MSG and Authenticity

Probably my biggest priority as a blogger is to write things that I think you (my reader) will actually read. For that reason I try to stay between 600 and 800 words -I cannot stand the thought of you getting bored while reading my blog. Today, I’ve got a lot to say. I’ll try to be concise, but I’m afraid this one might get long. If you get bored please navigate away from this page (I cringe to think I might be wasting your time). Here are some other options I’m sure you’ll find stimulating: Facebook, Hulu, Adventist Singles Connection.
In reference to my last (religious) blog I want to say this: I don’t think I am particularly gifted at peering into men’s souls, especially when language keeps me from talking to those men and I don‘t have long enough to stay with them, know them, and experience challenges with them that would expose the weaknesses of our (both mine and their) characters. I think God deliberately juxtaposed my experience meditating on what I‘ve called “wide-spread Sanctification,” with the experience He just gave me -an encounter with Chinese atheism (we got a big leg up by staying with some folks who have been living in China, and grappling hard to understand Chinese values and their spiritual significance). I definitely think there’s a lot of truth arrived at in a lot of ways, and that God works in non-Christian religions. But I no longer think it‘s necessary for me to put Christian discipleship “on trial“ in my own mind. Ways that Christianity can benefit people here are obvious. They don’t have a mechanism for forgiveness. People live with a lot of hurt and pain that God is willing to relieve them of. So I breath a sigh of relief; There is still purpose.
For those of you tired of my abstract musings who actually read my “travel blog” because you’re interested in travel, here’s your fix: Our Thai visas expired so we had to hit the road again, and with only a little over a month to get all the way to Greece (to meet Jeremy’s parents) it’s about time to boogie anyway. Our last night in Thailand was spent in Chiang Rai. I think Chiang Rai is the new Chiang Mai and I wish we would have spent more time there and less in Chiang Mai.
In one of my marketing classes we watched a documentary-ish film called “The Quest for Cool.” It’s shtick is that there are authentically new/exciting “cool” things that “cool” people (the early moving, progressive type that the rest of us try to emulate) find. Once the cool people have lent coolness to their new discovery every Jo-Blow trend follower jumps on board and it’s coolness plummets. The film studied this cycle in the fashion industry, but I’m finding the idea to be dead-on in the tourism industry. Chiang Mai appears to have peaked a long time ago. Now it’s a cash cow, helping crowds of “un-cool” tourists part with their cash (I use un-cool to mean folks who either aren’t concerned about cultural authenticity in their travels or else are ignorant in regard to that authenticity. It doesn‘t mean I don‘t think you‘re cool or that we can‘t be friends. If Paul was chief of sinners I‘m the chief of tourists).
I am, however, at least seeking authentic encounters with the gorgeous and diverse people who call this planet home. I used to think the best way to do this was to completely trash the “lonely planet” guide, but I was wrong. The guidebook is good for two things. First, it includes accurate, mildly academic (you can learn things from reading them, but still enjoy the reading) bits on history, economics, and other culture sculptors. The other main thing I think the guidebook is good for is helping you map out where NOT to go. If a place is in the “lonely planet” guide, but not described as particularly touristy, it’s “coolness” may not have peaked. It’s probably a bit touristy, but it’s also probably a good place to experience a bit of real culture while still in proximity to things like WiFi and Western toilets (if that‘s your thing…I often want those types of things). If a place is called “touristy” by the lonely planet guide you should recognize that the entire economy of that place is likely built around your dollar (I’m not saying you can’t have a good time, you can, amusement can be had in exchange for money). And to be fair, even hyper-touristy towns do still have their neighborhoods and sections where real people do real work (rather than finding clever ways to get your dollars). I think the culture is much more intact in these “real work” areas, and sadly marred in the areas where people make their grocery money by entertaining/swindling you.
(I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be telling you about the sights and sounds of Asia, I’m in a terribly editorial mood).
In America there are a lot of steps between us and our food. That’s not the case in a lot of the world. The different ways people cultivate the ground, and the micro economies and markets that spring up as a result, are some of my favorite things to see. It’s hard to see those things in touristy places because the economies and markets in the touristy areas exist because I brought green-backs.
On occasions when I find myself in unscathed territory I feel excited to see something real, but I also feel a bit hypocritical because the very fact that I’m there takes away from its realness, and if I bring my friends, take a lot of pictures, and submit raving reviews to the “lonely planet,” pretty soon that place will be another Chiang Mai. I remember a history professor in college who was against travel, I thought that was the craziest idea I’d ever heard, but if it was because she hates the flattening/westernization/materialization of the world like I do, then I at least agree with the logic. It makes sense to have the most sensitive anthropologists, historians, and linguists go undercover and do the traveling for us. We’d probably learn more from staying home and listening to their reports on the Discovery channel anyway.
(ok, that’s it for the editorial….here are some sights and sounds).
We left Thailand and entered North Western Laos. This was the least developed part of the world we’ve seen on this trip. Except for a few brick buildings in towns, the buildings in the part of Laos that we went through were all either bamboo and thatch or rough hewn board construction. The estates (if such primitive dwellings may be called estates) were, however, some of the tidiest I’ve seen. There was an obvious orderliness that was nice to see. Also the people seemed to be more fully engaged in their families, the concerns of those around them, and the physical realities of their surroundings (this tendency -in the whole world- seems to vary inversely with the availability of electricity).
I’ve mentioned before that this trip is all about the gradients -the fading of one place into another by minute, undetectable changes. The difference between the China and Lao sides of that border are the most “detectable” differences I’ve ever seen in the simple crossing of a border. On the Laos side a house made from bricks and mortar is an unattainable luxury and people continually adapt to their environment to stay alive. On the China side there are 72 inch plasma screen televisions, designer outfitters, tunnels, and elevated super highways (transportation is infinitely easier…man has adapted his environment to fit his needs).
Speaking of bricks and mortar, they are good metaphors for the products of a digestive tract. The white bread and fiber-less noodles we were eating in Vietnam resulted in the occasional production of some bricks. The bacteria ridden eggs and vegetables I had last Sunday resulted in the frantic manufacture of enormous amounts of mortar.
Other than the curiosities in my bowel, coming back into China has, in a really strange way, felt like coming home (Jeremy and I arrived at this conclusion independently and it‘s a bit of a mystery to explain). Maybe it’s just being back in a more developed place, or maybe it’s because we were with Americans last time we were in China, so we’ve been conditioned to feel like China is familiar. Anyway, we’re happily back in the land of dumplings and yummy (it just tastes so good!) MSG.