Life Before Lawyers
1 - 3 Jan, Ian
Zoe and I began our new year with informal
instruction from Nui in how to respect the Lord Buddha. Heading out of Nakhorn
Si Thammarat, we stopped off at a village temple where the villagers were
milling around and doing whatever Buddhist communities do on national holidays.
We arrived a little too late to see the monks on their alms run, which we should
catch later in Laos, and the action, such as it is, was winding down. Mostly
people were eating and chatting in a large covered courtyard, and occasionally a
few latecomers, like us, would do some bowing to the Buddha in the shrine off to
the side.
Thailand is exceptionally visitor-friendly: everyone seems happy for you to roll up in the middle of whatever they're doing and smilingly photograph it all. It helps, of course, to have a Thai guide. It would help as much to speak some Thai but I'm finding it a hard language to acquire. I can repeat the phrases (or noises) that Nui patiently teaches us but by the time we might helpfully use them they've gone from my head. Even Arabic, which is harder to pronounce, seems more memorable. Fortunately, smiling - and relying on Nui - seems enough for every occasion.
Driving on from the temple, we noticed a large gathering of mopeds, motorbikes, cars and vans parked across the highway. We could see a crowd of people and the ubiquitous smoke from food stalls; Nui deduced that there was a bull fight on. It seems that after paying their religious respects in the morning a lot of Thais, especially the men, continue their celebration of the day with sport; so Buddhist and Christian societies have at least this in common. Our driver swung across the road and dropped us off at the gate. As we approached the wooden turnstile a guy who was apparently some sort of official spotted the only family of foreigners and called out for us to come straight through. Unlike us, being Thai, Nui had to queue and pay. Through the turnstile we were further called away from the main stands and ushered up to the small grandstand with the officials, comprising a guy who intermittently called out a commentary over a loudspeaker, a man who was shooting off video on a cheap camcorder and, most impressive of all, a guy who enhanced the drama of the big moments by banging on a deep drum that was lashed to the corner post of the stand.
The action took place in a large square muddy arena. At the top side was the raised grandstand from where we were watching, Zoe and Heidi leaning across the wooden pole at the front. At either side was a public stand - the bleachers - where most of the spectators gathered and had a flutter. The bulls were led in, to loud bangs from the drum, from the side opposite the grandstand. There was no matador - two bulls fought each other - and there was no blood - the fight lasted only until one bull relented. After each team had paraded their bull they were untied and went head to head, sliding around in the mud.
After five or ten minutes of butting, grunting and getting more and more muddy the darker bull disengaged and backed off; the winning bull seemed delighted and pranced cockily around the square in an obvious victory lap. We left amidst the cheering, while most of the spectators stayed for the next fight.
Our first formal destination for the day was the Thale Noi bird sanctuary, where we were guided across wetlands in another thin boat powered by a flymo motor on a pole. Where the unseasonal rains had improved our waterfall experience a few days ago they diminished the beauty of this tour, as the lotus flowers that usually decorate the surface were now submerged under a couple of metres of water. Nonetheless, the boat trip, which lasted about an hour, was tranquil and pleasant, and we saw a number of heron, cormorants, egrets and various local water fowl.
Having snacked on some salty fish egg cakes just before the boat trip, we took lunch at a nearby shack restaurant. The food was typical (pork, rice, "spicy" basil sauce), and so, unfortunately, was the field of rubbish strewn all over the adjoining yard. Nui confirms that most Thai people see nothing wrong, either aesthetically or hygienically, in slinging trash on the ground and leaving it to rot. If you don't see it, it's either because it just happens to be out of sight or because you're in a place where the management is unusually enlightened, or at least attuned to tourist sensitivities.
But our time here would be much poorer if we felt constrained to eat at smart places. For the next two evenings, which we spent in Trang, we ate again from the excellent market stalls. Nui promised me that some of the dishes were the full spice turbo: they looked pretty toxic but only confirmed my impression that Thai food doesn't get hot in the way Indian food can. Instead, Thais have a heightened sensitivity to the way that different types of chilli release sweet or hot flavours on the first taste or as an aftertaste. Sours tastes are found in some dishes but are rarer. The girls relished the fried chicken, large cobs of corn, sweet potato fritters and hot chestnuts. When we arrived Nui had told us to drink only the familiar looking clear bottles of water and to avoid the local cloudy bottles. Since we left Bangkok and the cloudy bottles are the only ones available she's decided that they're okay after all. Similarly, her standards regarding where we should have drinks made with lots of ice have been re-calibrated to accommodate what's actually now available. Fortunately, none of us has yet been ill.
Before we arrived at Trang we simultaneously revisited a familiar theme (Buddhist temples) and introduced a new one (caves) at, of course, a cave temple. Another new theme that we encountered here, gently, was "things that they wouldn't allow in America". A labyrinth of underground caves houses a number of shrines in its interstices, and we visited several of them. Being a religious place, we had to remove our shoes; fortunately, the floor had, implausibly, been tiled throughout and though it was often damp or wet it was always even. My favourite shrine was one of the grander Buddhist ones, where Zoe, Heidi and I each made a secret wish - finding, again, this to be a religion that happily promises luck. We also saw the now-familiar series of mini-Buddhas reclining in specific poses for each day of the week - in the full sets there are nine as Wednesday afternoon and Saturday evening each gets its own. Zoe was born on Tuesday and so is associated with the Buddha reclining on his side. Heidi, a Saturday girl, gets the cool pose of the Lord Buddha meditating under the protective cover of the seven-headed serpent Naga. Naga, by the way, was able to adopt the form of a man and wished to be a monk but Buddha wouldn't allow him to be one since he decreed only men could be monks. So, for Harry Potter fans, there's your Nagini.
Another shrine featured models of hermits, who were revered here in pre-Buddhist times. We saw with our own eyes that the faithful still come to them. And the faithful have to be pretty slender to get there, too, to pass through the rocks that squeeze in both from the sides and from overhead.
This element of exclusion by physique and modest risk was ramped up over the next couple of days. The following morning we went on an adventure that was advertised as a "jungle trek". To my great surprise, it was actually a jungle trek. We drove somewhere that we could never find again and picked up another guide who would lead us around the rainforest. The track that we set off on was good enough for the motorbikes that are used by the locals who live at the edge of the forest making rubber. We saw a women preparing it and stopped off to get her illustrated explanation of how she collects the sap from the trees (like maple syrup), strains it, leaves it in trays with a chemical agent to set for 15 minutes and then passes it through a mangle to form sheets like oversize white car mats. They then sell these for around 50 Bhats (about 75p) per kilo. The smell is not pleasant.
Soon we reached the end of the motorbike trail and set off down a small track through the forest, similar in its lack of definition to the one that Zoe and I had negotiated in Tasmania. Amongst the various interesting flaura and fauna, my favourite were the butterflies, which are more exquisite than any I've seen before in the wild. A long stretch of muddy uphill walking brought us to a cleared area within which we came to the settlement of a local tribe of hunter/gatherers. Our tour notes say that being a nomadic jungle people their presence cannot be guaranteed. My suspicion is that the bag-full of rice and other food that Nui brought for them helps to improve the odds, and she confirmed that in the short time that she's being visiting the tribe the village has become more substantial, and they now sleep in their woven shelters rather than on the ground.
On our way through the jungle the guide had indicated the tree with which the tribes people obtain poison for the darts with which they kill monkeys for food. With a cynical eye on the large bag of rice that Nui had brought in, I asked her whether they could be prevailed upon to demonstrate their sharp-shooting. And, for the amount you have to tip a salaried doorman in Manhattan to open the door, they did. The head of the village chose a bamboo blowpipe, checked it out by squinting down the barrel, brought down a quiver full of attractive hand-made darts (without the poison), tamped one onto the end of the pipe and shot the dart at a leaf that was already secured to a tree as a target. The tree was about 30 metres away and the leaf was a little bigger than the outline of my hand, and just fit onto the narrow trunk. His dart buried itself in the tree just to the left of the leaf. He had another shot, and this time missed again, but so narrowly that it looked like a hit. Then I had a go. If I did it again I'd make a really good effort to hit the centre of the leaf, but with a crowd of people gathered around my only thought was to avoid the embarrassment of the dart not reaching the tree and I don't believe I gave any thought at all to aiming. The blowpipe strongly tasted of the tobacco that the elder smoked continuously in leafy roll-ups. Luckily, it turned out to be quite easy to use, and my dart apparently flew past the side of the tree and into the far distance, completely lost. As a reward for managing to pull the elder's darts from the tree we got to keep one of them as a souvenir.
The descent was trickier than the journey up had been and most of us had a stumble or tumble. We made our muddy way to a waterfall, where we had our lunch and then walked down along the edge of the river, often through it. We had gained quite some altitude on the way up and on the way down this was lost in the river's constant cascades. It's remarkable that a tour operator, albeit a small one, is allowed to bring customers on such a hike, where there are almost certain to be slips that could, in the wrong place, be dangerous and it's especially pleasing, when many parts of the world are paralysed by the fear of litigation, that you can bring your kids. Needless to say, the more dangerous it is the less it seems like something the grown-ups made them do, and the more they enjoy it. Me too: it was one of my year's highlights.
The following day we were treated to more fun and adventure. We drove to Ban Chao Mai National Park, which, though quiet, at least seemed to be the sort of place you might find on a map. Near where we parked a hand-painted board boasted in English that Lonely Planet likes the place and accordingly later in the day we ran across a couple of European couples for the first time since Bangkok. But not until the afternoon. First, we got into canoes, Zoe and me in one, Paula, Nui and Heidi in the other, each with an operative at the rear to help with the paddling and control the steering. We were tied in line with two or three other canoes, all full of Thai girls, and pulled along the river by another boat powered by a pole-mounted engine. We passed underneath large limestone cliffs and when we reached a particular tributary were released and switched to oar power. We paddled underneath mangroves that formed an overhead bridge across the river and soon came to a cliff with a cave in front of us. As we paddled into it the roof of the cave dropped to head height for the tall people (me); fortunately, I had a head torch and avoided getting bumped. I was, though, thinking as we paddled well beyond any daylight of the "tsunami zone" warnings posted up at the water's edge where we had set off.
We exited the cave and came to a halt in the open air. As we watched mud skippers flipping along the banks the girls asked with understandable impatience why were only marking time while the midges stung us constantly in our canoes. The guide explained, through Nui, that we had to wait for the river to rise before we could proceed back through the caves along a different route. Perhaps motivated by our tetchiness to start again too soon, we presently set off again into the caves, soon realising why it was important for the water level to rise. The cave roof was even lower now so that at times we had to lay back completely flat. Even so the canoes grounded at several points, requiring us to push, pull or shuffle our way forward. One day heavier and less calm and agile passengers are going to have a bad experience in those caves, hopefully before Thailand discovers the civil law suit. But it was a hit with us all, especially the girls.
Once out into the open again we made our way to the next station on our adventure: another cave. We moored the boats this time and climbed up and along makeshift ladders into a sequence of passages and caverns. Again, the rock was usually wet, the ascents and descents steep and the potential falls easily high enough to break a limb or worse. Like Heidi, the Thai girls all wore flip flops, but despite some huffing and puffing no one came to grief. The final cavern that we reached was home to many bats; you could hear them squeeking if you listened carefully, or more directly shine a torch onto the cave roof to see dozens of them hanging at rest.
After another shack lunch - this time (being LP-land) with a menu in English - we transferred by boat to the island resort where we're now staying for the R&R time that we had added to our itinerary. For the amount of money we've spent on our month in Thailand you could easily come here - probably with your flights included - and stay in a luxury hotel with every conceivable service, and still be able to afford a few coach trips. Everything is so cheap in the country. The place we're staying is comfortable, and perhaps beautiful (I'll report on the next blog) but it has none of the high-energy amenities that you' d find in an international hotel: there is no air-con or daytime electricity, the trickle of water from the shower dribbles out at the ambient temperature, there's only one towel each and no real bed sheet to launder, and you can forget the idea of having a TV or minibar (or trouser press!) in the room. But if you want your destinations to be "unspoilt" and to discourage US-style stagflation of energy use, isn't this what you must get?
I like the place, but I was motivated to analyse the costs, since there seems to be a disparity between what we pay to the operator and any expenditure that they could conceivably be incurring. Comparing the cost per day of all the places we've been/are going on this trip, factoring in travel and spending money, the three most expensive places are The Galapagos (highest), the ranch in Argentina and Nepal. The three cheapest are Morocco (cheapest), Ecuador and Chile. It's interesting to note that two of the most expensive places were excursions from two of the cheapest. Thailand is in the next band up above the cheapies, since although we pay a large chunk of money to an operator we don't incur costs for car hire or local flights and meals here cost next to nothing. We really pay for the expertise of people who can bring us to places that we would never get to, nor even be able to read the signs. If you want to spend time here it would pay you royally to learn the language, as so few of us do.
Thailand is exceptionally visitor-friendly: everyone seems happy for you to roll up in the middle of whatever they're doing and smilingly photograph it all. It helps, of course, to have a Thai guide. It would help as much to speak some Thai but I'm finding it a hard language to acquire. I can repeat the phrases (or noises) that Nui patiently teaches us but by the time we might helpfully use them they've gone from my head. Even Arabic, which is harder to pronounce, seems more memorable. Fortunately, smiling - and relying on Nui - seems enough for every occasion.
Driving on from the temple, we noticed a large gathering of mopeds, motorbikes, cars and vans parked across the highway. We could see a crowd of people and the ubiquitous smoke from food stalls; Nui deduced that there was a bull fight on. It seems that after paying their religious respects in the morning a lot of Thais, especially the men, continue their celebration of the day with sport; so Buddhist and Christian societies have at least this in common. Our driver swung across the road and dropped us off at the gate. As we approached the wooden turnstile a guy who was apparently some sort of official spotted the only family of foreigners and called out for us to come straight through. Unlike us, being Thai, Nui had to queue and pay. Through the turnstile we were further called away from the main stands and ushered up to the small grandstand with the officials, comprising a guy who intermittently called out a commentary over a loudspeaker, a man who was shooting off video on a cheap camcorder and, most impressive of all, a guy who enhanced the drama of the big moments by banging on a deep drum that was lashed to the corner post of the stand.
The action took place in a large square muddy arena. At the top side was the raised grandstand from where we were watching, Zoe and Heidi leaning across the wooden pole at the front. At either side was a public stand - the bleachers - where most of the spectators gathered and had a flutter. The bulls were led in, to loud bangs from the drum, from the side opposite the grandstand. There was no matador - two bulls fought each other - and there was no blood - the fight lasted only until one bull relented. After each team had paraded their bull they were untied and went head to head, sliding around in the mud.
After five or ten minutes of butting, grunting and getting more and more muddy the darker bull disengaged and backed off; the winning bull seemed delighted and pranced cockily around the square in an obvious victory lap. We left amidst the cheering, while most of the spectators stayed for the next fight.
Our first formal destination for the day was the Thale Noi bird sanctuary, where we were guided across wetlands in another thin boat powered by a flymo motor on a pole. Where the unseasonal rains had improved our waterfall experience a few days ago they diminished the beauty of this tour, as the lotus flowers that usually decorate the surface were now submerged under a couple of metres of water. Nonetheless, the boat trip, which lasted about an hour, was tranquil and pleasant, and we saw a number of heron, cormorants, egrets and various local water fowl.
Having snacked on some salty fish egg cakes just before the boat trip, we took lunch at a nearby shack restaurant. The food was typical (pork, rice, "spicy" basil sauce), and so, unfortunately, was the field of rubbish strewn all over the adjoining yard. Nui confirms that most Thai people see nothing wrong, either aesthetically or hygienically, in slinging trash on the ground and leaving it to rot. If you don't see it, it's either because it just happens to be out of sight or because you're in a place where the management is unusually enlightened, or at least attuned to tourist sensitivities.
But our time here would be much poorer if we felt constrained to eat at smart places. For the next two evenings, which we spent in Trang, we ate again from the excellent market stalls. Nui promised me that some of the dishes were the full spice turbo: they looked pretty toxic but only confirmed my impression that Thai food doesn't get hot in the way Indian food can. Instead, Thais have a heightened sensitivity to the way that different types of chilli release sweet or hot flavours on the first taste or as an aftertaste. Sours tastes are found in some dishes but are rarer. The girls relished the fried chicken, large cobs of corn, sweet potato fritters and hot chestnuts. When we arrived Nui had told us to drink only the familiar looking clear bottles of water and to avoid the local cloudy bottles. Since we left Bangkok and the cloudy bottles are the only ones available she's decided that they're okay after all. Similarly, her standards regarding where we should have drinks made with lots of ice have been re-calibrated to accommodate what's actually now available. Fortunately, none of us has yet been ill.
Before we arrived at Trang we simultaneously revisited a familiar theme (Buddhist temples) and introduced a new one (caves) at, of course, a cave temple. Another new theme that we encountered here, gently, was "things that they wouldn't allow in America". A labyrinth of underground caves houses a number of shrines in its interstices, and we visited several of them. Being a religious place, we had to remove our shoes; fortunately, the floor had, implausibly, been tiled throughout and though it was often damp or wet it was always even. My favourite shrine was one of the grander Buddhist ones, where Zoe, Heidi and I each made a secret wish - finding, again, this to be a religion that happily promises luck. We also saw the now-familiar series of mini-Buddhas reclining in specific poses for each day of the week - in the full sets there are nine as Wednesday afternoon and Saturday evening each gets its own. Zoe was born on Tuesday and so is associated with the Buddha reclining on his side. Heidi, a Saturday girl, gets the cool pose of the Lord Buddha meditating under the protective cover of the seven-headed serpent Naga. Naga, by the way, was able to adopt the form of a man and wished to be a monk but Buddha wouldn't allow him to be one since he decreed only men could be monks. So, for Harry Potter fans, there's your Nagini.
Another shrine featured models of hermits, who were revered here in pre-Buddhist times. We saw with our own eyes that the faithful still come to them. And the faithful have to be pretty slender to get there, too, to pass through the rocks that squeeze in both from the sides and from overhead.
This element of exclusion by physique and modest risk was ramped up over the next couple of days. The following morning we went on an adventure that was advertised as a "jungle trek". To my great surprise, it was actually a jungle trek. We drove somewhere that we could never find again and picked up another guide who would lead us around the rainforest. The track that we set off on was good enough for the motorbikes that are used by the locals who live at the edge of the forest making rubber. We saw a women preparing it and stopped off to get her illustrated explanation of how she collects the sap from the trees (like maple syrup), strains it, leaves it in trays with a chemical agent to set for 15 minutes and then passes it through a mangle to form sheets like oversize white car mats. They then sell these for around 50 Bhats (about 75p) per kilo. The smell is not pleasant.
Soon we reached the end of the motorbike trail and set off down a small track through the forest, similar in its lack of definition to the one that Zoe and I had negotiated in Tasmania. Amongst the various interesting flaura and fauna, my favourite were the butterflies, which are more exquisite than any I've seen before in the wild. A long stretch of muddy uphill walking brought us to a cleared area within which we came to the settlement of a local tribe of hunter/gatherers. Our tour notes say that being a nomadic jungle people their presence cannot be guaranteed. My suspicion is that the bag-full of rice and other food that Nui brought for them helps to improve the odds, and she confirmed that in the short time that she's being visiting the tribe the village has become more substantial, and they now sleep in their woven shelters rather than on the ground.
On our way through the jungle the guide had indicated the tree with which the tribes people obtain poison for the darts with which they kill monkeys for food. With a cynical eye on the large bag of rice that Nui had brought in, I asked her whether they could be prevailed upon to demonstrate their sharp-shooting. And, for the amount you have to tip a salaried doorman in Manhattan to open the door, they did. The head of the village chose a bamboo blowpipe, checked it out by squinting down the barrel, brought down a quiver full of attractive hand-made darts (without the poison), tamped one onto the end of the pipe and shot the dart at a leaf that was already secured to a tree as a target. The tree was about 30 metres away and the leaf was a little bigger than the outline of my hand, and just fit onto the narrow trunk. His dart buried itself in the tree just to the left of the leaf. He had another shot, and this time missed again, but so narrowly that it looked like a hit. Then I had a go. If I did it again I'd make a really good effort to hit the centre of the leaf, but with a crowd of people gathered around my only thought was to avoid the embarrassment of the dart not reaching the tree and I don't believe I gave any thought at all to aiming. The blowpipe strongly tasted of the tobacco that the elder smoked continuously in leafy roll-ups. Luckily, it turned out to be quite easy to use, and my dart apparently flew past the side of the tree and into the far distance, completely lost. As a reward for managing to pull the elder's darts from the tree we got to keep one of them as a souvenir.
The descent was trickier than the journey up had been and most of us had a stumble or tumble. We made our muddy way to a waterfall, where we had our lunch and then walked down along the edge of the river, often through it. We had gained quite some altitude on the way up and on the way down this was lost in the river's constant cascades. It's remarkable that a tour operator, albeit a small one, is allowed to bring customers on such a hike, where there are almost certain to be slips that could, in the wrong place, be dangerous and it's especially pleasing, when many parts of the world are paralysed by the fear of litigation, that you can bring your kids. Needless to say, the more dangerous it is the less it seems like something the grown-ups made them do, and the more they enjoy it. Me too: it was one of my year's highlights.
The following day we were treated to more fun and adventure. We drove to Ban Chao Mai National Park, which, though quiet, at least seemed to be the sort of place you might find on a map. Near where we parked a hand-painted board boasted in English that Lonely Planet likes the place and accordingly later in the day we ran across a couple of European couples for the first time since Bangkok. But not until the afternoon. First, we got into canoes, Zoe and me in one, Paula, Nui and Heidi in the other, each with an operative at the rear to help with the paddling and control the steering. We were tied in line with two or three other canoes, all full of Thai girls, and pulled along the river by another boat powered by a pole-mounted engine. We passed underneath large limestone cliffs and when we reached a particular tributary were released and switched to oar power. We paddled underneath mangroves that formed an overhead bridge across the river and soon came to a cliff with a cave in front of us. As we paddled into it the roof of the cave dropped to head height for the tall people (me); fortunately, I had a head torch and avoided getting bumped. I was, though, thinking as we paddled well beyond any daylight of the "tsunami zone" warnings posted up at the water's edge where we had set off.
We exited the cave and came to a halt in the open air. As we watched mud skippers flipping along the banks the girls asked with understandable impatience why were only marking time while the midges stung us constantly in our canoes. The guide explained, through Nui, that we had to wait for the river to rise before we could proceed back through the caves along a different route. Perhaps motivated by our tetchiness to start again too soon, we presently set off again into the caves, soon realising why it was important for the water level to rise. The cave roof was even lower now so that at times we had to lay back completely flat. Even so the canoes grounded at several points, requiring us to push, pull or shuffle our way forward. One day heavier and less calm and agile passengers are going to have a bad experience in those caves, hopefully before Thailand discovers the civil law suit. But it was a hit with us all, especially the girls.
Once out into the open again we made our way to the next station on our adventure: another cave. We moored the boats this time and climbed up and along makeshift ladders into a sequence of passages and caverns. Again, the rock was usually wet, the ascents and descents steep and the potential falls easily high enough to break a limb or worse. Like Heidi, the Thai girls all wore flip flops, but despite some huffing and puffing no one came to grief. The final cavern that we reached was home to many bats; you could hear them squeeking if you listened carefully, or more directly shine a torch onto the cave roof to see dozens of them hanging at rest.
After another shack lunch - this time (being LP-land) with a menu in English - we transferred by boat to the island resort where we're now staying for the R&R time that we had added to our itinerary. For the amount of money we've spent on our month in Thailand you could easily come here - probably with your flights included - and stay in a luxury hotel with every conceivable service, and still be able to afford a few coach trips. Everything is so cheap in the country. The place we're staying is comfortable, and perhaps beautiful (I'll report on the next blog) but it has none of the high-energy amenities that you' d find in an international hotel: there is no air-con or daytime electricity, the trickle of water from the shower dribbles out at the ambient temperature, there's only one towel each and no real bed sheet to launder, and you can forget the idea of having a TV or minibar (or trouser press!) in the room. But if you want your destinations to be "unspoilt" and to discourage US-style stagflation of energy use, isn't this what you must get?
I like the place, but I was motivated to analyse the costs, since there seems to be a disparity between what we pay to the operator and any expenditure that they could conceivably be incurring. Comparing the cost per day of all the places we've been/are going on this trip, factoring in travel and spending money, the three most expensive places are The Galapagos (highest), the ranch in Argentina and Nepal. The three cheapest are Morocco (cheapest), Ecuador and Chile. It's interesting to note that two of the most expensive places were excursions from two of the cheapest. Thailand is in the next band up above the cheapies, since although we pay a large chunk of money to an operator we don't incur costs for car hire or local flights and meals here cost next to nothing. We really pay for the expertise of people who can bring us to places that we would never get to, nor even be able to read the signs. If you want to spend time here it would pay you royally to learn the language, as so few of us do.
Posted: Wed - January 4, 2006 at 10:57 AM
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Published On: Jan 05, 2006 05:05 PM
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Published On: Jan 05, 2006 05:05 PM