Naked Russians in the Pool – in Beijing

DISCLAIMER – There are no Naked Russians in this post. Due  to a previous “Naked Russians in the Pool” post getting the most traffic, I have decided to add “Naked Russians” to the title of every post.

Beijing – Old and New

The Forbidden City was welcoming and open to all. Tiananmen Square was actually a big rectangle and  The Great Wall was…well, great! To top it off, I stayed at a place called the Happy Dragon Hostel. Welcome to Beijing!

It had been a childhood dream to visit the Great Wall. Ever since I heard the urban myth that it is the only man-made structure visible from space, it seemed somehow magical. I went to Beijing focused on the Great Wall, but I was totally blown-away by the energy and contrasts I found in the city.

If ever there was a race to mix the old and the new, Beijing has to be a forerunner. The 2008 Olympics rocketed the modern image ahead at break-neck speed, but everyday people living in everyday streets seem to have put the brakes on with a stubborn sense of everyday life.

I love to walk around any town or city I visit. I walk and walk with an attitude of, “How lost could I actually get?” Quite lost, as it turns out, when one is wandering the myriad of twisting winding streets in Beijing neighborhoods that stretch and meld together. When faced with the reality that the few people able to speak one or two words of English were linguistic magicians compared to my Chinese ability – my solution – keep walking! “So why doesn’t he take out the hostel card with the carefully  printed Chinese directions on it, hand it to a slightly this side of sane taxi driver and take one of those terrifying yet effective cab rides home?”  I did say I loved walking but didn’t claim I was clever enough to always remember that little square piece of paper….

So walk it is.  Travel is surreal simply by virtue of getting on an airplane and being in another land in a matter of hours. The buzz of surreal experiences often leads me off the beaten path and I never tire of it. What really struck me while wandering the small streets of the neighborhoods is how people were living like people anywhere else – but with a light dusting and feeling of times gone by. With a few steps and a relaxed neglect of where I was going, I was transported from new to old. In Beijing, a lot of life is outside in the streets to escape the confines of crowed living spaces. People actually do tai chi in the parks, exercise along the streets using antiquated public equipment and and literally live on the sidewalks and in the streets. Old men casually sit out in their undershirts, women cluster to chat and laugh with kids screaming and running around. Not only the aroma, but the sights and sounds of food fill the air. The visual overload and smells blend together in a cacophony that is vibrant and real. As I aimlessly turned here and there, once again the somewhat awkward feeling of being a stranger in a stranger land started to creep in. Then I realized that my interruption of daily life was being regarded with slight smiles and bemused eyes and I felt the delicious high of having another very cool experience.

The other attitude I often subscribe to is, “There’s still plenty of light and surely I will figure this out before dark.” Wait a minute…didn’t I pass that very same shop a while back? Yes, could be, but now that IT’S DUSK, the sign is lit up! Uh…that’s the same little kid that pointed and screamed “Guailo” at me at least a half an hour ago….

“Excuse me sir, may I help you?” This simple English sentence ripped me back to reality. My new friend whipped out his cell phone, called a taxi and I was on my way – zipping through one of the financial districts with towering skyscrapers casting a shadow on the gleaming new high-speed train heading out to the airport. In a blink – transported back from old to new – the enigma that is Beijing.

Shoganai…

I lived  in Japan for a total of  about fifteen years. After travelling for 4 months and then returning for a visit, I felt a bit of nostalgia. The feeling didn’t last.  I was also feeling a bit bad because I was having very negative thoughts about Japan and the culture. The feeling didn’t last – but the thoughts did. Maybe I was a bit cranky because it was sweltering hot and Japan wasn’t really where I would like to have been at the moment? Nope, that wasn’t  it either. Oh well…..shoganai! That’s it! Shoganai was my problem. Shoganai is Japanese, loosely translated as, “There’s nothing that can be done about it.”

When I first went  to Japan many years ago, I was obsessively concerned with having an open mind, trying everything, and most importantly, not being judgemental.  I returned to Canada after four years; to work primarily as a social studies teacher. I felt so smug. I had lived and breathed another culture – not as a tourist –  but as an expatriate. I felt infinitely qualified to help my students navigate the complexities of living in a world where the lines had truly become blurred. The global community was blossoming.  Everyone seemed fascinated or at least curious about Japan. Looking back, I think it was my lack of permanence in Japan that allowed me to not be judgemental. It was an amazing first experience of living abroad and it was easy to look back on the time with rose-coloured glasses.

Round two. After some years teaching in Canada I couldn’t wait to get back to Japan. I had fond memories and friends still remained. My second time in Japan was like a second marriage. Fresh and new in so many ways but at the same time a certain familiarity creeping in.  More set in my ways? Perhaps a little less flexible or accommodating? Maybe, but I think I was more comfortable with myself as a person and as a teacher. My mind was still open, but at the same time I felt I had the right to not only have an opinion but (gasp) actually decide that there were certain things about Japan and the way of thinking that I not only disagreed with, but didn’t like. Far from thinking that I was superior or that “we Canadians” did things in a better way, I simply felt that on a human level I didn’t always see things the same way as many Japanese people.

I say “many Japanese people” and perhaps this is the crux of my problem?  While most of us often over-generalize, I find  that most of the things I have ever read about the group dynamics of Japan, the conformity, and the extreme aversion to going against the grain, are essentially true. I’m not Japanese, and I will never be Japanese. I’m perfectly happy being Canadian. Living in Japan accentuated the fact that I needed to be myself.

My true passion is teaching. I seem to be full of clichés these days but it really is the one thing I feel like I was born to do. I had to be true to myself in this regard. I look back on some of my professional accomplishments in Japan and I can give myself a pass. Following a period of assessing the system, I set out with partners to create a new improved way to teach children. I served as the ultimate punching bag, playmate and ambassador to all things foreign for thousands of kindergarten and elementary school kids. I was satisfied and I believed I was making a difference.

At the same time on a personal level, I “taught” ice and inline hockey. I absolutely deplore the old-style Japanese method of training for sports and I particularly detest how most children are introduced to and coached in sports in Japan. My solution was to spend years as an assistant hockey coach subtly showing that there indeed was another way. When this reached a frustration level that became unbearable, I formed my own hockey club and became the  “Kantoku” – Head Coach of my own children’s team. I had an amazing experience and was able to push on because I felt that I was being true to myself and had 100% confidence in my style of coaching – though vastly different from any other Japanese team.

I am very proud of what I accomplished in teaching and on a personal level with my hockey kids over the years. I honestly believe I gave many Japanese children a glimpse of something different and opened their minds to possibilities that Japanese culture and society don’t often advocate nor make allowances for. Creativity, individuality, working hard while also having fun, and caring about people who don’t have an immediate connection nor relationship to them, to name a few.

The sense that all things need to be the same and that “nothing can be done about it” when they are out of line are what permeate Japanese culture. If one asks “why”, one is often answered with, “that’s the way everyone does it”. Further, asking why everyone does something that way, the answer often is, “that’s the way it’s always been done”. Arguing in frustration that just because it’s always been that way doesn’t necessarily make it good nor right is often met with a “shoganai”.

As my life volunteering abroad in Bali became more and more important to me, so did my thoughts and feelings that individual people can and do make a difference.  I struggled to find support within my circle of Japanese friends, associates and community. Of course there are generous and compassionate souls in Japan. However, I think Japan is not a very giving nation in terms of individuals. Unless there is a direct relationship, the concept of giving and helping others doesn’t conform to the sense of closed group. It became more and more obvious to me that I don’t mesh so well with Japan. What? Did I just waste fifteen years of my life? Far from it. Japan gave me the opportunity to define myself albeit in contrast to what it often had to offer, but nevertheless part of life is understanding not only similarities but differences.

Round three in Japan this past summer? Two things were clear to me. One was that I had definitely made the right decision to leave Japan for something else. The second was that being away for several months didn’t change my perception of Japan. The things I love and the things I loathe about it remained the same. Time to move on. Shoganai…

Oh Canada!

Picture an hour long walk along a windswept sandy beach with not another soul in sight. Imagine looking down from an airplane window on spectacular snow-capped mountains stretching off into the horizon. How about crystal clear water of blue and green hues? Another Asia blog? Nope, simply a few of the many sights during my weeks in Canada. 

Walking down a beach on a quiet lake in Saskatchewan, is calm and peaceful, much like my recent walk on an empty beach in Bali. One cold and windy, the other hot and breezy – the feeling much the same. Gazing at the Rocky Mountains on a cloudless flight from Calgary to Kelowna in Western Canada was absolutely spectacular. Gazing at the jagged mountains of Lao on a cloudless boat ride down the Mekong River was equally stunning. In both cases, I recall thinking how lucky I was to have the experience. Can there be a more beautiful palette than the greens and blues that shimmer across Kalamalka lake in the Okanagan Valley ? Maybe the ethereal beauty of a waterfall and pools outside Luang Prabang in Northern Lao? As I travel along explaining that I was born and raised in Canada every single person says something good about it. They’ve been and loved it. They’ve met friendly Canadians on the road (Like me…) Or, Canada is on their wish list for travel. Canada really is spectacular. Everyone in the world seems to agree. Everyone except maybe Canadians?

While travelling, people always want to know the reasons why I would want to live anywhere other than Canada? Human nature has created the cliche that “the grass is always greener on the other side….” If anything, being a long-term expat living outside of Canada has taught me that the grass isn’t more green nor less green on the other side, but rather that it is a different shade.

On a basic level Canadians are nice people. Generally one can get a friendly greeting or a smile as one moseys along. Funny, that recent comments I’ve heard about how unfriendly or rude Canadians are seemed to only come from fellow Canadians. The comments are usually tied to rushing here or there or demanding this or that service. The fact that people get swept along a fast-paced lifestyle without taking the time to appreciate life passing by hasn’t been lost on me. It is the biggest difference I see between my life in Bali and life in Canada. I can’t count the number of times in the past weeks that I have either told people to relax or at least wanted to tell them to chill out. Whining and complaining seems to be the norm. People  get tied in a knot over mundane or trivial events or inconveniences. Herein lies the heart of it, maybe?

My observation is that people in third world or developing nations like Bali, tend to be too busy trying to live to worry too much about which line is longer at the check-out or how nasty this or that driver might be. In Bali, busy living means feeding and sheltering ones family and tring to educate children. As North Americans we generally consider these basic needs as a given and our concept of living tends to be material consumption and accumulation. A wise old man on a beach in Bali once told me that in his view local people “work to live” and Western people “work to play”. His version of needs versus wants. Think about it. Save for that trip to Hawaii, the newest electronic gadget, that second or third computer or TV. A stylish new car, maybe?  Rush here, rush there, buy buy buy. Yes, times are hard and our Canadian social networks have cracks that people fall through. Not everyone in Canada is living the high life. Still, at least we have a social system - flawed or not. People need to step back, assess and decide what things are most important to them. Truthfully, it isn’t where someone lives but how they choose to live.

If the grass is of different shades, it’s up to us to decide where we want to sit. Me? I prefer the simple, uncluttered spot where I can have peace and enjoy the view.

Doing what I do…

I am sitting in Canada – in a tiny village called Mistusinne, on Lake Diefenbaker Saskatchewan, to be precise. Leaving my place in Japan after more than ten years to travel and eventually settle in Bali has been an adventure. Finally visiting Angkor Wat, volunteering at Savong School and orphanage in Cambodia and mountain biking and trekking in Northern Lao have been adventures of the grandest kind. Lots of things have surprised and challenged me – which is one of the greatest reasons to wander the planet. Weirdly, one of the biggest challenges has been EXPLAINING myself. What the hell are you doing? What do you mean you’re retired? How old are you, anyway? You mean volunteer like in no money? By the way, where exactly do you live? What do you mean you have no address? The questions go on and on…

After stumbling through various attempts to explain myself, I needed to come  up with a strategy. Though, truthfully, I permanently left my job and life in Japan, I can’t consider myself  ”retired”  in a stereotypical sense. The first reaction I got when I used the “R” word was that a) I robbed a bank or won the lottery or b) I’m insane and will possibly be on someone’s doorstep a penniless pauper in the not-too-distant future. Why is it that nobody considered “c”?

Option “c” is that I am choosing a life of simplicity and helping others over a life of earning and consuming.  I hear a lot of  “good for you” and “what a good person you are”. Sometimes I can feel a weird resentment or a kind of guilt that the person may feel for not living up to my fine example. I say that tongue-in-cheek because I don’t consider myself  special, I don’t judge others  and how they choose to live and the last thing I want is for someone to have those feelings. I just do what I do. I don’t think about it anymore. For me NOT to be doing what I’m doing would feel strange. My family and friends who know me well understand or at the least are accepting of my choices.

I feel so fortunate. Occasionally, I say “Shhh” to myself as if I have this amazing secret and if more people knew it, then maybe everybody would be doing what I’m doing. It’s always a foolish moment and I laugh at myself. People are continually telling me that I’m “lucky”. This, I don’t understand? I feel that anyone could be doing what I’m doing or some variation of it. So what the hell am I doing? Back to THAT question…

I am following my dreams and my heart. Sounds cliché, but it’s true. My mother passed away at the early age of 67. I calculated.  67 divided by 3 is about 22 or 23. If I am 46, I may be two thirds done my time on earth. Ok, I may live to be 90, but it struck me that I need to be following my true path for this last third. It seems so logical and simple to me. Most of us spend the first third of our lives taking. We are selfish creatures as children and young adults tend to be.  The second third of our lives we often establish ourselves and accumulate, giving back bits and pieces as we are able or inclined. Since many people have kids, they become the givers to their kid’s taking and the mini-cycle is continued. I guess it is the widening of this circle that makes sense to me. Naturally, we have to take care of ourselves first. This is a basic human instinct. The extension of our circle encompasses our family. This is also natural. The circles that come next often have blurred lines. Friends, neighborhood, community, city or town, country, and globe. How far we extend our circles of helping others is a personal choice. For me it isn’t a religious or spiritual consideration. For me it is philosophical. I see no difference  between any child and family, regardless of  nationality, nor place in the world. A child is a child and a mother or  family in need is exactly that – someone who is in need.

Of course I advocate helping family and immediate community.  Anyone can start with their own family and community and make a  real differences in the lives of people around them. Start there. My motto is “It’s all good!”  Most think of monetary help when they think of giving. True, funding is critical for many organizations. unfortunately,  money is also the source of much complaint and corruption. It pains me when people use this as an excuse to not be givers. The brush is wide and many groups are painted the ugly color of corruption because of the unscrupulous. The task is to find a place where there is enough trust to give freely. There are many many fine people and organizations. Something I realised over time was that giving money is only one means of giving and it isn’t even the most important, at times. People have much to give – time, energy, spirit, compassion, and skills to name a few. For example, I was a volunteer hockey coach in Japan. Japan, one of the richest countries in the world. These kids and families didn’t need my money, but they were my community and they needed my time and energy and skills. I’d like to think that what I gave helped them to be better human beings and they will in turn help others. I believe some of these things are in everyone. No? Ok, I can still use the cash. Seriously, if you trust an individual or organization to be a conduit for your energy or donations, it is so easy to give with abandon and pleasure. A positive cycle is undeniable.

In answer to the question, “What are you doing?” , I guess the easiest and truest answer might be that I’m doing what I do…

Lovin’ Lao

   Travelling in Lao(s) was like eating a honey glazed doughnut - digestion required, briefly feeling sated, and then  thinking I could eat a dozen and never be full. Considering my mom’s advice to chew my food slowly and not gobble it, I wanted to meander along in Lao, taking it as it came and really enjoy the time there. It was a case of each day and experience getting better and better. I was “lovin’ Lao”.

The key to really loving this part of my trip was my determination to enjoy and drink in the current experience I was having. While in Cambodia, a well-intentioned friend emailed and asked me to be thinking about certain plans and things that will be on my plate months from now. I hate to quote John Lennon, but “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” I have been guilty of this many times in the past. Busy thinking of things I am going to be doing and making plans for weeks and months and even years in advance. I failed to truly live and appreciate the moment and time I was in.  No more! Bring on Lao!

My first decision was to take a slow boat up the Mekong River. How cool does that sound? Possibly only cool if you have heard of the Mekong or have encountered it in books or novels throughout your life, as I seemed to have. For me it had that romantic adventure feel to it and I was determined to make it happen. Being in Lao during the hot dry season has the up-side of being  a low season for tourists and travellers, but the down-side was that boats or other forms of transport only go when there are enough people to make it worth their while. I was stuck in Luang Prabang waiting for a boat. Luang Prabang isn’t a bad place to be stuck. Besides a funky sounding name, it has amazing temples and a small-town feel that is easily accessible by pink Hello Kitty bicycles rented for about two dollars a day.

On the second day of waiting, I found myself down at the boat docks with Fiona from Australia and Tim from Denmark. Luck! A boat that had brought a load upriver was empty and heading home, so we could hop on despite only being three people. “Good for me, good for you!”, the classic bargaining phrase finally took on some real meaning! The debate that each of us had with other travellers over the days before our journey was about taking the slow boat that was 7 or 8 hours and an “expensive” 12 or 15 dollars versus taking the faster, cheaper mini van to the same destination. Hmmm… Let’s see…. Puttering along the river, stretched out in a small shaded boat watching the river life, villages and other boats glide by, OR bumping along a torturous road, cramped in with a full load, unable to see any passing scenery? We three obviously voted for the slow boat and it was magic. Fiona was on a solo 6 week journey through Lao and Vietnam. It was so refreshing to meet and travel with someone who shares my wonder of travel. We could be total geeks about how beautiful it was and what an amazing experience we were having because we were both geeks. Tim smiled and humoured us.

Up the Mekong and then into a tributary called the Nam Ou. Hours later after a stop to swim with some village kids, we arrived at Nong Khiaw. The first thing that struck me was that nobody was waiting at the dock to offer us a room. In fact, we had to walk up a hill and wander back across the river on a big stone bridge, looking for a place to stay. We discovered there were only a handful of  places to stay, a few small restaurants on our side of the bridge and no souvenir shops.  I knew I was going to like this place.  Unbelievably,  nobody tried to sell me anything in all the days I spent in town. It had to be an Asian travel first.

I was up every misty morning and felt like I was the only foreigner in the world. In fact, I was up before most of the locals and took walks onto the bridge to watch the town slowly come to life. The Mekong and its tributaries like the Nam Ou are powerful forces in physical terms, but watching the people live their lives intertwined with the river makes one realize just how powerful and important the rivers truly are. Aside from the mist creating an ethereal vision, from my perch on the bridge, it was like I was floating above watching everyday Lao people in their everyday river life.  Life on the river is work and play and personal chores such as washing clothes and bathing with most things being done as a family and as a community. In this magical place, life went on despite me, not because of me. Many places are so dependent on tourism that life is often dictated by the tourist dollars. Watching people from a distance still seemed a bit voyeuristic, but I felt sure I wasn’t intruding as they seldom seemed to sense my presence.  When I was noticed I was tolerated with  friendly smiles and perhaps an equal amount of brief curiosity. They truly didn’t seem to care about me – perfect! I loved it!

As the days slid into the late afternoon, the kids who were all on school breaks would make their way to the river to fish and swim and play.  Shedding their clothes to swim in underwear or naked seemed like a statement of  freedom and pure joy. It brought back strong memories of my childhood at the lake. In Summer we lived at the lake, playing and swimming without a care in the world. The kids in Lao were on endless childhood days of abandon. Maybe this is why I felt connected to Lao? It was a  reminder of my childhood days being played out in this river place where kids were free and happy. Watching life on the river made me feel free and happy. Maybe that’s it? That’s why I was lovin’ Lao…

Cambodian Highlights

Visiting Cambodia was an amazing experience, though also one of striking contrasts. I spent about two weeks around Sim Reap and literally in the shadows of Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat, often referred to as the “Eighth Wonder of the World” was one of those things I had on my “list” for many years. For me, it lived up to my expectations and I soaked up the experience. I was so anxious to get there that I asked the motorbike driver who brought me in from the airport to take me the next day. I ended up with a grandpa driver on  a wonky motorbike, but it didn’t deter me. He took me from temple to temple – all day long for the 10 dollar fee we had agreed upon. It was  a long scorching day – but I loved it! I was sure that Angkor Wat would undoubtedly be the highlight of my travels.

Buoyed by my Angkor “high”, I got on the phone and arranged to get a ride out to Savong Orphan Children orphanage (SOC) and associated school the next day. I was rolling along! I have travelled a lot and plan to live and volunteer in Bali. Indonesia is a developing nation and I have come face to face with poverty before. But…I wasn’t prepared for the fact that they have nothing. Literally, the 29 children that live at the orphanage have nothing. No toys, no games, no books and almost no stimulation. I was truly shocked. I struggled the first day, trying to understand the situation and couldn’t stop comparing this place to my foundation’s situation in Bali. I started to think that the Bali foundation and families and children are “lucky” in comparison. I then realized that comparing levels of poverty and need served no purpose. I tried to focus on what I could personally do to make the situation better in the limited amount of time that I had.

Wanting to help and thinking of a plan to help really required me to think about my place and what role I could serve? I took stock of the school which has almost nothing, and spent a day buying a CD player and supplies and downloading teaching materials. I gained confidence and headed out for my second day. For every question I had and got possible answers to, I had two more questions. I decided I needed more than a day to begin to understand. On the second day, Laura a volunteer from Scotland who also had just arrived, joined me and the kids in hours of drawing and colouring.

I think the best service I can give to the project in Cambodia is my skill set, experience, energy, and funding. Yet I realized it isn’t only about the school program they have, but also about the kids at the orphanage. Food, clothing, medical care and school are such basic necessities of life. Things that many not only take for granted, but seldom give a thought.

I met Kim San a 16 year-old girl on the first day as I arrived at the orphanage.  She came up to me as soon as I arrived and tried her best to speak with me and help me in English. She can have a passable conversation. I was impressed. She asked me the first day to teach her and we spent time going through sentences and her furiously scribbling notes in a small notebook she carried. She took every possible moment to learn. Then I learned her story. She came from “somewhere near the Thai border”  to live at the orphanage. She has no father and a mother that can’t support her, so she ended up at SOC. Then I got another shock. She hasn’t been to school since she was 12 years old. She desperately wants to go to school – even if it means going back to primary school, which isn’t uncommon in Cambodia. I was getting some clues.

There is a 4 year-old boy at the orphanage who I started calling “One me”. I found it almost impossible to learn the Cambodian names in only a few short days. One Me seems to know only 3 words in English. He knows “Yes”,  “No” and “One me.” – meaning he wanted me to give him one piece of paper or whatever else I was holding. One Me has a cute little grin that is irresistible but he also has a skin disease that gives him open sores on his head that the flies love to buzz into and around. He carries on, having received basic medical a few times. Sitting on my knee folding a paper airplane with me was more important to him than open head sores. I was starting to get it.

Then there was Sorm.  He is 10 years old, comes from a home with no father and  a mother that can’t support him. Like Kim San, he also comes from somewhere near the Thai border.  Sorm is the main reason I spent a week with a sore neck and arms. He clung to me and hung on me as often as possible. Considering his background the small drama that broke out 2 or 3 times a day was understandable. He would hit or hurt some of the smaller children indiscriminately.  I would give him a disapproving look and gently tell him not to hit and then he would be “mad” at me and give me the most sorrowful look any kid could ever muster up. I would tell him I still like him and it’s ok to be mad at me. He would sit nearby but not come too close to me, occasionally giving me the sad look. I would smile at him and tell him it’s ok. After an hour or so, he would be back to sit on my knee or hold my hand.  Sometime later, and day after day, our drama would unfold again. He broke my heart.

What I was being clued into and what I was starting to get is that these kids are desperate for love and attention. These are the most basic of needs. Yes, sometimes they sit in the dark with fuel for the generator having run out. No, they aren’t the cleanest children, sometimes lacking basic hygiene. No, they don’t have a cupboard to store their belongings, digging in a box or green garbage bag for a few prized possessions or pieces of clothing. They lack these basic necessities of life that we may take for granted, but what they do have that perhaps many of us are missing is an amazing spirit. Knowing their stories, seeing their situation, and realizing that they carry on with a smile truly inspires me.

Angkor Wat truly was amazing, but Kim San, One Me, and Sorm are really the highlight of my travels.

Naked Russians in the pool…

For those of you hoping for a porno entry (you know who you are) – sorry, you may as well surf on out. This entry does come with a disclaimer, however. If imagery of large, bra and thong-wearing over 50 women, or large white (read: see-through in water)  jocky brief-wearing over 50 men AND a naked hippy frolicking in a pool are apt to make you shudder or lose lunch, then don’t read on….

The fact that the above mentioned group were Russian really has no bearing on the story. I thought the title would entice. There is a story, though.

There are two possibilities as to why my quiet afternoon was invaded by the naked Russians in the pool. Possibly, in their culture, it is perfectly acceptable to walk off the street, proceed to strip to one”s bra and/or underwear and have a swim? They weren’t in the least bit inhibited. It seemed perfectly natuaral to them and they had a grand time. Honestly, it was like watching a car wreck. I simply couldn’t stop peeking over my book, though I knew it was a horrible sight everytime I looked. I was wondering to myself, “Doesn’t he realise that white jockeys become see-though once wet?” Or a better question might have been, “Why doesn’t anyone in his group point this out?” I was pondering this when the true hippy of the group went bare and jumped in. Even see-through undies would have been an improvement over that. If there is a rule somewhere that large old men can’t do that, there also must be a rule that large old ladies can’t be in public in thongs. I’m still having nightmares.

Truly, if this was second-nature to them and if it is what they would do “back home”, then the question is: Why do tourists or travellers think it is ok to disrespect the culture of a country they are in by insisting that they do exactly as they would back home? Many travellers don’t read about a place they are about to visit, other than about where to stay or what to see or what to buy. How many people buy a travel book and jump past the section on the history and culture of the country they are visiting? Many, I suspect. So is ignorance an excuse for being offensive to local people? Cambodia, like Indonesia and many other Asian countries is a place of religion, family, and modesty. It’s not really difficult show a minimal amount of respect by being aware of this.

The other, more disturbing possibility for the naked people in the pool is that they simply didn’t care and likely knew that what they were doing was offensive to almost anyone, other guests and locals, alike. Not to bash the young traveller, but the young backpacking crowd seem to be the worst offenders. Head to a third world or developing nation and all morals and any decorum go out the window for some. Renting and riding motorcycles with no helmets and damaging local property or local lives is a prime example. Doing drugs or flaunting local laws and taking the attitude of simply “paying off the police” if they get caught, is obviously damaging. Making fun of local people by offering pennies for goods and services or simply by being loud and aggressive are sad sights we have to see. The worst offense I saw recently was someone climbing over a sign that said “”Keep Out!” at Ankor Wat. Cambodia has graciously made one of the most stunning national treasures in the world amazingly accessible to millions of visitors but this tourist somehow felt it was ok to climb up for the photo-op. Because a country is poor and developing it isn’t  right for travellers to abuse it because they can afford to. I’d like to write it off as “stupid young people” a group of which I was a card-carrying member for years, but it isn’t only the young and foolish. No, offensiveness truly has no age or nationality-barrier. We can’t forget (I may NEVER forget) the naked Russians in the pool.