“M’zungo, give me my 100 shillings”

Ah, requests for money...music to my ears. The other day I got, "M'zungu, give me my bicycle." Huh? Um. No.

Hi! This is not a mass email. i mean it is, but it's not really. if you are getting this email it is either because you have some connection through the jewish community at large (i.e. through shul, hebrew school, jewish jobs you may have) or because you are a boy or because I like you and you popped into my head as I was putting people in here.

The women have been hastling me. They want to sell me kippot and they want to sell me kippot bad(ly).

Each kippa is $15 (maybe $12 if you buy them bulk) and they are way cool. And just to give you an idea of what $15 is here....it's food for a family for about 3 weeks. It's about 250 avocados. It's a mountain of chapati (I MUST CUT BACK!).

You can choose your colors (I actually like the black on black, boring as that sounds. It's very classy.) And some do not have the menorahs around the sides, but have a simple stripe instead, with or without a star on top. Or you can let me choose the color for you (ooh! fun!).

Because it is easier and because it will make the women happy because they will get immediate cash, I would like to pay upfront for them, so it would be nice to know that I will have some guarenteed sales when I get home.

Please check out the kippot (either on some of my pictures or here: http://kulanuboutique.com/abaykippot.htm) and let me know how many you would like. You can then send a check made out to me to my home (ah, home sweet home) and I will deliver your kippot upon arrival (July 3, 2005).

Make Sarah happy...(really, make them happy....c'mon, its for the Jews)...

sar

Holy Chicken Pox!

Yes, you read that correctly: I have chicken pox. I just came from the doc, whom I have seen 3 times in the past three weeks. First he told me maybe it was allergies (even though I assured him I'm allergic to nothing), then he said maybe it was fleas (he scolds me, "Remember we talked about hygiene in health class, Sarah?"), and today, he is certain that it is chicken pox, and I have no basis for disagreement this time, because, well, I think he is correct. Few people are lucky enough to experience this itchy delight twice, but of course, the recipient of malaria, typhoid, whooping cough, and other old-fashioned diseases--i had scarlet fever as a baby--I am one of them--if I remember correctly, my brother had them twice also, so maybe it is genetic. This is not a special African chicken pox, this is real, American pox. (In fact, the doc had to confirm in a book with pictures cuz he had never seen chicken pox on mazungu skin and apparently it's different. On black skin, the bumps are raised more and are pussy. That's why it took him so long to diagnose it, he claims...) Anyways, it is spreading quickly and it sucks.

I must tell you about the matza, and I will tell you in the words of Enosh, the leader of the Putti community who related the following story to us this past Shabbat:

"I have been having terrible backaches so I went to do a search on the cause of backaches and found that the leading cause of backaches is stress. I immediately knew that the cause of my backaches was the problem of matza. If we make our own matza, I thought, then it will probably not be kosher for Passover. But if we do not eat matza at all, then it will not be Pesach. I agonized over this problem for weeks, unable to figure out a solution. My back got worse and worse.

"Then, 3 days before Pesach, I received a phone call from Sarah that she had some matza for our community. My hopes immediately soared, but not too high: What if Sarah was only bringing us a piece of matza to teach us what matza is? If that will be the case, I figured, then we will maybe grind it up and mix it with something else so that it will go further and can feed more community members.

"Sarah was supposed to meet me at a certain time, but was late. Maybe Sarah had forgotten? Or maybe something happened to the matza? I was sick with worry. But at the moment when my thoughts were about to take over my sanity, my phone rang and Sarah said she would be there in 20 minutes.

"When their van pulled up and Sarah began unloading the matza, I did not know what to think. The matza came in 5 lb. packages that were the size of gigantic bricks. Is this what matza looks like? Matza looks like a huge brick? I was confused because I had never seen matza before, and I never imagined that I would be receiving such a large package. And then Sarah pulled out another large brick of matza and placed it on the first. I was getting nervous because I really had no idea what she was giving me; my whole conception of matza was being altered. She better not give me anymore, I thought, or I will not be able to transport it. Then she placed another 5 lb. brick in my arms, smiled, said 'chag sameach', and went on her way.

"It was only when I returned home and opened the packages that I realized what matza was and that my community, all of whom had never seen matza before, would have enough matza for the entire 8 days of Pesach."

I explained to Enosh, who was near tears with gratitude to me, that I had nothing to do with it, and that my parents had received 60 lbs. of matza from the Streit's matza company as a donation to the Abayudaya. (Enosh is now writing Streit's a letter.)

The Putti community is a separate community from the rest of the Abayudaya in Uganda. A few years ago, due to religious and political differences, a group of people moved out to the rural Putti to begin a new community. Stubborn, rebellious, passionate, intelligent, and kind, the Putti people have been successful in building a beautiful and strong community that is autonomous and religious. They are orthodox in affiliation and practice, they are in contact with orthodox rabbis in Israel and in America. They have become part of the world sephardi congregation of Shearit Yisrael, and have set up their community similar to the yishuvim in Israel. Not unlike my shabbatot at Nabugoye, my few days in Putti were filled with Torah study, prayer, singing, and me being in awe of such motivated and inspiring people. (I hope I do not sound condescending through any of this praise; I truly am inspired.)

We were studying Pirkei Avot (Ethics of our Fathers) during the afternoon and then into the evening as well. Each person took a mishna, read it, translated it into Lugwele (another local language), and explained it in his or her own words. Uri read the passage about opening home doors to poor people, and asked, "How are we supposed to read this? How are we, as poverty-stricken, poor people of Africa supposed to open our doors to the poor when we have nothing?" He smiled and answered. "We do not have nothing. Even if we have one bite of food, we have more than some other people. And in that way, we are rich." (Ah. Africans.)

Uri also explained the passage that discusses conversation with one's wife (a passage we all love to hate) and said, "It says here that it is talking about one's wife." He paused. "Did you hear me? It says 'wife', not 'wives'. The message here is that no man should have more than one wife." Everyone laughed. (The previous night, however, Uri told us that he was "too old to go out looking for a second wife." Ah. Africans.)

Putti is more rural and is poorer than the other communities. We stayed in a one-room mud hut with a thatched grass roof on the floor on mattresses, taken from other people's one-room mud huts. There was only enough karosene for one lantern and the moon was waning and the sky was overcast. It was very dark in Putti, and the walk from the synagogue back to our hut--a walk of only about 100 steps--was difficult and kinda scary (there are snakes in Putti). We stayed up late each night, sitting in the synagogue talking with the leaders of the community--Enosh, a young man in his 20s, Uri, a 40-year old, and Abraham, the grandfather of the community. The synagogue is one of the most beautiful structures I have ever seen. It is made of homemade bricks (though that is not uncommon here), mud, and grass. The thatch roof, which also serves as ceiling, reaches maybe 30 feet in the middle; the ark at the front of the room is topped with a ner tamid (eternal flame) which always has kerosene burning, lighting it dimly.

The women were all nervous about all the red bumps on my stomach, sides, back, and theighs. They were concerned for my health, but also, bumps like that could be bedbugs and no hosts want their sheets to be the cause of someone else's infliction. I will have to call them and tell them I am okay. Chicken pox--ah, to feel young again!

Before I end, there are some things I left out of the last email I sent. If I could create a second edition of that email, I'd include the following notes:

First, Molly reminds me that my number of phobias exceeds the one previously listed (aquaphobia), another major one being my fear of elephant riding on mountain-side paths. True.

Next, an exciting story! We were staying at the Red Chili campground at Murchison Falls. We were teaching some people how to play SET when all of a sudden we heard a rustling in the bushes. And then a whispered shout, "Guys, come quick!" So we rushed to the edge of the patio, and in the bushes, not 5 feet away from us, was a humoungus (sp?) hippo grazing unawares (awk?). Now, hippos are the second largest animals (after elephants), and even though vegetarian, can be extremely vicious! So it was scary, but exhilirating, as most scary things are. (And Molly was staying in her tent and heard the hippo grazing here her late at night!)

And lastly, I forgot to mention that Molly and I led the second seder in Nasenyi. We went through the Hagaddah, asked questions, asked for questions, told over the Passover story, and ate tons of matza. It was a smashing success. Like the first seder, about 35 people were crowded into the dining/living room of the community leader's home. Charoset was pineapple, peanuts (they go by sephardi tradition), and raisins, but when it was time to dip the maror into it, they all refused and insisted on using the saltwater again, because "it doesn't make sense to dip greens into pineapple."

I hope you are all healthy and happy. I know I am, even though maybe it doesn't seem like it.

I miss you all,

Love, Sarah

The National Goldspoon’s African Vacation

Oh, hello, again!

I will run out of fingers and toes if I try and count the number of times that i have asked myself, "What the heck are my parents doing in Africa?" But I also cannot even begin to imagine how many times I also thought how utterly cool my parents are for spending 2 weeks doing rugged (for them) African travel. They're pretty cool, huh?

I have just returned from Entebbe--a 4-5 hour bumpy ride that I have now endured 8 times in the past 3 weeks. Somehow, this last time, getting on the road was a bit more difficult. Saying goodbye to that fancy hotel, complete with a/c and TV was not easy...and i'll bet you thought that my African experience had turned me into a superior, more focused, less materialistic person! It has, I assure you, but...a/c! TV!...even the most superior of people need a little vacation.

Let me tell you about my travels...

It all began with the Nile. The Nile holds for me good and bad memories. In one good way, it has been very good to us Jews. It watered the land of Egypt, bringing the children of Jacob there to eat and be well (of course, that soon turned sour); it held little baby Moses' basket as he braved the raging Nile's rapids (um...we'll return to that when we discuss my bad memories) and saved his life, thus saving the future of our people. If not for the Nile, I may not be here!

The Nile is also home to many hippos and crocodiles, and lots of baboons and elephants graze by her lush shores. The Gold family (minus Ben and Bethami and Eden but plus Molly, Rachel--my Abayudaya friend, the famous one from the cd--and Samson--our Abayudaya tour organizer) boated down the mighty Nile, getting caught in the torrential rain only once, and drinking Nile beers. (I thought it would be cool to drink a Nile on the Nile, but I actually still do not like beer, though I am still trying my hardest to acquire a taste for it--my father says I must, and respecting one's parents in a big mitzvah!)

And the Murchison Falls of the Nile River, Uganda's most beautiful spot, is smaller than the Niagara Falls, but is much more breathtaking. One day, when I grow up and move back to Uganda and you come visit me, I'll take you there.

The bad Nile memories, you ask? I chickened out at the Nile rafting and got out of the raft after 6 km. okay...moving right along...

We also went on safari while we were in the Murchison Falls area. We saw everything but lions. Giraffes are my favorites. And part of the fun of going on safari for a second time (how spoiled am I??) is being able to watch the people who are seeing the animals for the first time. For part of the drive I sat down and watched my parents and Rachel poke their heads through the safari sunroof and marval at the stunning, wild creatures, too regal and strong to care that they had company.

Nabugoye Hill, Abayudaya headquarters, was flooded with visitors for the Pesach seders, so I decided it would be nice to go to the remote, vounteer-neglected village of Nasenyi--the land of mango trees and sugarcane plantations (remember Nasenyi? I was once there for a shabbat.). (It is also the land of millet and sorgum, but those sound so much less romantic sounding and are not nearly as tasty.)

Here is where we give 3 cheers to my parents (my mother): It was a 3 day yomtov with no electricity and no running water and not very good food, especially for those living a low-carb lifesyle. And services were really long and boring.

But services were redeemed and actually, everything else was redeemed by the kindness of the people and the beauty of their songs.

The synagogue and the congregation of Nasenyi are about 1/5 the size of Nab. Hill. There are about 30 people and they all have beautiful voices (except one of them, which makes that one person--no names--seem very funny). They did much of their service in Luganda and the psalms were sung smoothly and warmly, like butter (buttah) left to sweeten and melt in the sun.

And I have never seen such appreciation for guests and good hosting in my entire life.

And everybody (all the men) were very eager to answer all of my father's questions about crops and agriculture (even though field work is the woman's job, here in Uganda).

Did you know that chimps have 98.3% (or something like that) of identical DNA to their good relatives, us? I didn't know that, but I learned that, as well as many other things about chimps, at Ngamba Island. Ngamba or "Chimp" Island is a chimpanzee sanctuary where 40 chimps live in safety. They were rescued from kidnappers and poachers and other bad people. We took a speedboat across Lake Victoria and it was raining so the waters were rough, and this is when I learned that my one phobia (water) happens to be the one phobia that my mother actually doesn't have. I found that interesting.

We got to Chimp Island during feeding time, so all of the chimps were out from the forest and were raising their hands, begging for an avocado to be thrown to them. When you come visit me, we'll have to go here too, because I cannot explain it. I just sat here staring at the screen for a few minutes trying to think how to write it, and I can't. For more info or to help check out www.ngamaisland.org .

Well, my friends, I'm afraid that's all I've got time for just now. I have fruit to buy and jobs to apply for. I wish all of you a chag kasher v'sameach, a happy Passover and happy spring to all!

Oh, and one more thing, I've extended my stay here for 3 more weeks. Isn't that exciting! June is supposed to be very nice. And I will get to travel more and see more monkeys! (Chimps are apes, though, not monkeys, I'm told. Word on the street is that monkeys have tails and apes do not.)

To you and yours,

Sarah

pictures

Oh, the lengths I'll go for posterity.  I just drove
on the back of a motorbike in the wind and rain so i
could go get my picture cd and take advantage of fast
internet in Kampala (i'm on a minibreak).

Enjoy the pictures.  There are more at snapfish, and
there are many more, but it takes about an hour for 18
pictures.

Love to all, sarah

--- sarahgold81@yahoo.com wrote:
> Date: Mon, 11 Apr 2005 08:06:34 -0800 (PDT)
> From: sarahgold81@yahoo.com
> To: sarahgold81@yahoo.com
> Subject: View my photos: oh, uganda!
>
> You're invited to view my online photos at the
> Gallery. Enjoy!  and forward them to others who
> aren't on this list.  yall are the only ones whose
> emails i knew offhand.
>
> You're invited to view these photos online at Kodak
> Easyshare Gallery!
> Just click on View Photos to get started.
>
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=91atskf.115ou4cf&x=0&y=2q7i79
>
> If you'd like to save this album, just sign in, or
> if you're new to the Gallery, create a free account.
> 
> Once you've signed in, you'll be able to view this
> album whenever you want and order Kodak prints of
> your favorite photos.
>
> Enjoy!
>
> Instructions: Click view photos to begin. If you're
> an existing member you'll be asked to sign
> in. If not, you can join the Gallery for free.
> http://www.kodakgallery.com/Register.jsp
>
> Questions? Visit http://help.kodakgallery.com.
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> If you cannot see the links above, copy and paste
> the
> following URL directly into your browser:
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http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=91atskf.115ou4cf&x=0&y=2q7i79
>
> 

Black is Beautiful

Banana trees are very utilitarian. Today I made a skirt, a hat, and a backpack rain cover from the leaves. I ate 3 lovely banana fruits (fruits, but ha'adama nonetheless). And after a good lunch of pb&j, while sitting by a spectacular waterfall, I enjoyed the shade from the entire banana tree.

I am in love with Uganda. Sir Winston Churchill dubbed Uganda, correctly, the Pearl of Africa. Landlocked by bigger and badder countries, it is a gem sparkling with greens and blues and browns; it’s landscape is simplicity at it’s most beautiful, it’s people are brimming with kindness and generosity.

And this is why I have avoided emailing for so long--because as soon as I attempt to describe how utterly perfect my life is these days, how my heart is perpetually swollen from being so happy, I begin spewing bad lyrical prose (case in point); and it's not even worth it because it still does not measure up to how I actually feel.

But a very wise man once told me that if you cannot express the way you feel about everything, then you should at least try and express how you feel about something so that your friends know what is going on in your life, and so that you do not burst. So here I go. I will tell you something. I'll tell you about my week.

The beginning of last week was filled with the hustle and bustle of preparing for Purim. There were songs to be sung (and written) and plays to be prepared. And there was a ridiculous amount of hamantaschen to be cooked. And by cooked, I mean fried.

The Abayudaya had never had hamantaschen before and the Abayudaya do not have ovens. And so for for hours and hours and hours we folded jelly into little balls of dough into the triangular shape of wicked Haman's hat (or ears, depending on whom you ask) and then threw them, one by one (there were hundreds) into the hot pot of oil that was cooking on the charcoal.

After reading Megillat Esther on Thursday night (which was after my grand entrance doing the dance of the Sarah-flower and after my totally unprepared but successful reading of perakim bet and yud of the Megilla) the hundreds of people gathered in the Moses Synagogue on Nabugoye Hill, ate their first hamantaschen.

The next day was filled with more singing and more dancing and lots of happiness.

And that's when I realized it: Besides the fact that there were more people and besides the fact that it was a holiday, there was really very little different from that day than any other of my days spent with the Abayudaya. I spend a good chunk of every day singing and dancing, and I spend the entirety of every day being happy.

For Shabbat we went to Nasenyi, which is a very small section of the Jewish community about 10 km from Nabugoye Hill (the headquarters of it all). There were 3 mazungus and 3 Abayudaya high school students who joined this community for Shabbat. It's amazing where 10 km can bring you. Going to Nasenyi from Nabagoye is like going from New York City to Omaha. When I got back to Nabugoye village, I felt like I was returning to big city life. And it's simply because Nasenyi has more mango trees.

About 25 people gathered into the small synagogue for a service where there were few prayer books and no light to view whatever books were there. There was more time spent thanking the visitors for coming there was spent on praying or on our own prepared speeches (I speak every shabbat!). On Shabbat afternoon we sat with the women of the community and, with a translator, spoke about the differences between America and Uganda, between American Jews and Ugandan Jews, and about Jewish women all over the world.

They are hopefull, they tell us. They say that there is a bright future. They look at the youth in the community who are so strong and so active and who are getting Jewish educations and who are able to live freely among there non-Jewish neighbors, and they tell us that they know that Judaism is able to thrive. It was not always so easy for these women, when they were growing up.

The year was 1919 and Semei Kakungulu had had enough with the British and with their coercive religious preaching. In a dramatic and defiant act, as the story goes, Kakungulu took his Holy Bible and ripped out, literally, the New Testament section. He fell in love with the Torah--it's stories and laws--not really knowing anything about the world religion of Judaism. He took with him close to 3,000 followers. Over the years he and his people were blessed with visitors who taught them about Judaism, about rabbinic Judaism and about the traditions. With Amin's reign of terror, however, the numbers dropped to mere hundreds. Jews were not allowed to practice and were persecuted for doing so. Many converted back to Christianity, many intermarried, and many just disappeared.

And many continued to pray in caves and to study in secret. They were stubborn and devoted. Like the pioneers in Israel they worked hard and in the face of tyranny and poverty succeeded. They succeeded in maintaining their Jewish identity and practices and they succeeded in reviving a dying community.

In 1987 a decree came out which enforced the prohibition of intermarriage. In 2000 a Jewish primary school opened. Statistically, these Jews will make it.

On Easter Sunday of 2005 a group of 35 young members, all of whom have officially converted to Judaism over the past 5 years, organize a hike to the cliff that's been screaming my name all month, Mount Wanali. And 35 is only a fraction of the youth. Older kids and younger kids together hiked through waterfalls, singing songs and taking a break for Torah study and lunch.

And when we got back, the children at Hadassah were waiting for me, as usual, and I began chasing them around the compound, as usual, kissing them and counting to ten in Luganda (I haven't progressed much in the language area).

And just as I thought things couldn't get any better, Ben and Bethami had a baby girl who is healthy and stunning, and I'm not just saying that cuz she's my niece and cuz she looks just like me.

Must go. Much love.

Sarah

NEWSFLASH!! MALARIA!!

JUST IN: An anonymous poem. The writer has told me that it was written in a near-state of hysteria (that will explain much), and while the names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved, the story is entirely true:

"The Lovely Parasite"

Saralia has malaria.

Her skin's on fire,

Her head is throbbing,

Her limbs are achy,

She feels like sobbing.

Will she live?

Or will she die?

Her liver hurts,

She wants to cry.

I'm okay now that I'm writing,

But last night was really sucky;

I really thought it was the end,

So now I feel lucky.

(that I didn't die.)

And hadn't I ended my last email "malaria free"? And then my mother said to me, "Well don't end your next email with 'thphoid free'--you never know what might happen!" She was joking, so when I went back to the hospital yesterday and the doctor told me I might also have typhoid, I laughed. Here's what else happened at the hospital. I recorded it shortly thereafter, so I will simply copy from my real-life journal now:

"Your blood is very thick and your veins are very thin and collapse," Lydia the blood snatcher said. At least she was a very competent one and was using needles instead of nails, like they had done at the clinic when I was first diagnosed with malaria.

"It means I am a good person," I replied.

But by the time the baby needle (it was a children's hospital) had wriggled around the insides of both my arms looking for veins, I began seeing spots and my ears drums shut down and I knew what was coming next --

"Stop," I say. "I'm going to pass out."

They put me in a wheelchair--

[I'm just going to take a break because I'm curious to know how many of my dear friends--you know who you are--are rolling your eyes and saying, "Wow, there goes our drama queen in action." Let me just tell you...I REALLY was going to pass out. I'll bet none of you have collapsing, rolling veins. And your blood is certainly not as thick as mine. So you don't know what I suffer.]

--and began wheeling me to a bed. I began to fall deeper and deeper into a relaxing comotose state when SUDDENLY hydrolics (diarrhea) kicked back in and I had to make a quick decision. A faint voice in the back of my head called me back to my senses:

"Saaaarah.....Saaaaaarah....would you rather pass out and make a huge embarassing mess here in the chair? Or would you rather wake up, go to the toilet, and keep your pretty skirt clean?"

I thought for a moment, kinda subconsciously cuz on the outside all I was saying was "I'm gonna pass out, I'm gonna pass out, I need to lie down, I need to lie down.", and then I magically came-to, out of my groaning and nonsense, and I got up out of that chair, mustered the right words and said loudly and clearly (note my good use of adverbs), "I need a bathroom. I'd rather go to the bathroom than pass out."

Ahhh, the power of diarrhea.

Then I was fine. I told the doctor that I did not need a blood culture and that I would simply take the medicine for typhoid anyways. It's just cipro (Thanks, Carolyn!) and that helps with a number of different things anyways and I'm sure that I've got a number of different things.

First of all, do not worry--I am totally fine. I little malaria never killed anyone. (sorry, bad joke) Malaria is really just like a bad case of the flu. I had a really, really, really high fever. The first night I had a fever of 104'F, but only because that is was the highest the thermomer went. The next night it went down to 103'F, the next to 101'F, and last night I was a low 100'F. This morning I am normal. The worst part of everything was the headaches. I couldn't think and i couldn't move, and now I can--I hope that is evident. All I can say is, thank God I was taking those super expensive malaria pills b/c otherwise it would've been a lot worse. And there's really not much more to tell. I just laid in bed all day and groaned. And I got some nice phone calls which, while always cheered me up, also totally exhausted me and drained me, so sometimes I got in trouble for getting so excited on the phone. Oh, and let me not forget Chaya's greatest gift of all--a toilet within 5-step walking distance from my bed.

Second of all, do not worry--I was very well taken care of. Madame Chaya, the lead volunteer, (there are 4 of us total, you know the other 3), let me and for some nights Holly and Molly too, move into her little rented home in town. She bought an extra mattress and 'squito nets and towels and food and let me stay on her big bed in front of the fan the whole time. She even made me grilled cheese in the sandwich maker. And of course Holly and Molly were amazing too. The morning (i believe it was day 3) that I woke up crying that I hated this country and was ready to go home, they went out about bought me apple juice and cocoa puffs and other american things. (Though the cocoa puff "cocoamotives" taste like cardboard here.) And when I was sweating bullets, they cooled me down with wet towels. And they read to me almost the entire book, The Princess Diaries III, Princess in Love. And when I yelled crazy things at night while i was trying to sleep, they didn't remind me about it the next morning.

And lots of community members came to visit me. Including a lot of the community leaders and some high school girls.

Wow-- I feel like I'm talking about myself quite a bit here. I will take a break and share with you a song that I have written about the country of Uganda. It is sung to the tune of...well, you'll see:

O' Beautiful, for spacious skies,

And lush green fields of corn.

For super high mountains,

Like Mt. Elgon,

And the mosquito infested Lake Victoria.

Uganda! Uganda!

God shed (PLEASE!) His grace on thee.

And destroy the mosquitos

For giving me malaria,

From one end of the Nile to the o-ther.

But in all fairness, there is a better chance that I got my malaria (awww, I'm getting so personal with my disease) in Kenya rather than in Uganda. The incubation period is 10-12 days and I had just been in Uganda for 10 days. But we will never know, will we? Just like we will never know if I have typhoid.

And today, if all goes as planned, I will return to the Hadassah Infant School. I am very excited because I feel like I have totally been wasting my time in bed. There are only so many times you can listen to Phantom of the Opera and there's only so long you can feel bad for yourself and wish you were in your own bed, or better yet, on the guestroom bed in front of the TV. And anyways, a little birdie told me that the kids miss me.

Before I end, I just want to publicly answer some questions that I have gotten from a bunch of you. If you or your communities are interested in giving any sort of donation (monetary or otherwise) to the Abayudaya community, you should check out the Kulanu website (www.kulanu.org) to find out what its specific needs are. They can probably also advise you as to how shipment works and details like that. As of right now, it looks like there will be many volunteers coming here over the summer and I'm sure they will have room to bring stuff as well. But I just don't know how any of that works.

Even if you are not (yet) interested in sending a donation, you should still check out Kulanu b/c they do a lot of good work and have helped me a lot in planning and funding my trip here. The same goes for American Jewish World Services (www.ajws.org). I would probably still be in Uganda without Kulanu and AJWS, but I would be, no doubt, completely lost, disorganized, and broke. And, while I certainly did not intend to get into all these thank yous now, I would also like to thank two of my good friends, Levi Bergavoy and Tiff (I don't even know her last name) for giving me a "stipend" and a "discretionary fund", respectively. And to my parents for giving birth to me and raising me and doing my taxes for me. And most of all to God for creating a beautiful world.

And to the Academy....

Cheers,

Sarah

White girls can't run.

I'm laughing already. I went for the most naive jog of my life. Seriously, I do not know what I was thinking. I tried to dress modestly, I tried to be inconspicuous--but I cannot help that I am a mazungu. I suppose I should've been smart enough not to carry a walkman (note: an old, cheap walkman, not an ipod). "Mazungu, take a picture of us!" they shouted as I breezed by them. "It is not a camera," I tried to explain. "May I have it?" they asked. "No," I replied. "Mazungu, how are yooooouuuu?" they yelled as they emerged from their houses to gawk at me from the side of the dirt road. They stood there, pointing and laughing. And I slowed my run to a walk so I could be more polite entertainment and respond properly to their mocking. "I am fine," I would say. "Hello," I said to them. "Fine," they replied, in their standard way. Or sometimes I received the oddly placed "well done," which always gives me a good chuckle. I was too embarassed to just stop and turn around, so I was forced (trapped!) to keep on walking until the top of the hill where I could casually admire the mountains, pretend that was the reason for my outing, and then turn around, only to be on display again for the people whose interest in an alien white girl's jog had not been muted by their initial viewing--sorry for the run-on sentence). I got back to my road and a woman who had seen me set out came rushing to me: "Are you alright? I saw you running!" "Balungi," I say. "I am fine. I was trying to exercise, but I think white girls should not run here."

Besides the rats, the lizards, the mosquitos, and the frogs, Uganda is fantastic! I spent all week trying to adjust to my new setting, sitting in on classes, tutoring a bit, making sample outlines of my schedule and ideas. I decided that I really like pasho (tastes like hard cream of wheat, but is corn) and beans, and as you know, I long ago decided that I prefer holes in grounds to sit-down toilets (though the holes here make the toilets in SE Asia look like the height of sophistication!). The children are still beautiful and we are quickly forging friendships. Every night we read stories and say the shma and sing songs before bed. They still sneak peaks at us from the corners of their eyes and give us shy smiles when we say "shalom" to them. We bought an electric kettle and I make coffee for myself every morning -- powdered milk, of course. And peanut butter is readily available and inexpensive.

But there are many things that prevent me from saying that it's all good. The children come into the office late at night complaining of horrible stomach aches and fevers, and pills are dispensed under the assumption that the child's ailment is either worms or malaria. The water is bad, but bottled or purified water is too expensive; there are mosquito nets for the children who live here (at school), but they are old and do not cover completely the lower 2 beds of the triple decker bunk beds that line the walls of the 2 dormitory rooms.

They are lucky to have good teachers, but they do not have enough text books and much of the classtime is taken up by drawing diagrams or writing sentences or paragraphs on the blackboard. Much of the learning is done orally and by rote memorization. You can hear the chanting of new English sentences and math theorems as the children yell the new material they have learned. The learning style is very different from what I am used to and sometimes it is difficult trying to integrate basic lessons into their studies if it is not done in the style that they are used to.

And when it rains, which is every afternoon, water sprinkles into the glassless windows of the classroom and also causes such a racket on the tin roofs that teaching must wait until the rains subside.

I have introduced to many of the older grades the journal/newsletter project that I will be working on and everyone seems excited, though I myself am nervous of its success. I will be collecting writing samples that we will work on during "workshops" that will then be put into a community newsletter and/or journal--unclear what form it will take in the end. The idea is to set up some sort of template and outline so that even after I am gone (gone from the community, not dead) they will be able to create a monthly or quarterly periodical that they can then share with each other and even send via email or put online for others to see as well.

It is soon time to go pick up the $13 custom-made bed (or really mattress holder) that I just commissioned someone to make.

Malaria-free and praying, I remain yours,

Sarah

Torah, she is my food.

Holy brothers and sisters,

I write to you from my home for the next three months, Mbale, Uganda. First of all, before I forget, Holly is here! Holly Moskowitz is a childhood friend from Richmond who will be here for 2 months. Hooray! Molly is climbing Mt. Kenya but should be here tomorrow. So it will be Holly, Molly, and me. (hmm...one of these things is not like the other....la di da li)

Second of all, for those of you who couldn't get enough of my OILYFOX phone number...you're in luck! My new phone number fits perfectly with--one of my favorite sayings and yours-- 011-alms-tub-elk-3. The time difference, for the throngs of you who emailed me that question instead of looking it up yourselves: you are 8 hours back. That means when it is noon for you (EST), it is 8pm for me--a good time to call Sarah. Just note, I go to bed at around 10 or 10:30 pm.

"WHAT??!! You have electricity to charge your phone?" you may ask. Why yes I do. Sometimes. On a good day. "Well, then, you must have running water as well." No, I'm afraid I do not. I bathe with a bucket of water.

I'm out of time and I haven't even said anything important. The Abayudaya community is beautiful. The children are little beautiful angels and the adults are adult beautiful angels. Everyone has been so welcoming and they are so happy that we are here. When we first arrived at the Hadassah Infant School (where we are now living with 60 children who board at school), the children all ran from their classes to greet us. They swarmed around us, taking our hands and curtsying to the ground. They were laughing and smiling, and honestly, have not stopped since then. Last night, before bed, we read stories and sang and danced outside in the pitch black night. They know tons of Jewish songs and are excited to learn more. They get a kick out of my Luganda (which is humorously poor, apparently) and think it is funny when I answer "Balungi" (fine) to their neverending "Mazungu, how are yoooooooooouuuuu?" that follows us as we walk down the road. (Mazungu=white person.) I have taught a few basic Hebrew classes already and sat in on all of the high school English classes, which, I may add, are phenomenal. The high schoolers speak nearly perfect english and are learning grammar that I never learned. I hope to work on some writing projects with the older kids that will then be able to be shared with the community--their community and maybe yours as well!

Shabbat was not magical, as I had imagined it, but was instead natural and comfortable. Kiddush is made over orange juice and there is very little food throughout the day (it's ok, i have my own stash); many of the prayers are in Luganda; it is different, yet very much the same as a regular shabbat. It is, as the Thai would say, "same, same, but different." I gave a dvar Torah in shul (alongside a translator for the community) and joined a women's study group after services. The best part of everything is the singing.

And now I really am out of time. More to come next week. I hope.

Oh, if you would like to send me a letter, card, money, candy, food, or anything else that might fit into a sendable carton, you can do that, no problem. I have an address. I have an address, a phone, and 3 meals a day (rice and beans, yum!). I have good friends and I am with good people. What more could I ask for? (A: a care package)

Hadassah Infant school

c/o Aaron Kintu-Moses

Sarah Gold

POB 225

Mbale, Uganda.

Much love,

Sarah

phone!!!

The Uganda/Kenya border is surely the craziest one yet. We had to walk across a dark field to Uganda. "No way Jose-Mantoka, I aint doin' it," I say. So they drove me.

Internet here is BAD, but guess what.....i got a cell phone!! my very own! and it's free incoming calls!! So use it!

011-256-78-823553

I await your voices.

Shabbat Shalom,

Sarah

"Shoulda been a Hippo"

Greetings from Nairobbery! I'm just gonna jump right into this:

I got into Nairobi last Friday, laughing and crying. I was crying cuz I was so happy and laughing because I was so petrified of being in Africa with, ummm, nowhere to go. And now, you ask? Now I'm laughing cuz I'm so happy and, well, i've finally stopped crying--except today when I saw the lions doing it (sex, not crying) for the third time, I cried a bit.

Before I get to the safari, let me bring you up to date. Shabbat in Kenya was quite nice. Firday night we hid in our guest house for fear that someone might discover us and try and take all our belongings, but Shabbat today we ventured out to shul where we met really nice people and spent much of the early afternoon studying talmud and eating cake with the Israeli ambassador to East Africa. (The Talmud class was all in Hebrew and I totally followed and participated (and loved it!)! Yay me!)

Speaking of Israelis, it's crazy how influential israeli travelers are on tour guides. Remember in Thailand the guesthouse workers spoke hebrew? And how our trek guide taught us an Israeli card game? Well here, our safari guide (a man whom i now love, named "Animal") was singing us Hebrew songs and calling the animals by their Hebrew names.

Ok, the first wonderful thing about Africa, or Kenya at least, is that people speak English here VERY well. This means that we could have REAL conversations with our guides and actually learn stuff. "Animal" used to be in seminary to become a catholic priest (most people here are christian) but then decided he'd rather study zoology and biology and go on safari. He's half Masai and half Kikuru. We had lots to talk about.

Riiiiight, so I went on safari for 4 days...have I mentioned that? I'm dirtier now than I've ever been in my entire life, but wanted to rush and email you all cuz i was soooo excited and missed you all sooooo much. (Also, I wanted to make sure I didn't miss Purim and I had to see if Bethami had a baby yet. Negative on both.)

I thought I was being very poetrical when I wrote in my journal "...and while a picture is worth a thousand words, I generally prefer the words" (or something like that), but the truth is, there is no way for me to verbally explain to you the amazingness (see that's not good enough) of a Kenyan safari (actually we dipped down into the Serengeti, which is in Tanzania, too).

Imagine this: wide open spaces for as far as the eyes can take you (for me it's not that far, but maybe for you it is), mountains in the background, golden plains (dry season) spotted with green trees and bushes. And animals. The most amazing animals EVER. We were lucky and saw them all. (or at least a couple from every species....we didn't see ALL the animals in Masai Mara, silly). Lions, elephants, zebras, wildabeasts, heartybeasts, gazelles (many types), cheetahs, a leopard, a hyena, flamingoes (THOUSANDS of them, in Nakuru, not masai mara), rhino, warthogs, water bucks, baboons, other monkeys, buffalo, giraffes, birds galore, crocodiles, and last, but not least, the majestic hippos. I basically met the cast of The Lion King--which, btw, is surprisingly accurate.

The highlight was this morning when we saw, not once, not twice, but three times, the lions copulating--two different sets. I took a video, so you will get to see when I get to a faster connection (in a few months). It was the most exciting and terrifying this ever. The first time, they were right outside (2 ft away) my wide OPEN window--who puts automatic windows in a safari van?! Does that seem wise to you?). I was freakin out. I kept telling "Animal" to turn the car on so I could roll up my window. He kept telling me to shut up and was pushing me--yes, PUSHING ME--back toward the window so I could DIE--i mean, so I wouldn't miss it! Penetration is only about 2 seconds long and then the guy roars and then the girl gets up and tries to maul him. Then they go back to sleep. This was 2 FEET FROM MY WIDE OPEN WINDOW! You would've been scared too. And then we saw it again. And then again. Wow. Wow. Lions are stunning. And they are amazingly fearless. They weren't even scared of me!

And we went to a Masai village! Now, I've been to many many villages in my day, but never one as interesting and bizarre (that's PC right?) as the Masai. I've even seen tribes who do weird things with their ears, but none as weird as the Masai ears. They are a polygamous warrior people. They live in villages with huts made of cow dung and wood, the baby cows and goats live in the huts with them, men have many wives, and they stretch out holes in their ear lobes to extraordinary lengths. Some of the women do the ear thing, but it is the men in the tribe who do most of the stretching. The bigger the holes, the more beautiful, and it is the role of the Masai warrior to be as beautiful as possible. And so he grows his hair, colors it with ocre, puts beads in the loose skin of his ears (look for a picture online), and wears these sarongs. They wear makeup and they dance. And while the women do a bit of that, it is clearly the man who wears the fancy pants in the relationship. Oh, and the women must shave their heads. And there is female circumcision, so that was a bit uncomfortable to smile and nod at.

Oh, and I got my second marriage proposal:

Olyanarok: "How many goats?"

Me: "huh?"

Oly: How many goats, for you?

Me: oh you don't have enough.

Oly: I give you many goats.

Me: I'll have to ask my dad.

He only has 2 wives already. And all I have to do is drink blood. Daddy?

And so, to conclude, let me say, Africa is way cooler than Asia. .

Going to Uganda tomorrow night....

Until next time...

Sar

Ankor what?

I'll start at the very beginning...

I get on my bus to Pakse (southern Laos) and there was something wrong with my ticket, so for 5 hours I sat in a little, red, plastic, Kindergarter-like chair in the isle. Fun fun fun. It was an overnight bus. I met some people on the bus and went with them the next morning to Tat Lo on the Boleven Plateau. I spent the day on the back of a motorbike cruising around the villages, many of which are surrounded by coffee orchards, the money making crop of the region. I stayed in a nice bungalow by a waterfall. The next morning we (my new friend, Ressa, and I) took a city bus back to Pakse and then a 3 hour jumbo (a large, covered pick-up with benches) and a 10 minute boat to Don Khon, one of the islands in Si Phon Don ("4000 Islands"). We stayed in Don Khon for the weekend, in a sparse, but lovely 2-bedroom bungalow that overlooked the Mekong. It came fully equipped with porch and hammocks, so I was set for shabbat. Oh, and I saw some extinct (or nearly so) dolphins! And I started playing chess. And we went fishing. It was so classic Laos--I went and asked a guy at a resturaunt for some bait and he was like, "one sec." And he ran off. A minute later I saw him emerge from across the way with a shovel and 10 minutes later we had our toilet bucket filled with worms. We gave him a dollar. The island of Don Khon (that's actually repetitive cuz "don" means "island") is exactly how you would dream an island in Southern Laos should be--since I'm sure everyone must dream of s. Laos. People wake up with the sun and go to sleep with the sun--there is very little electricity and the elec. that there is shuts off very very early. There are gigantic palm trees that sway in the sunny hot air, arching gently over the gorgeous Mekong river. There are rice paddies along certain parts of the land, and village homes with cheerful kids (I never saw a kid fight or cry or whine). Everyone seems so happy. And there are not very many tourists. But the boats are the best part. Men, women, and children of all ages ride long, thin boats on the river. They stand and row with one leg bent at the knee and perched on an incline in the boat. There is something so serene and the people look so content, that the whole scene seems staged.

Then Ressa and I went to Cambodia. (Ressa, btw, is a guy my age, from Montana. He grew up on a massive ranch. He spent the last 2 years teaching ENlgish in CHina and is traveling before he joins the Peace Corp in Azerbyjon [I have no idea how to spell that country that I had never heard of.])We woke up early that morning, packed our bags, ate breakfast, paid for our rooms, strapped our bags on our backs and hopped on the back of some motorbikes. We rode on rocky paths through rice fields and forests, down to the beach. got on a slowboat to the Laos exit border. Then another boat to the Cambodia border. Passports stamped at both borders--very unorganizedly, with bargaining and bribing and paying made up fees. Then a speedboat (a bit scary, a bit exhilarating) to Stung Treng. And now we're in a cab, for 8 hours, to Phnom Penh. And there are no real paved-roads for most of the way. Just dirt roads and not very interesting scenerry. Just a lot of dirt and sand and dry-looking trees.

I had just finished reading a book about the Khmer Rouge, so I actually had some interest in the history of this country. (I just bought a biography on Pol Pot and today I went to a war museum here in Siem Reap....see how reading a good book can change you?) Cambodia, like many of the places where I have been, is a strange blend of the old and the new. Phnom Penh has a fancy waterpark, yet many parts have dirt roads in serious need of pavement and repair. There are some large houses and there are also more people--mostly children--begging in Cambodia than in Laos or Thailand. Because of the land mines and the civil war which was so recent, many people are missing limbs. This place is not brimming over with happy looknig people.

We went to the killing fields and to s-21, both places of mass, mass, homicidal insanity. My tour guide at the museum today kept reiterating the fact that Cambodia (as a political entity) is just plain dumb. I think "stupid" is the exact word he used. He lowered his voice as he stood there and sighed, telling us that the king of Cambodia today is the same king who reigned during the Khmer Rouge, and that in essence, nothing has changed. This is a man (our tour guide) who fought in the late '70s as a child soldier. He lost both his parents and most of the rest of his family in the war. He has been shot numerous times and has shrapnel lodged in his arm. He is blind in one eye and nearly blind in the other. And he has a prosthetic leg, due to a landmine accident. He says that people say he is like a cat, with 9 lives.

At least half a million people were killed in the Killing Fields. And the skulls of many of those people sit in a glass tower at the entrance of the field. It was a profound experience that made me reflect more about the history of the Jews than....well, than I probably ever had before.

Then a long bus to Siem Reap where Ressa and I met up with Molly (who had a fantastic time diving in Ko Tao, Thailand). The thing to do in Siem Reap is Ankor Wat, the largest temple in the world and one of the 7 manmade wonders of the world. Pretty cool.

Something happened to me over this past week, amidst the buses and boats and motorbikes and tuktuks (local "cabs"...carriages attached to motorbikes...totally totally unsafe), amidst having to depend on my powerbars a bit more for lack of edible food, amidst being in scorching sun and having to scrape inch deep dirt off my face every night....I suddenly realized that I had finally relaxed and that I was enjoying traveling. This "experience", as Molly would call it, truly is thrilling. And today we go to Bangkok and tomorrow night we go to Africa. I laugh as I write that, thinking, "Who are you and how did you get to be so lucky that you get to travel all over the world like this???" I'm actually jealous of myself.

Love, Sarah

"It's a God thang."

Shhhhhh....don't say anything and don't look now (cuz I think he knows we're talking about him), but there is a monk sitting in this internet cafe. Dressed in only his robe with his head shaved, he has his finger up to his mouth; he is thinking. Maybe he is meditating.

Oh boy! Do I have a story for you!? (yes, I do.)

Well, for starters, i'm still in Vientiane (one "n" at the end, oops) while I should be in Pakse already. But...yesterday I started feeling a bit ill. Stomachache and all over blah-ness. I spent the day moaning around town and finding a/c places to sit (I had already signed out of my guesthouse). I was at the post office sending a massive package (of gifts for you!!) home when I met a man. An angel, really. A messenger from God.

"What is your name?" he asked. "Sarah," I say. "Oh. Well you must have a religious background." "Yes I do. I"m Jewish." And then Mark Berry, a fine upstanding Christian family man, sat down and talked to me for a while. He gave me his card and said to call him if I needed anything. He had talked a lot about Jesus and bout Isaiah 53, but was not trying to convert me. So....on a whim, I decided to call him and tell him I wasn't feeling well and that talking to him made me miss homes and families and even if it's just for a little while, can I come over and sit on your couch?

"Where are you?" he asked. "The Scandinavian Bakery," I say. (Btw, I weighed myself yesterday and I've gained 4 pounds!! How can that be??) "I'll be there in a few minutes," he says.

So Mark and his 14 year old son, Daniel, (one of 7) pick me up and take me to a clinic. The doctor gave me some medicine (btw, I'm much much better now), then Mark took me to pick up my stuff, I changed my bus for the next day, and then he took me home.

They live in a rather large house. He teaches English and does some church things and his wife homeschools the kids. They've been living in Laos for about 10 years.

I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (God really was with me---i have not stopped talking about how much I miss peanut butter), read, watched a disney Christmas special, and then sang some psalms and read from the bible. (They do that every night. In the Old T. they were up to the last chapter of Joshua, and since I was there, they didn't read from their bible and instead read from Isaiah 53, their fave. some Jewish girl I know must brush up on her later prophets.....) So we played guitar and sang and spoke about the Lord and talked about how blessed we were that He brought us together (me and them). "It's a God thing," Mark says (and it is!). And they blessed me through God and Jesus at every meal and before bed. (Every meal = dinner and then lunch the next day--i stayed there all day today!) And I recited a perek of tehillim in Hebrew.

And I was sooooo happy. I really had not been feeling well and I would've been miserable on that bus (eh hem, no bathroom on it), and instead I got to stay the night with a wonderful family in a wonderful house (though it was hot), with good peanut butter, and milk! I love milk! And I'm the biggest nerd ever and they had a book of poetry and I copied some down into my journal and decided that i will memorize them. Sometimes I'm in the middle of a neverending field or looking up at magnificent mountains or riding along a beautiful river, and I always wish I knew some poetry (to supplement the psalms I know, of course). This book was for kids and didn't have any of my favorites, but I copied a whitman, a dickinson, and a tolkien. then I realized that I could've printed out some better ones from online. Oh, and the Queen Mab speech from R&J (that's for you, daddy).

And Vientiane is not a very exciting city and it's too hot to walk around today, so that's why you get another email. I hope you're not getting sick of me. and also, there are more pictures up! In fact, I'm going to sit here for a while and try to clear my camera of pictures.

Speaking of daddy, he has asked me a number of questions that I keep avoiding b/c I do not know the answers (b/c, let's just say, the areas are not my major interests). But I will try and answer them and will do so here in case anyone else is interested.

Tourism is a major industry in this area (Thailand, Laos) and I think it is the main industry, but it is not the only one. Most people (outside the major cities) are farmers. I have seen all sorts of agricultural methods employed -- slash and burn, multi-tiered slope farming, crop rotation (I remember those from school!). Major crops are rice (rice paddies are STUNNING--like a neon green color, grown in water), coffee, rubber (I read that, but I get the funniest images in my head. I totally don't know what rubber is.), opium (that was their major export until the French outlawed it--I'm talking Laos now), and other crops. There are cows, chickens, pigs, and water buffalo roaming the streets.

There are vestiges of French culture around, mainly in architecture and in food. Look through my pictures and you'll see some colonial houses in Luang Prabang. There are tons of cafes and baguettes and pastries (hence the 4 pounds). This is all Laos I'm talking about now. There are no French things in Thailand, obviously. Also, in thailand they drive on the left (they were an english colony) and Lao ppl drive on the right (cuz of the french).

I do not know much about the relation of the sexes in Laos other than the way people dress. Men wear regular western attire, while women wear traditional long straight skirts, usually black with woven fabric on the bottom. some women wear pants, and while sleeveless shirts seem ok, skimpy tank tops are a no-no. I think anything that is not allowed in a Buddhist temple is not accepted in the streets either.

In the Lahu village, the relationship between the sexes was much more apparent (mostly b/c i lived there for a while). The men were often not at home and so I did not see them much (except for the few who stuck around to sell us things). When i did encounter men, they were generally quiet and kinda meek looking. The women seemed to wear the pants in the marriage. (Though, on a literal level, the women only wore skirts, or very very baggy pants.) The women were always sitting out on their porches, sewing and yelling. (I'm exaggerating. They were not always yelling, but if someone was yelling, it was a woman.) In another email i wrote of the Lahu marriage, about drinking tea in front of the shaman--not a very romantic ceremony, and likewise, the Lahu marriage does not seem, at least to an outside like me, very romantic. they get married very young, like 14-19ish and begin having children immediately. Children begin at a very young age o work around the house and around the village. Though, in retrospect, it was girls I saw working in the shop and doing the laundry, never the boys.

Back to Laos: In the cities there are temples and some monks, but no real religious "feeling." Outside the city, though, you are distinctly aware (or at least I am) that you are in a religious setting. Maybe cuz there are more monks or maybe cuz there are more temples in relation to other buildings, or maybe there is just something in the air.

I do not know whether the extent of their religious beliefs. I do not think they believe in providence or that God heeds their prayers. I do not think anyone believes in God, as in the one true God. The animists believe in spirits and many people have "spirit houses" in their front lawns (look like bird houses) that they give sacrifices to. They appeal to the spirits and expect answers. I suppose that qualifies as providence? And as for the Buddhists, as far as I know, which is not very far, there is no providence, only fate. Things happen because they are supposed to happen and we must accept them, be mindful of them, and overcome them. So the simpleton speaks. According to many monks who I've spoken to, prayer is the same thing as meditation, and meditation is unrelated to God or gods or godliness.

Regarding politics...I cannot even muster up the creativity to come up with anything.

The people are poor. How poor? very poor. There are few cars and most houses are wood and bamboo. (this is laos.) But people seem to have enough to eat. I have surprisingly few beggers. In fact, in both countries I've probably seen....less than 20. That's pretty amazing. And people seem content. the lao people are some of the nicest and happiest people i've seen. and people i met lao people, i thought the same thing about the thais.

Well, this may be the last email for a few days. I depart for nowheres land tonight and will prob get to Cambodia Sunday night. I'll be there for a few days before I return to Bangkok. And then, on Feb. 17....I'm going to Africa!! (haha, I don't know why that seems so funny all of a sudden.)

B'shalom

Sar

Sarah's pictures!

This is just a quickie to say that I have finally uploaded pictures. It took forever, so i'll have to do it in installments. A brief update of my life: Vang Vieng was nice. I lay in a hammock by the river. Went for a run through the most magnificient scenery ever. The weather was cloudy the whole time, and it turns out that cloudy weather creates the most dramatic mountain scenes. Vang Vieng is small. there is a river with mountains on both sides of it. and with the cloudy weather, the mountains look huge and black and seem to stretch up high into the clouds. My run through a tiny path to a cave was scary, almost--every time i looked up (which wasn't very often cuz i was afraid of stepping in cow poop) the mountains and dark clouds were looming not just above me, but all around me.

V.V. is mainly for backpackers--as of about 4 years ago; before that, there was nothing there. Now it is filled with guesthouses and resturaunts, all showing episodes of Friends and random movies at all times of day and night. And basically everyone sits around, either in the resturaunts or by the river, and gets really stoned and really drunk on happy pizza and happy milkshakes and tons and tons of Beerlao. The one activity in town is to go drunk tubing down the river. There are stops along the way for beerlao and cocktails. (I neither like water activities nor beer, and it was shabbos, so i sat that one out.)

So as I was saying, i was sitting by the river in my hammock all day, reading and napping, when...all of a sudden...BOOM!!!!...right in the middle of the "dry season" a HUGE rainstorm and hailstorm poured down on us. Now, we were staying in a little bungalow style guest house by the river and rain started pouring into our room and hailstones started destroying everything in sight. We tried (successfully) to salvage our stuff while we looked out our door and saw roofs (rooves?) in the river and trees fallen and just a mess everywhere. And then it calmed down. And then...BOOM!!!!...it happened again.

Have I mentioned that Lao people are the nicest people on earth? They just smiled and said they would take care of everything, and they did. THey bought new mattresses and sheets and blankets and gave us candles and next thing you knew, we were all cozy and ready for bed. and then...BOOM!!! Another downpour, but this time, it was going down and not slanted, so it stayed out of our room and we remained dry all night.

One day is all you need in Vang Vieng. So this morning we kayaked to Vientianne. That's the capital of Laos. (It's okay...I didn't know that either.) I rowed with the guide--he must've seen the worry in my eyes--and we only capsized once!

Vientianne doesn't seem like a very exciting city, so I think tomorrow night I will take an overnight bus to the 4000 Islands in Southern Laos. I will spend a couple days there and then I will take another overnight bus to Siem Riep in Cambodia.

I am very tired. I'm afraid that has affected my wit and intelligence and maybe this email is not topnotch. Better luck next time. Please enjoy the pictures! (note the personal message in the box below).

sar

same, same, but different

(That subject line is a personal joke between me and Thailand, well, me and everyone here and Thailand. But I'll let you in on it too--when the Thais are trying to sell you something--the same exact something that everyone on the block is selling--to try and convince you that their's is, in fact, not the same thing at a more expensive price, but is better, they assure you that it is "same same, but different." Ahhh. How easily their gimicks work! I have done wonders for their market.)

Anyways....Hi! How are you? Good! Me too. (I mean, I'm fine. But I'm also exceptionally good.) (Wow, I've already written a lot, and yet, have written nothing at all.)

Anyways (take 2)...I just got off a 5 hour bus that took me south of Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng. I can't tell you much about it yet except that there is an internet cafe next door to my guesthouse. So I will tell you about Luang P.

L.P. is Laos' second largest city. (The capital city, Vientienne, is largest.) They call it a city, but it is really a village. It is great. In fact, L.P. is the first place I've been to all trip that I would return to. Here's what I did: I gained back all the weight that I lost. I went cafe and bakery hopping the whole time. I walked a lot and rode a bike a lot, but I don't think the output equalled the intake. Lao coffee tastes a bit like mud--does French coffee taste like mud?--but they have ovaltine which goes well with cake too, and they have fruit shakes. I also found granola.

I did other things too. I took a boat to a paper village and a whiskey village. My boat driver -- Boontavi -- was drinking beer during the drive. I found that odd. Boontavi used to be a monk, for about 10 years. All the guys in Laos used to be Monks. Luang Prabang is filled with monks, in fact, b/c if you are a boy and you are between the ages of 12 and 22, you are most likely a novice studying in one of the many many monestaries. I made lots of new friends--I am as beautiful as a temple, they tell me! Ah, monk pick-up lines. I pretended I was a writer for a newspaper--who MIGHT be writing an article--and took copious notes while they were talking. I have their whole schedule and some nice thoughts recorded. (I MAY one day write for a newspaper...) I was surrounded by little monks. Some tourists passed by and took pictures.

One morning, I woke up early and went outside and bought some sticky rice and food wrapped in banana leaves. I went and sat outside a monestary gate waiting for the little monks to come out for breakfast. at 6:45 on the dot, they emerged in a straight solemn line, with tins around their necks, open and waiting for food. I gave them food and felt good. (Seeing "food" and "good" next to each other like remind me how lucky I am that I already speak English.)

And I went to the "ballet", but left early cuz it was so boring. But in the end, it was so good that I left early cuz guess who had just gotten to town and was outside in the market? You'll never guess, so i'll tell you...Molly! Yay!

And now it's Friday so soon is shabbos and we'll probably just read and lounge around. We are fully equipped with candles, wine, baguettes, and books. We will also plan what we want to do next. We are trying to fit Cambodia in, but I have been spoiled by a plane ride and cannot imagine being on a bus for as long as Molly is willing to sit on a bus. She says it's part of the "experience." Experience, my butt, i tell her. I'm paying $2/night for lodging. I think I'm getting my experience.

Well, as usual, I'm having fun, but still get waves of homesickness and miss all of you terribly. Laos is nice, but would be much nicer with you. :)

Love, Sar

The Lone Ranger...part II

Miss me? I missed you!

I've been walking around the town of Luang Prabang for the last 6 hours, turning right when I felt like turning right and left when I was in a left sort of mood. I wandered into a movie viewing place where I watched a weird movie with some weird people (you rent a movie and a room), all the while confused and thinking, "What am I doing in this totally random country of Laos?" I can't tell what part of the world I'm in right now...it could be Thailand, Miami, or the south of France. Luang Prabang lies in northern Laos (I wasn't joking--I hopped on a plane this morning and took an international flight to Thailand's eastern neighboring country) and used to be a French colony. The architecture is a combo of Buddhist temples and colonial French buildings. The streets are lined with palm trees and bakeries. It is clean, hot, and the people are so friendly. "May I use your toilet?" I asked. "Oh, yes please!" they respond.

Tomorrow I'm going to rent a bike and ride around the city, along the Mekong River, and maybe take a boat across the river to a cave filled with Buddhist thingies. Molly should be here in just a couple days, so I am still going strong as...the Lone Ranger...and this is part II.

So how have you all been?

I think another reason why I feel so out of sorts today is because all of a sudden I have gone from a very strict schedule to a totally haphazard and unstructured life--my real life. (Haha, walking around Laos is my real life? Who AM I?) I do not know what to do with myself when the chickens and pigs do not wake me up with their screaming at 4 a.m. and I don't go to sleep with the sun at 8. No more morning hike up to our meditation spot at 5:45 a.m. No more tai chi. No more Thai massage for 6 hours a day (I passed! Yay!). No more Lahu spirit dances. No more witch doctors chanting. No more bamboo huts and Lahu kids singing about carrots. No more non-Western toilets--they are actually more hygienic than our toilets and squatting is much better for your bowels than sitting is, it turns out. No more marriage proposals from Tip (that's TIP, guys, not TRIP--am i allowed to write this?). (The Lahu get married by drinking tea together in front of the shaman. I actually just realized this...at the Lahu dance the other night, Tip offered me a cup of tea and I accepted. Fortunately, though, the shaman was not present. Good thing...otherwise I'd have to get divorced (consists of dumping out tea in front of the shaman).)

I do not know how to sum up my last few weeks, so I will end my email here, officially, but read on if you would like to read some real live excerpts from my real live journal. (Whoa--I don't believe I'm doing this...) It just makes the most sense for me to do it this way. And besides, I wrote like a compulsive maniac over the last few weeks---there must be some material appropriate for and worth sharing...

1-18-05

I'm crammed on the open bed of a red pick up truck with 6 other people and everyone's lugguge. I am at the back, so if I look forward, all I see is the road, zooming along behind us. This surely will be good for my tan, though prob not so good for my contacts. I'm sitting in between Moana the violin maker and Shlumpf the German warrior. A Thai old woman dressed in some sort of traditional garb is to my left. I hope I won't have to pee; I just had a delicious banana-orange shake before I left. Today I love Thailand.

Moana's mother cried when she said goodbye to her. Both mother and daughter have nose rings. It made me miss my mother, even though she refuses to get her nose pierced.

Ahead of us are hills. We are soon entering the jungle...

Maybe in Thailand they are SUPPOSED to drive On the lines rather than BETWEEN them?

...At the "coffee house" (someone's house--he makes coffee) a little Lahu girl was holding a dead squirrel. Jo, a British/Chinese girl in the course, a former brass rubber on her way to Australia to find new work, also held it. I sat there with my jaw open and my hand over my eyes, in utter shock.

The Lahu people used to be nomads. THey would find a clearing in the jungle (or rahter, they would make a clearing in the jungle), live there for a while, use all the resources, and then move on, allowing the jungle to replenish itself. They are orininally from Tibet. They speak lahu, not Thai. The Thai goverment wanted them to settle after they moved around for a bit in Thailand, and so helped them by creating farming projects and giving them some money and resources. Now some of the people work for the royal project and some have become self-sufficient farmers. THe women all stay home and sew. THe children do the laundry.

1-22-05

To decided that to keep the spirit of the day, I would skip taichi, so i decided to go for a morning walk and got totally lost, missed my turn and ended up in the wrong Lahu village. "Where is massage?" I asked while gerturing a massage. All I got were blank stares and I wanted to cry. I knew I was at the wrong Lahu village b/c the dogs all started growling at me and the pigs were a white/grey, and the earth under my feet was more reddish than tan. And there were fewer houses and fewer chickens. WHen I finially got back--after a strange man walked me down a narrow deserted path and then put me on the back of an even stranger man's motorbike--I knew I was home cuz the crazy, noisy farm animals (who live below and around the houses, not on farms) were so welcoming. I've come to love the pigs here, especially. They have such a distinct personality. THey are quite feisty, and very funny.

Two sad things--I lost my expensive patagonia socks along the way, and on my way back up the hill after the motorbike dropped me off, I saw a dead puppy dog on the side of the road. I had a brief, not very verbal, but very expressive conversation--more an acknowledgement of the sadness--with an old Lahu man who was also walking up the hill.

1-26-05

So, today was my birthday and actually, one of my nicest. WHen I went to breakfast, MOana had left me flowers, a bracelet, and cake. Everyone sang Happy BD to me a couple times throughout the day, and after luncch was more cake. Amy gave me pretty earings, too. A good day.

1-27-05

...It was the dogs. Sounded like there was a dog massacre last night. THe most horrible screeches and screams of such extreme pain, anger and torment. I had to pee in the middle of the night (as usual) and was so petrified that I'd get eaten by the ravenous dogs, that I would not leave the platform [note to readers: the toilets are a bit of a walk away], I was even scared to open the gate. So I climbed up on the bannister, made sure no one was looking, squatted off and peed. Not a bad idea! I'll probably do it again. Why walk all the way to the bathroom?

THe rest of the morning was filled with the regular chaos of screaming farm animals--why do roosters cockadoodledoo? Just exercising their vocals, or do they have something to say? Do their cockadoodledoos vary or do they really say the same annoying thing over and over and over again?

[another note to readers: these are the deep thoughts that keep me up at night. I think the same thing about cows and dogs and all other animals. Do you think they think the same thing about us?]

Well, if you are still reading this, congratulations. You will win a prize when I get back. Just mention the word "carrots" and that'll be my cue. I would type more, but, guys, I'm in Laos--I've got more interesting things to do. Though I do love chatting with you in my monologues. Speaking of chatting, I plan on maybe signing on IM tomorrow morning, maybe around 9. THat's 9p.m. for you. So everyone come online! It'll be fun! (Sareal99)

It's late and I have to find my way back to my guesthouse.

Ciao!

Sar

P.S. THank you all for your birthday wishes! And today is my dad's birthday! Go Aquarians! (Wow, that's definitely the influence of my last few weeks spent with astrologers, alchemists, mayans, and energyists.)