Monday, December 29, 2008
Islas
Up early for breakfast and to get to the docks before the boats lefgt for their daily tour of the local national park and islands. A lot of hurry up and wait, while I watched seemingly thousands of colombian tourists pile onto the same boats that I too was sucker enough to get on myself. A very choppy voyage out to playa blanca, a miles long stretch of sand about an half hour away by boat where we dropped half of our passengers, and then the rest of us fools on to the national park and aquarium. Disgorged the boat at the island that was about an acre total, and headed to the so-called aquarium, admission not included in boat trip. Holy shit, without a doubt that was the most bullshit aquarium ever, and when I glimpsed it from the ticket booth, I immediately decided not to even bother with the outrageous price for a bunch of docks set around giant nets with fish caught in them. Thats right, basically a giant cage for fish from which one can look down into the water and attempt to view fish. I then returned to the dock where I watched hundreds of colombians climbing out of their boats to overrun the sweltering hellhole of an island. Finally able to get back onto the boat, and headed past tiny islands with solitary giant houses on them (I wonder what line of work those folks are in?), back through the ocean, past tiny wooden canoes that were far from shore, carrying just one aging fisherman and making a very hemingway-esque picture.
Finally made it to the beach, and though a famous one from cartagena, it was not too crowded. Offered some amazing fresh oysters and lobster ceviche upon arrival, which I enjoyed with lime juice, and then was charged a whopping 20k Pesos. I handed over 1000, and walked away. Met some Colombian-Americans who cheerily asked me about my trip, and invited me to go out with them later. I took their phone number and they told me to call at around 1230!!! I didnt. I feel old.
Although, I actually ended up staying up late (for me) that night, wandering the streets of the el centro neighborhood, charming colonial buildings and the streets packed with people until midnite. The plazas that had stood near empty a few hours before were suddenly bustling with people, a few colombian afro-caribbean groups were doing dance routines, some kind of combination of krumping and flamenco. The plazas were packed, people acting like human satatues, selling cotton candy and trinkets, it was like europe. Wandered around some more, talked to a few locals, but mostly people wanted to offer me drugs (perico-parakeet, cocaine) or women (amigo- conozco blancas, indias, mulattas...) No gracias amigos. I think thats the curse of travelling alone, looking forward to meeting up with Bill soon.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Cartagena de las Indias
Getting from airport to city was painless, both hassle-wise and financially, although my first greeting upon stepping out of the cab was a swiftly tilting colombian offering me "cuatro gramas de heroina pura." Ugh, No gracias amigo. Found a decent enough hotel for too much money and set out for breakfast. A fair number of gringos abound, but its actually rather hard to tell the gringos from many of the more european looking locals, except that the gringos are generally the ones wearing shorts and flipflops, and the locals wearing jeans and carrying fancy handbags. Felt completely safe here by the way, and read about Cartagena not having seen political or narco terror violence in at least ten years, to reassure all potential fretters out there.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
11/5/08
Thats all for now. Off now to lean back, smile, and not have to read polls for a few more years.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Autumn Books
Dreams From My Father / The Audacity of Hope
Confessions of An Economic Hit Man - John Perkins
God's Middle Finger - Richard Grant
Shambhala: Sacred Path of the Spiritual Warrior - Chogyam Trungpa
You Shall Know Our Velocity - Dave Eggers
News of a Kidnapping - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
The Namesake - Jhumpa Lahiri
Mindful Path Through Depression
Full Catastrophe Living - John Kabat-Zinn
Wherever You Go, There You Are - John Kabat-Zinn
American Born Chinese
Blankets - Craig Thompson
Buddha - Osamu Tezuka
The Secret History of the American Empire - John Perkins
Walking Dead 1-8
Outliers - Malcolm Gladwell
Unaccustomed Earth - Jhumpa Lahiri
Friday, August 8, 2008
Summer Books
My Land, My People: HH The XIV Dalai Lama
Shalimar The Clown: Salman Rushdie
Bangkok Haunts: John Burdett
The third (and last?) in the Sonchai Jitlecheep Bangkok noir trilogy that began with Bangkok 8. Also, without a doubt, the most ridiculous of the three. Still, I greatly enjoyed this adventure complete with the usual cast of prostitutes and Bangkok mafiosos, with the added dimensions of the Khmer Rouge, snuff films and Cambodian black magic. If you enjoyed the others, you'll read and enjoy this, but it is undeniably over the top.
Are You Experienced?
Ah, lad lit. Sort of like Nick Hornby lite, but extremely lite. I read this book in one sitting on a train in India. The story of a british lad who follows a girl to India for a gap year experience, with hilarity ensuing before he finds himself. The backpacker stuff in the bok did have its moments, like a group of Australians bragging about their various feats of derring-do, but otherwise an entirely forgettable reading experience.The Great Railway Bazaar: Paul Theroux
Shout out to Matty for recommending this one. Paul Theroux gets on a train in London in the early 70's, crosses Europe, the Iron Curtain, into the Mid East, across India and Southeast Asia as the Vietnam War winds down, through Japan, across the bering sea and then all the way across the USSR and back to Europe. Though feels dated in its views of other cultures at times, the historical value is remarkable and observations of his fellow travellers are hilarious. Highly recommended, especially for other travel nerds. Particularly a good read on a sixteen hour train ride in India.
A few years after having read the first two, I finally got around to reading this one. Not surprisingly, I absolutely couldnt put it down. Even better than the other two. I also had the interesting expereince of stopping through Oxford on the way back from India, and enjoyed seeing the sights described in the book. Most interesting was the history of science museum, complete with old maps and instruments that were so clearly the inspiration for the golden compass itself, as well as worlds contained in the books: ie, references to muscovites, tartars, and others on the maps. Worth checking out that museum if you are a fan.
What to Eat: Marion Nestle
Okay, another food nerd book. This one is ostensibly a nutrition book, about the pros and cons of various foods and a very straightforward what and how much of what to eat, and written by a well known nutritionist with no ties to industry. The book is organized by food group, and goes deeply into the politics behind the food and why we think its healthy- ie, lobbying from large companies at the FDA, subsidies that artificially lower prices on certain products that we are therefore more likely to eat (ie, corn-syrup sweetened goods), massive advertising campaigns, industry funded "science" and lawsuits against defensiveless "regulatory" agencies that are usually stuffed with industry people anyway. Utterly fascinating in the politics, extremely pragmatic and user friendly in its nutrition advice, I would highly recommend this book. Effectively answers questions like what does organic mean, what are trans fats, etc, etc. Amusingly mocks various specious fad diets, superfood claims, and other food misconceptions. On another note, I'd also highly recommend the muckraking documentary about Monsanto seeds that many people in India had recommended to me:
http://vodpod.com/watch/725926-the-world-according-to-monsanto-wide-eye-cinema-free-conspiracy-videos
And for more GOOD info on food health and politics: Center for Science in the Public Interest
The Quiet Room: Lori Schiller
Oh, the older I get the less I can abide terrible writing. This book, the mostly ghostwritten memoir of an upper middle class Tufts student who experiences a psychotic break and eventually develops schizophrenia is so riddled with idiomatic cliches that its nearly unbearable to read. On the other hand, its readable in one sitting. Writing aside, the story is a decent one and illuminates a lot about our mental health system from inside- inside the system and inside the mind of someone suffering from a very serious mental illness. Wouldnt particularly recommend it, though does have some interesting stuff. Don't blame me if you cant get past the prose.
Coming to Our Senses: John Kabat-Zinn
Hmm, Jon Kabat-Zinn may be the grandaddy of clinical mindfulness and meditation, but this book just lacked something. Although his science is great, and even his ideas are really good, the writing falls a little flat. Further, though a good concept on which to build a chapter- using our senses as a means into mindful awareness, it probably would have worked better as a book chapter not a whole book.
The Wise Heart: Jack Kornfield
Generally speaking, I'm a hueg fan on Jack Kornfield's work as one of the leading American Buddhist teachers. And this book was very, very good, without a doubt- the content was great, writing more than adequate, and the stories and examples both accessible and effective. Unfortunately, having read and listened to a lot of his other material, this felt a bit like a half-hearted rewarming of other material. If youre a fan of Jack Kornfield, you'll find more of his good stuff, but not much new here. If you're new to him, I'd recommend this, its a solid and efficient presentation of his classic ideas- many of which were previously only in his talks, in one book.
God's Middle Finger:
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Hello Dalai... Goodbye India
We decided to try to play gin rummy but had no table, and so the game soon got out of control, at which point we decided to go up to the roof, where we could watch the beginning of the sunset over the himalayas anyway. We all clambered up and started playing cards on top of someone's steamer trunk, and before we knew it the bus was moving again, with us still on top! Soon we were zooming through the jungle, ducking rhodedendron bushes and sliding all over the place as the bus careened around corners and tilted perilously past gorges with us clinging to the top. Still, it felt safer up there than on the bus- at least we could jump off in the event of a crash. We were just laughing uproariously, waving at the at the locals with cries of "HAL-ooooo!! howareyooooo?" before all bursting into a rowdy rendition of Sadly, after about twenty minutes of wiping tears of laughter from our eyes, the driver slowed to another stop and we were waved back to our seats. It was some of the most fun I've had- if you ever have the opportunity to play cards on top of a moving bus through the himalayan jungle- don't miss your chance.
But the hours of delays meant that a 3:00 arrival was more like 9:30, so, exhausted I found a guesthouse and crashed for the night. Dharamsala itself is kind of a dump, so I stayed where most people do- upper dharamsala, AKA McLeod Ganj- a town about 50% backpacker/ 50% Tibetan monks 10k up the mountain. As I mentioned before, Dharamsala is a small hill station that the DL and his exiles were offered by Nehru back when they initially fled Tibet following the Chinese invasion. Since then, its been the center for Tibetans fleeing oppression in China. It also happens to be full of backpackers and various spiritual seekers, and happens to be the rainiest place in India. Oh, and did I mention its currently the rainy season. It is beautiful however, when the clouds part, which they do for up to minutes at a time, stunning views of bright green himalayas appear, with terraced sides and amazing gorges. The rain is kind of depressing, and my guesthouse felt rather like a moist basement- there was even a massive slug in it, prompting me to move. (and I mean massive- bigger than the ones back in Washington state) . So, the Dalai Lama holds public teachings now twice a year- and this week was one of those weeks, filling up the town, but also really being quite exciting.
The teachings were alternately obscure and esoteric and then kind of overly simple, but being there, with people from all over the world and the DL himself was a very powerful experience. The Audience was about 60% Tibetan, most of those monks. Then various westerners, as well as Koreans, Japanese, and Chinese and a handful of Hindus and Sikhs. The Buddhist monastics who had come ranged from the bright orange robed forest monks of southeast asia to stark brown and gray Zen monks of Korea and Japan. The temple itself though was kind of depressing, from the grandiose palaces and monasteries of Tibet, these people now had a rambling cement and cinder block complex that was rapidly mildewing, with a definitively industrial and utilitarian feel to it. Still, at least the Tibetans have something to call their own and replace what was destroyed by the chinese in their homeland.
Post-teachings I attended a major rally and then march protesting the IOC choice of Beijing for the Olympics, as well as the continued Chinese occupation and repression in Tibet. The whole town of McCleodGanj seemed to shut down to attend, and thousands of monks, laypeople and western supporters were there marching and chanting the five miles down to Dharamsala town. I have no idea how much media attention this garnered back home, but I gather not much. Still, it was powerful to be a part of, and though I won't get into using this blog as a soapbox, I do strongly encourage people to learn more about the Tibetan situation, as well as the situation of political freedom in general in China before buying made in China goods or supporting the Olympics.
Well kids, tonight I'm back to Delhi on a grueling overnight bus. Hopefully I will have a sober driver, unlike the Irish people I met the other day. They were telling that their driver had started doing shots of whiskey to stay awake. Then they said, without a touch of irony, "But it was only fair, the guy had been driving for 24 hours straight by then!" Ah, only my Irish brethren could make such a comment...
So I likely won't be writing again until I patch together the next set of book reviews- though I may assemble some assorted memories and observations about Indian culture. Thank you all for reading!
(Pics: Himlalayas around Dharamsala, HH the DL, Putting the Cloud back in McLeod, Protesters)
*Yeah, the didgeri-don't line belongs to Zack Whedon superstar.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Borderline...
But its not all about being warriors- I don't mean to give that impression. Like many religions in India, it was a reaction to the caste system of Hinduism and the rigidity of Islam. A strong belief in the equality of all people means that everyone eats together at the same table or floor- which we did in the pilgrim hall. They dished out decent dhal and rice as well as chapatis from a machine all for free, which we ate with our turbaned brothers and sisters on the floor of the temple dining hall. That was a fun experience.
I found a hotel and crashed for the rest of the morning, and then got up to look for a restaurant. I trudged around in the heat until some Indian yuppies started talking to me in a way I knew I wouldn't be able to escape. "Which country?"
"U.S. and A" (I've taken to responding to this inevitable and constant question with a little bit of Borat) The same old conversation went on and on, then they asked- frankly rather Borat-like:
"In USA, there are many niggers?"
"Umm, there are black people-African Americans, but they don't like to be called that word.
"Yes, but there are none here so we say that now. Are they dangerous like 50 cent? Do they do drugs? Do you like 50 cent?"
Not wanting to translate the nuances of America's history of racism culturally and linguistically, I fast changed the subject. Next thing I knew though, I was sitting in a coffee shop getting interrogated about western girls, seemingly the favorite topic of eastern men. They kept asking me if I wanted to drink beer with them and go to a brothel, which I kept politely declining. I did take them up on their offer of lunch- the best khulcha in Punjab they assured me. It was delicious too- though I was having so much fun talking to them I didn't even notice I drank the tap water. Oops. (though its been 48 hrs and no sign of trouble) Like most Indians, they kept trying to hold my hand and arm while I walked down the street with them, which was kind of strange- they'd also shout to girls "Englishman!" and point to me, until the police started yelling at them. Then they explained that they liked to stand outside the girl's college and watch them get out of school, but the police wouldn't let them. "Fucking pigs! Fuck the police!" in their lilting Punjab accents. They also kept trying to impress me by trying to use their credit card everywhere- which, shockingly enough was not accepted by the various dhabas we ate at, at which point they'd start shouting "Motherfuckers! I hate these stupid bitches don't take credit cards!" I finally managed to ditch them, though I did enjoy riding on their motorbike and getting a free ride home in the heat.
That night I decided to head to the border and see the only other thing to do in Amritsar- which is watch the border closing ceremony with Pakistan at Attari- the only open border crossing between the countries. I had read that it was entertaining, and some other travellers had recommended it. Since their was nothing else to do, I figured why not spend some time heading out there for what sounded like some kind of subcontinental changing of the guard.
I took a local bus, which was running late on the trip out, and since there were no other Westerners, I figured the whole thing wasn't much to see, or else I was late. Got to Attari, and there seemed to be a festival going on. Food stands were everywhere, people selling India hats and flags, and I asked the guys next to me what was happening. "The border closing!" "Right, but whats all this stuff, is there a festival?" "No- the border crossing- 10,000 people every night!" I headed through the throngs of Sari-clad women and small indian children carrying cotton candy toward the border and what sounded like blaring pop music. I stopped and bought some chips and a soda and headed toward what looked more like a stadium than a border post.
Soon it was apparent that it looked like a stadium because it was a stadium. Imagine a football stadium with a fence running through it lengthwise and a road running through it widthwise. The fence separated Pakistan from India, and the road was for cars that crossed the border during the day. I entered and took a seat on the ground next to the road. It was 120 degrees even at 5:00- I've never sweated through a shirt before that day, and I was literally sitting still not moving. The stands were packed on either side, and ridiculous looking guards preened around in giant hats and menacing stares, the Indians and Pakistanis wearing literally the same outfits just in different color schemes. In the middle of the stadium women danced to nationalist Hindu pop hip-hop and the latest hits (including my fave- "It happens only in India") while the men danced in the stands. (People in India love dancing, at weddings, parties, etc, but the men dance with men and women dance with women). Every so often an MC would start a chant, "HINDUSTAN...." and the crowd would roar "ZANZIBAD"(long live!). Meanwhile, on the other side of the fence the mirror image was happening, which Urdu music and an MC stoking the crowd with "PAK-I-STAAAN....." and the crowd taunting back at Indians "ZANZIBAAAD!!!" Everyone was waving flags and wearing green, white and orange facepaint like it was the Superbowl. Finally, the "show" began. The peacock dressed soldiers from each side would march one at a time to the border while the crowds erupting into wild cheers and chants, goose-stepping and stomping, their faces screwed up into crazy contortions and then wait for the other side to do the same. At last all the soldiers made it up to the front, and high kicked around, almost knocking their own teeth out, before slamming the gates shut so hard one of them fell over, and then they slowly lowered their respective flags. It has to be seen to be believed, so here are some pictures and a youtube link. As the book describes, the whole thing is out of Monty Python's ministry of silly walks sketch...
Came back on another packed bus, filled with exhilarated indians. Found a pharmacy to stock up on more malaria medication, and couldn't help but notice that about half of the pharmacy's stock was aphrodisiacs, including "Spanitch Fly" and "Pusii Brand Sexy Gum." [sic] I think this says something about Indian cultural attitudes toward sex and the sexes.
For Youtube of the border ceremony, Click Here... You may want to fast forward to about 30 seconds in.... But its definitely worth watching!!
Meanwhile, here is the "It happens only in india" video as well, and hopefully will learn to embed video one of these days.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Golden Temple Express Mail
So I made it to the foreign ticket office- a relief from the chaos below and told by the "helpdesk" to take a seat and watched a bunch of sellers sitting behind desks and helping no one. The room was of unfailingly polite japanese tourists who were reluctant to get up until called, so I just approached the desk of the nearest agent, who started helping me right away. The culture clash of the Indian concept of the line and the Japanese one certainly worked to my advantage... Still though, they didn't make it easy: civil servants the world over from the DMV in the states to the ticket sellers in India are all cut from the same passive-aggressive slightly aspergersish cloth. Completely rigid, I was given no information on trains, not sold a ticket on a train because it was less than 4 hours before departure, and then booked on the less-than-ideal SL class of sleeper train, and told I could "upgrade" once on the train. (also told by others that a little baksheesh goes a long way on a train...)
Frustrated by the train business, I decided to seek comfort in an "american day" in delhi. I hit up the coffee shop for an iced eskimo blast, ate a brownie, and then went to the New Delhi McDonalds. Now if I thought the coffee shop in delhi was a scene, boy, check out the McDonalds. Standing room only, with more employees thatn I've ever seen at mcdonalds helping seat people (I was seated with a family, thank god not with chatty young indian yuppies who mostly made up the clientele.) No beef at Indian MickeyD's means a McVeggie delux and fries for about a dollar. The McVeggie was sort of like if you imagine mcdonalds made a giant pakora and slathered it in massive amounts of mayo. The fries tasted relatively normal, but I had a nasty case of Delhi belly from the bad combo of food and actually was sick by the time I got back to my room, where I showered and watched some HBO.
Anyway, waded back through the madness of New Delhi station, to try to find which of the dozens of platforms my train was leaving from. The annoucements are in Hindi and English- should be helpful, right? But it literally has the announcement in English EXCEPT the track number, as in "Golden Temple Express to Amritsar now departing from track number paangch." At first I thought I was just hearing wrong, then I realized that they were not saying it in English.
At last I reached my train, third class non AC wasn't so bad after all, I was in a section with a bunch of Japanese at first. I was seated across from a Japanese girl who was busy gingerly blotting the sweat from her forehead until it was completely dry, then moving on to her arms, then down to wiping her ankles perfectly dry. All told, the effort took ten minutes, by which point her face was again soaked in sweat, rendering her labors completely futile as she started over. Eventually another Japanese found them, and I switched seats with him and sat with some insane Germans and one american in another booth.
The good Germans had come OVERLAND from Germany- trains across turkey then hitch-hiking and trains through Iran, uzbekistan, turkmenistan, and Russia. When they reached Mongolia they bought horses and trekked across to Ulan Batoor, where they then flew to Delhi, having been denied a Chinese visa. (Word among current travellers is that NO ONE is getting into China these days without plane tickets, hotel reservations and a ticket to the olympics!) They were on their way to Northern Pakistan to try to do some first ascents of 6000m monutains. Their gear was vintage WWI army surplus packs made of canvas and leather, and they had quite the stories about securing the Pakistan visas. First they waited a week in DElhi for the interview, then got an appointment for 9am. They had to wait until two o'clock, when they were called in and asked two questions about their destination. The remaining questions were about European girls "You can really just talk to them? You can have a relationship with whomever you wish? The women have no morals?" etc etc. Anyway, the Germans were very cool guys, and after Pakistan they were planning to go back to Iran, then a boat to Dubai before crossing the Arabian peninsula and finishing in Lebanon. Hard-Core. But they were really not-macho about it, just very matter of fact, unlike some other nationalities who are constantly bragging about their ridiculous travel exploits. Maybe it was because they were all friends from scouts.
It was a decent train ride in spite of third class accomodations. In fact, drifting off to sleep I felt more content than I have in all of India, just drifting to sleep, my ipod playing my sleepytime mix on a train somewhere in northern india...
No Way Norgay...
"You talk to my boss, you come backhere and talk to my boss!!" "No, I am leaving, I did not break your bike..." "I tell your embassy! I have your passport and visa number!!" (Which they did, because of the crazy beaurocracy/security in this country) Finally I told him to tell the embassy and they would work it out, pointed for him to go back to the office, turned the corner and ran as fast as I could back to my hostel. Spent the next hour panicking every time someone came or went from the guesthouse that it was the guys from the bike shop. I replayed every scenario- the permit office has my hotel name, but I think the permit office is closed, so they won't find out until tomorrow... The embassy wouldnt possibly care... would they? What if they tell a police friend to stop me at the airport..." I finally showered and changed into my glasses, changed outfits, put on my hood and scarf and ventured out to use the internet. Ran into Jim, and had dinner with him then met up with some other folks to say goodbye to Leh. Someone showed me the beginning of a shortcut to my guesthouse that avoided the bike shop. Very helpful until I became hopelessly lost trying to make my way through pitch black dark alleys with only my headlamp. Eventually I stumbled out onto a road, and made it back to my place, terrified of running into Norgay and his bike shop mafia...
Allow me to explain a few things about Indian transportation. I'll start with airplanes. Noow granted, there have been literally dozens of bombs found in the last fwe days, and tensions are running high with Pakistan... Arrived at the airport after cab was thoroughly vetted by cops and military at parking lot. Enter airport, have to explain "e-ticket" for five minutes to the security guard, which I had just watched the westerner in front of me do. Then, walk through a metal detector WITH my bags, followed by metal detecting wand and pat-down. Put bags through x-ray and am told no carryons. Get bags again, this time with stickers on them, told carryons okay, just no batteries. Now go to get my boarding pass. Get boarding pass, get bag stickers stamped, send checkin through. Go through another metal detector and wanding, this time told no carryons, explain that I was told carryons were okay, (and note that everyone else has them). Go through detector and wanding, have bag x-rayed and wanded, then sticker is re-stamped, after perfunctory search of bag. Sit and wait. Then everyone called to tarmac to idetify their checked bags, which are then stamped again. Hurry up and wait. Get in line to go onto tarmac to get onto bus. Get metal detected again. Board bus. Drive bus for ten feet to aircraft. Board aircraft, feel relief that Norgay and the gang didn't track me down. Open bag and notice extra camera battery and multiple tubes of suntan lotion...
The flight over the himalayas was gorgeous...
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Julay Julay.... (or The Baby Lama Drama - Not to be confused with Peruvian entry the Baby Llama Drama)
So, as I said, it was a silent retreat, sleeping outside in tents in a valley of the Himalayas right outside of Leh. The stars were magnificent at night, the mountains majestic by day. We sat outside for much of the first day, in yellow pastures of barley and wheat with crumbling stupas in the distant fields of the other local farmers. Day two we did some hiking in the hills, and then rested again in the fields. The last morning we broke silence and most people decided to stay and trek a bit more, exploring the local palace and monastery. It was a fun day, and then some of the people that had done yoga teacher trainings while in India put on a yoga class which we all did before dinner. It wasnt bad, though a bit embarrassing when they couldnt remember whether to breathe in or out in various assanas. Many of this group then decided to share a jeep the next day to visit more monasteries in the valley.
The monasteries were, as usual, extremely impressive. There was Likir, (below) classically tibetan with a cool museum that had bizarre artifacts like a skull drinking bowl and femur flute for ceremonies, as well as a gigantic buddha outside. Alchi was very different from the other tibetan style gompas, with wooden architecture influenced by Kashmiri mosques, and extremely intricate murals (above) painted on the inside walls. Basgo (left) was built perched on a crumbling cliffside ina moonlike valley that looked rather like Arches or Canyonlands national parks back in the US. I had a great time at the monasteries, but the shared jeep with the hippies really started to grate on my nerves by the end of the day. I really didnt think I could take one more converstaion about how Jesus lived in India, or a debate about auras. I was relieved to return to Leh with a real room, real bed and the first hot shower since arriving in the Himalayas. Of course, woke up super early again, accustomed to arising at 5:00 for meditation, and headed back to Phyang Gompa where a festival was happening. Decided to go local transport on the bus, which was packed full of locals and gringos. The seats were filled overcapacity, so it was standing room only on the bus with a ceiling that came up to about my shuolders. Not the most comfortable half hour ride, stooped over, and the bus stopping to let on more excited monks and local villagers with each town we passed through. The festival was very cool- elaborate masked dances that represented... something... and a festive air at the monastery with merchants, food stalls, and of course beggars everywhere. I finally had the disturbing realization that the beggars I thought were suffering from burns are actually lepers, not burn victims. I also continue to be an Indian media darling, as I was niterviewed about the festival for some Indian TV station. Back today for internet, and signed up to bicycle the world's highest road tomorrow assuming by border region permit comes through...
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Better to be Mr. Late than the Late Mr...
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Yakity Yak
Up again yesterday at the crack of dawn, pre-dawn in fact. Delhi still sleeping, which was really strange. Dogs laying under trucks and cuddled up to slumbering cows, rickshaw drivers curled up in their cycle-rickshaws, others asleep just in doorways. The flight itself was easy, and 100% tourists, mostly French (as usual, and with their noses buried in their guides routards.) Got to Ladakh bright and early and found a lumpy-bedded guest house for next to nothing, and tried to nap. Little success, so I set out for breakfast to plan my day. The altitude was definitely noticeable, but not terrible, just a mild headache. So about Ladakh: Its a small town about 10,000 feet up in the Himalayas bordering China/Tibet. Culturally, its mainly Tibetan- technically in fact a part of Tibet and pre 20th century basically fell under the Dalai Lama's jurisdiction before borders were as clear as they are today. In the 1950's, as China moved to Tibet, the Indian army zipped up a few brigades to plant Indian flags and snag the Ladakh region to keep it out of Chinese hands, though border disputes remain. What this means is that Ladakh is basically a little Tibet- often described as the last Shangri-lah, though this apparently also describes Bhutan in travel brochures- which I suppose makes it the penultimate Shangri-lah, and Sikkim- the antepenultimate (is that correct latin scholars?) Shangri-lah. The language and script are Tibetan, and the people are ruddy cheeked like ethnic Tibetans and dress in wool robes, sort of like woolly shalwar kineezes with wooden sandals. Also many monasteries around, so lots of robed monks. However, lots of Muslims are here as well, many refugees from the troubles in Western Kashmir and Jammu, many are green-eyed and fine featured, said to be descendents of Alexander the Great's conquering army. The other people that are everywhere are the indian army- there is an enormous base here that guards the sensitive Chinese and Pakistan borders that are extremely close. In fact, permits are needed to basically just leave town and head a few miles toward Tibet/China. Which I will do later in the week.
So yesterday after no sleep and no sunscreen and no altitude adjustment, I decided to head to the Leh palace (above photo) similar stylistically to the Potala Palace in Lhasa, and perched dramatically above the town. Not much inside, but great views. I ascended further, and against better judgment to a small Gompa (Tibetan Temple) atop the mountain-like hill that was fluttering with prayer flags. Now, I think probably everyone has seen the little greeting-card sized prayer flags commonly found in Tibetan restaurants and hippie dormitories, but some of the actual ones here fluttering in the mountain breeze are the size of bedsheets, and just beautiful when they catch the wind. The little Namgyal Gompa (seen in back of first photo, and in this other photo) was very cool, and as I read about it my book warned not to do the hike on the first day at altitude. Oops. I then became paranoid for the rest of the afternoon- paranoiacally trying to parse out the symptoms of altitude sickness from my sunstroke, dehydration, and general exhaustion from waking at 3:45 AM. I guess the light-headedness was not a sign of enlightenment. Stumbled down to explore a few more temples and look around the town, before becoming overwhelmed with exhaustion and headache, I fell asleep for the night at 6PM, not to wake until the muezzin's morning prayer call at sunrise, then asleep again till about seven.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Udaipur -> Delhi
One cool thing we did was take a cooking lesson. An older woman carefully taught us an exhaustive menu which we then got to eat- Chai, Biryani, Eggplant-Tomato Curry, Muttar Paneer (like saag paneer but with peas), Pakoras, Chapati, Paranthas, Gulab Jamun (lightly fried chunks of milk dough in sugar syrup) I actually felt confident on leaving that I much better understood how to make indian food. The secret, as Americans are just beginning to discover, is adequately cooking ("blooming") the spices and aromatics (garlic, ginger, onions) to deepen the flavor. (The cooking actually changes the chemical makeup of the spices, releasing new flavors). The whole lesson was a lot of fun, and I'm looking forward to cooking for anyone upon my return and a modest break from Indian food after travelling. I also want to learn to make "butter chicken" my new favorite Indian dish- its sort of like chicken tikka masala, but I guess more authentic. (Chicken Tikka Masala is technically a British dish, invented by a Bangladeshi in London in the 1970's).
Not much else of note in Udaipur- though would highly recommend it. We saw a few other Havelis, browsed the antique stores, and each had a mild run in with a cow. (Head-butted from the rear- a little scarier than it sounds and has now sadly diminished the trust and admiration between us and our otherwise adorable (and ubiquitous) bovine friends.
Returned to Delhi yesterday morning to the hotel royal (seemed a more promising name than the "hotel decent" on the same street.) Spent the day wandering around dazed in the heat and smog again and not really accomplishing much. Visited and were mildly disappointed by Fabindia, and the Khan market- though the latter had an excellent bookstore (Full Circle) that I would highly recommend for books or just escaping hellish delhi, at which we spent a long time browsing the books.
Oh, so more again about food. For the past year we lived right by and walked past the Craigie Street Bistro every day. Outside there was a sign posted from Food and Wine magazine which had rated the 10 best restaurants in the world to eat meat. Our Craigie Street Bistro was named #2. The number one spot was reserved for a restaurant called Bukhara in Delhi. Well, finally, we made it to Bukhara in Delhi, though it was different than we would have expected. First of all, its in a big ex-sheraton hotel that looks like a horrible compound of bunkers (not unlike hi-rise and lo-rise to drop the Wesleyan reference). The restaurant itself has decor that is rather like Flintstones-meets-Genghis-Khan if you can imagine it- stone walls, and bizarre tables and seats made out of tree stumps. And no silverware. However, true to its reputation the meat (lamb kebabs) was amazingly tender and piping hot off the grill/tandoor. An amazing bread stuffed with spiced onions that I'd never encoutnered before, and a wonderful dessert that we had been seeking but didnt know the name of (rasmulai- paneer soaked in rosewater basically).
And this morning, Olivia jetted off to London, and I remain here...
I was supposed to go to Srinagar this morning bright and early, but when I got to the airport this morning I read that an IED had blown up a bus of soldiers on one of the highways outside of town. Freaking out, I found another newspaper, that mentioned a different attack on a different highway the day before that one. Figuring that although I had been planning to take the OTHER of the three highways from Srinagar to Leh, I might want to reconsider. Changing flights was a huge and humiliating hassle, but I'm now heading directly to Leh in Ladakh tomorrow. I like my Himalayan adventures peaceful and shangri-la like. So I headed back to Delhi feeling like a bit of a wuss, but you know, I'm a grown-up who makes responsible decisions and now has things in my life worth living for.
The only problem was that a tuktuk drove me halfway to delhi and then insisted I take a taxi and pay them more. Enormous argument ensues with exhausted and sleepless me marching down the highway back toward Indira Ghandi International Airport, with now dozens of taxis stopping to fight over who got to drive me to Delhi and holding up rush hour delhi traffic. MAde it back to the hotel safely, and tried to relax and ponder what on earth I'd do in Delhi. Little was open as its Sunday, so more aimless wandering and time at cafe coffee day drinking my iced eskimo (like a tropical holiday on mt everest! - actual description) and reading my crappy backpacker novel until I was politely asked to make room for other customer.
Standing around in the punishing humidity, some Indian guys (call center yuppies sporting Benneton shirts and Gucci sunglasses) started talking to me. I told them I bailed on Srinagar and they were so upset with me, as if I'd insulted them. But there were bombs on two of the three highways in two days! I tried to explain. No no! Srinigar its like heaven, you must change again and go back to airport, you miss the most beautiful place in the world! It is heaven, it is heaven!!! When I said Americans were not very popular in the world these days they just retorted ad nauseum They can kill so many Americans in Iraq and Afghan, here they only want to kill Indian army, not tourist! In spite of their generous offers to use their fancy phones to immediately re-change my tickets I remained unconvinced, and even more difficult was trying to polite decline an offer of taking coffee with them. Although had I felt better, hanging out with Indian yuppies would have been an amazing cultural experience, I just wanted to be alone and not have my masculinity questioned by a bunch of Indian dudes in tight Bennetton shirts.
So, attempting that, I foolishly sat in a park until a funny little turbaned man approached and started chatting with me about ear hygiene. He showed me a little notebook of lukewarm testimonials from tourists, along with photos of himself cleaning the ears of various dutch, english and japanese travellers in the park and simply would not go away. He eventually started even looking in my ears and tsking and exclaiming "oh my god! So dirty!!" and tried to get his q-tip in until I had to walk away. Ambled my way back to the hotel and rested, past junkies literally laying in the gutter to the quiet of my hotel room where I watched the indian news, amusingly entitled "Weekend Update."
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Walk Softly and Carry a Monkey Stick
section. Which, maybe they were, given that just getting people to work must be extremely difficult. Even when the highway was decent for a few minutes, the Indian people seemed to want to drive on both sides of the divide, in both directions, typically in the middle of the lanes.
Eventually we would our way up into the mountains, and the scenery was drastically changed and more green and lush from mostly desert Rajasthan. The views over the valley were spectacular, even with all the fog and haze, and eventually we made it to the little town of Mt. Abu in our little taxi.
We found a decent enough though overpriced hotel overlooking the lake, and set out to explore what the area is best known for- the 1000 year old Jain temples, carved to incredible intricacy in marble. Photography was not allowed, but it will be hard to forget the incredible detail in the enormous temples, the ceilings in particular were almost alive, dripping with elaborate designs that were almost so thin light came through, in the shapes of gods and demons, but also just sea-anenome-like organic shapes. As usual, words cant do it justice, so I will try to import some pictures from elsewhere to demonstrate. The Jain temples are also incredible serene, and just lovely places to sit and escape the chaos and filth of India for a while. After the temples, we wandered around Mt. Abu where there were tons of Indian tourists (a popular honeymoon spot) and almost no westerners. We were photographed like crazy. One girl was frantically whispering to her father, who came and asked us in English where we were from and could the daughter be in a picture with us. We said USA, and the girl looked ecstatic, she was then literally shaking with excitement while her dad took the picture, and was kind enough to thank us for our trouble. The town, as I described, was a funny combo of mostly Indian tourists and honeymooners, and was really tacky in a very Indian way. For example, a cute lake with bright colored pedal swan boats, and a larger dinner boat named "the Titanic" in a fit of bad judgment or perhaps cultural misunderstanding. (What next, our plane to delhi is called the Hindenberg?) The food in town thankfully, was excellent, got the local thali, and there were some great hikes around.
We also stopped by the Brahma Kumari museum, a sort of cult with branches all over the world with a truly bizarre museum with amazing life-sized dioramas of various vices and members that dressed exactly like the movementarians from The Simpsons.
Next day we were up and headed to Ranakpur, site of more Jain temples. Sadly, no stop at the cafe coffee day we passed (the Indian coffee chain that inexplicably doesnt open until 10am!). The road was beautiful, winding through small villages with just a small market, sometimes nothing but a municipal water pump where women and children were gathered, filling their water canteens to carry back to their homes balanced on their heads. In the smaller towns, many of the Hindu women even cover their faces with a veil. Ranakpur was similar in style to the Dilwara temples at Mt. Abu, though grander in scale with less intricate, though still impressive carving. A few pilgrims were there, wearing their pilgrim clothing and walking softly, covering their mouths with a cloth so as not to accidentally breathe in and hurt any living creature. Impressive and beautiful, the place and the ceremonies we observed.
Tomorrow, more on Udaipur, Tuesday's cooking lesson and other observations...
(Pictures, as usual, not mine)
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Sitar Hero
We wandered around the town a bit because of the rain, and were invited to chai by a kid named Jaypee, who works placing people in jobs with American companies in call cventeres and computer programming positions. His command of English was great, though maybe just his command of dirty words as he spent much of the conversation regaling us with tales of his various conquests of European and Indian women, and his friendship with the local Raj. Still, another genuine non-sales-related conversation was interesting. The guy at the internet there was similarly obsessed with talking about women, and was explaining his internet business to me, which, not surprisingly, was basically a way to get customers for his hashish business.
Dinner we were invited by an extremely charming and charismatic ten-year-old to her mother's homestay house, where we enjoyed the company of the family's children as we ate at a table in their living room. I really cant believe we didnt take pictures of the family and their charming turtle Gobhi (Cauliflower). Excuse, tortoise, the girls were quick to point out that "turtles live in water and are non-veg so they bite you," unlike friendly Gobhi the tortoise. Well, the girls were charming, with excellent English, and the home cookin' was pretty damn good too. Would recommend stopping by if you are ever in Bundi...
So onward by train the next AM to the Chittorgarh fort, the biggest for in Asia apparently. It was extensive- a few kilometers long, full of interesting temples and palaces. I found the temples particularly cool, as most were at least 1000 years old and Hindu temples that had the distinct honeycomb/cornhusk shape and the the bas-relief detailsof the temples at Angkor Wat- also originally Hindu. Also visisted a very pretty, very serene Jain temple. The views over the fort and landscape were also phenomenol, though overall I must confess that fort fatigue is rapidly setting in.
A miserable wait for the bus on the side of the road, followed by a lot of time standing on said bus, before a seat opened up on the way to Udaipur. Though a bunch of kids wanted to clear their seats for me, I really didnt feel like the extended conversation that would result, so stood until I couldnt take it. Finally sat and had everyone on the bus staring for the few minutes I was talking to my neighbor- this must be what being a celebrity is like. We were also mobbed at Chittor by people taking photos, literally blocking our path until we relented.But Udaipur again felt reasonably relaxed and clean, and least by Indian standards. Also a lot of tourists, which can be sometimes irritating, sometimes just kind of comforting to have around. A great dinner at our really nice hotel with lake views, and up today to visit the city palace. Again, do you really want to read another attempt at describing a palace? Probably not, okay- but let it be stated for the record that Udaipur has by far the best palace of anywhere yet in India. Elaborate murals, integration of Persian and delements like marble carving and inset glasswork. We also got a guide, which meant we explored less, but learned a lot more. Got to see the Raj's car colelction, including his attempt at creating a solar rickshaw, and looked at crazy old armor, including horse armor that disguises the horse as as elephant so that other elephants won't attack. Beautiful marble courtyards and lawns, and just generally an A+ palace. Classy those maharajas were/are.
(Photos: As usual not mine: Bundi Palace, Bundi Palace, Chittor Fort, Angkor-esque temple at Chittor, Udai Palace, Udai palace - pics of udiapur forthcoming in next blog)