Scent of a nation

Writer: 

Zaw Win Chit

A girl with thanakha on her cheeks stands near her mother at a newspaper wholesale market in Yangon. (Photo - REUTERS)

Since ancient times, Myanmar people have been rubbing thanakha paste on their faces as an effective shield against the sun’s harmful rays. The yellow facial cream produced from ground thanakha bark is a much-touted beauty secret deeply ingrained in the Myanmar culture. Men also wear it quite unconsciously. 

Thanakha trees can be found in places across Myanmar including Shwebo in Ayeyawady Region, Monywa and Wuntho in Sagaing Region, Pakokku, Yesagyo, Taungtwingyi, and Myaing in Magway Region, Pyin Oo Lwin in Mandalay Region, Hsipaw and Lashio in Shan State, Pyinmana in the central plains, and Taungoo.  

The quality of thanakha varies according to the area where it comes from. Despite the combined popularity of Shwebo and Shinmataung thanakha from Yesagyo, the latter has attracted a fanatical following among the general public ever since the locals around Shinma Mountain introduced thanakha to their gift-giving ritual that over time grew into a national obsession.

“Shinmataung thanakha is the name of thanakha trees from Shinma Mountain in Pakokku Township. Now thanakha is commercially cultivated at the foothills of Shinma Mountain instead of sesame that turned out only 20 or 25 bags per acre,” said villager Mya Thin from the Myaing area, Pakokku Township who ran a thanakha stall at the Shwesandaw Pagoda Festival in Taungoo.

A stall at the Shwesandaw Pagoda Festival in Taungoo, Bago Region, specialises in Shinmataung thanakha. (Photo - EMG)

Nowadays Shinmataung thanakha has become more popular than Shwebo thanakha thanks to its much-prized lingering heady scent in contrast to the latter’s fleeting whiff of happiness. 

In Myanmar, cheap up-country-style thanakha products flood the pagoda-festival markets all year round.  Thanakha sellers are known as the first to set up shop and the last to pack up. Brisk business is reported mostly on the first and the last day of the festival when the products are offered at a discount. Yet choosing the right thanakha can be tricky. Even to the trained eye, it’s hard to distinguish between the real and the fake products on sale at these religious festivals.

“If customers want the real Shinmataung thanakha, supply will never catch up with demand because the farmland in Shinma Mountain is so small. But cheaper thanakha products are readily available, the kind that’s been dumbed down with cheap thanakha varieties going into mix for what’s touted as the real Shinmataung thanakha. Our regular customers will only get the real deal though.  You know, CP chicken always tastes differently from free-range chicken. The same is true with Shinmataung thanakha,” said owner of Mya Myint Moh thanakha shop.

Shinmataung thanakha is always in demand because of its organic cultivation. With annual precipitation of between 20 and 40 inches, Pakokku is ideal for Shinmataung thanakha farming. The plantations adopt the no-pesticides approach that organic farming demands though some don’t advertise the fact. Weeds are always kept under control. Naturally grown thanakha trees produce the best thanakha characterised by its thick powdery texture with a rich, fresh fragrance.

Scented thanakha products in modern packaging. (Photo - NATION)

“Shinmataung thanakha is cool in the summer and warm in the winter.  The thanakha powder is mixed with water before the paste is applied [on the face and body] so it’s cool when you rub it on the face. It’s very good for health,” said the owner of Mya Myint Moh thanakha shop.

According to thanakha shop owners, the facial cream has become too commercialised in recent years with some unscrupulous foreign companies bent on registering names of thanakha varieties as their own trademarks.

“We held a meeting on this issue in Pakokku at the end of last year. If they get the trademark, they will try to control thanakha farmers and traders like us. That means we won’t be able to sell Shinmataung thanakha freely at festivals and pagoda festivals like we do now. They will try to impose restrictions on us and bar us from selling it. We won’t accept a foreign country trying to register trademarks based on thanakha names like ‘Shinmataung’,” said a thanakha shop owner.

To keep thanakha as part of Myanmar’s national heritage as long as possible, farmers in Shinma Mountain are up in arms over the possibility that a foreign company is exploiting the popularity of Shinmataung thanakha for their own gain.  

• savig turtles from soup
• By Amanda Ruggeri

25 May 2015

This was no usual boat cruise. Rousing Chinese music, sounding more patriotic than pop, blared out of the speakers. The motorboat operator wore the sea foam-green shirt of the Chinese Coast Guard’s police force. Motoring through the harbour, we passed one floating home after another – each a small house built on a wooden platform over the water, with red paper lanterns in the corners and laundry flapping on the washing lines.

Motoring through the harbour (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

Although I was a visitor in the floating village of Lingshui, located just off the South China Sea island of Hainan, the boat ride wasn’t for me. It was for my seven-year-old travel companion.

The seven-year-old, 75kg guest of honour (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

At 75kg, he already was so large that he could barely squeeze into the space at the motorboat’s stern. Eager to get into the water, he bucked his head and flapped his flippers. After all, it would be his first time tasting freedom. Raised in captivity, the hawksbill turtle was going to be released after this boat ride, his movements charted by satellite communication with the 17cm antenna that rose from his shell.

Heading into open sea (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

A floating fishing village with 4,500 residents, Lingshui is also, quietly, home to something else: Sea Turtles 911, China’s only non-profit focused on saving sea turtles.
In some ways, the location choice seems odd. Most sea turtle species are endangered, and, along with climate change and coastal development, fishermen have historically been one of their main threats. In coastal areas worldwide, both sea turtle meat and eggs are considered culinary delicacies, while the shells have been good luck symbols for centuries in Asia, thought to have medicinal properties and coveted for ornamentation and jewellery. Even now that the sea turtle trade is illegal, both by Chinese and international law, all parts can fetch high prices on the black market. As a result, selling turtles is a tempting option that has devastated sea turtle populations.

The floating village of Lingshui (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

This is particularly true in Southeast Asia’s “coral triangle”: ground zero for the biodiversity of the world’s oceans and home to six of the world’s seven marine turtle species. In fact, Hainan – wedged in the South China Sea between the coral triangle and the hungry market of mainland China – has been a pivotal location for the illegal trade. According to a 2012 report by Traffic East Asia: “It appears that the majority of illegal fishers involved originated from Hainan, the majority of catches were landed in this island province, and the Hainan markets were the main source for processing and distributing turtle products northward into mainland China.”
Yet this connection between the island and the animal was exactly why Frederick Yeh, the founder of Sea Turtles 911, started his non-profit here: to increase awareness of the turtles’ plight in order to address the problem at a local level.

A view of the sea turtle hospital (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

Our boat pulled up to a wooden platform about 1km out into the harbour, surrounded by the fishermen and their homes. Like the other structures in Lingshui, the sea turtle hospital is little more than a small dock topped with a hut. First impressions, though, were deceiving. Inside, medications and IV drips stocked the building. Outside, a large, netted cut-out from the wooden platform served as a lap pool for about 15 sea turtles, including vulnerable olive ridley turtles, endangered green turtles and critically endangered hawksbills.

Genie stretches her fins (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

Yeh scooped out a large green turtle named Genie and held her up. She had a large scar on her bottom shell, the result of being accidentally caught on a fishing hook. Brought to the attention of Yeh and his volunteers in May 2014, Genie had been brought to the hospital and nursed back to health; now, just four months later, she was being released.
But the turtles aren’t just hurt by fishing. The other risks they face can be just as pernicious, like polluted water, which can give them bacterial, fungal and viral infections, or the plastic bags they ingest, mistaking them for jellyfish.

Fishermen, plying their trade (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

All of those factors are decreasing the sea turtle population significantly, something Yeh has seen first-hand. Born on Hainan but raised in the US, Yeh had just graduated from Maryland’s Johns Hopkins University as a medical student when, on a visit to Hainan, he saw that the turtle population was hugely diminished from when he was a child. Those that used to nest on the island’s beaches no longer did. Yeh moved back to Hainan and, in 2008, started the foundation. Since its opening, the non-profit has rescued 273 sea turtles, rehabilitating and releasing 238 of them.

Fishermen, plying their trade (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

More than a rescue mission, Yeh wants to increase awareness of the sea turtles’ plight. Like any marine animal, the disappearance of sea turtles affects the entire ecological system.
“Turtles are like underwater lawnmowers: they eat sea grass,” Yeh said. In the same way that lawn grass needs to be cut regularly to stay healthy and continue to grow, so does sea grass. “A lot of fishermen talk about how there are fewer fish today. Well, if sea grass isn’t there, it produces less oxygen, which leads to less fish.”

Passing neighbourhoods of floating homes (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

Sea Turtles 911 is only one part of a multi-pronged plan to raise awareness. In the city of Sanya, for example, even the Ritz-Carlton has gotten involved. The hotel has a purpose-built pool for rehabilitating sea turtles, offer educational classes and hosts turtle releases from its beach.
On a visit to the Ritz-Carlton sea turtle sanctuary – “it’s like a mini hotel for turtles,” said Michel Goget, the hotel’s general manager – I watched Yeh carefully show the animals to children staying at the resort. One turtle had a swaybacked shell, the result of lordosis, a spinal disorder caused by malnutrition. As a hatchling, Yeh explained, the turtle had been a pet and had not been fed the varied diet that it needed.
Many of the children were from cities on China’s mainland and few had ever seen sea turtles before. This in-person encounter, Yeh hoped, would stick with them – enough to know, as adults, not to order sea turtle meat in a dish like turtle soup, and maybe even to spark an interest in helping the animals, too.

The hawksbill's big adventure begins (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

The Sea Turtles 911 team also studies where today’s turtles are making their habitats, information that can help researchers figure out how best to help the reptiles. That was why today’s release, the 75kg hawksbill, was outfitted with an antenna. They’d know if he wound up promptly caught in a fisherman’s net or thriving in the wild.
Leaving the turtle hospital, I climbed into a boat with some local reporters. Yeh, a couple of volunteers and several Coast Guard policemen loaded the boat with the hawksbill and we headed for the open sea.

Preparing the hawksbill for release (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

As the fishermen’s village fell away behind us, the boats idled to a stop. It took five men to haul the turtle up from the floor. He balanced on the edge of the boat, in their arms, antenna sticking up to the sky. The reporters’ telephoto lenses snapped like firecrackers. Someone shouted. Everyone let go of the turtle at once. He plunged into the water with a smack, followed by the sound of 10 people cheering and clapping.

The splash of freedom (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)

As he swam away from the boat, we could still make out his silhouette under the water, moving with a grace no one could have guessed from his flapping and bucking on board. Yeh pointed at his shape as it moved farther and farther. And then the turtle was gone.

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• soak in culture
• By Adam H Graham

26 May 2015

I was standing in the psychiatric ward of Thimpu’s National Institute of Traditional Medicine, where patients with mental conditions are sent after answering a few preliminary questions at the reception desk, which is housed in a wooden box beside a prayer wheel. My mental condition: I’d been in the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan for four nights and I was dizzy, unfocused and having trouble sleeping due to the arid 2,200m-plus altitude.
A busy young female doctor measured my blood pressure and asked me if I was feeling “giddy”. After reviewing the results, she suggested I stop drinking coffee and prescribed me some herbal pills and a hot sesame oil compression therapy, to be administered in the adjacent room. “And take hot baths in the evenings if you can,” she said. These were the doctor’s words I’d been hoping to hear.
Like many, I’d come to Bhutan with many questions and in search of many answers. Answers I hoped I would find during visits to remote mountain-perched monasteries and by encountering the mindful Buddhist way of life that earned the country the nickname Kingdom of Happiness. But, I confess, I also came to Bhutan with the implicit hope of experiencing its unique hot stone baths, a form of traditional Bhutanese medicine where fresh river water is mixed with local Artemisia leaves and heated with fire-roasted river stones. After all, one of the ancient names for Bhutan is Menjung, which means The Land of Medicinal Herbs, and its traditional medicine and rich pharmacopoeia dates back to 7th-century Tibet, as well as borrowing heavily from Indian Ayurvedic practices.

Punakha Dzong, the administrative centre of Punakha, Bhutan (Credit: Ed Jones/AFP/Getty)

These duelling traditions led to the alchemy behind the baths, in which hot stones are deposited into a chamber of the wooden tub, purportedly releasing high concentrations of minerals, while the heated natural river water and Artemisia absinthium (wormwood, the source of Absinthe) allegedly have a meditative effect. Versions of these baths exist all over Bhutan, from luxurious five-star resorts to charming rustic farmhouses.
A doctor’s prescription is not required to soak in the baths, but it certainly helped me justify the ensuing pampering. It is required, however, to hire a guide in Bhutan, as part of the daily visa fee that applies towards your transport, hotels and meals. I hired my guide Namgay through Audley, a tour agency that offers customizable itineraries that include visits to Bhutan’s hot stone baths.

A river snakes its way through Bhutan's lush fields (Credit: Como Hotels and Resorts)

My first stop was Punakha, the ancient capital and official winter residence of Thimpu’s monks due to its warmer climate and lower altitude at 1,200m. I booked a night at the small, luxurious Uma hotel, perched on a ridge overlooking the Punakha Valley and the Mo Chu River. Its treehouse-like rooms were comfortable, but the spa and health cuisine were the real draw card. Like all hot stone baths in Bhutan, appointments are necessary and you must give the staff a few hours’ notice so they can build a fire, heat the river stones and draw the bath.
My lanky Bhutanese therapist Thandey met me in the treatment room to explain the 30-minute procedure. The bath was already warm and scattered with floating artemisia leaves. Thandey told me to undress and settle into the water, and ring a bowl-shaped bell if I wanted more hot stones. When I rang the bell, a chute opened and out tumbled a load of molten red rocks, which sizzled and steamed, immediately raising the temperature. Next to the bath was a pot of tea and a collection of plastic shampoo bottles. Admittedly, Uma’s was not as authentic as some of the other hot stone baths I’d soon try, but it certainly set the tone of my trip to deeply relaxed and tranquil.

Unwinding in one of Bhutan's hot stone baths (Credit: Como Hotels and Resorts)

A spectacular 75km rollercoaster drive east took us to Gangtey, nestled in a 3,000m-high glacial valley in the dzongkhag (district) of Wangdue Phodrang. The village is known for its iconic 15th-century Gangtey Monastery and the highly endangered black-necked cranes that migrate here every winter, always circling the monastery three times before landing. It’s also where I experienced my most memorable and scenic soak.
Inside a local farmer’s stone shed, set in an open field planted with beetroot and potatoes, was a rustic and elegant bath. It might not sound like much, but it is administered by Amankora Gangtey, one of five Aman resorts in Bhutan, arguably the country’s most high-end. A staff member led me off the resort’s property for the 10-minute walk to the shed, where I started my treatment with a sweet welcome tea around the bonfire and was introduced to the shed’s owner, an old smiling Bhutanese farmer wearing a traditional gho, a knee-length robe tied with a belt.

The hot stone bath at Amankora Gangtey (Credit: Adam H Graham)

Inside the shed, 12 candles flickered from wall-mounted votives. Like most traditional Bhutanese baths, the water was solely heated from fire-roasted stones, and on the tub’s bottom was a silty layer of sand from the release of the stone’s minerals. The tub itself was made of oak, which is said to hold the water’s heat better than pine. On a table beside it was a bowl of chips made from potatoes harvested in this very field. Next to it was a small ornate bell cast with Tibetan script. I was told to ring it when settled in the hot water. With the ring, two Aman staffers theatrically flung open the door to reveal the entire valley tumbling below and the mist-strewn monastery perched on the opposite hill.
During my sublime 40-minute soak, I munched on the crunchy chips and listened to the newly arrived black-necked cranes whose calls were eventually drowned out by the dungchen (trumpet-like horns) played by the monks at the monastery. It was an inspiring experience and a highlight of all my trips, not just to Bhutan, but anywhere.

A view overlooking Paro Valley (Credit: Como Hotels and Resorts)

Pushing east another 160km, we travelled to the town of Bumthang in the less-touristed Central Bhutan region, where I experienced a traditional bath at the Sherab Dema Farmhouse Homestay. The tub was housed in one of four adjoining sheds, each slightly wider than a changing room cubicle. Inside were a few hooks to hang my clothes, and a bath with no view, bell or pots of tea. This is how the Bhutanese did it. I undressed and slid into the soothing water. From outside, Namgay asked if I needed more hot water, while the owner’s son sat by the fire singing and downloading music to his mobile. After a good 40-minute soak, my host Mrs Sherab cooked a delicious traditional dinner, which included the national dish of ema-datsi (chilli peppers cooked in cheese) and a tender beef tshoem (stew), which we ate while sitting on the floor around a traditional bukhari woodstove. Afterwards, I sipped on her homebrewed ara, a light pinkish shochu-like spirit made from millet and strawberries. It was so delicious, I bought a bottle.

The precariously perched Tiger's Nest Monastery (Credit: Manan Vatsyayana/Getty)

My final few nights were spent in the small city of Paro, home to Bhutan’s main airport and the famed Tiger’s Nest Monastery. Here, I scheduled in two baths, but only made it to one. The first was an outdoor roadside springs we stopped at after a hike to the Kila Nunnery on the Chele La Pass, the highest motor road in Bhutan at 3,700m. Namgay warned me that these were for locals and might not be sanitary. He was right. The narrow rectangular baths, embedded a few metres into the ground, resembled half-buried coffins and were frequented by the elderly and very sick. So instead of bathing, we spent 45 minutes birdwatching, spotting a black-faced laughing thrush, long-tailed magpie and kalij pheasant from the road.

Roadside bath after a hike to the Kila Nunnery on the Chelela Pass (Credit: Adam H Graham)

The last bath was during the full moon on my final night in Bhutan. Uma Paro resort is a spacious and leafy compound with a modern spa that overlooks the glittering and mitten-shaped Paro Valley. The bath itself was sprinkled with pink Himalayan salt flakes and a variety of colourful wildflowers in addition to the herby green Artemisia leaves. I slunk into the water and rang the bell for more hot water immediately, now an old pro at the ritual. As the spa’s last guest for the evening, I felt like a king overlooking the Kingdom of Happiness as I watched the milky moonlight bathe the pine forest and valley below. And for one very brief, fleeting moment, all my questions were answered.

Night settles on Uma Punakha (Credit: Como Hotels and Resorts)

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6 อันตรายที่คาดไม่ถึงจากน้ำอัดลม Zero Calorie

6 พ.ค. 58 

น้ำอัดลมส่งผลเสียต่อสุขภาพอย่างไร ChicMinistry จะมหลายคนชอบดื่มน้ำอัดลม แต่ด้วยความกลัวอ้วน จึงหันไปดื่มเครื่องดื่มลดน้ำหนักต่างๆ แต่รู้หรือไม่ว่าเครื่องดื่มเหล่านั้นมีโทษอย่างบ้าง ChicMinistry จะพาไปดูกันครับ

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น้ำตาลเทียมที่เรียกว่า Aspartame ซึ่งถูกนำไปใช้แทนน้ำตาลที่มาจากธรรมชาติในน้ำอัดลมนี่แหละที่ทำให้มีอาการปวดหัว หรือไมเกรนขึ้นหลังจากดื่ม ปัจจุบันผู้เชี่ยวชาญกำลังทำการศึกษาว่าสารให้ความหวานชนิดนี้ว่ามีผลอย่างไร

2. ทำลายสุขภาพฟัน
หมอฟันโดยส่วนมากแล้วจะไม่แนะนำให้ดื่มน้ำอัดลมนะครับ นอกจากจะทำให้คุณติดแล้ว ความซ่าของน้ำอัดลมยังไปทำลายสารเคลือบฟันอีกด้วย เพราะในน้ำอัดลมประกอบด้วยกรดซิตริก ซึ่งมีฤทธิ์กัดกร่อนฟัน ถ้าดื่มไปนานๆ เดี๋ยวคุณก็จะสังเกตได้ง่ายครับว่าจะมีอาการเสียวฟันเกิดขึ้น

3. ทำให้เมาไวเมื่อผสมกับเครื่องดื่มแอลกอฮอล์
ผู้เชี่ยวชาญจากมหาวิทยาลัยนอร์ท เคนทักกี้กล่าวว่า การผสมน้ำอัดลมไดเอทกับเครื่องดื่มแอลกอฮอล์จะทำให้น้ำตาลเทียมในน้ำอัดลมเข้าสู่กระแสเลือด และไหลเวียนไปยังสมองได้เร็ว จึงทำให้ผู้ดื่มมีอาการเมาไวกว่าปกติ

4. เกิดความเครียด
American Academy of Neurology ระบุว่าน้ำอัดลมไดเอทที่มี่ส่วนผสมของน้ำตาลเทียมจะทำให้ผู้บริโภคเกิดความเครียดได้ จากการศึกษาพบว่าคนที่ดื่มน้ำอัดลมไดเอทเกิน 4 กระป๋องต่อวันจะมีความเครียดกว่าคนที่ดื่มเครื่องดื่มทำจากน้ำตาลธรรมชาติ ซึ่งทางผู้เชี่ยวชาญกำลังทำการศึกษาอยู่ว่าเพราะอะไร

5. ทำให้กระดูกเสื่อม
ทีมงานจากมหาวิทยาลัยเทิร์ฟพบว่าผู้หญิงมักมีโอกาสเป็นโรคกระดูกพรุนมากกว่าผู้ชาย น้ำอัดลมไดเอทจะทำให้กระดูกเสื่อม ขจัดวิตามินและเกลือแร่ต่างๆออกจากกระดูก ทำให้กระดูกเปราะง่ายขึ้น นอกจากนั้นวิตามินเกลือแร่ที่เราบริโภคเข้าไปจะไม่ช่วยเพิ่มความแข็งแรงให้ร่างกายเลย The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition จึงออกมาเตือนผู้บริโภคให้ลดการดื่มน้ำอัดลมครับ

6. น้ำอัดลมลดสมรรถภาพการทำงานของหัวใจ
นักวิจัยจากมหาวิทยาลัยโคลัมเบีย และมหาวิทยาลัยไมอามีรายงานว่าน้ำอัดลมจะส่งผลต่อการทำงานของระบบหลอดเลือดและโรคหัวใจได้ จากการสำรวจพบว่า 43% ของผู้คนที่ชอบดื่มน้ำอัดลมจะมีปัญหาเกี่ยวระบบหลอดเลือด ซึ่งทางนักวิจัยกำลังหาสาเหตุต่อไปว่าเกิดจาดอะไรกันแน่

เห็นแบบนี้แล้ว ชาวชิคก็อย่าลืมลดปริมาณน้ำอัดลมที่ดื่มในแต่ละวันด้วยนะครับ เพราะเราจะได้มีสุขภาพแข็งแรงใช้ชีวิตแบบชิคๆต่อไป

Source: wmnlife.com
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Fly fishing on the Yuam

Phoowadon Duangmee

| 24 May, 2015

Sitting on a triangle of land where the Yuam and Mae Sariang rivers meet in remote Mae Hong Son province in Thailand, the sleepy town that takes its name from the latter river has long been overshadowed by its sister city, the popular Pai. But popularity doesn’t always make for a good destination. While Pai district has been worn down by the tourism boom and is now full of Chinese tourists and selfie sticks, Mae Sariang is enticing visitors to enjoy its quiet and rustic beauty.
“Mae Sariang was once known as Muang Yuam (Yuam township), and was noted for the finest teak,” says Phathakorn Wongaree of the Mae Sariang Museum, as he shows me around. “When Siam was trading teak with British companies in the 19th century, Mae Sariang was a major outpost for the log-loading operation.”
The loggers floated the teak trunks along the Yuam river to the sawmill at Mawlamyine in Myanmar. The industry shifted to the North once the new railway system connecting Bangkok and Chiang Mai was completed. Mae Sariang simply wasn’t part of the plans for Siam’s modernisation. Yet its legacy can still be felt, both in and outside the museum.
Strolling along Laeng Phanich Road, a small strip bordered by the Yuam river, you cannot help but notice the teak houses standing side by side. These are the former homes of laboureres from West Bengal brought in by the British log companies to Mae Sariang to work in the logging business. When the industry moved to Lampang and Chiang Mai provinces in the 1920s, many Bengalis — Pakistanis, as they are known today — decided not to follow but, instead, built their mosque and made Mae Sariang home.
“Mae Sariang has many ethnic differences,” says Halima, as she brings me a plate of yellow rice with chicken and roasted spices — a typical Muslim dish. “If you stay here for a week, you will notice the big differences in this small town. Shan, Chinese, Kareni, Pakistani and Thais all live together in Mae Sariang. We might follow different faiths but we all respect each other.”
With Halima’s directions ringing in my head, I have no  problem finding the mosque. Masjid Jameatulislam stands on Laeng Phanich Road and it is a beautiful piece of architecture, with ivory-white twin minarets. A stone’s throw from the mosque is the market — where people from all walks of life and faiths come to buy food. From here, I make my way along Wiang Nai Road and soon reach the small church of St Paul.
There are plenty of Buddhist temples in Mae Sariang, too. Legend has it that four hermits established four temples in the town and that anyone visiting all four will be blessed with good health and wealth. Chom Chaeng, Chom Mon, Chom Thong and Chom Kitti sit on top of the hill overlooking Mae Sariang. You need good health to reach the top of the hill, as each temple requires a climb up more than 100 steps. I’m less certain about the wealth, but visitors are certainly enriched by the beautiful view of the surrounding countryside and rice paddy fields.
Besides the mosque and temples, Mae Sariang is also a playground for anyone who loves the great outdoors. Kayaking allows you to travel just like a log from Yuam to the Salween river. For two hours or longer if you prefer, the river leads you through the peaceful countryside with the Tenasserim Hills as a distant backdrop. Here, in this sleepy district of Mae Sariang, fans of the movie A River Runs Through It can enjoy fly fishing in the crystal-clear waters of the Yuam river.
“You can fish just like Brad Pitt and Robert Redford did in Montana,” says local fishing guide Bobby Kaotakol. “The Yuam is home to surprisingly large mahseer and they respond like large brown trout, happily taking dry flies.”
Sadly, I have no time to try my hand at fly fishing but resolve to do so when I return to this sleepy riverside district.
Chiang Mai is the gateway for Mae Sariang. Public buses leave daily from the Chiang Mai Arcade bus station, and the journey takes about five hours. A faster minivan service is also available.
-- ANN/The Nation

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India’s bizarre border ritual

• By Tawny Clark

29 April 2015

My palms began to sweat as our taxi approached the border; my nerves were clearly getting the best of me. My husband and I had promised our families we wouldn’t do anything risky on our month-long journey through India. But seeing as how we often chose adventure over just about anything else, it was little surprise that we’d found ourselves driving straight for the India-Pakistan border.
India and Pakistan share a history riddled with conflict. Before Britain withdrew from the Indian subcontinent in 1947, it split the fertile Punjab region down the centre, between the cities of Amritsar and Lahore. Over the years, disputes over religion and the divided Kashmir region have led to violence and bloodshed, with one of the most recent skirmishes leaving nine civilians dead.
Despite this tense relationship, both countries come together every sundown to produce a zealous, almost comical ceremony that marks the nightly closing of the border. Leaving the smog of Agra and the majesty of the Taj Mahal a few days early, we’d hopped a train bound for Amritsar, eager to witness this high-stepping performance for ourselves.

A tranquil view of Amritsar (Credit: Jasleen Kaur/Flickr/CC BY-SA 2.0)

From Amritsar, a 30km drive west brought us to the town of Atari, on the Wagah border, the only legal crossing between India and Pakistan. Hundreds of Indian nationals were already gathered. Hawkers were penetrating the crowd, touting pirated Beyoncé CDs, Taj Mahal models and jalebi, a traditional neon-orange Indian treat dripping in sugary syrup.
Just outside an official-looking cement bunker, waiting spectators were sectioned off into two lines; one for men and one for women. In a country as chaotic as India, the lines were unexpectedly orderly.
I waved goodbye to my husband and joined a long row of crouched women resplendent in brightly coloured saris. A stern-looking border guard tapped me on the shoulder, motioned to my husband and pointed to a separate line marked “foreigners", where visitors of both sexes were allowed to mingle. After an inspection of our passports and a brief frisking, we were ushered down a long paved path that led to the official border, where the ceremony would take place.

Excited spectators gather at the ceremony site (Credit: Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade/Flickr/CC BY-SA 2.0)

A single paved road roughly 100m long stretched from our side of the border in India, through two towering open iron gates, and over to Pakistan. Grandstands and sidewalks lined both sides of the street and there appeared to be a hierarchy to the seating assignments. Special Indian guests and VIPs were placed in the stands closest to the border gate, followed by the cement bleachers exclusively set aside for foreigners. Indian men, women and children sat along the sidewalks and in the large grandstands behind us.
From our section, just beyond the border gate and less than 50m away, Pakistan’s grandstands were clearly visible. Seating on the Pakistani side was separated by sex, with many of the women clapping to music, waving green-and-white Pakistani flags and excitedly chatting with one another. A quick pan to the left revealed the stoic faces of the male Pakistani spectators, none looking overly thrilled to be there.

Indian and Pakistani guards face off in a bizarre border ceremony (Credit: Getty)

Clad in a white tracksuit, our MC for the evening encouraged shouts of "Hindustan Zindabad!” (long live India!) from our side of the border, while echoes of "Pakistan!" could be heard coming back from across the gate. Clapping, dancing and general frivolity were set against the catchy tempo of “Jai Ho”, from the movie Slumdog Millionaire. It was hard to remember that we were literally toeing the line between two countries that have a tumultuous and violent relationship.

Indian border guards at the border closing ceremony (Credit: Tawny Clark)

The ceremony began with a bang. Or, rather, a yell. The participating Indian border guards appeared in their official khaki uniforms, draped in prestigious medals and donning sky-high red-fanned hats that resembled the plumage of a macaw.
A stone-faced guard stepped up to the microphone, inhaled deeply and then let out a long bellowing yell that was echoed from the other side. He was in direct competition with his Pakistani counterpart. Two men from two different countries, less than 100m apart, were participating in a good old-fashioned scream-off.
Once our guard was finished with his battle call (the Pakistani guard outlasted him by mere seconds), he briskly marched down the lane towards Pakistan with five of his barrel-chested companions following suit. They strutted to the centre of the road and began a series of synchronised stomps and kicks, their extravagantly plumed headgear and severe expressions miraculously never wavering. Every now and then, a guard would send a menacing glare towards the Pakistan border as if to intimidate his rivals.

The prowess of Indian border guards (Credit: Tawny Clark)

At this point, the patriotism in the crowd was palpable; each section was roaring with cheers and applause. The border guard that had led the battle call took off down the road, completing a series of stomps and high kicks at the gate – at one point almost kneeing himself in the nose. His Pakistani counterpart was completing his own staccato dance of martial arts manoeuvres. They ended at the same time, concluding with a long-held death stare aimed towards the other.
This machismo display continued for another 20 minutes, with each of the six competing guards having his time to shine. I found myself relishing in the revelry, clapping to the music and gasping when a guard accomplished a particularly high kick. The intense performers continued their routines with all the pizazz one would expect from Michael Jackson wannabes, cheered on by the enthusiastic crowd.
The show came to an almost anticlimactic end when each nation’s flag was lowered at precisely the same time. If I had blinked, I would have missed the brief handshake (a display of good faith) exchanged between the two head guards. And with the final fanfare, the gates were satisfyingly slammed shut.
As the crowd began to disperse, my husband and I remained seated, absorbing what we had just witnessed. India and Pakistan may have a long history of conflict. But it’s also heart-warming to know that every night, just for a brief moment, both countries are unified through the closing of their border gates.
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Black rhino hunt: Why killing one bull is worth it for conservation

By Dr Mike Knight and Dr Richard Emslie

Updated 1710 GMT (0010 HKT) May 21, 2015

Rhino hunter defends killing an endangered animal 03:45

Story highlights

• The removal of few surplus black rhino bulls can enhance rhino conservation, argue the authors
• Benefits include limiting inbreeding and generating funds that go back into conservation, they say

Editor's note: Dr Mike Knight is the Chairman of the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) Species Survival Commission's African Rhino Specialist Group (AfRSG) and the South African Development Community Rhino Management Group (SADC RMG). Dr Richard Emslie is the AfRSG Scientific Officer and also a SADC RMG member. All views expressed in this commentary are solely theirs.

(CNN)It is often hard for people to understand the rationale for the sport hunting of an endangered rhino species, especially at a time when poaching has been increasing.

Although it seems counter-intuitive, the removal of a few surplus male black rhinos can enhance rhino conservation -- in addition to generating much needed revenue to protect and conserve rhinos.

The journey to kill a black rhino 03:07

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Since 2004, both Namibia and South Africa have each had annual hunting quotas of up to five black rhino bulls approved by the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES -- an organization formulated by the IUCN).

Only specific, surplus males are hunted, with each case considered on its merits. Based on research by the IUCN and SADC RMG, conservation reasons for hunting black rhinos include:

Preventing inbreeding

Limiting inbreeding by removing older bulls that have dominated the breeding for many years. Inbreeding reduces genetic diversity and increases the chances of poor reproductive success -- both critical in successful small population management, according to research we've seen by Bob Lacy of the Chicago Zoological Society.

Population growth

Our black rhino monitoring data shows that black rhino female calving success significantly improve as the ratio of adult males to females in a population declines. This is compounded by a significantly (53%) male biased average black rhino sex ratio at birth.

Also, some rhino populations have a higher number of males than others, and those with more females are unwilling to take any of these excess males. Simply leaving excess males in populations eventually results in increased fighting and mortalities and slower population growth rates.

Improving breeding performance

Black rhino breeding performance improves when better quality nutrition is available for breeding females. The removal of an older surplus bull can free up food resources for females, potentially enhancing breeding. Very occasionally, an infertile but dominant bull can negatively impact on breeding. The hunting of such a bull results in the cows conceiving again and a net gain in rhino numbers.

Stopping bulls killing each other

Older bulls are often pushed to peripheral areas by other younger stronger bulls. Bulls pushed into communal areas north of Etosha National Park in Namibia are vulnerable to poaching if not removed.

The Namibian Ministry of Environment and Tourism (MET)'s's Chief Conservation Scientist in charge of Wildlife Research, Pierre du Preez, has found that introducing such older bulls, older than 25 years, back into established rhino populations has resulted in fighting mortalities or break outs.

In one case, according to Preez, the MET reports that one bull broke out of Etosha three times despite being released 60km inside the park. As a result, MET has stopped relocating such older bulls back into Etosha, so their limited resources can be better spent on rhino conservation and protection.

These older animals have been taken to an alternative site as nominated candidates for hunting and the bull hunted by the Dallas Safari Club auction winner was one such animal, aged at least 29 -- the life span of black rhinos is 35 to 40 years.

Occasionally, these bulls have killed other rhinos. One cannot simply export such problem animals elsewhere.

Trophy hunting positives

Preez tells us that the increased cost of Namibian efforts to combat escalating poaching are significantly impacting on budgets. Any additional revenue that can be allocated to anti-poaching efforts is especially welcome at this time.

The Namibian Game Products Trust Fund (GPTF) established in 1997 has a proven track record of channeling revenue from wildlife-use back into conservation.

In the case of Namibia's black rhino hunts, all proceeds after expenses (including from the Dallas Safari Club auction) go into an account within the GPTF that can only be used for approved rhino conservation projects.

Trophy hunting of South Africa's white rhinos commenced in 1968 when there were only 1,800 animals with numbers increasing more than ten-fold ever since. Since the start of limited black rhino hunting in both Namibia and South Africa in 2004, total numbers of black rhinos in the two countries have increased by an estimated 51% (although this cannot be attributed to hunting).

Not a single country has hunted five black rhino bulls per year -- the quota approved by CITES, indicating that conservation, rather than profit, has been driving the hunting. The maximum quotas approved currently represent only 0.24% and 0.29% of the national rhino population in each country. Clearly, rhino hunting levels have also been sustainable.

We've found that it has often been suggested that the amount that is paid at an auction to hunt a rhino should, instead, be paid towards saving the animal. This does not consider who will pay the expensive costs of the animal, its capture and relocation, its relocation site, and the ongoing management, monitoring and protection.

We feel that the money and land required to look after "rescued surplus males" could be better spent conserving existing rhino populations. Focusing on the population rather than one individual bull is wiser in addressing the far bigger problem of escalating poaching.

In the light of all this evidence, the member governments and conservation organizations of the IUCN agreed in 2012 on "the important role that commercial wildlife enterprises, including trophy hunting, has played in generating incentives for conservation and stimulating population increases of rhinos ... in Africa."

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Palmyra: IS threat to 'Venice of the Sands'

By Prof Kevin Butcher Warwick University

Palmyra is in danger. As Islamic State fighters clash with Syrian government forces around the historic site, it is worth considering what the loss of this wonder, dubbed the "Venice of the Sands", would mean for the world's cultural heritage.

Palmyra is the last place anyone would expect to find a forest of stone columns and arches. Travellers in the 17th and 18th centuries were repeatedly astonished by what they saw: a vast field of ruins in the middle of the Syrian desert, roughly half-way between the Mediterranean coast and the valley of the River Euphrates.
For anyone visiting, however, the key reason for the site's prosperity is immediately apparent: ancient Palmyra sits at the edge of an oasis of date palms and gardens.
It was as a watering place on a trade route from the east that Palmyra's story begins, and the very name Palmyra refers to the date palms that still dominate the area (the origin of its Semitic name, Tadmor, is less certain; a derivation from tamar - date palm - is favoured).

Palmyrene power

For such a remote city Palmyra occupies a prominent place in Middle Eastern history.
From modest beginnings in the 1st Century BC, Palmyra gradually rose to prominence under the aegis of Rome until, during the 3rd Century AD, the city's rulers challenged Roman power and created an empire of their own that stretched from Turkey to Egypt.

Palmyra was once a thriving trade hub to rival any city in the Roman Empire

The remains, like the ancient theatre, drew throngs of tourists before the war

Some of the site's priceless artefacts are kept in Palmyra's archaeological museum

The story of its Queen Zenobia, who fought against the Roman Emperor Aurelian, is well known; but it is less well-known that Palmyra also fought another empire: that of the Sasanian Persians.
In the middle of the third century, when the Sasanians invaded the Roman Empire and captured the Emperor Valerian, it was the Palmyrenes who defeated them and drove them back across the Euphrates.
For several decades Rome had to rely on Palmyrene power to prop up its declining influence in the east.

Unique attributes

Palmyra was a great Middle Eastern achievement, and was unlike any other city of the Roman Empire.
It was quite unique, culturally and artistically. In other cities the landed elites normally controlled affairs, whereas in Palmyra a merchant class dominated the political life, and the Palmyrenes specialised in protecting merchant caravans crossing the desert.

Like Venice, the city formed the hub of a vast trade network, only with the desert as its sea and camels as its ships.
Even so, archaeology has revealed that they were no strangers to the sea itself.
Palmyrenes travelled down the Euphrates to the Gulf to engage in seaborne trade with India, and even maintained a presence in the Red Sea ports of Egypt.
The wealth they derived from the eastern trade in exotic goods they invested in imposing architectural projects in their home city.
The well-preserved remains of edifices such as the great sanctuary of the Palmyrene Gods (generally known as the Temple of Bel), a grand colonnaded street and a theatre stand to this day.

Historical threat

What has been excavated has revealed a vibrant Middle Eastern culture with its own distinct sense of identity.
The Palmyrenes were proud to adorn their buildings with monumental writing in their own Semitic script and language rather than relying exclusively on Greek or Latin (which was the norm elsewhere).

Unesco describes Palmyra as a heritage site of "outstanding universal value"

Palmyra developed its own artistic style, and its own take on Classical architecture. Decorative patterns on its buildings and its inhabitants' styles of dress speak of widespread connections with east and west.
Chinese silks have been found adorning mummies in Palmyrene tombs. Theirs was a cosmopolitan culture with an international outlook.
Yet we still know comparatively little.
Only small parts of the site have been excavated. Most of the archaeology lies just beneath the surface rather than deeply buried, and it is particularly vulnerable to looting.
Like other sites in Syria Palmyra has undoubtedly been plundered during the present conflict. But given the track record of IS in Iraq there are reasons to fear systematic looting and destruction should Palmyra fall into their hands.
If that happens, a major chapter in Middle Eastern history and culture will be yet another casualty of this tragic conflict.
Kevin Butcher is a Professor in the Department of Classics and Ancient History at the University of Warwick and a specialist in the Roman Near East. He is author of Roman Syria and the Near East (2003).