Making Kids Cry

23.Aug.2013

Lesson learned: never give your name to a young souvenir tout. With two days left on my visit to Myanmar and only a 7^th of my budget left to spend, I’m trying to learn to say no, but I think I might have nightmares because of it. This evening, after a long day of more temple touring, I went on a sunset cruise along the Ayarwaddy River. When we embarked, there was a crowd of people trying to sell me souvenirs, and I told all of them, “no, thank you.” One young boy said, “maybe later,” to which I didn’t even reply. He asked where I was from and what my name was; he was probably about 10 years old.

 

My guide and I drifted along the river watching the sunset behind the hills and drinking gin and watermelon juice. The local villagers were bathing and washing clothes in the river. Babies in their mothers’ arms waved as we passed by. Young boys would seemingly appear from nowhere as they jumped from the treetops into the river. The traditional longyi, a type of sarong worn by the men here, doubled as a towel for the guys to dry off after their dip in the river. The simple bamboo floors of their houses would have likely splintered under my weight. They didn’t have much, but they were all smiling, laughing, and enjoying life for what it is. I chose not to take any pictures because I felt like it was an intrusion on the privacy of the villagers, and I selfishly wanted to take in their smiles through my own two eyes and not the lens of a camera.

Once the saffron colored sun had disappeared behind the horizon, we headed quickly back to the riverside. The sales team was out in force to welcome me back to dry land, but I held firm and told them all no. As I climbed into the van, I heard the voice of the young boy running towards me crying out my name. “But I waited for you! Please don’t leave!” It crushed me to drive away hearing him still

calling out to me by name. My guide seemed somehow proud of me for finally saying no to someone, but it felt like a punch to the gut each time the boy cried out my name. Just thinking about it again makes me want to grab a ride back to the river right now to give him the dollar he wanted for his postcards. It’s difficult to admit, but I look forward to returning to Austria where I can callously ignore people asking for money since most of them honestly have little appreciation for all that they have.

Now, I am laying in my bed listening to the sound of the man playing a wooden xylophone at the hotel restaurant. Sounds are such an integral part of the travel experience for me. I can’t imagine being in a new place and having my ears plugged with headphones and my iPod blaring. If it were just about seeing a place, one could sit at home and look at photos on the internet. No, traveling is about experiencing a place. Feeling the heavy sticky heat, smelling wafts of shrimp paste and pickled tealeaves, and earing the clickety-clack of the boat motors over the laughter of children and the chimes of the temples. Drowning out real life with the sounds one listens to day after day is wasteful of life’s gifts. Some people get bored without music, but, as much as I love music, I believe the sounds around us can be far more entertaining. You just have to learn to relax and listen. Hear sounds, identify them, and try to visualize them. It’s a sport of the mind that will engrave everlasting memories into your brain. Sadly, I am going to drift off to sleep hearing a young postcard salesman yelling my name, hoping to earn just one dollar from my pocket.

Getting to know the bar with Valeria

Having returned from my excursion to central Verona unscathed by the wrath of the photo Nazi, I changed into my bathing suit and went to the pool. The wind was a little chilly for swimming in an unheated pool, so I chose to soak up some rays instead. A very eager young Italian gent was working the pool area and seemed quite bored, so he kept bringing me things like water, towels, even a Caiparinha. After a couple hours at the pool, I went back inside to write some emails and check up on the happenings on facebook. The computer room was apparently part of an art tour of the hotel for some visiting Americans. The large group all properly labeled with their names and hometowns wandered in, surrounded me and started commenting on the creepy clown pictures all around me. The guide explained the origins of the various pieces of "art" in the room, and even pointed me out as one of their guests. Who knew I was a tourist attraction?

Soon enough, it was time to get changed and take advantage of some more of my room perks, specifically, a cocktail and dinner. At the bar, Valeria, the bar tender, was excited to have her first guest walk through the door. I gave her my cocktail voucher and she began to mix me a "Siren" cocktail. She handed it over to me saying, "It's really quite odd. Do you know what it is?" It was a blend of pear juice, pineapple juice, vodka and saffron, the golden color of which was meant to be reminiscent of the sculpture I had illegally photographed earlier. Chatting a bit, Valeria and I started talking about her favorite drinks. This young Italian woman was easily bored by traditional drinks and enjoyed experimenting at the bar. She promised to make me one of her favorite drinks after dinner. I enjoyed my Siren along with some fantastic olives, sundried tomatoes and Parmeggiano Reggiano.


Down in the restaurant, all of the staff were eagerly awaiting my arrival for my "Flower Paintings" dinner. They gave me my choice of tables in the empty restaurant, and immediately poured me a glass of Prosecco. After receiving my approval for the menu the chef had prepared for me, they dashed off to get things rolling. I carefully noted every part of the meal, and I intended to photograph it as well, but sometimes I got a little fork happy before I could grab my camera.

I started with an amuse bouche of a poppy seed encrusted scallop with a balsamic reduction. Next came some fantastic fried zucchini blossoms stuffed with ricotta cheese and anchovies, perfectly fried langoustines and a mango puree.
The next course was a plate of kamut noodles with a ragout of rabbit, valpolicella olives and marjoram.
The main course consisted of lamb medallions "cacio e ovo" served with artichokes and a savory baked egg custard. Coconut-lavender semi-freddo served as a palate cleanser. Dessert was by far the most creative of the dishes, and I have great intentions of repeating it when I get home. It was a "Sweet Club Sandwich" - thin slices of saffron and basil cakes layered with strawberry and vanilla gelato, pineapple "fries" and strawberry "ketchup".
Everything was topped off with a nice espresso and some friandises.
After dinner, I went back up to check on Valeria at the bar. She was ready to fix me her special twist on a Caiparinha. Fresh oranges, muddled with some sugar syrup and crushed ice, a splash of amaretto and Schweppes Bitter Lemon to top it off. It was fantastic - such a refreshing drink, and the orange/amaretto combo was very good. Valeria and I then proceeded to go through every bottle on the shelf discussing possible combos, the good and the bad, and even trying a few samples of the more unusual bottles. I woke up bright and early the next morning to drive to Slovenia. Multiple Slovenia updates to follow.