -- to Sri Lanka didn't set in until getting on the plane. "Aren't you nervous?" family asked before we left. We weren't, mainly because we hadn't really though about it. Truth be told, we were just thinking about getting away from the snow and were looking forward to not having to teach for a few weeks. For myself, I was too preoccupied with gorging myself on curry. But on the plane, buckling my seatbelt I thought, "What the hell are we doing?"

Everything was fine though. We had a good group of kids, and for the duration of the trip we had our own bus, our own tour guide, and stayed in reputable hotels. Everything was arranged, which was a model of travelling Anna and I always steer well clear of, but with 17 teenagers you really don't have any other options. After some time however, we began to see the benefit of traveling with organized "group tours": it sure is nice having your own (air-conditioned) bus to get around, being able to check into hotels worry-free, and having your own tour guide to provide a treasure trove of information, answer questions, and sort out any problems you might have. The downside of all this is that, looking out the bus window and being ferried to different tourist traps, you don't get the "full experience". I suppose no matter which way you like to travel you can't have your cake and eat it too. 

We arrived in Colombo at 3:30 in the morning. The flights and connection in Abu Dhabi were a blur, and naturally having so may international students in the group (all but 3) we ran into a few problems at immigration, but nothing a bit of paperwork and money couldn't solve. Fun fact: when you go to Sri Lanka, immigration stamps your passport and gives you a free SIM card with 100 rupees on it. 

Our guide Vijendra ("You can call me VJ") was waiting for us, and he agreed to let us get some rest at the hotel, but that at 9 AM we had to "continue with the program". Fair enough, I thought, until we got to the hotel. Which was right next to a church. Which was having something of a revival meeting at 5 am and the parishioners were singing loud enough to shake down the walls of Babylon. Oh well. 

To be fair, the first day was easy. We took a walking tour of old Colombo with an enthusiastic local guide and historian to see the colonial Dutch and British architecture, followed by a cool lemon soda at the Grand Oriental Hotel (which I ended up wearing thanks to the shaky novice waiter; I didn't mind [thankful even!] because it was so damn hot, but despite trying to reassure the lad I worried for his job after seeing the menacing face of the manager, and felt guilty for the rest of the day). In the evening we drove to a well-to-do neighborhood on the outskirts for a lesson on Sri Lankan cooking in a local home, which the students enjoyed and was one of the best meals we had in Sri Lanka. 

I should make a note here about Sri Lanka itself. Most assume that Sri Lanka is simply an extension of India - dusty, crowded, gritty, noisy. Nothing could be farther from the truth. While I have never been to India, Anna has, and she was astonished by how much Sri Lanka was unlike India. Colombo, the largest city, was uncrowded, organized, and orderly. It reminded me of something between Thailand and Cambodia, actually -- the backstreets dusty and cramped, the main boulevards tidier than the streets of Bangkok. Touts were minimal and not persistent, and everyone was genuinely friendly and generous. Tipping culture remains strong there however, and as our guide succinctly put it, "The only thing free is a smile."

When we planned the trip, we had hoped to make it as un-touristy as possible. We wanted the trip to be educational above all and arranged a variety of cultural and spiritual activities to maximize the students' cultural experience. In other words, we wanted them to get sweaty, get their hands dirty, and look inwards. After a day in Colombo, we headed into the interior of the country to Dambulla. After a 7 hour bus trip (thanks to road works) we ascended the Golden Cave temple at sunset, one of the holiest sites in Buddhism at which grows the great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grand-sapling of the original bodhi tree under which the Buddha achieved enlightenment. The sunset was beautiful, the monkeys were ubiquitous, and the cave temple itself was amazing. 

Lanka. 

The great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grand-bodhi tree. 

As I said, because we had wanted an authentic cultural-spiritual experience, we arranged an alms-giving at the local temple. It was Sunday, and we all dressed in white and went to a local house to cook a meal which we would give to the monks at the temple. This was probably one of the best experiences of the trip, as we all had to prepare the meal using traditional means and cook it over the fire in the back yard. 

The ingredients. 

Preparing the fire. 

Monk laundry day.

Lunch. 

We were pleasantly surprised by how the students took to the task and cooperated with the family, and it was a wonderful experience for both us and the family. After cooking, we went to the temple to offer it to the monks, for which we received a blessing in return. Afterwards we returned to the family's house to eat lunch Sri Lankan-style: on the floor, with our hands. It was the most delicious meal we had eaten the entire trip, and the family was pleased to have us in their home.

In the afternoon, the guide took it upon himself to arrange a safari at the local Ritigala National Reserve. While this was not in the itinerary, cost extra money, and we were not asked, and I was chagrined at first, I have to confess it was a great idea and the kids loved it. We rented three jeeps and drove deep into the park where we saw a number of wild elephants. Apart from the elephants, one of the best memories was to see a jeep full of our Asian girls, normally quiet and buried in their phones, standing up in a jeep barreling down the highway at 50 miles an hour, wind in their hair, howling with laughter and joy.

Ritigala.

Look closely. 

The following day we planned to visit Sigiriya rock. This was an ancient Sri Lankan kingdom that lasted only 17 years but the temple/palace, carved out of a very large and unique rock, is a UNESCO world heritage site and a prominent tourist site. Touristic as it was, it was beautiful. It was also very, very hot the day we climbed up, and while the loose metal stairs bolted to the rock itself added to one's copious sweating, the breeze -- and the view -- on top was well worth it.

Sigiriya. 

From the top. 

After Dambulla, we made our way south to the city of Kandy. Kandy is probably the most visited city in Sri Lanka, as it is the largest pilgrimage destination for Buddhists around the world. This is thanks to the Temple of the Tooth Relic, a massive temple at Kandy's center that houses the tooth of the Buddha. As a result Kandy is peppered with monasteries, temples, and, as a fertile region for tea cultivation, numerous vestiges of British colonial rule. One evening we saw a culture show, which featured traditional dancing and fire walking (and yes, after the show I bribed the guy a hundred rupees and Anna, I, and a few students walked on hot coals -- which is not as dangerous as one might think; check that off the list!), and later we bought lotus flowers and went barefoot to the temple to give devotions. Every evening, thousands crowd into the temple to make devotions, at which time the door to the room which holds the coffin of the tooth relic is opened. It is not possible to see the tooth relic -- very few people have, but this daily ritual causes a mob scene, and we were crushed in the throng of people attempting to get a view of the coffin inside. Ironically, despite my agoraphobia, I felt it was a great experience, but the students weren't happy about getting crushed by the crowd.

The door to the tooth relic coffin.

Hall displaying illustrations of the life of the Buddha.

The same morning of the day we went to the Tooth Relic Temple, we visited a monastery where we were given a sermon on Buddhism by a monk. The kids, having the attention span of a brick, didn't seem to taken up by it, but I thought it was a good experience, and the monk was nice and pleased to have us there. 

A Buddhist sermon. 

Tourist trap shopping.

As an elephant lover, and because elephants are a mainstay of Sri Lankan culture, we had wanted the students to have an experience with elephants. The tour company arranged a visit to the local elephant orphanage, but after reading that the elephants at the orphanage were chained up and hooked by mahouts, we sought a more humane elephant experience, something much akin to the elephant project we had visited last year in Cambodia. We discovered the Elephant Freedom Project, not far from the elephant orphanage, which allowed its elephants to roam free and had work incorporated into its daily program, so we booked a day there.
It was a great experience. Not only was cooking lunch included, but the students were able to walk with the elephants around the village, clean their nighttime enclosure, feed them, and wash them at the end of the day with coconut shells. For many it was an amazing experience, and Anna, Kristine, and I had a lot of fun as well. Should you go to Sri Lanka and wish to experience elephants, please choose the humane option offered by the warm family who run the Elephant Freedom Project and spend the day with their two elephants, Sujee and Wastu.

Rice paddy lunch. Yes, those are my white legs. 

Waiting for a snack from the shopkeep. 

He loved the wash. 

The final leg of our trip took us from Kandy to Hikkaduwa on the southwest coast. While Hikkaduwa, as a beach town, was decidedly more touristic, it was beautiful and refreshing to be cooled by the sea breeze. While the ocean was very rough, it was as warm as bath water and refreshing to dive into after a day of sweating. In Hikkaduwa we took a boat ride through a mangrove estuary and learned how cinnamon is made, visited a sea turtle hatchery, and visited the colonial city of Galle. Of course, the best part was being able to swim in the ocean and wake up with the gentle sound of rolling waves. After the winter we'd had in New York, it was the pot at the end of our rainbow.

Chaperone tea party at the tea plantation. 

Anna and Kristine have a "fish massage".

The rock divers of Galle fort. 

Green turtle, just a few days old. 

Our guide VJ (with turtle).

Sunset from the hotel balcony. 

Back in Colombo before leaving, I was pleased to hear that Nuwan, a former colleague from London, was back home in Sri Lanka. We had to leave for the airport at midnight for a 4:30 AM flight, but we had just enough time to have a drink in the hotel bar (which felt like an English pub, rather appropriately). It was great to catch up with him after a few years, and was a great way to end the trip.

Nuwan, Anna, & I. 

On the 14 hour flight from Abu Dhabi to New York, the Hasidic Jewish couple's toddler in the row behind us kicked my seat and screamed for seven hours. But it was OK. At the end of the day we went to Sri Lanka without paying a dime. And we had an amazing time.

"Reppin' the set."

The Asian Honeymoon: Part II

We had wanted to stay a few days in Siem Reap; not to spend another day at Angkor, obviously, but perhaps visit the floating villages of Tonle Sap or take a class in soapstone carving. However, as the next leg of our trip was in Mondulkiri, across the country, and the hotel reception wincingly told us that it was not possible to reach Sen Monorem in one day (after having to show her on a map where it was), we had to cut short our time in Siem Reap. In the end, we decided to take a bus to Kampong Cham, stay a night there, and then continue to Sen Monorem the next day.

On the way to Kampong Cham, we saw that the hotel receptionist had been right. Maps can be so deceiving, can't they? What was supposed to be the main highway between Siem Reap and Phnom Penh had been reduced to a dirt track, and even though the bus driver drove like a madman, overtaking dump trucks and minivans, it still took about 6 hours to get to Kampong Cham. By the time we had arrived, all of the ticket agents were closed, except one. The woman working there saw the two foreigners staring at the sign in front of her store and leapt out of her hammock: “Bus! Bus! Phnom Penh! Siem Reap!”

“No, Sen Monorem,” we said.

“OK, tomorrow morning you here 7.30. Ten dollars, ten dollars!” We paid her, probably unwisely, and then set out to look for a hotel.

Kampong Cham is a small, dusty, ugly city on the Western bank of the muddy Mekong river. All of its hotels are located on the riverfront or within a block of it, and we checked into the nicest hotel in town – the room was gigantic, had air conditioning, hot water, and satellite TV, and only set us back about $20. Indeed, we spent more money on food in the night we were in Kampong Cham than we did for the hotel.

The next day we were at the ticket office bright and early. We waited for half an hour, but no bus arrived. After about 40 minutes, the woman from the day before saw us and began gesticulating toward the road: “Sen Monorem!” We turned the corner and saw, to our chagrin, a minibus. Great.

Minibuses are a popular form of transport in Cambodia, mainly because they are inexpensive. However, this also means that the driver will squeeze enough people and stuff in the minibus as humanly possible. So twenty minutes later there we were, in a 12-person van stuffed with 24 people, a scooter, and enormous sacks of god-knows-what on our way to Sen Monorem.

What should have been a four hour trip took over six hours, mainly because the driver kept stopping to pick up and drop off people and various bits of cargo – sacks of fruit, automobile parts, cookware – in every village along the way. Cambodians also eat a lot (they prefer to snack throughout the day), so there were also frequent stops for cigarette breaks and for passengers to by rice and eggs to snack on.

The worst part of the journey, however, was when we stopped, about halfway, at a durian farm. 

Let me make an aside here about the durian. The durian itself is a green fruit about the size and shape of a rugby ball and is covered with a spiky skin. Although it is adored by Southeast Asian people, it is strictly forbidden to bring into hotels, public transport, and especially airplanes. This is due to the rancid stench it emits, which is something akin to moldy gym socks and festering sewage mixed together. For the unaccustomed, the stench in unbearable; at one point in a market in Bangkok I was so overwhelmed by the odor that I nearly vomited. The odor is one that remains on clothing and surfaces, so that is why it is banned in most places (indeed, the information booklet at the hotel in Kampong Cham proclaimed, “Fruits emitting a strong odor are not permitted. Especially, the durian is strictly prohibited.”) This is the reason we were not happy to see the driver stop at a durian farm (apparently at that point we were in durian country) and everyone pile out to purchase a hefty sack of durians. To put it mildly, our journey to Sen Monorem was absolutely charming. 

Durians (left) and other fruit

Located in the mountainous region of Mondulkiri, Sen Monorem was much cooler than Siem Reap and Kampong Cham. Indeed it was in the middle of nowhere, but we had been looking forward to coming here for a while because of the elephants. Our research in months prior had revealed that Sen Monorem was home to several elephant rescue sanctuaries where you could go and spend the day with elephants in the jungle, feeding them and bathing them. Of course we didn't want to ride the elephants, as such elephants are often underfed and mistreated, so the project appealed to us and we made a reservation.

The next day we were in town early for the guide to bring us to the project's jungle bungalow. The guide explained that although the project was new and only had two elephants, it was the only one in town owned by Cambodians and making an effort to educate the local indigenous people, the Bunong, about the importance of forest preservation. We spent the day feeding, washing, and watching the elephants in the jungle while the guide explained about the elephants, the local people, jungle ecology, and environmental destruction in Cambodia. It was very educational, and it was altogether a wonderful experience to see the elephants in their native environment and not behind bars at a zoo or circus. Despite falling in the mud several times and Anna being bit by a leech, we had a wonderful time. 

Awesome guide.

We took it easy the next day in Sen Monorem. We hired a driver to take us to a waterfall outside of town (the largest waterfall in Cambodia) that would have been more impressive had the bottom not been closed off due to it being the rainy season. Back in town, we shopped a bit, had dinner, and bought a bus ticket to Sihanoukville. The next day, we left early on a spacious, air-conditioned van (what they called a “VIP Bus”) for the Southern coast.

From the inception of our honeymoon, the highlight of our trip was supposed to be Koh Rong Samloem, a somewhat deserted tropical island about 15 miles off the coast of the southern town of Sihanoukville. Apparently the island was akin to Koh Chang and Koh Samet in Thailand 20 years ago, before they became commercialized: deserted, long white sand beaches, and crystal-clear turquoise water. We looked at pictures online and rented a beachfront bungalow, and became quite excited about spending a few days as castaways on a tropical island.

Although it was the rainy season during our trip, we had been lucky with the weather. Occasionally it would rain for an hour or two in the afternoon and at night, but otherwise the weather had been clear and not interfered with our plans. It wasn't until we arrived in Sihanoukville that we understood what “rainy season” meant. It rained the entire first day in Sihanoukville. As in, it rained as if we were in the middle of a monsoon. The wind kicked up as well, and the ocean became rough. Bored with hotel TV and playing cards, we went to the bungalow office to inquire about the weather and whether or not we would be able to leave the next day.

“Yes, of course. Be here at 11 tomorrow. The boat may be a bit late, but it will go tomorrow.”

Strict laws in Sihanoukville.

It was raining even harder the next day when we arrived at the office with our bags to catch the boat. The sky turned dark gray and the wind lashed the sheets of rain against the tin roof. After waiting for an hour, we were ushered into a tuk-tuk along with a few boxes of rum and then driven to the port. At the single concrete pier, waves thrashed boats against the wooden pilings. I looked hopefully at a sleek aluminum catamaran at the end of the pier – surely in rough seas like this we would be taking that catamaran. My hopes shrunk, however, when a deckhand began to wave us over to a small, brightly painted wooden fishing boat. Oh, God. I waved Anna over from the tuk-tuk, and standing on the pier examining the rickety boat being tossed about by the waves, I saw her heart sink.

“This is why we came! If we don't go, we're going back to Bangkok tomorrow,” I said. Reluctantly, she climbed shakily down the single wooden plank and tucked herself behind the wheelhouse; I did the same.

With us, our bags, a couple barefoot navy soldiers, and a few boxes of food and booze for the bungalow bar, the captain began to chug out of the harbor. The seas was rough – the swells were at least 8-10 feet, and although Anna was frightened, I wasn't too worried; the captain seemed to know what he was doing – he took on the swells at the right angle and throttled it slow. Nonetheless, it was still a choppy and uncomfortable ride. After about an hour and a half, the island came into view.

“Look amore, there's the island. We're close, it won't be too long now. We're OK,” I tried to reassure Anna.

But I spoke too soon. Past the island, the horizon was black, and soon the island disappeared into darkness. Within minutes, the boat was enveloped in the darkness of a wicked storm, with horizontal rain lashing the boat and fierce winds kicking up the swells even higher. Anna began to cry and move her lips in prayer. She was terrified. Until this point I had trusted the captain and been reassured that we had had two navy sailors on board with us, but once in the midst of that beastly maelstrom – and seeing the deckhand's eyes widen a bit – I became scared. All I could do though, was hold onto the gunwale for dear life, hold Anna's hand and wait it out as the boat rolled wildly amongst the waves.

After about 20 minutes, the storm passed, and after another hour we were safe inside a lagoon with a little dinghy paddling out to get us. The boat ride had exhausted us, and once on the island we were dismayed that we would have to walk 20 minutes across the island through the jungle to get to the bungalows. We had made it though, and arriving at the bar I swiftly ordered a double whiskey before going to the bungalow and collapsing in the hammock.

Although we had survived the nastiest bit of the weather that day, the rain and wind continued. The surf in front of our beachfront bungalow was ferocious, the wind blew through the floorboards, and the gray sky continued to rain. Welcome to paradise.

The next day the weather remained overcast. We went for a long walk through the jungle and along the lagoon on the other side of the island, seeing wild macaques and toucans along the way, and it wasn't until near dusk that the wind died, the surfed calmed to a gentle ebb, and the sun came out. We made the most of it and went for a long swim afterwards, over dinner, we decided to cut our island holiday short and leave the next day, as we had no way of knowing how the weather would be.

Last day.

Of course the day we left was the most beautiful. The sun shone bright and the ocean was dead calm as we steamed away from the island. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, I thought. Back in Sihanoukville, we took it easy. We did some shopping at the market, had a massage, and finished the day with a beer on the beach. Even though the weather had been shitty, I sipped my beer and wished we had had a few more days.

The next day we spent 12 hours on two different buses back to Bangkok. In the end we had wanted to stay another day, but opted to get back to Bangkok to have a shopping day and a day to spend with Martyn. After buying a ton of souvenirs and drinking a final Chang at the Skyline Jazz Bar, it was time to go. We were ready, but there was so much that we didn't have time for. In the end, it's always like that though: too much time, but never enough time.