Monday, March 20, 2006
Thailand-Vietnam 06
I’ve always considered myself to be an intrepid traveler—and certainly not a tourist. I’ve never been afraid to try anything – from extra spicy food to sleeping outdoors in the desert to whitewater rafting. For the first time in my life, on a recent trip to Thailand and Vietnam, I thought about things like safety, water quality and bird flu. This might have been because one of my travelling companions happened to be a PHD epidemiologist who carried hand disinfectant, malaria pills and a first-aid kit on her person.
But the real reason I practiced caution on this particular trip was because I am carrying my first child. (Don’t worry, this won’t become a baby blog.) So suddenly jumping into a swimming hole at the bottom of the waterfall just didn’t seem like a good idea, nor did hiking a mile up a wet, muck-covered mountain or partaking in too many Vietnamese delicacies.
Despite this new odd sensation of thinking about the health of someone else over my own desires, the trip was great. We rode elephants in Chaing Mai; we meandered down a river on a bamboo raft in Doi Inthanon National Park; and we kayaked in Halong Bay.
My original idea for taking this trip had a lot to do with wanting to help my mother in her time of grieving, given that her husband passed a year ago. I was hoping to show her an entirely new part of the world with unique spirituality and stunning nature. What ended up happening is that I learned from her. I learned the true meaning of strength and bravery.
Growing up I had watched my mom play sports, be active at her church and in her neighborhood and lean on a huge circle of friends. I pretty much expected her to be that way forever.
It wasn’t until this trip I realized that she’s in her 60s. But don’t tell her that because otherwise no one would know. I watched her weave her way down a treacherous path alone to the bottom of a waterfall, only to be followed by a Russian man her same age who turned back halfway, unable to make it. I watched her jump – with all her clothes on – into a murky swimming hole at the bottom of another waterfall with a 30-year-old Israeli woman. After seeing the two of them swimming around, a 30-ish Irish guy jumped in, only to slip and hit his head on a rock. She was my kayak partner in Halong Bay, where for two hours we rowed nonstop against three other groups – all men and women in their 30s – and we came out way ahead of the rest. I watched her laughing on the back of an elephant while others – young and old – wet their pants with fear every time their elephants veered off course.
And even though we didn’t learn very much about Buddhism apart from architectural lessons gleaned from tons of temple-hopping, we spent one emotional afternoon paying tribute to Raleigh at a temple called Tran Quoc. It just happened to be a very special day for Buddhists when they honor those who’ve passed.
All my adult life, I have been terrified to have a child, and observing my mom in this way was more than reassuring. I discovered an amazing source of inner and outer strength, fearlessness and curiousity, right there in my own genes.
Photos here: http://pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/edrachman7/album?.dir=a02b&.src=ph&store=&prodid=&.done=http%3a//pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/edrachman7/my_photos
But the real reason I practiced caution on this particular trip was because I am carrying my first child. (Don’t worry, this won’t become a baby blog.) So suddenly jumping into a swimming hole at the bottom of the waterfall just didn’t seem like a good idea, nor did hiking a mile up a wet, muck-covered mountain or partaking in too many Vietnamese delicacies.
Despite this new odd sensation of thinking about the health of someone else over my own desires, the trip was great. We rode elephants in Chaing Mai; we meandered down a river on a bamboo raft in Doi Inthanon National Park; and we kayaked in Halong Bay.
My original idea for taking this trip had a lot to do with wanting to help my mother in her time of grieving, given that her husband passed a year ago. I was hoping to show her an entirely new part of the world with unique spirituality and stunning nature. What ended up happening is that I learned from her. I learned the true meaning of strength and bravery.
Growing up I had watched my mom play sports, be active at her church and in her neighborhood and lean on a huge circle of friends. I pretty much expected her to be that way forever.
It wasn’t until this trip I realized that she’s in her 60s. But don’t tell her that because otherwise no one would know. I watched her weave her way down a treacherous path alone to the bottom of a waterfall, only to be followed by a Russian man her same age who turned back halfway, unable to make it. I watched her jump – with all her clothes on – into a murky swimming hole at the bottom of another waterfall with a 30-year-old Israeli woman. After seeing the two of them swimming around, a 30-ish Irish guy jumped in, only to slip and hit his head on a rock. She was my kayak partner in Halong Bay, where for two hours we rowed nonstop against three other groups – all men and women in their 30s – and we came out way ahead of the rest. I watched her laughing on the back of an elephant while others – young and old – wet their pants with fear every time their elephants veered off course.
And even though we didn’t learn very much about Buddhism apart from architectural lessons gleaned from tons of temple-hopping, we spent one emotional afternoon paying tribute to Raleigh at a temple called Tran Quoc. It just happened to be a very special day for Buddhists when they honor those who’ve passed.
All my adult life, I have been terrified to have a child, and observing my mom in this way was more than reassuring. I discovered an amazing source of inner and outer strength, fearlessness and curiousity, right there in my own genes.
Photos here: http://pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/edrachman7/album?.dir=a02b&.src=ph&store=&prodid=&.done=http%3a//pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/edrachman7/my_photos
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