Walk About the World

Looking into Teaching English (TEFL) in Thailand and Korea

2010-02-25T08:56:00.002+05:30

So seven weeks ago, I prayed for guidance about my highest path and channeling some abundance. A few days later in the Golden Temple in Amritsar India, I met a young man from the US who was teaching English in Seoul. He highly recommended it. And I knew that was the answer to my prayers. I still don't understand all the why's of that path. It's the first time I've ever physically used my diploma (yes, they want to see the real thing!). It's the first time I've felt like I've sold my body (no visible piercings and your told that you represent the school for the term of your contract... so behave!). Actually, I am starting with a TEFL certificate program in Thailand that includes 4-5mos paid work afterwards. I'd love to be heading to Korea now, but the process takes time. And years ago I vowed I wanted to live in Thailand... so this will give me a taste and prepare me for Korea next March.

Anyways, I wrote the following up talking with another faerie interested in TEFL...and you might all enjoy.

Compared to Thailand (starts at about $800/mo up to $1800/mo), Korea pays much better (starting at $1800USD/mo including housing, plane tickets, vacation, health bene's, and one month bonus at completion of one year). I was told as far as pay in S.E.Asia region, it's S. Korea, followed by Japan (higher cost of living), and then China. I've heard that Malaysia is about to implement having a native English speaker in every school.

TEFL certificates run about $300 online, and, in Thailand around $1600. In the US, more like $2000+. The certificates do not seem to be standardized. In Thailand, the best programs from a quality standpoint, imo, are SIT TESOL, Chichester University's TESOL, and CELTA programs. In the US, St. Giles seems pretty high end. CELTA seems to be a more rigorous and standardized program than TEFL/TESOL.

I'm doing a program which is only $950 including accommodation, and includes a 4-5 month work placement at 30,000bht/month with housing provided. They obviously make their money by taking a chunk off the top of the salary. But it seems an easier process, commitment, and payment option than paying more for a class and then searching for a job and getting locked into a year commitment. It means I won't have to go into debt. I suspect they are more of a business than an academic program, but I visited their office, they seemed nice, and it felt ok. If I'd had the luxury of more money to tide me over, I'd likely have signed up for the SIT program, or maybe the Chichester or CELTA.

As far as Korea, the demand is so high, that it's probably possible to get a job w/out a Tefl certificate, but the job I am aiming for in a public school with decent hours/pay/bene's... the certificate will give me a bit of credential, a higher pay. The Korean schools seem to only demand that the TEFL certificate is for a 100 hr plus class. But one of my friends who worked there said that a CELTA certificate would make me stand out. I read something that China as a rule does not recognize online certificates.

The main times for public schools and universities in Korea is March or Sept start dates, and starting the application process 3-4 mos before that is recommended. For the Korean work visa, one needs apostilled copies of diplomas, a criminal background check, etc. Private schools (hogwans) higher throughout the year, and it looks like some public schools may also. But you have to do your research. The program I am aiming for, btw, is SMOE (a Seoul Metropolitan school district). It was recommended to me as being relatively easy (less than 22 hr/week in the classroom; and I think that is alongside of a Korean teacher, so you are just talking in English), and a secure place to work (not some fly by night operation).

That's my download from a month of research!

Oh, useful sites: dave's esl cafe, worknplayconsulting, english spectrum, ajarn.com

Back In Bagsu

2009-10-14T19:24:00.002+05:30

I left Vashisht for Bagsu, which is about 2 km from Macloed Ganj, the seat of the Tibetan Gov't in Exile, hmm... well, must be about 3 weeks ago. I took the overnight bus and we arrived in Dharamshala at 4am.. a bit earlier than I hoped, but an Isreali couple asked if I wanted to share a taxi to Bagsu and they led me to the guest house where they've been coming for eight years.. a small family place on the edge of the village of Bagsu which is over run with guesthouses.

I stayed 3 nights... long enough to rendevous with a friend from San Francisco who's been in India 8 months. Then we journeyed to Delhi together to meet a couple of other friends from San Francisco who are on a 6 week round the world trip. They had only five days in Delhi before heading to Bhutan for a 2 week trek. We enjoyed a couple of days of touring about Delhi together.

I spent another 5 days or so in Delhi enjoying the madness of the multitudes there. Then I got picked up by a "talent scout" looking for extras for a Hollywood film, "Love, Pray, Eat" with Julia Roberts which was being filmed about 1.5 hours south of Delhi.

It was a nice break from the chaos to visit the ashram where a scene was being filmed. The scene was in an ashram temple with a group of people chanting. After passing through wardrobe and being left in the clothes I wore... see, I do have good tastes! (and an odd moment where an Indian "extra" came up to me and asked if my beard was real and if he could touch it), we waited a few hours before being seated in the ashram for the scene. They apparently didn't want anyone to upstage Julia Roberts, and so I and about 8 others got pulled out. So I ended up getting paid (1000Rs) and fed for a day for nothing.

The buffet meals were delicious, though I would later pay the price. The relatively smooth day, which started at 4 am when the scout buzzed me in the hotel room, ended up turning into a bit of subcontinent madness, which one would normally expect. First the filming crew didn't release us until later than expected. Then they apparently ran out of cash and so our jeepfull of nine foreign extras had to meet the payor at an ATM. Our driver was an idiot. Traffic was horrible, and it took us 2.5 hours to get home to the Paharaganj. The windows were down and the driver was drinking and gargling with water, which he spit out the front window and it came in the back window. The Canadian next to me, who got the free shower luckily broke out into laughter. We then determined that this was not Julia Robert's driver. The Canadian monitored the driver's drinking with his hand on the window handle... ready to roll up or hold depending on whether the driver spit or swallowed.

The driver was on his phone screaming in a cell phone voice trying to get directions to the ATM, and then our talent scout got someone "in the know" on his cell phone and made me hand his phone to the driver, who took it with his other hand, leaving no hands on the steering wheel and our jeep of now screaming people drifting to the side of the road.

Luckily this was in India where such things happen in the 6 lanes of traffic packed into 2 lanes of road and no harm came to us. We eventually got to the ATM and got our money. A Russian couple who had been promised by the driver that they would be back "home" by 7:30 pm now started screaming at our talent scout. It was really beyond his control. But somehow they wanted blood. Their angry outbursts would pop up occasionally on the remaining 1.25 hours of our journey.

The driver still didn't know his way or where he was, but managed to get us 2 metro stops from our destination.... I knew because here the Metro was overhead and I had been hear a couple days prior with our San Francisco entourage. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought "we'll be home in a few minutes". The next thing I know we are no where near the overhead metro tracks and the driver is stopping to ask for directions. He gets directions from a motorcyclist, then doesn't follow them, drives a kilometer, and asks someone else. He asks four different people directions that he doesn't follow before we end up near the Lakshmi Temple, a place I recognize and had walked to. He gets back to the Metro tracks where by now the whole carload of us recognize as the place to "turn right"... and he starts to balk and wonder which way to go. It takes the whole carload of us screaming "turn right" to get him to do it and we finally reach "home" a few minutes later.

Me and the Canadian fellow are slaphappy in hysterics over the sublime humor in it all. This is India, and if you have an ego, it will be dashed to shreds. Anything that can happen to ruin your expectations, will. That is part of the thrill of it. The poor Russian couple was having their egos smashed. And when we arrived, they let into our talent scout again. He even gave them each an extra 200rs for being late.

The next day the second "mishap" in the otherwise perfect day on the Hollywood set, occurred. "Delhi Belly" hit me. Funny after all the local water I've drank with no ill effect, it was the apparently pristine food in the buffet that got me. Charcoal tablets and curd got me well enough for the overnight train/bus ride back to Bagsu. In fact I thought I was over it, until I got hit again once I got here. I had two rough days, then turned around yesterday thanks to Reiki, Ayurvedic medicine, curd and enough rice to clog a sewer pipe.

The village here has been in full harvest and I helped a bit digging potatoes, until my left hand blistered... I realized that it was too soft from the foot cream I apply with my left hand to my feet. Today I helped plant garlic. The small terraced "fields" were turned by oxen and a one shovel plow. The rest of the work is done by heavy hoe/mattock and sickle. No shovels, forks, or other tools... it's a lot of hand work done by husband, wife, and grandmother at an easy pace with lots of chatting. Manure was distributed by the basket full, perched on top of the head. Then the piles distributed by bare hand. Furrows for garlic, coriander, and spinach were made by mattock, the seeds planted, then the furrows broken by hand to cover the seeds. The toddler "helping" us grew tired of it all, wanting his papa who had wandered off back... and so the toddler took full belly dives to cover the crops instead of using his hands!

Corn and beans lay drying on the patio of the house. Shocks of corn stalks adorn the fields. Today we planted garlic, coriander, spinach, and fava beans. The garlic will be harvested in May. So I guess the winter is short here... Jan -March ... even though we are in the foothills of the Himalaya at 2000 m elevation.

Trekking Escapades: Ladakh: Dha, Lamayuru to Alchi, Likir to Temisgram

2009-09-13T13:01:00.003+05:30

My excursions were wonderful. First I spent a couple of days in Dha, on the narrow Indus river gorge, only 20 km from Pakistan. The gorge looks like the end of the world with steep desert mountainsides, but tucked away on small terraces are gardens of Eden where communities have been sustaining themselves for hundreds of years. The people there are Aryan and of a different heritage than the Ladakhi's who settled from nomadic herders. The terraces are full of apricots, grape arbors, tomato fields and more, but step out side the lush terraces fed by irrigation channels, and it's a harsh desert. In 1999 Pakistani troups attacked and the wife of the owner of the guesthouse where I stayed was killed by a bomb. There was a memorial stupa outside the guesthouse for her. Quite sad that these people who have peacefully farmed and sustained themselves for ages are caught in the politics of borders.

I heard that the Chinese have staged lots of troops on the border of Ladakh near Pangong Lake in recent days. I'm not sure what their point would be in claiming this harsh land and robbing the Ladakhis of their traditions. I hope that the rumors and fears are unfounded.

After Dha, I went to Lamayuru. I spend two days there. I ended up providing a senior meal to the local senior center. I was searching out some "yos" for my trekking. Yos is popped barley. The village was in full harvest of it's hay crop and I asked a passing donkey man, his donkey loaded with hay, where I might find some yos. I held the remains of my bag of yos that I procured in Leh as an example, since I didn't trust my pronunciation. He pointed to a building a few meters away where a few elderly woman sat crosslegged passing the time where their handheld prayer wheels. I tried to pantomime to them that I wished to buy some yos, and they held out their hands to partake of some of my dwindling supply of yos. So I gave them each a handful. Then I shared some yos with a slightly younger woman, 69yo, who was resting on her way up the hill with a load of hay on her back and offered to carry her load for her. It was not such a big load, maybe 30 pounds, and I followed her up the hill to her adobe rooftop, where we spread out the hay to cure a bit more. I returned towards my guesthouse by the large Lamayuru Gompa, where the manager was coming down the hill. He said that I had just helped his mother! He was grateful. He was on his way to portage some more hay, so I deposited my daypack in my room and helped him. Luckily it was only one more load a piece. AT 11,500 ft, and having spent two days in Dha at 9,500 ft, one big load (45 lbs) was enough for me... the field was maybe half a mile below the house, and probably 2-300 ft lower in elevation. So that was a good accimitization workout for me. Their home had been in the family 800 years!

I trekked from Lamayuru to Alchi, via Wanla, Urshi, Tar, and Mangyu. I met a Frenchman in Wanla who was going that way, so we trekked together. I learned the hard way why I was advised in Lamayuru by the locals, not to trek to Alchi, but rather to Chilling. The Tar La (pass) at 5250m entailed four hours of hard ascent and four hours of hard descent. That was my birtday. I was exhausted by the time we got to Tar, and didn't much appreciate my birthday dinner of poorly cooked rice and vegetables in a tiny kitchen full of kerosene fumes from the burner... no guesthouse, this was a "homestay" where you just stay with a family in a village. And "homestays" were where I stayed for the nine days I trekked from Lamayuru to Alchi, then Likir to Temisgram. Perhaps next year, I'll stage my birtday for a beach!

Many of the villages along the way were in full harvest mode, gathering their barley crop. In Mangyu, the night we were there, they finished and the men were drunkenly singing in celebration, well into the night... well until about 8:30pm, that is! I helped a family there, and they invited me to stay, but the Frenchman, "G", and I had already booked a paying homestay. In Urshi, we stayed in a home inhabitied by only mother and daughter, the father off working in Leh, and the other siblings off to schools in other towns. We helped the woman thresh by carring the sheaves of barley into a clay circle, while 7 donkeys lashed together were chased around in a circle for 3 hours.

In Alchi, a rather touristy place with a remarkable Buddhist Temple, G and I parted as he headed off to Leh, and I to Likir. I took a bus part of the way to Likir, having to walk out to the highway from Alchi to get it, then having to walk from the highway into Likir. The dropoff point was like the middle of nowhere... a high mountain dusty desert... but a 30 min walk brought me to the oasis of Likir, a stretched out village with a snow capped mountain backdrop. I wandered into the alleyways of the village and found a group of women carrying loads of barley on their back. So I offered to carry the eldest ones load, assuming she was the mother. One of the woman had a guesthouse where I stashed my pack, and helped them carry a couple more loads till the field was finished. Then we ate lunch and, by hand, plucked a third of an acre of barley by the guesthouse. No sickle was used, but just pulling the plants up. My hands were rough and raw by the end, but I discovered my foot cream for dry cracked feet, worked wonders on my hands.

The next day I set off for the gompa above town for a quick visit before trekking to Yangtang. Here I regretted my cockiness in thinking I had passed the stress test of climbing the Tar La for my 45th birthday. First the gompa turned out to be more like a 60-90 min walk up from the village... it appears closer. I tried to take a shortcut and failed... the bridge leading into a maze of stone walled terraces. Here I discovered my fatique as my mind couldn't cope with the challenge. I soon found the right path up the steep hillside, but found my energy failing. I continued up thinking I could maybe lay down and rest at the gompa. I finally encountered a monk, who's advice was "you go upside". So I ended up at the top of the gompa admiring the huge gold buddha statue. No one came by. So I sat for well over an hour until a British college student showed up. I asked if I might walk down to the village with him. I discovered the rest had done me well, and I felt good enough to walk back. I spent the afternoon in bed resting and realized that I needed more food than I'd been eating, and also that I'd been working hard trekking, hauling barley, etc for 4-8 hours per day at high altitudes the past week. The women were working in the field again, but I declined the urge to help.

The work on a sustainable farm such as this is somewhat ongoing, but not particularly hard. It's at a human pace, not a machine pace. It's nothing like unloading and stacking in the barn a load of baled hay at the pace of the chattering conveyor. The woman chatted as they worked, laughed. Tea was taken at regular intervals.

Another Frenchman, Benoit, showed up at the guest house that afternoon. The next day I set out with him trekking to Yangtang where we enjoyed a delightful homestay with Tashi, Durkha, and their three children. The children walk two hours to and from school each day... the same route we would take to Hemis S. the next day. The youngest boy happily packed his own lunch of tsampa (roasted barley flour) eaten plain, or in tea. Several cups in a bag, put a grin on his face. No gym needed, the night before while dinner was prepared he worked a while on the butter churn, while his siblings and parents rested, made dinner, and/or studied in the large kitchen. His mom took over on the churn for a while after making dinner. "Butter, no butter", she said in dismay. It apparently takes three hours of churning to make butter. All I could think of is the commercial for imitation butter... "I can't believe it's not butter!". The churn was big, holding several gallons I would think, and a strap around a pillar, made the churning action like rowing. It occurred to me how we have consumerized even our excersize in the "developed world". Tashi's family was smiling and full of good heart and spending quality time together.

The next day, Benoit and I trekked to Temisgram. It was not a good day... at first we were in good spirits, making great time, and feeling pretty energetic. But it turned out we misread the map... there were two passes to cross not one. After resting on the first pass for a good long time, we heading down the wrong vally. That cost us some time and elevation. Luckily Benoit realized our mistake. We then planned to stay in Ang, but after 30 minutes roaming the village found no homestay and so headed to Temisgram which stretches out for several miles. In contrast to Yangtang and Hemis S, where every house was a homestay and villagers sought us out, Temisgram seemed to have few places to stay, many closed. Several even turned us away. Our five hour day turned into seven and a half before a woman that spoke no English made it clear that she had a homestay and wanted us.

The next day it was back to Leh... yesterday. I'm both glad and sad to be in the "big city." It's nice to have my own room, and restaurants and stores were I can find food to eat as much as I want and need. But I miss the carless trekking life and quiet villages of traditional life.

I expect to leave in a day or two, but yesterday learned the Leh Manali road was closed due to weather... snow or landslides or both... maybe it will open in a few days. I overheard some tourists planning to leave in a jeep tonight so I am guessing maybe it is open already. The other land route out is via Sringar (Kashmir)... a bit longer. And apparently the buses along that route have been on strike for ten days. Leh is much emptier of tourist than two weeks ago, and many restaurant and shops are closed.

I think it's probably good for me to rest a couple days before taking the 20 plus hour journey out of Ladakh. Not sure if I will stop in Spiti on the way, or go directly to Manali and the hot springs of Vashisht. Or if the road that way proves impassable, through Sringar. My "ultimate" destination for the next leg is Dharamsala.

Pilgrimage '09: India: The First Week in Vashisht

2009-08-11T17:04:00.002+05:30

Just a week ago today I flew from Bangkok to New Delhi, a four or five hour flight on Indian Airlines. The plane ride foreshadowed India well. The stewardesses wore long, elegant sari's and I wondered how they kept their footing amidst the turbulence. Towards the end of the flight, I ventured to the onboard restroom and it was a mess of papers and water on the floor, with a sink half full of water and no apparent way to activate the drain. The different hygenic standards of India made their appearance even on the plane. I noted that there was no instructional video like on my Biman Bangladesh flight several years ago which showed how to use a western style toilet and toilet paper... things that are not the norm in India where squat toilets are the norm along with water and the left hand instead of toilet paper.

The pilot said it was 37 deg Celsius in New Delhi as we approached the landing. My reality was about to change drastically from the more tempered heat and mannerisms of Thailand to the blatant heat and chaos of the Indian subcontinent. Just like my last visit to S.E. Asia, I wondered why I was leaving the easy joy of Thailand for India. Yet I remembered how last time, once I landed in Kolkata and roamed the streets, I knew I was in the right place. So this time I trusted I would feel the same when I landed in India.

I breezed through customs and the swine flu questionnaire/interrogation by doctors. I noticed that unlike the Thai's, the Indians weren't buying into the false hope of safety of a paper mask against a virus. I avoided the touts for this and that, looked in vain for a legitimate information booth and ended up following a sign out of the terminal for “buses”, where I found only the airport bus. I asked a couple of official looking people before getting my answer from a policeman about the E.A.T.S. bus to Connaught Place for 50 rs. My strategy was to get to the government bus station and get on a bus to Manali in the mountains and thus sidestep the chaos of Delhi. Thanks to my trusty Lonely Planet, I new that there were many government buses leaving until 10 pm, while I had likely missed the tourist buses that leave between 5 and 7pm. The local bus suited me as I new it would be cheaper, likely have a better driver, and be a more interesting taste of culture.

The bus actually took me all the way to the government bus station beyond Connaught Place, a nice surprise from the Lonely Planet information. A nice young man in his twenties helped me sort that out and did his best to point me to the right counter at the bus station. I was still accosted by several touts for tourist/AC (airconditioned buses) to Manali. I might have followed them if they had quoted me a price. I persevered to counter number seven where I encountered my first Indian queue, or rather lack of one. Proper Indian custom is to just push push push your way to the counter not minding any semblance of a queue. From a country of multitudes where there is not always enough to go around, this makes some sense. I got to the counter to be told to come back in ten minutes at 7pm for the 7:30pm bus to Manali. The bus conductor was already barking out “Kullu Manali” in accent that I could just barely make out. He smiled at me and said “yes, get a ticket at the window first.” I love the Indian bus conductors and often find them great allies in my journeys. I remember one who took me by hand to the ticket window for the next bus in my journey when I traveled to Rajasthan thee years ago.

Soon I was on the bus. It was sweltering hot. My back stuck against the seat; my knees pressed into the seat in front of me. Five seats across in each row of the bus seating in a two /three split. A young woman from Harayana in the seat in front of me spoke a bit of English. She said I would arrive in Manali at 4 am… this was counter to the information of my guidebook which said it would be a 16 hour ride. And I didn’t relish getting into Manali at such an hour before the guesthouse owners were up. I might have known her information was incorrect when she said an AC bus would cost five times as much, when my experience was it would cost maybe one third more. Such is information in India… you will always get an answer, usually several answers to the same question.

As the hours went by I began to regret not getting an AC bus… not for the AC, but for a bigger seat. My seat was firm and the seat back ended at my neck. It was built for a smaller person. Roads in India are rarely smooth and needless to say I got little sleep. When we boarded in Delhi, several men loaded huge burlap bales into the back seats of the bus. About 5 am, this somehow became a problem at a roadside stop. Some sort of official had words to say, and soon the conductor was yelling at the men and their baggage. They were handing over money seemingly demanded of them as an afterthought for excess baggage. Finally the conductor started pushing and trying to get the bales out of their wedged in position between the backseat and the back door handrail. I thought he’d strain his back. Finally the bags and men were off the bus, I assume not where they wanted to be. It might have been helpful if this business had been sorted out earlier for the numerous passengers that had stood in the aisle ways for hours on end between midpoint destinations.

Dawn brought sights of the foothills of the Himalaya in Himachal Pradesch. It soon became clear that we were not arriving in Manali at 4am, nor 6 am, nor 8am, and I realized that none of the people I had asked about our arrival time really knew. Somewhere in their, our conductor and driver stepped off into a village and a new team came on the scene. At 8:30am we arrived in Mandi and I learned we were still 110 km from Manali. Finally we arrived at 10:30 am and I started my 3 km walk up the hill to Vashisht where I ended up in the same guesthouse as 4 years ago.

It felt invigorating to be here. There is something amazing about India… I’m not sure why but it invokes passions and excitement. I felt glad I had come even after my enjoyable time in Thailand, another place I love in a different way. Thailand is a mellow love, sweet and easy. India is a passionate love full of excitement and fire, that will leave you exhilarated one moment and wiped out the next.
If you have an ego, India will dash it to pieces. If you don’t have an ego, India will build one for you, then dash it to pieces.
I’m just wrapping up my first week in India, for the most part, exhilarated, and yet the last 24 hours I’ve been feeling a bit raw. I’ve been relaxing and enjoying the hot springs in this mountain village of Vashist. There are public hot baths from natural sulfur water. The waters feel so good and the scene is something very interesting as the baths are public. Inside the temple there is a women’s and a separate men’s bath. I don’t know what the women’s bath is like, but the men’s is maybe a twelve by twelve foot pool , three feet deep along with another trough where four pipes pour out water. Bathing with soap is done by the pipes and soaking is done in the tub.

The water is nearly scalding. It’s an act of faith to plunge in. But you realize that nearly every man in the village does this daily, and no one has been scalded yet. You scarcely believe that when you put your feet in and they feel like they are burning. It’s a bit of a tourist place for Indians as well as foreigners. The Indian tourist come in droves and families and take pictures galore. It feels a bit rude. The woman’s bath has a sign saying “no photography” outside… the men’s bath I guess has no such sign. Men of all ages partake of the baths wearing their underwear; the youngest boys go nude.

I feel like local as the Indian tourists come and loudly exclaim that the water is too hot and make a big commotion about getting in. It can be amusing. It can be annoying. Yesterday I watched a man change outside the doorway to the men’s bath. Normally, a towel is used to drape yourself so that as you change from wet to dry underwear, you are never nude. The man in the doorway bared all. And the hallway he bared it in went straight to the coed public temple courtyard! Meanwhile a sadhu changed holy chants and did some amazing yoga postures.

A couple of days ago, I was enjoying the baths when a father son motorcycle team walked in, complete in motorcycle garb that made them look straight out of Hell’s Angels. It was early in the morning, yet they’d just completed a long dirty ride by the looks of things. The son was probably 25 and a lean, blue-eyed Adonis, while his father appeared a very weathered 50 yo, scarred and well weathered by the sun. Yet they knew the ropes of bath etiquette and even prayed appropriately at the bath temple diety/shrine.

The past day or so, I’m felling the ebb of excitement. A Kashmiri shopkeeper got on me interested in buying my mp3 player and camera, and I can’t go by his shop without him pestering about it. I nearly sold them to him and his Uncle when they offered me some quite good money. I’d been debating whether I wanted to carry them around anyway, but kind of wanted to at least get some good photos of Ladakh. My social contact has been limited to locals mainly, and communication limited to the basics. I haven’t really connected with any tourists here, and most that I’ve met have been Russian.

It’s one of the thrills and hardships of travel, being left to one’s own thoughts and conversations for long lengths of time… to not have the accessibility of deep, meaningful, understood conversation. It can be hard to find someone to share the adventures with, that will understand them. This is also an excitement, to be in a strange land, and not sure what is going on… and yet at times it can become wearing.
And yesterday it became wearing. On top of that, I cut my foot a few days ago and, though it is healing fine, walking any length doesn’t promote the healing.
A few days ago I was bathing in the evening at the outside men’s bath when it closed at 9pm. I was inside with four others and the attendant locked us in. So I climbed the fence to get out and as I cleared the top, my left foot grazed one of the pointed metal bars. I thought I had just grazed it and with the absence of bright lighting it wasn’t until the next day, I discovered I had gashed it. In spite of my attempts to miraculously heal it with Reiki, it seems to heal very slowly. Actually, I suppose it’s quite a miracle that it is not infected.

India is not my Mother’s house. Hygenic standards are different here. It’s an exc ellent place to build your immune system, if you get my drift. My guest house is along a narrow path up the hillside behind the main street. When it rains, it smells like a cowyard. Cows, dogs, sheep, and people use the path. Assorted types of dung, most often cow, are found along the path. And so walking in sandals, one is lucky to keep one’s feet any manner of appearing clean. Indian toilets are not built to withstand toilet paper. Nor are they scoured with any regularity. The cobwebs lay thick in the corners of my guesthouse toilet. The toilet brushes lay on the floor. There are small rubbish bins for used toilet paper. The bins look like they have been well used. The door way to my room is next to a stairway leading to the roof, and a couple of such rubbish bins sit empty on the steps by my doorway. When it rains, water drips down the stairway and through the rubbish bins and the water soaks into my doormat. Now it doesn’t smell, so it’s “not that bad.” And yet you might understand if my left foot, the cut one doesn’t step on that doormat. And you might just think that the Reiki is working in that my foot is not infected.
Today was one of those quintessential bad days in India. I guess it started yesterday, maybe even the day before with the Kashmiri guy hounding me about my camera. Then the onslaught of feeling emotionally alone. Yesterday afternoon, I thought I’d treat myself to an expensive meal at the Yeti G.H. next to mine, with it’s nice patio. My idea of a quiet time on the patio was dashed by a group of maybe twelve English men and women trying to make some sort of film. I thought I ordered a veg (as opposed to a non-veg) club sandwich, but when I went to pay the waiter said it was non-veg and charged me the extra 20 rs… I didn’t have proper change, so he said I could pay him the balance 10 rs today. Today I stopped by and ordered eggs and a veg sandwich. It was the same waiter and he brought me eggs and toast, which I thought were separate items on the menu. I inquired about it and with his broken English thought he was giving me toast or that it came with the eggs. My veg sandwich tasted very similar to the veg club sandwich that I had yesterday. When I went to settle the bill he said the toast was extra and that it was indeed the veg club sandwich. I asserted that I had ordered eggs and the veg sandwich… why had he brought something else. We had words for a while. He said I should have returned the toast if I didn’t want it. I asserted that I had ordered eggs and a veg sandwich. At one point he said gruffly, “fine, eat for free.” I should have left at this point, but had no problem paying for what I ordered. Then he said I owed him 15 rs from yesterday. I ended up not paying for the mistaken club sandwich, but paying him for the toast and supposed 15 rs from yesterday. Oh I was furious, as I noted that every mistake he made in taking his ordered was a monetary benefit for him. I will not be eating there again, at least not when he is serving.

I was fuming as I went “home” and did some laundry. I ran into the owner of my Guest House, who asked to see my passport so I could properly sign in. I decided to pay up to current, as I’d paid nothing since I’d been here. I checked in last Wednesday and today was Monday, so I figured six days would settle us up, in case I leave tomorrow. When I went to pay, he insisted it was seven days. I couldn’t seem to make him understand that I ought to only pay for the nights stayed. I finally paid for the seven days accepting the loss, then went back to my room. I fumed over the waiter. Then I fumed over the guest house bill and finally decided to go back to the manager and show him that we should only count nights. I went back to the restaurant he runs and appealed to him, and he appealed to some Western customers. It was then I learned that today was Tuesday, not Monday! I felt very sheepish. And we laughed. I noted that I neither have been drinking nor partaking of the hashish growing on the hillsides… and that maybe I ought to start!

It’s hard to believe a week has gone by. I spent 3 days walking to Manali every day waiting for the ATM to work. There are three ATMS in town and by the third day there were a lot of people going through ATM stress. I make a mental note to refresh my cash supply before running out. And I make a mental note that indeed it is good to have a balance of Traveler’s Checks, Cash, and ATM funds.

In the meantime, the mountains are amazing… the green steep hillsides of terraced corn and apples. And the people overall smile and are friendly. A little toddler of a girl plays with empty water bottles using them as bats to bat around a horseapple; another day she plays happily rolling a five gallon bucket.

Bless the Children

2009-03-05T00:32:00.004+05:30

Sometimes I am so amazed by the younger generations.

This video shows a well spoken girl doing her best to dumbfound the U.N. and give us all cause to stop and think about what values we teach, and which ones we actually live.

It brings to my mind the things we teach, but do not follow.

Sharing, peace, avoiding conflict, working together, etc are all things taught in school, but not followed by adults and governments.

I often laugh at how we are taught to admire our country's freedoms and democracy, yet political actions and protests are stigmatized. I laugh that most of us are immigrants in this country, in that only a few hundred years ago, yet we pass judgments on newer immigrants. I laugh when we give lip service to world democracy, yet we do not behave democratically in the world. I laugh, only because it is more fun than crying. World democracy is made by being democratic in the world; peace, by being peaceful; health, by being healthy; sustainability, by being sustainable.

What has amazed me by my travels are there are many realities and truths to live by, often no better, nor worse, just different. As humans, we tend to live egocentrically. It's like Mark Twain's "War Prayer", in which a group of parishoners are praying for their sons to win in the war. The "Dark Angel" comes and shows them the other side of the world where the enemy's families are praying for their soldiers. Both sides, equally convinced in their God and righteousness. It's like that on many levels. We are so caught up in our own reality we don't have any perspective.

I just read that the majority of people in India still excrete in open fields. They don't even have outhouses or composting toilets. While on the subject, most of the world doesn't even have toilet paper. That I am grateful for, because it likely saves a lot of trees! And frankly, cleaning with water is a lot better system, where water is available.

We often here that much of the world lives on only a few US dollars per day, and think, "poor them". What that statistic doesn't show is that in much of the world, one can afford to live on much less because things cost much less there, and people don't necessarily collect material stuff. For instance, in India, I once bought a weeks worth of antibiotics, plus probiotics for less than $2 USD. The dollar figure doesn't show standard of living, it shows exchange rates. Granted, we would be amazed at most of the world's standard of living. And, that being said, standard of living doesn't necessarily relate to quality of life. Inner peace, loving friends and family cost nothing.

What excites me in all of this, is how far money from "wealthy" nations could go in "less wealthy" nations. If we took the money that we spent on a few plastic things doomed for the landfill... we could feed a family for a day (the per ca pita yearly income in India is under $500 USD). And what really excites me is what if we took the money it costs to make a bomb, and instead put that towards good will gifts with our neighbors? Especially in dealing with terrorists... I mean... take Afghanistan and 9/11. Well, admittedly, I'm assuming that Bush was correct and that Afghani terrorists were responsible, even though it was apparently Saudi's on the planes. So we all know that even in our own country, a democracy, the government's and military's actions do not reflect all the citizens. Consider, that terrorists are even less representative of their home populations. So what if we had sent gifts of food or other necessities to Afghanistan in 2001, and worked on making friends there. When you live in a neighborhood, don't you make gifts and try to make friends with your neighbors.

That's what really excites me about all this, is how much opportunity and hope there is for change. I believe all nations have their gifts. In the USA we have the gift of individuality and personal freedom, which has it's pluses and minuses. It's great that people can be themselves, but we have also lost a lot of family and community structure. In India, family and community are very strong, yet it is hard for individuals to be themselves. Another gift from India is inner peace in spite of hardship and lack of material stuff. In the US, we have "stuff", but also a lot of discontent. I've seen kids in India joyfully and exuberantly kicking an old plastic water bottle around... the best toy ever.

The world is growing,changing and we are all learning together. Things have changed drastically, quickly. Only a few hundred years ago, world trade happened along the silk route. There were wars over the spice islands. Now we have wars over oil, and world trade happens on the internet. The only wars over spices are corporate. Now, for better or worse, small villages in Nepal and Laos, for example, have satellite TV and cell phones.

Never has the opportunity to share on all levels been so great. Never has there been such a global forum for the children to come together, so that we might come together for future children.

Inspired by my friend Jordan: A United Humanity

2009-02-23T21:48:00.003+05:30

I met Jordan in Rishikesh a couple years ago. He inspires me. A young man with generous ambitions, he started an aid organization helping people in Sri Lanka recover from the tsunami several years ago, and the ongoing war there. He has a commonsense approach and spends time working with the locals to find out what they want and need.

This is his recent letter, appealing for funds. It gives a good idea of what is important. As you might expect, it's the simple things that really help: food, shelter, basic elements of hygiene (suitable outhouses, clean water sources), and sustainable systems to maintain those basics.

If you have a few extra dollars... even $5-$20 goes a long ways to helping out, not to mention a few thousand dollars. Those statistics about most of the world living on a few dollars a day... means that in most places, food is cheap enough such that that is possible. As a tourist in India, I can live on $5/day... so that mean's a local person could easily live on much less... so you can imagine that even $5 might cover a large portion of a weeks groceries for a child. Can you imagine how much could be done with even a portion of the amount we spend on bombs?... but that's another story.

A United Humanity's website is: http://www.aunitedhumanity.org/

And here's Jordan's own words from his two most recent emails sent out from Sri Lanka.

Healing Humanity

Hello everyone!! I sincerely hope this e-mail finds each and every one of you in good health and great spirits. My attempt to continue the humanitarian aid work in Batticaloa district of eastern Sri Lanka is well under way this year, and I send this e-mail with the intention of sharing my deepest respect and gratitude for you previous support of this cause. Before I begin explaining our current projects and what sits on the immediate horizon, I need everyone to understand that without your generous donations none of this work could have been, or will continue to be possible. I must take a moment to make it very clear to all of you that just because you shared your hard earned money with me and my Sri Lankan friends before, I have no expectations that you must continue to donate. Of course money is highly needed and needed now, but there are other ways you can assist beyond financially. Contacts and networking are essential so please spread the word, forward, my e-mails to others, speak of what we are doing, and remember us if and when you come across any philanthropists or people looking for a trustworthy charity. I am also in need of finding folks back home who are global minded, proactive, and vested in the welfare of the people whom are suffering in our world. Fundraisers, advertisers, accountants, people with knowledge and experience in the humanitarian aid fields and anybody inspired to create change in others lives are more than welcome to become part of the team.

Although the ethnic war has intensified greatly in the northern regions of Sri Lanka, the eastern province of Batticaloa is now experiencing a time of relative peace. There is still the odd bomb blast and soldiers and tanks still line the streets, but in comparison with my two previous journeys here in 2005 and 2007, things are very tame. There is a new sense of optimism in the air, and I believe this to be a marvelous time to reach out and effect change in the local people’s lives.

I am more than humble enough to admit that I am learning as I go, and for this reason we will be focusing on community based projects this year, rather than supporting individual families’ separately. Although some families are obviously in greater need than others, to provide for one and deny another due to any number of reasons can lead to resentment and disharmony in the community.

Currently we are building a toilet and a well at the Kallidy village fisherman’s rest house. Another toilet and well are going up at the same villages rural development societies community center, which we are helping to establish by completing it’s construction, providing computers, desks, tables, chairs, fans, and lights. Our efforts of build an orphanage last trip have proven very worthy and now we are creating a large vegetable garden, three cows and a little house for the care takers, in our effort to have the orphanage self sustainable. These projects have utilized all our funding, but there are many more important initiatives waiting for the go ahead. The only thing lacking is more money. Within the next few days I will be sending out a more detailed description of what we still plan to accomplish. For now, I merely wish to reintroduce our mission to all of you.

Please visit our web page at: www.aunitedhumanity.org

And don’t hesitate to let me know if you wish to be taken of this mailing list.
Due remember that this economic crisis is a global one and many countries are experiencing it’s grip in a much tighter way than the richest nations are. Thank you dearly for your time.

Peace and Love
Jordan Korth
President and Founder
The Foundation for a United Humanity

May your forehead be calm, your eyes serene, your lips grateful, and your heart aglow!!

Hello friends, peace lovers and budding philanthropists!! In my last e-mail I tried to convey my sincere thanks to all of you for your support of this work, and I hope my gratitude is still resonating deep within you. Not only are you creating educational opportunities, sustainable incomes and a higher standard of living for the people of Batticaloa, Sri Lanka, you are also greatly contributing to the fulfillment of my own personal inspirations. This work brings me such joy, and I will never be able to express what an important and integral role your donations and words of support have made on myself and my Sri Lankan friends.

There is so much to do, and Healing Humanity is currently at a bit of a stand still as all of our funding has dried up. So if it is possible, please continue your generosity. Unless the immigration office grants my request for more time on Lankan soil, I will only be here for another month and a half, so please do not sit on the fence. Your money is needed now!!

One of my goals this trip was to visit as many orphanages as possible, and asses their needs, while establishing contacts for the Human Harmony volunteer initiative. I have to admit, despite the hard work of the care givers, I have been appalled at what I have discovered. Many foreigners come to visit these boys and girls homes. They bring with them toys, note books and pens. Foreign religious groups will pay to have large and lavish buildings erected to house these children, as long as they worship the correct God, of course. This is all fine and dandy, but as my dear friend Raju says. "None of this stuff matters, toys, crayons, stuffed bears, large rich looking living quarters. Sure it is needed, but right now�.it is all pointless. None of it matters as long as these children have no food in their bellies."

Now I've never been one to try and induce guilt in people with the hope of raising money. So please do not misunderstand what I'm about to say next. You more than deserve you place at the top of the global financial ladder. But nobody can tell me these innocent children aren't worthy of a portion of your hard earned money. I only wish I could take you by the hand and bring you to these orphanages. Behind beaming smiles you will see the yellow eyes of hungry children. Don't mistake their blotted bellies to mean they have just finished a large and filling meal. Malnourishment as made these boys and girls appear pregnant. They reach out with tooth pick arms and some can hardly even stand on their boney legs.

Hand outs are good. The toys and books bring instant smiles and momentary comfort, but the truth is they are soon forgotten. They end up scattered in the dirt with the rest of the rubbish and the books are often used as fuel for the fires that heat their morning breakfast, which usually consists only of tea, if they are lucky its milk tea, and even luckier, a biscuit or two to start them on their day.

I feel so passionate about creating self sufficient orphanages, that it is going to become the focal point of Healing Humanities many efforts. With out a steady income source these boys and girls homes will never be able to provide both a physically and mentally healthy environment. These children have already been through so much, loosing there parents, fleeing the violence of war, surviving in the dog eat dog worlds of street life and refugee camps. Many are lucky they haven't been forced into militant recruitment or thrown into the sex trade. We need to show these children they are loved, they must know people are vested in their well being. The folks, who have dedicated their lives and sacrificed so much to protect these children and try and provide them with a decent life, deserve our help. In fact I think they deserve a lot more. These care givers are true heroes. Effecting a positive change in the chilren's life all starts with a warm meal, and that warm meal can't be a one time thing. By creating small businesses, gardens and farms, the care takers of these homes can make sure the children receive the quality food that every human being deserves and needs.

It is essential to the success of such projects, that the leaders of these orphanages choose their own way to generate income, and believe me they have the ideas ready, but lack the funds to make them manifest. Healing Humanity is not about dictating what they should do, but rather giving them the means to accomplish what they already see as beneficial. Here are a few examples. Shakthi girls home has 36 girls aged 8-15 years old. I first visited Shakthi in 2005 and it has always remained in my heart, for I had the most amazing experience spending a day playing games with the kids. They orphanage, along with two others was inaccessible for me in 2007 as it was right in the middle of a severe war zone. Believe me I tried to reach them but was denied as I went to take the ferry boat across the lagoon by the army with a stern "no foreigners allowed." This year, as I said in my last e-mail, the district is going through I time of relative peace and the army has granted me accesses to the impoverished village. At Shakthi they want to construct a bakery that the president claims will not only fill the children's bellies but also provide simple things like soap and tooth paste, things they have gone without for months. Healing Humanity has already begun construction of the bakery but has had to put the construction on hold. Just like the children have no food in the belly, we have no money in the bank account.

Another home, Jesu Ashram, with 25 girls aged 11-17 already has a fishing boat, but they have no fishing nets. They also have requested an auto rickshaw which would double as a means to transport the children to the hospital in emergencies and serve as a taxi for hire in Batticaloa town. Manthiniyum girls home has 80 girls from 4 years to 20 years old. This is a substantial amount of mouths to feed. They have plans for a vocational training sewing center, which they could sell their homework to local stores and schools, and a meditation center as they have a wise old guru eager to teach peace from within for a small fee to both tourists and locals alike. For now, all they want is help establishing a farm. They have the buildings already in place; just need the chickens, cows and goats to make it successful.

Any one familiar with Healing Humanities work knows of our crown achievement thus far. An orphanage we have built called Hari Boys Home. The transformation that is still occurring at Hari is a massive source of inspiration for me. There are currently 65 boys staying here and the doors are always open for children fleeing the war across the lagoon, which can erupt again at any moment. We are currently supplying them with a vegetable garden and hope to also deliver some cows. I would love to fulfill the directors wish to get a bus he can then use as a private busing company, which in turn would solve all there financial worries. If the bus comes through, then Healing Humanity can move on from Hari with complete knowledge that we not only built an orphanage but gave the care takers the means to be fully self sufficient.

I want to make it clear that Sri Lanka has tough child labor laws and Healing Humanity has many friends who will continue to check up on all it's orphanage projects to ensure that no child is being forced to work instead of study and play. Also the orphanages are all part of a vast networking and profit sharing plan. Basically they help each other out when times are tough. Karma is a very real belief here and the caregivers know the pains other homes can go through.

To accomplish all the above stuff, and the few other smaller scall things that we could easily finish, about 50 000Cad is needed. This would also leave a nice sum to get things going next trip. Of course this is a lot of money, and it is including the 30 000 grand for the Hari bus. The point Im trying to make is that we can handle large donations, so by all means feel free to throw us 10 000 or so. But please don't shy away from smaller donations as well. I can't even begin to emphasize how far I can make a 100, 50 or even 5 dollar donation stretch. Don't be shy, even one pennie is that much closer to accomplishing something.

I have given four examples of homes and ways we can make these safe zones for the neglected children of Batticaloa able to care for them selves. Of course there are many more homes in need, but Healing Humanity would rather focus on one at a time and ensure their successes then spread ourselves to far and to thin, then have to shatter hopes of following through on any promises by informing them that we can't complete our work, something that we have already done to Shakthi. As I've said many times before I'm learning as I go and this in itself has been one of my most important lessons.

Again I wish to emphasize how important it is that our funds continue to grow. Without abundance we can't do anything, and this depends on you, so, if you are able please do give, if not then at the very most remember us in your prayers.

Thank You for your time.

Jordan Korth

President and Founder

The Foundation for a United Humanity

May your forehead be calm, your eyes serene, your lips grateful and your hart aglow.

Only In America: Salt Lassi

2008-12-19T12:04:00.000+05:30

In India, travelers are often heard saying “only in India.” The saying sprouts forth when expectations are completely trashed, trampled, and transcended. At a pageant on a holy day, a spinning wheel of fireworks got loose and rolled through the group of children performers and into the crowd. The show went on without hesitation. No one seemed to be hurt. “Only in India,” I murmured. In the USA, or “America” as the Indians like to call it, the show would have stopped, injuries would have been rampant, and lawsuits would abound. Days before the pageant, I had witnessed a father with his baby on a four foot wide stone wall about 20 feet off the ground. The baby freely crawled around, apparently safely. Somehow the babies are more sensible there, I guess. In America, the baby would fall and the father would be charged with endangering the welfare of a child. In a Himalayan village in India, the main steps from the bus stop into the village were lined with barbed wire. Steps were missing and uneven. That didn't stop the elderly and infirm at all. In America, there would be public outcry, victimized elders, and a host of handicapped access violations.We simply live in different cultural realities, having no idea how much our cultural ideologies shape our apparent realities.

Utter amazement has nothing to do with right or wrong, cultural superiority or inferiority.... it's just a natural by-product of having one's cultural based perceptions of reality dashed to the winds and sent into hyperspace to come out in some bizarre universe you never imagined existed. I suspect Indian visitors to America find themselves saying “only in America” when they become flabbergasted by flagrant reality checks.

The phrase “only in India” drifts into “in India, anything is possible” which has it's origin in the idea that money can buy most anything. With enough rupees, better yet dollars, anything is possible. I like to twist the statement into sarcastic wit when I am dumfounded.

Today, I had the opposite experience... that of “only in America”. And I have to say I hate to use the word America to mean the USA because it's as if we are the only country in North America, or North and South America, which to many citizens of the US, who are blinded by manifest destiny, may seem to be reality. Having traveled and gained some perspective on the matter, I feel otherwise. The USA is just one little part of the world. Traveling, I try to say USA or United States when I am questioned about my country of origin. That is usually the second question taught in English class in India, if my usual conversations with Indians are any indication. It falls between “what is your good name?” and “first time, India?” which is then followed by “are you married?” and “why not?”. I often find that if I say, “I'm from the United States.”, the inquisitor says “what? .... oh... you mean America.” And so I slip back into saying “I'm from America” so I can avoid one more step in a painful conversation based on little connection beyond 5 sentences in English. When I say “America”, invariably some European or Israeli traveler overhears and glares at me with serious shade, and then I have to explain myself.

So, anyways, today in San Francisco, America, I mean US, I ate lunch at a Chinese restaurant, and feeling not quite sated since lunch was also my breakfast, my thoughts wandered to the local Indian boutique slash ice cream stand, Bombay, which sets on Valencia at 16th street. The other day, I passed by and noticed they sold chai, in addition to exotic flavors of ice cream, like fig flavored. I'm not much of a tea drinker, but a chai for sentimental reasons appealed to me. Then I remember the lassi, an Indian smoothie made of yogurt and often fruit. That sounded better than chai... something with calories and nutrition to help make up for no breakfast. I strolled down the street feeling like I was once again a traveler, freely walking about the world. I sauntered into the ice cream shop, a simple affair with a counter, and sparse cheap metal tables and chairs. I studied the menu on the wall. “Chaat” caught my eye along with “puri”, both Indian snacks. But I focused on the Lassi offerings and found mango, sweet, or salt as the options. Mango cost twice as much as the others, so I thought a plain salt or sweet lassi would do. You can find the same options in chai, sweet or salt. I decided to try the salt lassi, since sugar is not a big draw for me. The young man behind the counter politely took my order with mannerisms that took me back to India. I watched him put a stout tablespoon of white powder into the mix. That seemed like a lot of salt, if that's what it was. But since he was of Indian descent, I figured he knew how to make a dish of his own country. I took the plastic cup and straw and sat down to enjoy my taste of the subcontinent. I sucked through the straw to find the most amazing flavor of salt and sour milk. I tried again. It was still awful. I laughed as it reminded me of culinary surprises in India. I resolved to just drink it. I took another sip, thinking I would probably get used to the saltiness. It still tasted just as bad. I considered just walking away with it and throwing it out, thinking maybe it wasn't really that bad, but just wasn't adapting to my unique tastes. I took another sip. My stomach began to feel queasy. There was no doubt that I could not simply drink it. And I decided that this was beyond tastes, it truly was bad. And the clerk needed to know so he wouldn't be making the same mistake over and over.

I got up and returned to the counter and said, “I think this has way too much salt in it.” The young man apologized and said he'd make me another. He didn't even try to taste the rotten one. This time I caught him as he was spooning in the salt, and said “no, not that much... little little..” holding my thumb and first finger together. He only put part of a spoonful in... more than I might have... but the lassi came out ok.

I drank it down, and wandered out on the street. The more I thought the more I laughed. Only in America would an Indian guy not know how to make a lassi. In India, they might not know how to make pizza, but they know their own cuisine. This boy probably grew up here and never made a salt lassi before. “Only in America” I laughed. “Only in America, anything is possible!”

We Took to the Streets of San Francisco

2008-11-16T04:57:00.009+05:30

One of the big fallouts of the recent elections was the passing of a California proposition outlawing equal rights for gay couples. Today marked at least the third major public demonstration decrying the outrage of over Prop 8.

If you've never taken part in a political action or demonstration, you might be surprised at the beauty of such an event. Though I don't watch much news and don't get bogged down in mass media descriptions of "reality", preferring to deal and interpret my own first hand experience, I understand that oft times media portrays demonstrations as dangerous unruly events. In fact, I remember several years ago mentioning to a woman that I was going to attend a peace rally, and she remarked, "Isn't that dangerous? I've seen on the news how dangerous it is?" I laughed and replied that no, in my experience such events were largely peaceful, community building events. How could peace mongers really be dangerous? war mongers, yes... but peace mongers? I've always felt safe, at least from the crowd. The crowd is a community that crosses lines of race, age, gender, and orientation. Sure there are sometimes a few participants that lean towards violence. Naturally, I wouldn't lean towards marching with such groups or individuals, which are usually few and far between. The only thing that has ever intimidated me at such demonstrations is the law enforcement agents who sometimes line the street with guns. News likes to sensationalize and I guess people prefer watching drama rather than the constants of peace and joy.

The stigma of protests amuses me because our country was founded on Civil Disobediance when our forefathers staged the Boston Tea Party and started the "American Revolution." I'm sure if the British had our modern day rhetoric, we'd have been deemed terrorists. Likely the Native American Tribes would have put a similar label on us. At any rate it amuses me when our country which espouses free speech and personal freedom tends to look down when such things are put into practice. Dissenting opinion and forum is the mark of democracy. Unification, and squelching free speech begets dictatorships and fascism. The sensationalization of the dangers of the protests amuses me because my experiences at such events has never felt dangerous.

My experience in political demonstrations goes back to quite a number of San Francisco events, mainly the peace rallies and pro-bicycle rallies of the last seven years. My own semantics and view is that I do not march in any "anti-anything" marches, but rather "pro-something" marches. To me being anti anything only begets judgement, violence, and hate. This very morning a friend, another gay man, said he wasn't interested in doing a protest at City Hall today as he felt like we'd be preaching to the already converted here in San Francisco. He'd rather do some protests at some of the Churches that have chosen to spend money in judgment, rather than live unconditional love. I have little interest, myself, in doing a protest at a Church. I'm a live and let live kind of guy. I honor a Church's political right to exercise it's free speech.

When I march I prefer to be a living example of what I march for. Usually, I dance along the streets, singing, chanting, and doing some energywork. I remember one of my first experiences at a public demonstration was in an "anti-violence" march in Brooklyn ten years ago that protested murderous hate crimes that had taken place there. The magic of the Radical Faerie contingent that I marched with greatly impressed me. Our "troupe" drummed, chanted, danced, and paraded huge puppets. Our energy was directed to being our joyful selves and sharing our performance along the streets. That struck me as much more powerful political action than being angry and screaming.

Today, in San Francisco, tears welled up in my eyes as I appreciated our amazing country and it's gifts in the world. Not that we are better than others; rather each country has it's own gifts and beauty to share with the world. And, yet, I fully appreciate the individual freedom we have here. I've seen a bit of the world, and the overall freedom to be ourselves here, is something I don't see in other countries. The flip side is that our community and family structure have deteriorated while we learn how to create family and community more unconditionally, rather than based on blood relations and strict social custom.

I wandered into our city's center in front of City Hall. My eyes roamed the crowd. Children, families, grandparents, gays, bisexuals, lesbians, transgendered people all greeted my eyes. A "Victory Garden" adorned the ground in front of City Hall. Some group brought in soil and created a collage of beautiful garden beds over the pavement. Spirals of corn and sunflowers, along with circles of kale, created a visual delight that smelled of the good earth. The produce from the garden goes to the local Food Bank.

I drifted away from the ranting on the podium towards an adult tricycle which blasted out dance tunes from a portable sound system. A straight guy had brought it. He danced with his girl friend. A small group of bystanders clicked up their heels and danced to the grooves. I joined in. I always love dancing in the outdoors. A slightly overweight, bearded guy in his early fifties grooved under a sunhat and glasses. His energy combined with his myth busting look... he was no disco twink boy... drew smiles from the immediate crowd. A rolly polly black guy twirled a baton with the music. Being a living example of love spoke louder than words about "family values".

Shortly, I heard the beat of a drum cadence and saw movement along Polk Street that indicated a march was starting. I drifted away from the dance towards the beating drums, the magic of their beat beckoning me to join in. I walked quickly along the sidewalk passing the multitudes in the street and caught up with the drum corp as the march entered Market Street... the heart and thoroughfare of the city. As we stepped into Market Street, tears welled in my eyes, appreciating the community, the freedom, and how far our country has evolved from the idea of civil liberty for all, to the embodiment of it. Not that we are entirely there, but we've come a long way. I cried for all the places I've been over the years that haven't been so supportive of who I am as a modern day fag. I cried for all the people who face unspeakable judgments and terrorist actions for being or trying to BE who they are. The march took over the opposing lane of traffic so that we were marching a living example of GLBT Pride, which struck me as being perhaps more powerful than the annual corporate pride event... because this one was grassroots, spontaneous, and based on the hearts of many individuals sacrificing their time and efforts.... and based upon people standing up and doing something for what they believe in.

I reflected as I marched on how the real political action is our day to day lives. Where we spend our money. How we commune with our neighbors. In the broader scope, our country's political action is how it lives in the world. Are we democratic in the world? Are we peaceful in the world? Our actions speak larger than our lip service. I remembered years ago reading a Wendell Berry account of Harlan and Anna Hubbard, who lived a simple life for years, according to their beliefs. They eeked out a life on land along the Ohio River, with a garden and small heard of goats. They lived without electricity. Across the river a nuclear power plant was due to be built. Wendell wondered a bit about why Harlan and Anna weren't attending the protests. Then he realized they were living their protest. They weren't supporting the nuclear power plant one iota with their off-grid lifestyle. There was no need for them to travel miles by car to wield signs with slogans. Myself, I think there can be a place for both kinds of action, though I feel the real heart is in our day to day lives.

And today as I marched I realized the real political action was taking place across the San Francisco Bay, where a household of Radical Faeries.... queers... have taken in a dying member of our tribe. A youthful, mid-aged man, who is succumbing to cancer, his hip disintegrated by cancerous cells. A circle of friends has gathered from all over to support this household in their task, and to show their love for this man. I visited yesterday to lend my Reiki hands to the hospice. I walked into the dying man's room to find him surrounded by a half dozen friends, acquaintances, caregivers, love-givers. Some held their hands up channeling loving energy while others used feathers and shamanic traditions to help the man in his journey to the other world. Over the course of the afternoon, twenty to thirty people came through. There were about eight people from Portland and Seattle, devoting days to supporting both the man and his caregivers. Other than the man's niece, these were all friends and acquaintances, rather than blood relatives.

One of the main caregivers practically defies description based on American norms. A woman, with green hair, large facial piercings, a tattooed mustache and beard facilitates the hospice care. She's done this work for years. She negotiates with the hospitals and the medical speak. Somehow she cuts through the crap and deals with the medical bureaucracy. The funding is grassroots based on donations.

Only a week ago, the local community held a memorial service for John Burnside, one of our most influential gay elders in the Radical Faerie subculture. Together with his partner of forty some years, Harry Hay, he inspired a lot of growth and evolution in creating heart based, "subject-subject", queer, grassroots culture that celebrates the uniqueness of each individual, rather than status quo and clone culture. For nine years a circle of care givers supported John and Harry in their elder years, providing medical liason, elder housing, company, and community. They also held fundraisers. One of the things that struck me most from John's service was the story of his macular degeneration that quickly reduced his eyesight to a peripheral kaleidoscope. When asked how he felt about the condition, John replied, "Oh what a grand adventure it is! to see the world in a new way."

The legacy of Harry and John includes that we have found the power to come together and form circles of care for our sick and dying that stems from outside corporate insurance, and beyond blood lines. With our migratory habits and breakdown of traditional community structure, the impact of our potential create family and community wherever we are, is a grand political statement.

That we have come so far that a proposition such as Prop 8 was nearly divided in yays and nays, truly speaks how far we have come in the years since the Stone Wall Riots. That a green haired woman with facial piercings and tattoos can walk the streets and society in relative safety speaks much about personal freedom and non-judgment. Progress has also not been linear. While Prop 8 narrowly passed, personal freedoms took a marked downturn the past decade with some of the anti terrorist legislation which undermined "due process". The country is growing a evolving, learning by both trial and error... unless of course you can label something terrorist... than you can leave out the trial. We're learning, we're changing, hopefully evolving!

At any rate, it strikes me how much we owe our ancestors for what we have achieved.

You can see a video of today's march by one of my friends at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWASpisjCp8

And here is a commentary on Prop 8:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVUecPhQPqY

Here views of the National/International Protest from Nov 15 all over the world:
http://andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com/

Protest Against California Prop 8: National Action

2008-11-11T11:31:00.003+05:30

There have been massive protests in SF and across the nation about Prop 8 which was against same-sex unions. Moved to tears of joy, I watch thousands march the streets of San Francisco last Friday evening. It makes me so proud to be an American that we have the rights of free speech and what democracy and freedoms we have left in the USA.

You can exercise your right to free speech and support same sex rights and civil unions by showing up at your local city hall this coming Saturday. People have even been showing up to support this in Salt Lake City!

http://protest8sf.wordpress.com/2008/11/08/join-the-impact-national-day-of-protests-nov-15/

City by the Bay

2008-11-06T08:15:00.003+05:30

I've been in San Francisco two weeks now. Seems like forever as it most always does once I've arrived someplace. The last place fades from my mind as I immerse myself in the present.

Prior to San Francisco, I spent three weeks in Tennessee at a queer commune where I've visited regularly for 11 years now. Friends from all over meet there for gatherings at a commune that hosts us "Radical Faeries" for days of ritual, frolicking, and heart circles. Last time I was there was 3.5 years ago before my first trip to S.E. Asia. A second trip to Thailand and India last year, interspersed with stints all over the U.S. gave me a lot to integrate and try to share with friends. So many rich, vibrant, and oft intense experiences have happened in those 3.5 yrs. I enjoyed the growing community as people from all over the US have gradually bought land and built homes adjacent to the commune. Recently a member of the community bought a 300 acre farm 4 miles away so that the local community could have a place to explore/create/experience farm endeavors without having to leave the community. (Much of the other land is wooded and steep). I enjoyed revisiting the realm of farming that I enjoyed in my past. I got to drive a team of mules and work a ten acre piece up with a tractor and sow it to a rye/vetch cover/green manure crop. What a marvelous meditation.

I rather reluctantly left Tennessee on 21Oct on my prebooked flight to San Francisco. It seemed my prayers for recentering and regaining my full power finally integrated as I boarded the plane. I spent the flight feeling "enlightened" in a bubbly state of peace, trust, and joy. The mystical wanderer in me bubbled up, over, and through me. I was glad I had trusted my intuition and resisted clinging to Tennessee.

Roaming in San Francisco found me feeling more at home than most any place I've been in a while. San Francisco welcomes everyone of all cultural diversities. Finally I no longer stood out like I had in other countries or on the "other coast" of our own. The ethnic communities here trigger memories of my travels. I found my favorite soap from India in and Indian store. And the vegetables in the Asian markets reminded me of culinary favorites from abroad. The hum and rhythm of S.E. Asian dialects, or those of Indians made me feel almost like I was "there". I passed a passel of Asian youth on a sidewalk and felt for a moment like I was in Thailand. I'd never fully realized how such a multicultural city as San Francisco can prepare you for a trip abroad.

My friend Topsoil took me and a friend to the beach, where we walked a labyrinth barefoot. I giggled and wondered how I ever managed the barefoot pilgrimage in Bihar, India, last year. The sea of memories flooded me in a presence and present awareness of time collapsing... all my travels... my history merging into oneness, as the sea, the mighty Pacific swirled below our perch on a cliff. I felt as if I never quit being the mystical wanderer that i felt so strongly I was on my first trip to India with my Aussie metaphysical mate in 2005. The Pacific beckoned me to dive in or over and roam westward again. Hawaii had been on my mind as a winter retreat. I felt reaffirmed in what I imagine as my life's calling to continue wandering the earth.

That evening I went to the St. James Infirmary, a clinic where I worked for many years, to get some acupuncture and a check up. There were new faces that recognized me not. Finally, a woman I knew came out and shrieked, thrilled to see me. Soon others followed. And I felt a San Francisco homecoming. She said she felt so good to know that I was out wandering the world embodying trust and abundance. That happens to be my vision of course, but I oft find myself stuck in my fears rather than transcending them. It was nice to know someone else saw the vision, and I realized that indeed I was living it, though being a bit hard on myself. I got a great acupuncture treatment and felt good to be "home".

Halloween took me to China Town to see one of my best friends brothers play with his band. I enjoyed being in China town and appreciated the feel of it, like a mini trip to the Far East. My friend has been living in Berlin for over a year, and I was glad to catch him while he was stateside for a visit.

I ran into friends and acquaintances and feel held in loving arms of this city. On Nov 2, I marched in the Day of the Dead Procession in the Mission district. The Procession is a Hispanic tradition of honoring the dead on this day when the veil between the earthly and spirit worlds is said to be thin. People of all persuasions marched, many carrying candles to honor one they lost to the dead this year. There were drumming groups, and chanting groups, and silent walkers. Most wore the tradition black and painted their faces while with skeleton like embellishments. I'd forgotten what a moving event this was as the thousands marched along the streets in a route that would take us to a park where altars had been set up. Candles, pictures, sculptures, adorned the park. Some wept. Some laughed. It's both a celebration of life and grieving of loss. I prayed for my Uncle and invoked his spirit as one of my losses during the year. I noted how this event mimicked some of the pilgrimages I'd done in India. Except in this one I blended in. I knew the language. And I could wear shoes. I wished I could share the beauty of this event with my own family.

On Election Eve I joined friends at a post yoga class potluck and viewing of Saturday Night Live's Election Program. Many of my friends there had been in India in recent years, and it was a moving reunion to be together again and know that we had tales to tell that we could relate to.

I worked a clinic shift doing Reiki on Election Day, having mailed my absentee ballot in some time ago. After work, I did some errands and about 8pm started hearing sounds of celebration. Loud whoops. Occasional drums. I overheard people saying "it's over. Obama has won." I got home at 9 pm, tired. I didn't plan to go out. But the vibration of joy reverberated through the city and wouldn't let me rest. I heard soundbytes of celebration and finally went out and found the streets full of celebration. Smiles and music filled the air. I wandered into the Castro, which is revered as the heart of queer community in San Francisco. And found the street closed off for a celebration. Obama was on a big screen and the street was packed full of dancing revelers. Tears of joy came to my eyes as I realized how hard the last 8 years have been on "the community" here.And how much face the US lost in the world, how much our economy has suffered as we have ignored what has been going on within our borders. How we have not chosen to promote world democracy by not being democratic in the world. I realized how easy my political choices are being gay... how could I vote for someone that sees me as second class? ... and being mindful of what we are leaving for our future generations how we trod upon this Earth?

I learned that San Francisco's voters were 85% in favor of Obama. No wonder the city was afire in celebration! No wonder I never remembered witnessing such glee after other elections. The glee was bittersweet, as a proposition allegedly passed that will prohibit same sex couples from having the rights of marriage. Not that I'm necessarily in favor of legislating religious doctrine, but it seems only logical that partners of civil unions ought to have the right and abilities to create their households together and enjoy such privileges as riding in an ambulance with their loved one. I find it ironic that much of the heat comes from people who supposedly adhere to religion that espouses non-judgement and unconditional love.

Meanwhile I'm enjoying the freedom and creativity of this beautiful city.

Foot By Foot in the Catskills

2008-09-24T21:35:00.008+05:30

Nature soothes me. Finally after months of keeping to self imposed grindstones, I got it together to get out in the mountains. My destination, The Catskills.

I drove through the hills of upstate NY, crossing the Susquehanna River in Oneonta, I drove south into the steeper hills and watched them grow into mountains.

I dined on yummy Chinese food in Hunter. I deliberated. My head spinning from days of less sleep than I would have liked, and a good dose of grounding work. I'd been helping my cousin with his tent and auction business. It gave me a mix of sorting other people's stuff, and physical labor of putting up and taking down tents.

It felt good to be on the road again, in touch with my nomadic tendencies. The ultralight pack I'd first used in Hawaii four years ago brought memories of backpacking on lava earthscapes, and my first major mountain summit experience when I climbed Mauna Loa.

My mind started to declutter. In the way, were fears and indecisiveness. Where exactly was I going to hike and camp? Indian Head Mountain, Overlook Mountain, Poet's Ledge, and/or the Escarpment Trail. My indecisive nature ran rampant in my tired state. I resorted to my pendulum to tap into my intuition. Indian Head Mountain was it's answer. My mind found fault with the rugged hike. The ease of Overlook Mountain and it's proximity to a Buddhist Temple called to parts of me that remembered such sights from India and Nepal. Yet, if I drove to that trail head, I might loose another hour of daylight. It didn't sink in that I could get there via the Indian Head side.

I'd enjoyed discovering the Catskills in my internet research and mountain guidebook. The history of Hudson Valley artists and transcendentalist writers struck deep chords in my memory. Thoreau, Whitman, Burroughs. Legend of Sleepy Hollow. The painting of Kindred Spirits. All drew faint recognition in my whirled traveler brain.

I passed a sign announcing a visitor center as I neared the trailhead. I turned around and took the excuse to find help in my deliberations. The information kiosk surprised me when I drove up the lane to find a huge old hotel of a building. As I parked, a earthy man with a trimmed beard came alongside the car with a cart of what looked to my once farmer's eyes, like freshly dug potatoes. Indeed they were. He called for the "person on duty" to come give me information. Meanwhile I inquired what the facility was, and he said it was a Christian community.

I noted the same grounded clarity in their eyes here as I noticed in the eyes of the Amish a few weeks ago at an auction. Connected to the Earth. Connected to the code they chose to live by. No muddled heads. Not so much confusion from the burgeoning world culture of information and consumerism.

He and the young man "on duty" didn't help me sort out where I was going to hike and camp. They did give me some ideas, but no breakthrough of clarity. My pendulum still suggested the Indian Head Mountain. So I went to the trailhead, parked, packed, and headed off up the trailhead.

A wooden footbridge greeted me and led me into the deep scent of hemlock and pine. It smelled good, fresh, cool. I enjoyed a few stone quarries along the trails. Visions of men working and sweating with horses and oxen in the virgin timbered woods passed through my consciousness. Sometimes I think I was born a century too late, when I consider the thrill of being around the Amish, and the excitement with which I read my Great Grand Father's diaries of the 1860s. Something appeals to me about a world devoid of the buzz of motors... where you hear the rhythyms of hand tools and hoof steps.

I easily covered the 0.9 miles of steady upgrade to the intersection with the Devil's Path, the trail that would take me up to the top of Indian Head Mountain. Devil's Path is reputed to be steep, rugged, and relatively devoid of fresh water. I carried plenty of water for my overnight. But the ruggedness intimidated my potentially out of shape legs and overall tiredness.

I begrudged trusting the pendulum, and turned up the steeper Devil's Path, thinking maybe I'd have time to hike to Overlook Moutain from this back end. My indesiveness and the steeper climb ate up daylight. I finally resolved to get up to Sherman's Overlook, and potentially skip doing the summit.

The trail was indeed rugged. In Hawaii, I had trekked at 3-4 mph, and surpassed all the 1-2 mph time estimates by the trail guides. Here, in the steep Catskills, I was on the 1-2 mph mark. Last year, in the Indian Himalaya, I had learned that speed is not everything, and had taken my shoes off to go slower, to enjoy the sights more. Yet now, in the Catskills, I felt the pressure of desire to achieve several goals in a short time... I had slotted only a day and a half here.

My knees balked a bit at the pressure. It took me quite a bit of mental wandering from fearing injury and being laid up until I got to setting the intention that they'd be fine. I steadily slurped on the tube of water from my hydration pack, thankful for the ease of sipping water. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of an overlook. I stepped out onto a rock, and beheld the grandueur of the Hudson Valley. Platte's Clove below me. AHHHH... this felt good and made it all worth it! An amazing fall day showed off a great visibility of the surrounding mountains and hills. I rested a bit, enjoying the view. No wonder the Hudson Valley School of painters had spent so much time here.

After a brief recovery, I moved on, spurred by the cool breeze. In a few minutes I came upon a western overlook, where the sun was warm. I lingered here, enjoying the heat. I thought I could see the Tibetan Monastery off on a hill by Woodstock.

Now the summit plagued my mind. It seemed, by the guidebook's words, to be relatively close at hand. I knew I'd hate to pass it up, being so close. So I urged myself onwards. At the base of a rock crag, I left my pack. A ten foot scramble had me significantly closer to my summit goal. After a couple small scrambles, I enjoyed level trails. Rugged and small, the trees showed the hardships of living atop a windswept pile of rocks that makes a mountain. I passed a sign prohibiting camping over 3500 feet. I figured I was close. I ran at times along the level trail. After an eternal 30 minutes I came to the edge of the level trail and saw it drop deep down into clove. No way was I going to go down any rugged trail, only to have to come up again. I decided if the summit was over there, I'd skip it. I turned around and headed back from whence I came, anxious to get down the mountain and seeing about heading towards Overlook Mountain, or at least to Echo Lake, where there was a lean-to.

I felt pretty wiped out by the time I got back down off Indian Head Mountain, and returned upon the Devil's Path to where it met the Overlook Trail, the old quarry road from the 1840s. I turned towards Overlook Mountain and Echo Lake. There was a lean-to, called Devil's kitchen, nearby. There I could decide whether to bed down, or head to Echo Lake.

I appreciated the relatively level Overlook trail. I appreciated the gentle scenery and wondered why my infatuation with mountains? A stroll through the woods can be as fulfilling as the challenge of a summit. I suppose I like both.

I soon approached the lean-to at Devil's Kitchen from a blind side. The open side faced off towards a stream and ravine on the left. I got about 12 feet from the lean-to, when all of the sudden, a black bear scrambled out looking over his shoulder in a panic! I shouted "Hey you!" before I'd even thought about speaking. I laughed. My mind began to worry. I hadn't anticipated bears. The guidebooks for the Adirondacks mentioned bear and preparations for such profusely. I had been relieved not to run across any mention of bears in my Catskill guidebooks. I wondered about my stash of nuts, apples, and dried appricots. I knew that one way to avoid trouble with bears was to avoid the usual camping spots where bears learn to search and find food. I had kind of wanted the shelter of a lean to, though.

As I walked by the lean-to, I was grateful that the bear had run before I got to the open side and cornered him in there. The lean-to was dark, and blackened from it's history of camp fires in the fire pit right in front of it. The lean-to appealed little to me now... it seemed a bit claustrophobic, especially if the bear considered it a good hangout.

Now, I felt that my option was only Echo Lake. I proceeded round the clove, over a wooden foot bridge spanning a rushing creek that tumbled quickly down the mountain. Soon I came to a "Y" in the trail where I couldn't tell which way to go. I choose the low way, knowing I'd soon see a trail marker in either case. I got about 30 feet down the trail, when I saw the bear staring at me straight ahead about 50 feet. I now realized that the trail curved around the cove and we were pretty much opposite from the lean-to.

We stared at each other, the bear and I. I yelled and waved my arms. He stared. I considered retracing my steps, but remembered something about bears being attracted to fear. I didn't want to give him the wrong idea. We continued to stare at each other until he decided to run. I was thankful. I walked down the trail towards where he had been, only to find the trail ended in the brush. I felt bad, having bothered him needlessly. I felt worse as I realized, that he had scurried up the hill and was bound to be in the vicinity of the proper trail.

I nearly stepped in fresh bear dung, obviously left by the bear after he'd scurried out of the lean-to. And I laughed at the thought of scaring the shit out of the bear. I hoped that he wouldn't return the favor as I returned to the "Y" in the trail and now took the high road. I proceeded cautiously for several hundred yards, and gladly discovered no sign of the bear. Another half hour, and I felt clear of his territory.

I strolled along the contour of the hill on the Overlook Trail, imagining wagons and men working here in times past. Another quarry showed up on the left, with a bit of an overlook onto the Hudson Valley. The trail was on the edge of the mountains.

Dusk approached as I turned down the side trail to Echo Lake. Steady down hill, the trail led to a valley. I heard the most amazing singing, like a choir. I wondered that I could hear sounds from the village of Woodstock. Wearily trudging down the trail, I was thankful to be close to my bed-spot for the night. Soon I realized the singing must be coming from the Lake itself. I would not be camping alone. I felt a bit sad at that, but at the same time was greatful, for I felt safer in bear country knowing others were nearby.

The sun just setting, I wandered past the lean-to and saw a group sitting by Echo Lake. About 15 or so. Two man/woman couples, and a gaggle of small children. Their angelic singing came to a halt just as a approached. They heard my footsteps and looked over. A man greeted me. He said they'd be camping on the other side of the Lake, leaving me the lean-to. Simple, clear, joyful, he told how they'd hiked in from the Woodstock side, and would be traveling on toward's Platte's Cove, where they lived, the next day. The women's simple dresses gave me every reason to assume they lived in the community where I'd stopped for information. He said they wanted to see if there was indeed an Echo at Echo Lake. Someone started a song with a syllable and the rest joined in in perfect harmony, like a professional choir. The children gazed back, smiles gleaming at me, when the mountains told the truth that there was indeed a beautiful echo here. These peoples joy was inspiring. They soon left me alone as they retreated around the lake.

I strung up my hammock between two trees about 15 feet from the Lake. I ate my cheese sandwich and some almonds and apricots. The air cooled quickly and I nestled into my sleeping bag. Fish jumping in the lake startled me a few times... still wary of the bears. Then a group of wild dogs or coyotes howled from the top of the trail into the valley. I worked through my fears, remembering it was rare that animals attacked humans. I prayed the critters leave me alone and stay at bay tonight.

The wind picked up and cooled my back in the hammock. I tried to find a nearby level spot to sprawl out, but couldn't. I returned to the hammock. The wind picked up, and finally, I just decided to sprawl out on the ground beneath me. I remembered how I had learned to sleep on a sheet of plastic on cement on my barefoot pilgrimage for Shiva in Bihar, India. And so I knew I could easily sleep here. I threw my piece of plastic down, my thin pad, and nestled into my sleeping bag into the arms of the solid Mother Earth. It was amazing how well this quieted my busy mind. I drifted to sleep.

In the morn, I awoke before dawn and started hiking out by sunrise. The air was brisk, though I don't believe it frosted in the woods. I got to the car, and ate some nuts. I then drove over to the Escarpment Trail in Haines Valley.

Escarpment Trail, gives the most views for the effort... so said the men at the visitor center yesterday. And they were right. Sunset Rock, and Inspiration Point gave amazing views over the Hudson Valley. Inspiration Point served and probably still serves painters with plenty of inspiration. There were names carved into the flat rock outcropping from the late 1800's and early 1900's when the area was in it's prime as a tourist location.

After looping round the end of the Escarpment Trail, I drove to the Kaaterskill Falls trailhead and virtually sprinted up the rocky ravine to see New York's highest waterfall.

An hour later I was enroute through New Jersey to the burbs of Philadelphia, reeling in the joy of my footage through the Catskills. I can't wait to return and spend days and weeks exploring more of the Catskills.

Travel Photos from 2007 Posted

2008-03-19T23:03:00.002+05:30

I finally got my travel photos from 2007 Posted:

http://gypsywizard.shutterfly.com

Enjoy the views!!!

Western Medicine, Water, and Hope!

2008-01-23T22:31:00.001+05:30

It's been two months since I arrived in the USA from India. Most of my time has been in the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware. It's funny I was realizing the other day how "normal" it seems to me here now. How I've adapted.

I watched the movie Kundun last night which is one of the best movies I've ever seen. It depicts the Dalai Lama's early years and flight from Tibet during the Chinese Invasion. It makes me sad to realize the USA's lip service to world democracy when they obviously use such terms to support their own agenda's such as oil, while ignoring such violations of humanity as those in Tibet.

The movie brought back images of what it is like to travel in the "third" world where most people have little clutter in their lives. Few cars. Few belongings. Sparse, small houses and abodes. The material wealth and waste we have in the US is amazing. Astonishing. Wonderful. Grotesque. It's interesting how little relationship there is between happiness and material things. I've seen what we would consider impoverished little kids gleefully playing with a used plastic bottle as a soccer balls in the streets of Gangtok.

I no longer think twice before hopping in the car, and driving in that isolated box down the road. I easily spend $15-20 here in a moment. I could live up to 4 days on that in India. I watched Ben Cohen's explanation of the Federal Budget last night. It struck me how easy it would be to feed the world. A family in India could live on $1000/year. I've been making smoothies in a blender. This morning I wondered how far the resources I use for my morning juice would go in the third world?

Meanwhile I've seen more of the inside of the American Medical system than ever before. Insurance. Specialists. Run arounds. I tried insurance once and found it a waste of time. I was in the middle of dental work with a root canal or two halfway done, when my employer signed me up for dental insurance. I went to the new dentist covered by my insurance. They insisted on a consultation and told me that I needed to have a crown put on my tooth that was prepared for a crown... and that it needed to be done soon! Then offered me an appointment three weeks later. I quit the insurance and went back to paying my own way at my previous dentist. In San Francisco, the handful of times I thought I needed western medicine, I was able to go to sliding scale clinics. Over the years, I've learned quite a bit about healing from other sources like Reiki and shamanism. I've learned that healing happens when we set the intention to heal. Then we find a ritual to help with that intention. The ritual could be western medicine or Reiki or anything that promotes our belief/intention and health. I've learned that it is important to find resources that support and help you in your goal. It's important to be proactive in your healthcare. If you have a condition that one modality cannot heal, go to another that has solutions. Find someone who has healed from the condition you have. Find out what they did.

If people put as much intention into their health and healing as they do in manifesting cars and homes and material bric brac, they would be very healthy indeed! Yet, for some reason we tend to want to skimp on our health. We look for cheap doctors and cheap food! Rather than nurturing doctors and food!

I'm aghast at the proliferation of drug advertisements. There was one on the trailer at the movie theater the other day! Strange in a society that is in the midst of anti-drug wars for recreational drugs. Strange people don't see the connection between use of medical drugs and recreational drugs. The same quick fix mentality. And funny how some drugs like caffeine, alcohol, sugar, salt, and cigarettes are arbitrarily accepted as OK. Drugs are big business. Drug salesman bombard physicians daily with new products.

It's no wonder that when one of my dear friends was nauseous, already on 10 medications, that her doctor prescribed another drug. No examination. No weight measure. No diet questions. No interest in exploring the possibility that her side effects were caused by one of her other medications. The new drug would destroy the stomach's ability to produce digestive acid. No doubt in another few months, some sort of artificial stomach acid would be prescribed! Meanwhile, one specialist sends her to another. The greater tragedy I see is that the doctors don't really focus on increasing the health of the body. I read about herbs that actually help the body improve itself. Micro nutrients that help build tissue. I experience ancient sciences of yoga and acupuncture that focus on improving the body. Western medicine is largely a system of patches upon patches. Don't get me wrong, Western science has some excellent procedures for radical emergencies. But overall it's focus seems invasive and focused on lifelong dependency.

Some friends of mine offer workshops on eye health and vision. When eyeglasses were first developed, they were used as temporary measures. The doctor would work at reducing the strength of the correction with an eye for strengthening and improving the eye. Now we take eye glasses as permanent fixtures in our life... no thought of actually trying to improve eyesight. And medications are no better.

The good news is there is a growing movement of alternative choices. Integrative Medicine Programs are becoming common. The combine the best of Western Medicine for acute cases with the best of other modalities for degenerative conditions that western medicine doesn't have answers for. The good news is that more and more people are starting to take charge of their own bodies and care. A growing organic and supplement market is showing that people are looking into less invasive ways and lifestyle changes to actually improve their health and vitality.

In Gary Null's Ultimate Anti Aging Program, I read about a 90 year old man who is a marathon runner! When he was 80, he was arthritic, had a precancerous condition in his bowels, asthma, and chronic sinusitis! Simple lifestyle and diet changes turned his life around! And in Null's study of 256 people with a program for anti aging, those types of results were common! Someplace else I read (not sure whether it was in one of Andrew Weil's books, or Lemole's Healing Diet), that high cholesterol foods affect your arteries for 6-8 hours after eating them. If, for instance, you eat a bag of potato chips three times a day, your body is constantly compromised. So the good news, is if you simply cut out all the crap food, your body will naturally heal! Alot easier than getting some drug for the rest of your life!

And so I'm optimistic for myself and others. Long ago I set my intention to live a healthy active life until my 90s, and then to die quickly, easily, and peacefully. It makes me happy and confident when I read about and see other people finding ways to do such things. I wish more people would put such focus and intention into their own health, well being, and death. Your every thought and action is a prayer and ritual for creating your life!

In the last few weeks I've been researching water a bit. Long ago I started actually following the common advice of drinking a minimum of 8-10 glasses of water per day... something like 2-3 quarts/liters for a minimum. And more with exercise, sickness, and/or drying conditions. I have found myself in remarkable health compared to many of my peers. I have found that water revives me when I am tired. The common water recommendation seems to be based on how much water the body looses through fluids and evaporation. There are a few studies and many personal accounts that show that increased water intake heals or reduces such conditions as cancer. Strokes apparently tend to happen when blood is thick and less hydrated. There is the caveat that it is possible to over hydrate by drinking too much water with too few salts very quickly. I think that would be very hard to do... I mean I've often drank 1 liter at a time with no problem and occasionally close to 2 liters. In my travels I'm amazed at people I meet with dark stinky pee. I figure if I can get my pee close to clear during the day, I'm well hydrated. I'm amazed how much this water this can take with relative inactivity in a dry heated house. Water lubricates the body. That's very important for exercise! I think lots of people shrug off exercise with old age, when they really just need to eat and drink water. Hulda Crooks, a woman who started backpacking up mountains as a senior citizen discovered that on her first hike. She grew tired and weary and was thinking perhaps she was too old. She stopped and ate and drank, and found her energy renewed! How many countless others give up and give in to stories of old age. I've met people younger than me who already have chosen such dis-empowered realities. I've wondered at times why we seem to need so much water. I read of Aborigines walking around the desert and I doubt they drink that much. I think perhaps our needs are because we have more toxins to flush out of our body, and perhaps our mineral intake is lacking with all the synthetic salts and foods. Celtic sea salt for instance has nearly the same mineral content as blood. Processed salt is sodium chloride. I look at the studies. Most of all I look at my own experience. When I drink 3-6 liters/quarts per day, I feel good. When I don't I feel worse, I get more aches and pains. I find that when I exercise the affects of water show up very quickly. When I am hiking and take a rest every hour or two to snack and drink water, I can go on and on. When I don't, I get crabby, tired, and develop aches/pains/injuries. Water is such a simple and cheap thing to try, I am surprised more people don't try it!

Travel Tips: Web Resources

2008-01-21T20:17:00.000+05:30

A plethora of information awaits you on the internet for most anything you would want to know. Simply searching for your "keywords" in a search engine will likely lead you to some answers. Anything from exact visa information and hours of the local embassy, to what the roads are like right now in Nepal, is a few clicks away. With the relative availability of internet around the world, this is an amazing resource. You can do your banking online. You can make "phone calls" online. You can find out the nearest ATM machine online. First hand experience and word of mouth usually provide the best information of course, but the internet can be quite useful.

There are somethings for which internet is not the best. Though there is internet access in much of the world, most of the world is not on internet! If you want to do a trek in Nepal, you will likely do much better going there and organizing your trek yourself. If someone in the USA is organizing your Nepal trek for you, they will be collecting a healthy commission! Your lodging will also be better found in person. So use your common sense. Use the internet as just one of your sources.

I am currently putting my address book on my USB travel drive, and will even be able to upload it to a web based email account. I keep important information such as passport number and traveler's cheque's number in a email draft to myself. I email copies of my Reiki Manuals to myself, so I can download them and teach Reiki anywhere. I also keep paper copies of the most urgent information. Yet the internet provides a good backup and can reduce my luggage.

Below I've listed some of the sites I find most useful in my travels.

Travel Forums:

Online discussion/message boards where you can connect with the online community, often with people who are currently traveling in the country where you are headed. It's a good place to get "ground truth" for current situations. For instance, a few years ago I was looking into going to Nepal. The US official word was that it was too dangerous. I checked in on the forums and got reports from travelers actually in the country about what conditions were like, and what their experience with Maoists were.

Like anything on the web you will find a variety of opinions. The type of advice you will receive may vary based on the forum. For instance, I posted a request for help for a friend that was freaking out in Cambodia with troubles with the Embassy. On Thorntree, I got the advice that he was crazy or on drugs and to ignore him. On Bootsnall, a person who had worked in embassies, said to have my friend get a grounded friend to call the embassy for him. I did my best to help my friend out. Six months later I got a sincere thank you from him. A few months later I checked in on the forums, and the Thorntree thread to my post had devolved into name calling between two members! I still use both forums from time to time. Just know that different forums may give you different responses.

Bootsnall. http://www.bootsnall.com/
IndiaMike. http://www.indiamike.com/
Thorntree. http://www.lonelyplanet.com/thorntree/index.jspa

Teaching English as a Foreign Language:
http://www.eslcafe.com/
http://www.tefldaddy.com/

http://teflbootcamp.com/Start.htm

General Information:
http://bootsnall.com
http://lonelyplanet.com
http://www.rolfpotts.com/index.html
http://www.hobotraveler.com/
Travel on the really cheap.
Footloose and Fancy-Free in the Third World

Currency Exchange Rates:
http://xe.com

Bank/ATM/exchange rates and foreign fees:
Using your bank's ATM card overseas may cost you a bit of money. Many banks charge you fixed fees for using other bank's ATMS. Additionally, they may charge %1-%3 for using foreign ATMs. Sometimes this percentage is based on the ATM card network. My Wells Fargo card was charging me $5 per ATM use overseas, plus 3%! I no longer bank with Wells Fargo. Credit Cards often charge 1-3% for foreign transactions. In England, Nationwide bank has an excellent reputation for travelers. For us in the USA, there don't seem to be any clearcut great choices.

As of January 2008, Capital One credit cards are reported to charge 0% for foreign transactions and have the reputation of being about the only credit card not to charge you extra. As far as banks, you have to look around. Currently, Schwab has a high yield checking account for which they reimburse all ATM fees. Capital One, HSBC, Everbank are some others that reimburse ATM fees at least partially. I've heard that many local banks and credit unions also reimburse ATM fees and give good deals. I couldn't find any that worked for me.

Other considerations would be transfer times for electronic transfers, charges for wiring money into and out of accounts, reliability of the bank's internet interface, and customer service. Citibank for instance allows you to transfer to other Citibank accounts overseas for free.

Depending on your bank, and credit card company, you may need to call them to let them know you will be overseas, so they approve your charges. Also remember to check the expiration dates of any ATM/credit cards before you travel! You can call your bank and have a new one issued with a better expiration date if you do this long enough before you travel! A handy side note, coming from someone, namely me, who took off for Asia with cards that expired while I was there, I was able to get new cards sent to an American Express office because I had some AmEx Traveler's Cheques... a handy benefit of having some Amex Traveler's cheques. Speaking of which, it's a good idea to carry a balance of traveler's cheques, cash, ATM, and credit cards... so you are not stranded due to a card/atm failure. Carrying several ATM/credit cards on different networks may give you some options too. My first trip of 10 mos to Asia in 2005, I was quite happy carrying cash and traveler's cheques. I'd cash several weeks worth of cheques at one time, planning ahead for remote areas. I never did use my ATM card that trip, and was relieved of the stress of finding working atm machines. My last trip, I used my ATM card a lot with no problem. You'll want to check your itinerary for ATM availability to figure out what your needs will be.

Whatever bank you use, a good online interface is important for overseas travel. And if you use internet banking overseas you will want to be aware of security risks and precautions. Myself, I don't just check my financial accounts in any internet cafe. I try to use my intuition and sense. Like in Rishikesh, there were internet terminals in a travel agent's office. This agent seemed very sincere and had a longstanding reputable business. So I felt a bit more comfortable doing my internet banking there. I don't fully understand the risks, and apparently outsiders can even hack into such cafes. Some people claim you should only do such transactions on your own PC. I try to live in a life of trust rather than fear. If I have my USB drive with me, I used the Mozilla Firefox Web Browser that I have loaded on my thumb drive thinking that that may be better. There are also secure thumbdrives like Democrakey that maybe a good way to go for security reasons. Banks seem to be improving the security of their interfaces all the time. I've been lucky to have no problems.

Flyer guide listings: http://flyerguide.com/wiki/index.php/Credit/Debit/ATM_Cards_and_Foreign_Exchange#The_List
Bankrate.com: http://www.bankrate.com/kip/rate/chk_sav_home.asp
Some forum postings on banking:
http://www.lonelyplanet.com/thorntree/thread.jspa?threadID=1539017
http://www.lonelyplanet.com/thorntree/message.jspa?messageID=13253396

Working Around the World:
http://www.coolworks.com/whats-new/
http://www.workingnomad.com/
In USA: http://craigslist.org
http://www.wwoof.org/
http://retiringontheweb.com/Getting_Started.htm

Gay/Lesbian/Bi/Trans/Inter Resources:
http://utopia-asia.com/
There are many online "dating" forums and different countries and parts of countries favor different services: manhunt.net, adam4adam.com, mygaydar.com, guys4men.com, craigslist.org, gay.com, etc... etc... etc...
GLBTI Travel forums on thorntree, and bootsnall.
http://www.lonelyplanet.com/thorntree/forum.jspa?forumID=35
http://boards.bootsnall.com/eve/forums/a/frm/f/88200991316

Airline Tickets:

In hub cities such as New York, London, New Delhi, and Bangkok, you can often find amazing deals at a local agent, broker, or even at the airport (so I have heard in New Delhi). That being said, you might also find a better deal on the internet nowadays. It's worth checking. The last time I returned from India, I was in Rishikesh and the travel agents there couldn't do as well as I could myself on the internet. Sometimes there are amazing internet deals by the airlines themselves. An Indian airline had a $5 special to fly across the country once! An Asian airline offered a million tickets for anywhere in S.E. Asia for $20 once. You will generally it cheaper to buy tickets outside of the USA. Often the tickets will have better terms when bought through a travel agent. The tickets I have bought through a travel agent in Bangkok, I have been able to change travel dates for free. It also pays to compare ticket terms from the different internet brokers. For instance, my last trip from India I found for $5 more on expedia.com my ticket could be changed for $50 instead of $100.

http://airtech.com/ offers standby tickets for US to Hawaii, Mexico, and Europe.

The hobotraveler provides a wealth of information on airfares and cheap air travel:
http://www.hobotraveler.com/airplane.php
http://www.hobotraveler.com/aroundtheworldairfare.shtml

I have had good luck and can recommend Jarin at this travel agency in Bangkok. He's been trustworthy and helpful in booking air and bus tickets for me. He also provides excellent visa service, cheaper than you can hire a taxi to go to the embassy yourself. I trust him using my credit card there.
http://www.hobotraveler.com/105aroundworld.shtml Jarin at ABS Travel behind the temple by Khao San Rd.

Travel Blogs:
http://sirensongs.blogspot.com/
http://www.aresthetics.ch/trav/index.cfm
http://www.stevepavlina.com/blog/2006/05/how-to-make-money-from-your-blog/

Online profiles/friend networks:
tribe.net, hi5.com, myspace.com, facebook.com, etc... different sites seem to appeal to different geographical regions. I like tribe.net the best; it's the least cluttered by spam and popups at this time. It seems to be more of a west coast USA thing. Friends in Asia seem to use hi5.com a bit.
Couchsurfing.com is a way to offer and find couch surfing opportunities world wide.

Online storage:
http://www.idrive.com/index.html

Photo Management:
Shutterfly. for hosting your pix. Also check flickr.
Ifranview. for batch processing/resizing.
Xnview.

USB Free Software:
http://portableapps.com

Free Reiki and Healing Energy via Distance:

http://soulempowerment.wordpress.com

Travel Tips: Computers, PDAs, USB Traveldrives and Productivity

2008-01-07T07:10:00.000+05:30

Keeping organized and "in touch" with your work, friends, and family while on the road can take on many forms. There is the old school method of pen and paper. I've carried a journal and small address book with me around the world. Internet cafes are pretty common wherever I have been: Nepal, India, Thailand, and Laos... beyond the USA. The prices of internet cafes seem to drop. If you are in a city big enough to get away from tourists, you can find internet cafes for locals at $0.50 USD or less. More remote touristy areas like the Everest Base Camp trek, or Ton Sai in Thailand will have some internet for a price! Ton Sai's internet was around $3/hour, which relatively is cheap unless your are on a $5-10/day budget. In Namche Bazaar enroute to Everest, the price was around $1-2USD/minute. Usually printing, scanning, and CD burning are available, though often at tourist prices. The internet cafes are generally Window's based. My last 8 month jaunt to S.E.Asia, I carried a small 1 G USB travel drive. I didn't use it much. My email and blog are web based. I mainly used it when I wanted to work on Reiki Manuals, or if I were checking my online bank accounts, I used the browser on the USB for extra security.

If you only need to check email, there is no reason to bring anything with you. But if you have other work to do, such as writing, or office work, then you might want to consider some other options, such as portable flash drives, PDAs, or a laptop.

Another method is to use web-based services for your addresses, calendar, or simply to store information. For instance I usually save important numbers such as passport, visa, credit card, traveler's cheques in a draft email to myself on a web based email account. I've also emailed myself copies of Reiki manuals and certificates so I can download them and print them as needed if I teach on the road.

The next cheapest and lightest option is a USB travel drive. You can find 2 Gig models for well under $50 USD. If you have a camera, you might just get extra memory cards and a USB card reader. The USB drive will allow you to carry your data with you. I've used "U3" drives which come with proprietary software on them. U3 is a common platform for certain software applications that can travel on your travel drive. Another platform is PortableApps (http://portableapps.com) with a range of free open source software. The advantage of this is that you can have your photo editor, website builder, spreadsheet, wordprocessor, etc. software with you! You can also carry a web browser with all your favorites loaded. You can't always count on the internet cafes to have MS Word, or Adobe Photoshop, or.... whatever software you use. Carrying your own software on your USB drive will ensure you can open your documents when you need to. You can also get programs that store your important travel information in secure electronic form. By the way, security programs are also available to provide protection against viruses and spyware. Internet cafes can be havens for viruses and trojans, etc.

The amazing thing I have just discovered is the availability of good, free software. PortableApps.com is amazing! Mozilla Firefox internet browser's are available, along with Thunderbird email manager. PortableApps.com has a openoffice.org suite that parallels Microsoft Office with spreadsheet, database, word processor, graphic editor, etc. And these programs can read Microsoft's versions of your documents! There is even a free chat interface called Pidgin that can work with your AIM and Yahoo Messenger accounts. If you are concerned about covering your data trail, there are programs designed to leave no trace of your doings on the host computer. Check out Democrakey. You can also carry your own photo editor and uploader for managing your digital photos. Ifranview is a decent batch photo processor for resizing photos.

The U3 platform has quite a few free listings, but also many programs that you can buy. I've read mixed reviews about the U3 platform. So far I've enjoyed it and found it works OK.

Right now I have a Sandisk Micro 4G U3 travel drive, and I plan to get a cheap Kingston Traveler 4G for $25! It's likely not the fastest drive, but I can back up my other drive with it. I'm really excited that I can carry all my writings, addresses, and important documents with my favorite software on a thing smaller than my thumb! I'll put the two drives in an old pill bottle for protection. And will email documents to myself for backup.

If you can't bare the idea of going to an internet cafe whenever you need to write or do computer work, then you might consider a PDA or a laptop. You can find an old Palm 125 that works off of AA batteries and has an SD card slot for less than $75 USD. You could use a "smart phone", though if you want to use the phone without paying outlandish roaming charges, you need one with a replaceable SIM card. That and a portable keyboard could be a good way of writing on the road. You could save the documents on the SD card and use an USB card reader to get the documents onto the computer. If you save them in RTF format, then you could read them with most any program on the computer. That would save carrying synchronization software with you and having to download that onto the computer.

If you really want to, you can also carry a laptop. People do it. Some swear by it... saying they can edit their photos, listen to music, write, edit videos... all in the comfort of their own room! It depends how much you want to work on it and how much you are willing to carry. Also, it depends how heavy your laptop is. So far, I haven't felt the need.

If you want a cheap small laptop, check out the Asus Eee PC. At $400 UDS and the size of a paperback, it seems like a great option. It's between PDA and a PC in functionality.

Resources:

Asus Eeee PC http://www.asus.com/products.aspx?l1=24

PortableApps: http://PortableApps.com

U3: http://U3.com

Democrakey: http://sourceforge.net/projects/democrakey/

Free Portable Software: http://portablefreeware.com

Traveling with a Palm: http://www.moxon.net/travel_tips/travelling_with_a_palmtop.html

Travel Tips: You are Packing for India?

2008-01-03T00:59:00.000+05:30

A couple months ago, a friend asked me for gift suggestions for a friend of his that was going to India for three months.... this is what I wrote...

First let me say that the best recommendation I have ever read (yet never followed) is to bring a tiny student size backpack... because virtually everything you could need you can get in S.E. Asia. Unless you are trekking or mountaineering, there's not much need to bring things. It is so nice to travel with nothing! You can purchase clothing and most everything from yoga mats to shampoo cheaply once you are there.

The only real exception is high quality technical stuff for outdoor sports or electronic equipment. Such things may be cheaper if made locally or more expensive in S.E. Asia if imported and often of questionable quality. In India for example, there a locally made electronic goods that *might* work; they might not for long! If you want a proper Canon camera or Sony mp3 player, it will likely cost more than in the USA. Bangkok might have some good deals on the other hand.

As far as sports gear, in the cheap range, what you will mainly find is knockoffs of somewhat questionable quality. The knockoffs may be perfectly serviceable for limited use. They will likely be heavier. You sometime find legitimate name brand gear at prices similar to the USA.

The length and nature of your trip will impact what you want to take. If you are heading to India for a month only for the purpose of high altitude trekking in Ladakh, then you may want to take all your technical camping gear from home because high tech, lightweight, quality gear is hard to find there. Though you might be hiring ponies and guides and able to rent serviceable gear. On the other hand, if you are going to Nepal for a month of trekking on a route where teahouses abound, you might just take your sleeping bag, if that, and warm clothes. If you are heading off to India, Laos, and Thailand for 6 months to visit beaches and sight see and maybe going to the mountains, then you might take little beyond the clothes on your back and your camera or sketchbook. On such a trip, you could easily purchase or rent gear for a short trek if you wanted to sojourn in the mountains.

That being said, here are some ideas to consider (many of these I have listed in the "My Favorites" Amazon.com sidebar on this webpage):

Books: Lonely Planet Guidebook for the appropriate sections of India, Lonely Planet's Hindi Phrasebook (assuming you are visiting a Hindi area... it's the national language, but most regions have their own language as well... so if you were just going to the mountains, Nepali or Ladakhi might be more appropriate... I have heard that in the south, they resent speaking Hindi), William Suttcliffe's Are You Experienced is hilarious, and a book called Holy Cow is pretty good too. I have heard good things about Shantaram as well. Jeremy Seabrook's Love in a Different Climate is a good read about men's sexuality here.

Medicine/toiletries: most everything is available in India. Pharmacies usually don't require a prescription and would have all the basic needs. I find psyllium and charcoal tablets helpful for regulating traveler's diarrhea Psyllium is called Isabgol in India; charcoal can be harder to find. Some people like grapefruit seed extract (that is not available in India). I like EmergenC vitamin sachets and they would be one thing I would consider bringing with me.

There is a local brand in India called Himalaya products that has herbal medicines that are quite good... even a herbal hand sanitizer. A small first aid kit like available in REI with bandaids/iodine/antiseptic wipes might be useful. Travel packs of baby wipes might be useful... though doing your business like the locals (sans toilet paper) is usually very clean.

Good sandals like Teva's are the most useful footwear I have found. Unless I am high up in the mountains, that is all I wear. There are cheap local knockoff's available in India which I am liking better than Teva's now that I have found them... but Teva's would still be a good thing.

I find it useful to have a decent padlock... I like a simple Master's combination lock like we used in high school gym. That way I don't have to worry about carrying keys, and the asian padlocks supplied by the guesthouse don't seem so secure.

A sleep sack like you get for hostels... or a big comfy one for camping, but avoid the mummy bag liner cause it would be constricting ... could be nice so you don't have to rely on guest house linens.

A funny thing I would love to remember to bring for Varanasi is a gag/joke hand buzzer. The massage guys on the ghats come up and "shake" your hand and start massaging it trying to get you to pay them for a hand massage.

A water filter or purification tablets. The first time I came I brought a water bottle with built in filter. It was nice not to have to buy bottled water all the time. I got one this time, but it puts iodine in the water all the time and tastes crappy so I don't use it. There is an electric purifier called SteriPen available at REI that I think would be really good. This trip I have been drinking local water with no problem... but many traveler's wouldn't be that brave. Another idea would be just to have some water purification tablets for emergency use. Most tourist areas have bottled water (that may or may not be safe) available. That's what most tourists drink.

A money belt is highly recommended for your valuables. And to keep a spare stash of emergency cash someplace else than the moneybelt along with list of traveler's check no's, credit card no.s, etc. Some peeps like to have a zippered/lockable backpack as well.

That's all I can think of.

Indian Health Medical Wisdom and Wellness

2007-12-19T23:51:00.001+05:30

As I watch the changes of time affect myself, my friends, and my extended family, I keep thinking of the wisdom of other cultures that has been overlooked in the colonialism of westerners and their science.

India's tradition of yoga is an age old methodology of ways to maintain and improve the function of your physical body. How to take care of it with food and water. How to exercise it. It's like the owner's manual for a car, except yoga has been around alot longer. I am struck the the simple common sense and self care techniques presented in Secrets of Hatha Yoga. He addresses everything from proper hydration and chewing your food well, to how to relax and sleep well. Another book I have been enjoying is The Eight Human Talents: Restore the Balance and Serenity within You with Kundalini Yoga which has simple exercises listed according to chakras and also describes which organs and systems the exercise addresses. In her decades of practice she has seen students reverse conditions such as Hepatitis C and AIDS as well as depression.

Ayurveda, the traditional Indian medical science has been around since 3000BC. Along with herbal pharmaceuticals, they had techniques for surgery. There was even a kind of mudpack MRI used to diagnose internal disease! There is a wonder movie called Ayurveda: The Art of Being that gives an overview of this ancient medical science. It shows places in which Ayurveda has answers and solutions where Western Medicine does not.

After my Babadham pilgrimage I had a terrible cough that left me winded. I suspected it was exhaustion and nutrition related. A local friend took me to a ayurvedic doctor who gave me some herbs to take for a few days. I was skeptical.... I had envisioned a proper Ayurvedic evaluation determining my "type" and taking my pulse etc. Instead I was asked a few questions and given herbs. I took the herbs and figured I might go to the western doctor if need be. I avoided the western doctor because I feared antibiotics or an asthmatics inhaler, both of which I knew had harmful side effects. In spite of my doubt of the Ayurvedic prescription, within a day I was breathing better and within a week I felt nearly back to normal. Like with any medicine, there is always margin for errors and effectiveness, as well as good and bad practitioners.

In my travels in life, I am constantly amazed at how beneficial being proactive in your own life and health can be. I meet people my age and younger who give in to "old age". I've always sought to improve and strengthen my body. If I get knee pains or muscle pains, I seek to remedy the situation. Often I have found drinking more water alleviates such things. I remember a book by Hulda Crooks (Conquering life's mountains: A collection of writings), a woman who started hiking in her forties and started backpacking and climbing at age 75. She said of her first mountain ascent how she found herself exhausted part way up and started thinking she was perhaps too old. Instead of giving in to the thought, she took a short rest, drank some water, and ate. She was revived! She continued climbing into her 90s and died at the ripe age of 101. http://www.llu.edu/news/today/dec3/llu.htm

I think of quantum theory and how each thought we make is a prayer, an intention, and a form of self hypnosis. If you are thinking "how weak I are" you will surely find yourself less strong than if you are thinking "how strong I am".

I look at the elders in the Indian mountain tribes and wonder at their physical prowess as they carry large loads from their heads and trek up and down steep mountains with dexterity and balance. I wonder at the ability of older yoga practitioners to sit crosslegged and with more flexibility than I perhaps have ever had. And yet it's not about gymnastics, but rather being able to enjoy your body while you are in it!

I wonder a bit at the colonial attitude of Western Medicine and Science in discounting ancient sciences and traditions that have been around longer than it has. I oft think of the subjectivity of discounting something because you haven't developed the technology or wisdom to measure it. We are all entitled to our experiences whether or not they have been proven. Slowly things are changing and circling around. Years ago, herbs were mainstay. Then science and industrial entrepreneurs came in and extracted isolates from the herbs and discounted the herbs to corner the market. Now herbs are on a comeback as people find the nature has wisdom in keeping herbs complex... in ways that help prevent overdose, toxicity, and side effects that can occur with isolated compounds. Conveniently for capitalists, regulations help ensure their market. Who would buy a product for comforting their stomach if they could step outside their door and pick some mint? And on the flip side, some of the folklore was inappropriate, and the cultural context has dissipated. The witches were burned and the local natural healer in the village have been burned at the stake or lost in the winds of "progress" and movement.

In India those changes are still in their midst. I think it must be similar to the USA's patterns in the early 1900's as industrialization and "progress" disrupted the village communal life.

Perhaps it's time to stretch and take a break from sitting at this computer!!!

One World, Food, Money Perspective

2007-12-19T23:01:00.000+05:30

As I reflect on my travels about the world and my feelings of culture shock, I am most often struck by the extreme wealth we take for granted in the USA. I don't see wealth and poverty as good and bad... in fact I don't even like the judgment associated with those terms. I think true wealth is enjoying life which means food, family, friends, health, shelter, and an attitude of peace or bliss. I don't think wealth and poverty can be measured in economic or physical terms. These things are hard to quantify.

I often think of the family I visited with in Sikkim. The extended family lived in a small compound of several houses and barrack like structures. Several Aunts, Uncles, some of their children and grandchildren lived there... along with the matriarch Grandmother. They lived in a small village among Temi Tea Garden, a large tea estate. Most of the village obtained some employment at the tea estate as pickers or managers etc. They had some small gardens and a few cows and calves and goats and kids. Grandma, one aunt, one 20 yo grandchild and another in his 20s with children tended to stay home during the day. The rest worked off the "farm". The two young men cut a few baskets of fresh fodder to feed the stock with. One of the Uncle's milked the cow before work. Grandma and the Aunts distributed fodder and cleaned the mangers. Overall the family seemed healthy. Their home seemed adequate... simple by western standards but moderate and comfortable by theirs. Built of local materials. A TV and phone were the modern appliances. The adults at home took care of the basic chores of walking the little tykes to school, cutting fodder and firewood, laundry done by hand, gardening, etc. The 20 yo boy said he wanted to make money and have luxury. They see such things on TV and hear of them from tourists. Overall the family seemed healthy. Overall they had a quality of life... friends, family, sufficiency, community, and free time, that is rare in the USA.

I see how much clutter and material things we have in our homes in the US. I wonder if our quality of life is any better than the family in Sikkim?

In contrast, in Bihar I saw families of what I consider poverty... poor health, squalorly shelters of plastic sheeting. In Leh, Ladakh, I saw a ghetto of apartments for unemployed, "educated workers" that were educated to live outside of the generation old, traditional agrarian system that sustained families in the past... before they were given electricity and a bill for it that demanded money of them and broke them out of their self sustaining way of life. Public schools took children off the farm where they'd been an integral part of sustaining the household, where they had learned and known how to build and create homes and farms that would sustain them in that climate. The schools left the families unable to work their land and grow their own food. The schools trained the children not about practical things for their homeland, but of industrial and urban life. The schools trained the children for college and jobs. Jobs that weren't available. Ladakh has an active Women's Collective that is trying to redevelop markets for their farms, bans plastic bags to try to save their land and cows from the toxicity of the bags, and strives to generate empowered and esteem building projects and endeavors for the women and families to become sustainable.

Its a world culture now. The children in Sikkim are treated to such western luxuries as World Wide Wrestling on satellite TV. They see the mass produced clothes of the tourists. It's getting so that the locals in the third world don cheap mass produced casual pants and button shirts... mainly hippie backpacker travelers, and a few hill tribes wear any amount of locally produced clothing. Electronic gadgets. They see cars and want them. They don't appreciate that they can live without the debt, pollution, and clutter of a car. That they can walk to their neighbors. That they can commune with their neighbors. They can walk to wherever they need to go for the items that they are not producing themselves. Or, that if necessary to travel further, they can go to the nearest road and catch a shared jeep or bus to the nearest town.

I wonder at the environmental impact of these billions of people donning plastic clothes, and having a few electronic gadgets with permanent clocks and lights draining away electricity.

I wonder at my country. I lived on $400/month as a tourist. Locals could probably live on half or quarter of that. I think of how easy it would be to feed a family in one of these countries. I wonder how many friends we would have in the world if we gave out some food instead of bombs... I often think of Afghanistan an 9/11 think that the few Afghani terrorists allegedly responsible for 9/11 would have been ousted by their countrymen if we'd sent food to the country and increased our friend base there. Instead we bombed Afghanistan, even though the terrorists on the planes in 9/11 were supposedly Saudi Arabian, and now created a country of enemies. It's like if we had bombed McVey's entire county after he did his bombing in OKC.

I was astounded to learn the amount of money we spend on war:
Ben Cohen explains the Federal Budget
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_sOIe5Ql0v8

As the Kinsey Sicks sing, "We Arm the World!"
Click here to see their performance.

I have long heard that money and food amounts are not the problem in the world... distribution of them is the problem. I wonder at World Bank policies of encouraging countries to abandon their relative self sufficiency in order to chase world money through cash crops. Ethiopia's drought I have heard is attributable to the monoculture of sugar cane they were encouraged to grown instead of their traditional self sustaining crops. The world economy and corporate money chasing leave us all victims to the changes as we become outsourced by the constantly changing most efficient and cheapest country. Increasingly, things are outsourced to the country with the least environmental regulations as well.

These thoughts, and judgments swirl through me. I try to keep outside of them. I try to focus on positive solutions, rather than dwell on problems.

I wish I could find the online video I saw a few years ago that showed the percentage of people in the world who have various "luxuries".

Some Videos of India found online

2007-12-19T22:41:00.000+05:30

Here are some videos I found searching online that give an idea of what it is like in India:

This is a short documentary on the issues of the Ganges aka Ganga River:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVgqcZl-c6g&feature=related

varanasi 3: This photo montage shows typical street and river scenes in Varanasi from laundry wallahs to shoe wallahs...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0PvrZ3bd5gs&feature=related

varanasi and the ganges: This video from a boat in the river shows bathers and typical river scenes:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrWs00VOw08&feature=related

varanasi traffic shows the variety of conveyances in the streets of varanasi:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvrs7Vxds8A

This video views typical traffic patterns from above a street corner. You can see how drivers aim for "the gap", continually move forward if possible. It seems helter skelter to the Western mind. It reminds me of a San Francisco driver telling of a stop light being out on Market near Castro in San Francisco... a very busy three street intersection... the driver said it seemed safer and more efficient with the light out because people looked around instead of trusting the light, they kept moving slowly through the intersection letting cars flow through from each side simultaneously. I'd love to see some engineering studies. Even such chaos as cars lining up on both sides against each other at a railroad crossing seems to clear out relatively quickly compared to queuing as we do in the west, even though it rattles and boggles the western mind....
india driving: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RjrEQaG5jPM&feature=related

Excellent view of typical scenes complete with live sound effects!
india traffic 2006: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAM_zOolyK0&feature=related
india traffic scenes http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1dlTcxukvI&feature=related

Video from a taxi cab:
more india traffice: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3I9ETTL2mHo&feature=related

And what could be more complete than sounds and views from bus ride and hair-raising cliff hangers:
himalayan bus ride: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQK0_Kg1mBM
bus ride in shimla: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NMz_lUN2pCo
honking bus rid: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcx8O6WTQu0

This video on dabawallahs gives some idea of the amazing difference in culture and ways of life there: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3nHLhaevWc&NR=1

It's hard to explain the difference in the world. I drove from Upstate NY to Delaware a couple of days ago and pondered at the difference in the experience. In India, there are most always people except in some of the highest mountains. In the USA, the freeways seem distanced from people and the landscape. In India, you feel you drive through the middle of a milieu. There are always people outside. In the US, people seem to be hermetically sealed in their houses... or perhaps they are away at the Mall. In the USA, you are lucky to see a pedestrian or bicycle outside of a city. In India, the road carries all sorts of travelers: pedestrians, bicyclists, ox carts, pony carts, bicycle rickshaws, porters, trucks, buses, and assorted livestock.

I often thing we ought to introduce Holy Cows into the USA for traffic calming, milk, visual entertainment. They ad a reminder that we are interdependent on nature, they slow us down, they help keep us present... especially when we drift off and don't pay attention and step in a pile of dung! It brings your right back to the present!

Surprise in the USA!

2007-11-24T18:25:00.000+05:30

I arrived in Delaware a few days ago after my 40 hour journey from Rishikesh, India.

My sister picked me up from the airport with my 8 yo nephew who didn't know about my arrival. He stoically said, "It's Uncle Rob!"

Later that night we visited my parents and I hid in a big cardboard box for my Mother to open. She was truly surprised! And truly happy to see me! It was the best gift I could have given her for her upcoming 80th birthday!

My niece arrived for her Thanksgiving college break the same day. And we've been enjoying family time for the last 5 days or so.

The culture shock has not been as bad as I expected. I try to see it as just being in yet another different place and surroundings. Let it just BE how it is. Oddly I have found rubbish bins to be strange. I was chewing gum the other day and I kept wanting to just throw it on the ground or someplace, which is the appropriate action in India where rubbish bins are few and far between. It strikes me how clean it is here in the suburbs. I went bouldering with my nephew and brother in law yesterday and though there were a few bottles and litter around the park which my brother-in-law found incomprehensible, it seemed immaculate to me.

I feel a bit claustrophobic since so much of my life in Asia is more outdoors. The places I have stayed have no central heating, and so the outdoors seems closer... seeping in through the less tightly constructed walls. In Asia I notice the bad air from pollution of burning rubbish and less stringent vehicle emissions regulation. Here I notice the bad air of wall to wall carpets and tightly constructed buildings. Her in the suburbs I am surrounded by trees, but the focus is inside the house.

The jet lag hits me about supper time everyday and I find I can barely keep my eyes open after that. I stand bemused in front of the refrigerator trying to find breakfast or lunch. It's been 8 months since I did any food preparation with the cheap availability of food on the travel circuit in India and Thailand.

Being in the USA brings up the consciousness of "what am I doing with my Life?"... expectations, judgments... that don't come up on the travel circuit where people just BE and DO outside the peer pressure and cultural expectations of their own country. The issue of abundance comes up more quickly here in the USA considering in India I could easily live on $5-10/day. I try to live my life as one of complete trust that doing what is in my heart will always be supported by God/Universe. And really when I reflect on my life, that has always been true, and yet I fall into the fear based paradigms of our culture easily.

On the flight over here, I considered really living on the edge and just returning to Asia and trusting that things would work out even though I would arrive with barely enough money for a return ticket to the US. In the travel books about vagabonding, people have different approaches to world travel. Some work and save up in their home country. Others arrive penniless in some foreign destination and find work/living situations on the fly. Some develop work opportunities that can travel like journalism, blogging, photography, tour guiding, etc.

I've been researching selling my photos and writing to stock photo companies and/or magazines, self publishing on the internet, and other ways to generate income. I've been looking into internet possibilities to generate passive income. The site http://workingnomad.com intrigues me. I was really excited about the possibility of publishing on demand (P.O.D.) like on lulu.com until I found negative reviews on that sort of thing on the self publishing websites. A previous Reiki client emailed me and I managed to provide her with a distance Reiki session that she was quite happy with. It was a nice reminder of the "mystical" experience.

I find it best not to think too much... not to think about "here" and "there". Such thoughts boggle my mind. No sense of home or place leaving me feeling homeless or at home wherever I am. Too many familiar things around the world for me. If I think about it I can miss something from India or Thailand or San Francisco or here. If I think about it I can see the absurd differences in the way people live. The streets here in suburbia so quiet and orderly and clean. The streets I traveled a few days ago over there full of dust and noise and masses of humanity. Here a honk is a relatively rare blast of anger. There it's an ever present announcement of presence.

I perused a copy of Rolf Pott's Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term World Travel in the bookstore the other day. Two things in the book jumped out at me. One was Pott's most traumatic experience... too many choices! He describes how looking in the ads for air travel in Bangkok provided him with so many cheap options to travel to so many places that he went into shock! I feel that way often as I realize that really I could do anything. I could settle down. I could travel by the seat of my pants. The more I trust in God and Universe, the more options are possible. And the harder it is to choose. The more I learn how to meditate and generate my own inner peace, the more I realize that my choices don't matter. And the harder it is to choose. The second gleaning from Pott's book was that much of culture shock is the impossibility of relating to and communicating experiences from across the world to those that haven't experienced it.

I find people ask me simple questions, for which there are no simple answers. "What do people do for fun there?" It's a 10 minute answer. There is less separation between work and play in India. Children work younger, more responsibility at a younger age. Adults play later. Work is communal. Fun. Kids have fun kicking plastic bottles like soccer balls. Or sometimes play cricket or badminton in the street. Discos aren't big, but people sing their prayers together on the Holy Ganges.

So often trying to converse about my experiences is a non sequitor. It's like a bird asking a fish what kind of worms they eat. Maybe the fish eats worms. But it's an entirely different experience in an entirely different context.

In India there isn't the judgment that manual labor is "bad" and better replaced with a machine. Wait a minute, there is the caste system so there is a judgment. But machines are infinitely expensive. People make gravel by hand. With a hammer. Some even happily. Shovels usually have a rope for two- person operation: one works the handle and the other assists with the rope. Western values of Human Rights are legislating human-powered/walking rickshaw wallahs out of business, but not human-powered/tri-cycle rickshaws.

Meanwhile Americans suffer from carpal tunnel, back problems, and obesity sitting in climate controlled offices staring at computers. To the Western mind anything is better than digging a ditch by hand. And then comes the new generations sitting at a desk all day and paying to go workout in a gym later. And the Third World chases the "West". In Sikkim and Laos I saw TV satellite dishes on most every bungalow. Cell phones interrupt meals in the dung strewn alleys of Varanasi. And the barber in Rishikesh appears to live with his family under a sheet of poly plastic next to the barber booth/stall. Cows milked by hand in a manger along a back alley in the city of Varanasi give creamy unprocessed milk and curd that seems so wholesome from street fed cows. Unlike the watery processed milk products in the US. But then I read in the news about an investigation that has found Varanasi milk from some sources full of toxic chemicals from illegal drugs to increase milk production in these medieval mangers.

I watch the people Christmas shopping at the Mall. For the price of a large TV or a fancy computer, a family in India could live for a year. A room in a suburban house here has more stuff in it than a whole farm village in Sikkim. I remember the village family that put me up one rainy evening in Sikkim. They had a few clothes, a pot or two to cook on, some tick mattresses. Some livestock. Maybe a couple of shovels. There was no clutter in that house! The price of my sleeping bag and specialty outdoors clothes could easily pay for all their material possessions and probably buy a goat as well.

I saw a man using a leaf blower to blow fallen leaves towards his lawn tractor to suck them up. In India I've seen lawns in botanical parks cut to a 1 inch height with a machete. On the hill farms I've seen people use nothing more than a hand sickle for cutting and gathering fodder. Not even a rake or pitch fork. The money from the suburban man's lawn equipment could likely support a family for a year in India.

I watch my niece and nephew eat meals carefully and politely with silverware. In India they "play" with their food and eat it with their hands. The dahl (lentil stew) is mixed with the rice with the hand and scooped up into the mouth. Like many things in India, it's the opposite of suburban USA.

I wish I had more pictures of simple local scenes and culture in India. Just a simple street is such a different experience.

My brother-in-law asks why I go there? why do I want to go back? The answer is I don't know. I feel called to go there. It's not easy. It's full of crazy experiences. And somehow all that craziness is a gift. I guess part of that gift is learning to surrender and keep your center. There are also things you can do there that you just can't do here, like walking barefoot in the mountains from village to village and not seeing a car for days. There is a gift of experiencing another culture and gaining perspective on your own. There is a gift in experiencing ways of life that are centuries and millenia old before they disappear in the abyss of modern technology and "development". There is a freedom gained by being outside of your culture and your preconditioned cultural thinking.

Speaking of perspective, I saw an episode of Planet Earth - The Complete BBC Series, a DVD series by the BBC, the other day and it had some of the most amazing photography I have ever seen. There is also an interesting DVD called Riding Solo To The Top Of The World about an Indian man's solo journey and film of himself motorcycling to Ladakh; you can see the trailer at http://www.dirttrackproductions.com/trailers/ridingsolo/index.html.

Incredible Journey

2007-11-24T18:24:00.002+05:30

My journey to the USA took 40 hours. It started with a nine hour bus ride from Rishikesh to New Delhi where I took a cab directly to the airport arriving about 11 pm for my 3:25 am flight on British Airways to Philadelphia with a layover in Heathrow Airport, London for about 5 hours.

Waiting for the bus in Rishikesh before I left India, I stood with two Israeli travelers. An Indian passenger gleefully stepped up to us, like one foot in front of us, like right in our faces to practice his English. "Hello?" "Your country?"... the standard questions. After a thousand or more such approaches in the last 6 months, I was less than enthused about making another "friend" with whom I could barely communicate with on any tangible level. My compatriots reacted similarly. We forced a smile. After learning I was from the USA, the man went on to inquire of one of the Israelis, "Is that an American cigarette?" He obviously assumed we "Westerners" were traveling together and from the same place, though we had just met. The Israeli smoker said about his smoke, "No it's North Indian." The Indian man couldn't understand the accent. The Israeli man repeated himself several times. His message didn't get through to the Indian man who wanted to see some amazing cigarette full of "Western"... i.e. affluent tobacco. In reality it was a cheap hand rolled cigarette of Indian pouch tobacco.

Later on the bus, I exchanged warm smiles with the inquisitive Indian man's little children. I practiced my two lines of Hindi to their amusement. Sometimes the deepest communication is beyond our feeble minds and speech.

I turned my head towards the window and sunk into my solitude. I watched the dusty roadsides of shop stalls and markets drift by underneath the mayhem of humanity that is India. Cycle rickshaws. Noisy orange lorries. Men in lungis... a skirt like garment made by wrapping a piece of flat cloth around the waist. The lungi is disappearing as young men and boys take on casual trousers and jeans and button shirts. The local clothing is no longer local.

Dust floated in the window. The road was paved. The wide shoulders were dust. The bus oft kicked up dust as it swerved around slower vehicles in the game of chicken that is driving in India. An hour outside of Delhi, the smog grew thick from one of the most polluted cities in the world. I tried to prepare myself mentally for being on the opposite side of the world in 40 hours.

The Delhi airport brought that reality closer quickly. The food that costs 10 cents outside the airport, costs 2 dollars inside. The layer of dust that covers things in roadside stands disappeared into the climate controlled cleanliness of the airport. My dust covered backpacker's garb was suddenly out of place in a world of deodorized casual wear. I slipped out of my lungi and into pants. There were a few people that looked like they'd just stepped out of the village in their turbans. But most people looked like they were India's westernized classes. No wonder when you consider that a plane ticket is likely beyond 90 percent of India's people resources. I heard that less than 1 percent of India's population is computer literate.

I waited five hours in Delhi at the airport. I had panicked when I realized I miscounted my visa by a day and hoped to cross customs before midnight. My plan was stimied when I found that you cannot enter the terminal until three hours before your flight. I waited in the passenger waiting room across the road. It took a full three hours to get through security and customs to the gate for my flight. Luckily the immigration officer didn't notice or didn't care that I was one day over my visa stay. A couple months before a Frenchman had told me that they count your 180 days exactly and include the day of your arrival. Somehow in my careful counting and recounting of days I had continually not counted the day of my arrival. I was thankful I didn't have to pay the $30 fine I expected. And I chalked it up to typical advice in India which contradicts the next person's advice and so you just never know until you get there.

The lines for security were the worst I've seen since flying out of Baltimore a few weeks after 9/ll. The New Delhi airport has blossomed in the last three years with a booming economy. Rather the crowds have blossomed and outgrown the airport. I enjoyed a documentary on 4 extreme sportsmen who were setting records for skiing and snowboarding in Nepal; the scenery of the villages was very authentic to my own experiences in Nepal two years ago.

My 9 hour flight to London left me in a sleepy daze for my 5 hour layover at Heathrow. I found showers and washed the dust of the bus journey I'd began 20 hours earlier off. I enjoyed some yoga in the multi-use prayer room. I walked around like a zombie staring at the shopping mall that calls itself an airport there. Time bent and I suddenly realized my flight was in 30 minutes and I had strolled quite a ways from my departure gait. I did my best to keep upright and walk quickly to the gate in my sleep deprived state. Ready to collapse into my seat after finding no line at the gate, I discovered we were being bused to our plane on the runway. I prayed I didn't pass out. I didn't. Until I got to my seat where I feel into a deep sleep waiting for the plane to take off. I managed to stay awake enough to enjoy the two meals and watch some movies.

The Gift: Saving Face Til It Hurts

2007-11-24T18:24:00.001+05:30

I had one of those funny traveler's experiences my last couple of days in India. I was fatigued from poor sleep. Busy trying to initiate my Indian Reiki disciple... which is a story in itself! And he asked if I could help his friend who ran a restaurant. I said "yes" expecting it was some sort of Reiki that was needed. His friend went into an explanation about a business deal with his relatives where they were making a partnership to build a hotel or something. But he wanted to ask one of the members to leave the partnership because he didn't fit in with their plans... I later learned this undesirable partner had allegedly raised money illegally. The business plan allowed for the process of terminating a partner. But the problem was it was family... a cousin. And in India, you can't ask a family member to leave a family business. I suggested he have his lawyer do it? No. What they needed was someone else to do the talking. Me! I accepted before I thought about it. I was told that me and this friend were the only ones that would be able to speak English, so I could say anything and he would translate it to suit his needs. Easy enough. He asked if I wanted a gift and I said that really the only suitable gift for me would be money. I have little materially and desire little materially.

The next day I arrived at the appointed time. Now you have to picture this. Here I am a white guy with facial piercings wearing backpacker attire. (I'd been told my attire didn't matter). I don't know what story about my persona was told to these business partners. And here were five Indian business men in suits and ties.

And as I might have expected, the meeting wasn't as expected! Another man spoke very good English. And it seemed that the three partners were together. It wasn't just one partner that needed to be expelled. I was thrown off. The script was gone! I started to panic wondering if this was some sort of scam. I heard the sob stories about the lives and families at stake if these men were thrown out. I tried to gain some feedback from the guy that had asked me to do this. But he was playing like he didn't know me and playing like he didn't want his family members kicked out. Finally, I heeded their pleas and said I would reconsider and we would meet at 4 pm. My contact said that was good and all that was needed. Apparently he didn't here the part about reconvening. He thanked me and said my job was done.

Later we received a call that I indeed needed to return at 4pm and say "Guruji has considered the matter. He wants all the partners removed. The matter is closed." So I again sat down. This time I was firm. I said I was sorry, but the matter was closed. The three men bowed their heads in an apparent state of distress. I sat, not really knowing what to do. When the last one finally got up and left he gave me a smile. I didn't know what to think. There are so many lies in India.. so much effort to save face. I didn't know if he knew I was just a puppet. I didn't know if his apparent distress was just an act. Was their entire behavior an act? did they know that it was their own family member who pushed them out? was it all just a game of saving face?

At any rate my role was done. I released my stress as I walked down the street of buzzing auto rickshaws and honking buses. I was told there would be a gift for me later that day. My disciple friend who had set it all up told me they planned to get me an expensive watch. I shared my lack of enthusiasm. I live like a sadhu. I imagined the fancy gold watch that would be a gift in the world of business. I am perfectly happy with my decade old waterproof sports watch. I told my friend I would really prefer some money. He had told me they'd pick out a 2-3000rs (50-70US$) watch. That would pay a good chunk of my 6 week, $150 hotel bill, which I was about to have to exchange money to pay. But he told me his friend could never do that because he would think it would be insulting to an American (presumably wealthy) to gift such a paltry amount of money. He suggested that perhaps I could sell the imported Indian watch for a great price in America. I didn't have the heart to tell him that Indian goods have a reputation for quality... poor quality... and that it likely wouldn't be a big money maker. Much less, it would just be silly busywork for me to do.

The next day the gift hadn't arrived and I called my friend about some other matters. He was at the watch shop trying to pick out a watch for me! I suggested if his friend had given him the money why didn't he just pass the money on to me. He said he didn't have the money, but was just researching for his friend. He suggested that maybe he could purchase the watch from me, but he couldn't afford to full price! He asked me what good name brands of watches were in the USA so maybe there was something better for me to resell here. The only name I recognized was Timex... which I knew wasn't going to be a great selling point... maybe a designer Swatch... but not Timex.

I hung up the phone. I became furious. This was silly. My friend knew me and my desires. So basically in the effort of saving my "face" he was saving his business man friends impression of saving my face and directly insulting my expressed wishes! I thought how absurd it was. I wished I didn't know the behind the scenes. I felt guilty for being ingratious. I tried to think of some reason why Spirit would want me to have a watch.. maybe it was for me to gift to someone else... down the line. I reflected on how the idea of selling it to make money was somewhat based in scarcity thinking.

Crazy! I suppose it makes sense to India culture. But not to me.

Then the total irony of the whole mess. My friend failed to meet me before I left for New Delhi and my flight to the USA. Maybe the whole gift thing was just a story to save face!

It made me happy to be taking a break from India and a culture I don't understand. I let me emotions and anger dissipate as I rode the bus to New Delhi. I tried to focus on being Present. On the meditative center in the eye of the storm that Osho talks about in his treatises on meditation. I watched myself watch the last visions of India from the bus window. I urged myself to think a bit and prepare myself mentally for stepping into suburbia in 40 hours.

Spiraling Spirituality and Consumerism

2007-11-24T18:23:00.000+05:30

The world is one big circle, or, perhaps, spiral.

While Westerners flock to the Far East in search of spirituality, the Far East flocks to western science and consumerism. An Indian friend of mine is looking into coming to the USA to study at a Vedic university because there are none in India. Indian college students are immersed in science of the western world and discounting their own millennial old sciences.

It's ironic that tourists searching for spirituality in India are bombarded by money-grubbing touts. I didn't understand why people even went to India for spiritual reasons until this last trip. Yet there are still remnants there of reverence for the mystical. There are still guru's and mystics whose energy is palpable. A yogi in Rishikesh had visiting hours were people could sit outside his room and feel his energy! It was palpable. As strong as the Boddhi Tree! Ironically, most of the visitors were westerners.

In the USA, I don't believe I've ever run across such popular mystics. People maybe go to church. Occasionally you hear of a "healer" in the community with special healing powers. Science and the church long ago usurped the power of having one's own spiritual experiences. Funny, because slowly science is finding ways to measure subtle energies like Reiki. Because they couldn't measure it or explain it, such subtle energies were discounted as myth. And as Quantum Science becomes integrated into Newtonian Physics, Science is slowly coming full circle to what such ancient sciences as the Vedas have know for years. The American populace is leading the way in search of ways to find peace and God in their materialistic, hedonistic lives.

And, the spiritual/mystical movement is growing in the USA with such things as Reiki and Shamanic healing practitioners. There is a "new age" of rediscovering the ancient mystical traditions and incorporating them into our modern lives.

Meanwhile, once mystical cultures of the East are running from their traditions, chasing money and consumerism. They are on one side of the circle, and we on another in the ebb and flow of life.

The other day, I realized that this is happening on other levels. The masses of America flock to Target and Walmart for cheap Chinese jeans or the equivalent... why go to The Gap or Levi's when you can get cheap cheap cheap jeans! Meanwhile, in places like India and Thailand, people seek the name brands for quality!

It's a funny and interesting world!

Back to Rishikesh after a Day of Prayers

2007-10-06T21:41:00.000+05:30

I just arrived back in Rishikesh after a two week trekking sojourn to the pilgrimage sites of Kedarnath, Hemkund Sahib (and the Valley of Flowers), and Badrinath.

I spent the day praying... not in the enlightenment sort of way, but rather for my safety! I'm not usually sqeamish about bus rides, but have to say the roads in the Uttarkhand mountains are the most dangerous I have been on... more so than the 40 hour ride from Manali to Leh, Ladakh. The Uttarkhand roads lay or try to lay upon very steep mountainsides.

In the last two weeks I spent three or four 10-12 hour days on these roads. One day I was amused as we passed a sign that said "Warning: Landslide Area!"... this was after about 8 hours of traveling upon roads covered with landslides. I think that was the same day that I saw a sign saying the area was being monitored and measured for landslide activity. I felt better knowing that my death would be counted should we get swiped out by a landslide.

Over the last weeks, a line in Aaron K's book Between a Rock and Hard Place kept coming to my mind: Geologic time does not stop. He means that the Earth keeps plodding away in Her changes. Boulders fall. Earthquakes, floods, and ice ages happen. No matter where we and our little selves happen to be. We tend to live in denial of that. Memphis is on a major fault line which either Lewis or Clark happened to be around during the last major earthquake in that region. The alluvial soil rose up in waves! I pondered that alot as I rode along roads that could slide away, or be covered in boulders as big as cars in the flash of a heartbeat. Really all we have is our faith and prayer and intention. Doesn't do much good to worry about such things.

Today I was fortunate enough to get the "death seat"... my assigned seat was in the cab of the bus... next to the front window on a bench that is perpendicular to the direction of travel. If I were to look straight ahead, I would be staring at the driver. I looked over my left shoulder to focus on the horizon so as not to get motion sickness. There were six others besides myself and the bus driver in the "cab" of the bus. Three of us sat on the bench seat, backs to the side window. Three others crammed onto a platform extending from the console. One fellow sat in lotus position for several hours!

I faithfully kept my eyes on the horizon, occasionally glancing over the sheer dropoffs, while the man next to me vomited. He was joined by a woman in the cab in vomiting fever at one point. I was happily upwind!

The driver seemed to be going too fast. These are not normal roads... it takes 10-12 hours to go 250 km or so. Often the roads are barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass. On one side, there may be rock outcrops that threaten to decapitate vehicles, and sheer dropoffs on the other side. Unlike the road to Ladakh, much of the road here was paved, where it wasn't washed out or covered by landslides. I think the paving made it worse because it allows vehicles to go faster.

When I got my ticket yesterday, I thought the front seat would be good. On my way to Kedarnath, I was in the back seat which serves as a catapult to pummel ones behind. The front seat wasn't much better. I spent a good deal of my time trying to perfect my posture so as not to increase the growing pain in my back. And then, in the front seat, I got to see all the action! The near misses with other vehicles. At one point the driver nearly ran right into a lorry (the mainstay of Indian road transport, lorries are rather like large dumptrucks, bright ornamented and painted). We skidded to a halt about 5 feet in front of the oncoming truck.

I wasn't sure whether to wish the driver was on or off drugs! I rather wished I was on some! I kept to my prayers... to live healthily into my 90s... to arrive intact to Rishikesh. I tried to send the driver psychic images of love and peace and no hurry. Meanwhile the Border Road Organizations signs tried to do their part: Better Late than Never; Hurry, Burry, Spoils the Curry; Be Gentle on my Curves; etc... The BRO signs are amusing parts of the border/mountain roads with quaint antedotes, often misspelled. One sign said "Mobile Phone Off; Sent Bell On!" I suppose they meant seat belt!

It didn't matter much because either our driver didn't read English, or didn't care. We careened around the corners and I could only pray that he knew the road well (he seemed to know the maximum speed to take the curves for sure!) and that because this is India and things work differently here... we would encounter oncoming vehicles at just the right spaces... where we could pass each other. I realized at one point that at least if we all died, since we had been to the Holy Badrinath Temple, all our sins and karma would be clear! The Hindu idea is that then you are spared another incarnation. I'm not sure if I want to be spared another incarnation, but maybe spared another bus ride like this!

Last week on one bus, we passed a truck with about 5 inches of clearance. In many ways, I think these mountain drivers are the best in the world. They know their vehicles to the inch. All the trucks and buses have conductors who play an active role in monitoring the vehicles edge. They work long hours. We left at 6:30 am this morning and it would likely be 8pm before the bus finished it's route. I couldn't imagine being the driver. There wasn't more than 100 yards of road today that was straight... and even then it was likely in a village where any number of people, cows, bikes, etc... might be on the road.

But it is different here. Passing is not an ego based thing. We pass them. They pass us on the next curve. Passing is part of life. There is no such thing as defensive driving here either. You just go along as fast as you can. But there is an awareness that pedestrians, bikes, cows, etc will be on the road. In contrast, in the US there seems to be ego and upset about passing, and in many places anything that is not a motor vehicle is considered a dire obstacle to the progress of the supreme automobile. In India, lanes do not really exist. You keep to the left. The bigger vehicle usually demands the right of way, but will sometimes back down. It's kind of like a game of chicken with a tiny bit of courtesy and common sense.

Towards the end of the day, we skidded to a halt with my seat seeming to hang over the edge of the cliff. It didn't seem to phase the driver much. By that point, it barely phased me. I knew my journey was nearly over and I was hopeful that since we had made it that far, we would reach our destinations.

I was grateful to get off the bus. Next time I think I will be happy with a seat in the back where I can't see all the action. The leg room was just as bad in the front... Asian buses are not built for larger people and often my knees are crammed against the seat in front. Today, they were crammed against the console.

I think I reached a few moments of lightheartedness in my prayers today, but overall I was tired. As I tried to remember how to walk from where the bus dropped me off, I ran into a manager from the guest house where I'd stayed before. He escorted me to the guesthouse... the staff and owner were happy to see me... it was like coming home to family.

Now it's time for bed!

The Trouble with Rubbish

2007-10-06T21:40:00.000+05:30

The trouble with rubbish in India is what to do with it. For any environmentally conscious traveler, India proves aggravating. It can be humorous at times. In a Varanasi internet cafe, a tourist holding a piece of garbage looked around diligently for a rubbish bin, and finally asked the shopkeeper. He took the piece of garbage and threw it out the door into the alleyway. For Indians, the place for garbage is down. Get rid of it as soon as you are finished with it. In the city of Varanasi, it's funny because the garbage seemingly disappears. A wallah (worker) comes along with a hand cart and carts the rubbish away from the back alleys. I'm not sure where he takes it out of the back alleyways. Perhaps it gets tossed in the Holy Ganga. Perhaps it gets taken to some of the piles of rotting rubbish I saw on one of the main streets. I even saw what seemed to be a landfill of sorts along the river. Along the bigger streets there, the practice seemed to be to put rubbish in the road, let the cows pick through it, and light it afire. Most everyplace in India seems plagued with toxic fumes from rubbish fires. Plastics even get thrown into cooking fires! Yum!

Two years ago in Rishikesh, some travelers told how their guest house had signs proclaiming "Throw your rubbish in the bins." One evening they saw the housekeeper from the guest house emptying the rubbish bins into the river.

In Varanasi, one young man suggested going to Bangalore, where not only do they have rubbish bins, but they know how to use them!

In several places like Sikkim, Ladakh, and Badrinath, I've seen signs saying "ban plastic bags". A brilliant idea, except that even if the plastic shopping bags are not used, there is no end to the plastic packets of candy, tobacco, soaps, etc... that manufactured items are sold in. Enterprising capitalists have realized that they can package most any consumable in a small dose and pedal it for a few ruppees to millions of Indians. Laundry detergent, candies, chewing tobacco, shampoo... you name it... can be purchased in a single use/dose sachet. And the wrapper ends up on the ground.

It's ashame. On the other side there is some marvelous recycling and compostable wrappers being used. Independent food vendors make and sell such things as popcorn, butter cookies, snacks, etc and fold up little bags out of newspaper. It's so ingenious! And the paper at least will rot somewhat quickly on the ground. Sometimes unkilned clay vessels are used for tea, yogurt, etc. And the used vessel can just be thrown on the ground. Many times shopkeepers will wrap your purchase in newspaper. It's quite brilliant. Unfortunately, it's slowly disappearing with the marketing of plastic cups, containers, bags, etc.

Last week I was hiking near Badrinath and ran into some locals and sat with them as we enjoyed our packets of manufactured biscuits (sweet cookies/crackers). They threw their wrapper on the ground. I put mine in my pocket to take it to my guesthouse, where conspicuously there was no rubbish pail in my room. I laughed at my predicament. I realized that my small pile of rubbish in my room would likely end up in the river. Was it better to leave the biscuit wrapper on the mountain trail? I considered, that I could take it back to Rishikesh with me. Where it would just end up further downstream in the same river. I fantasized about taking it to Delhi, where maybe there was some sort of proper landfill... as if that is much better. Or even carting it back to the U.S. on a fossil fuel spewing jet, to be laid to rest in an potentially even more proper landfill. I left my rubbish in the guesthouse in Badrinath. And realized the best policy would be not to buy anything wrapped in rubbish.

Uttarkhand Pilgrimage Treks: Kedarnath

2007-10-06T21:36:00.000+05:30

23 Sep, 2007. No seat on the local bus I caught from Rishikesh. Standing, holding on to the ceiling rails as the bus swerved around the mountain curves... landslides, traffic... my muscles and stamina were being tested. It was hot, dusty, and cramped. I nearly bailed out and returned to Rishikesh where I'd been staying about a week... primarily exhausted from my 24 hour journey from Varanasi. My Reiki colleaugue put met to work seeing clients and I never got a day of rest. But, I persevered on the bus and after an hour and a half I got a seat... the very back seat. Not very comfortable because every bump in the road, and there were many, slapped my butt and sent me flying. Back seats are always the bumpiest! Later I was glad I stuck it out. The mountains soothed my soul... but initially, I wondered if I hadn't been better off staying in Rishikesh.

The bus stopped about 6 pm in a small town in the mountains. I didn't know where I was. I thought we were just taking a dinner break as I didn't expect to reach my destination until 8pm. Finally the conductor managed to convey to me that the bus was going no farther! And I would have to catch another bus in the morning. I tried several places to get a room, but all were booked. As I looked for a room, I learned that I was in RudraPrayag, which was my destination... we had arrived two hours early because the roads were "good"! You could have fooled me! Bumpy, full of traffic, and blocked by landslides, the roads didn't seem good to me! I would later find out on other bus trips in the near mountains, that we were lucky. Sometimes landslides caused delays of several hours or more!

Surprisingly, in the congested transport hub town, in the guesthouse I finally found a room in, I got a good nights sleep in spite of the noise. I found a 7am bus to Garikund (1982 m/6503 ft), the starting point for the trek to Kedarnath. Arrived four hours later, on schedule. I took a bath in the public hot springs... like small swimming pool in the center of town, fed by natural, hot, sulphur water. Then I started my trek. It felt very good. Amazingly good. I remembered how much I love the mountains, and I realized it had been a long time since I'd been any place near quiet. I'd been in the sweltering, noisy plains of India for several months. It was only a 8 km (5 mile) hike to Rambara (2591 m/8501 ft), half way up the mountain, where I planned to spend the night. I was walking too fast. I didn't want to pass the scenery so fast, plus I wanted to go easy on my body which hadn't hiked for a while, and also go slowly on the elevation gain for acclimitization purposes. So I took off my sandals and went barefoot on the nice smooth stone path. I savoured the scenery.

I practiced the "Christ walk" an old hippie had told me about in California. He said he'd met a guy in the Summer of Love whose "trip" was the "Christ walk"... it meant to walk barefoot, putting the toes down first, before letting the heal come down. Walking this way is easier on your joints, and allows you to sample a footstep before committing to it... useful in case of harsh ground. And the idea was that it gets you in touch with the Earth.. the Goddess... in some spiritualities. So I practised my Christ walk and remembered a chant from Rainbow Gatherings "Mother I feel you under my feet... Mother I feel your heart beat... Heya heya heya, ya haya haya ho, haya haya haya ha-ya ho!"... and no, this doesn't mean stepping on your biological Mother! It's about the Earth Mother! It felt good and got me in touch with the Reiki/earth energies. It slowed me down. It allowed me to enjoy each step and look around. I felt myself flow into a meditative bliss. I beamed and glowed.

"First be natural. Then you will be flowing in the river of the natural. And one day the river will fall into the ocean of the supernatural." -- Osho

Hindu pilgrims walked or rode on ponies, dandi's, or bandi's. Kedarnath is one of four holy temple sites in the region, and is related to the story of Shiva and his transformation into a bull. Various body parts went to different regions. His lingam to Varanasi. His rump in Kedarnath. Etc. Kedarnath is also one of the water sources of the Ganga. Visiting these sites is supposed to remove one's karma/sins and allow one to die in relative peace removed from the cycle of reincarnations.

The route was hard enough. It's 14 km (8.7 miles) and a 1601 m (5252 ft) rise from 1982 m (6503 ft) in GauriKund to 3583 m (11,755 ft) at Kedarnath. Most pilgrims do the trip in one day up, and one day back. Many are not in any kind of condition for such a climb. Yet instead of being sensible and taking an overnight break at Rambara, which would be easier for their legs and lungs (acclimatization), they push themselves very hard. It seemed the same for Babadham, the 105 km barefoot pilgrimage I did in Bihar/Jarkhund in the summer. So here, all ages and shaped pushed upward at a hellish rate to reach heaven! The aged, infirm, and "lazy" hired ponies to ride, or bandi's... a large basket that a porter carried suspended from his head, or dandi's... chairs on rungs carried on the shoulders of four porters.

Most of the pilgrims looked miserable. It appeared like a penance. Being out of shape and walking at such a rate would be miserable. I concluded that riding on a pony, or other conveyance would likely be worse. One poor lady got off a pony and walked bowlegged in pain over to a bench. And as the weather cooled with higher elevations, I thought the riders must be even more miserable. Meanwhile I sang, enjoyed the view, and took my time. I was comfortable in a single layer and barefoot... the exercise generating plenty of body heat. I was in no hurry and enjoying the views. I put my sandals back on when my feet began to get sore. I thought it odd that no one else thought to make the trek a fun and enjoyable journey. But then I wasn't out to focus on my sins!

I was having the time of my life, traipsing along one careful barefoot step at a time. Feeling the energy of the Earth.. the natural church. Soon, as is often the case in India, my solitary pleasures were disrupted by a young man from Haridwar. Shod, he was walking faster. I let myself be drawn into his company. His goal was to be a champion body builder in five years. I dismayed at the thought... he was beautiful as he was, I thought. His English was only slightly better than my Hindi, and I misunderstood that he planned to stay in Rambara where I wished to stay. After meandering a hour past Rambara... I kept thinking we would reach the guesthouse where he planned to stay with his family... I found out that he planned to go all the way to Kedarnath. So I left him and retreated to Rambara where there was a delightful dormitory of clean white sheeted beds next to the river.

I was the only guest and looking forward to some quiet time and reading. I was just settling into bed when someone barged in the room looking for the manager. A family of four was caught in the rain... soaked and cold. The manager and staff were no where to be found... later it turns out they were off watching a cricket match on TV. I told the family what I knew of the rates and suggested they just move into the dorm. They did. I feel asleep to be awakened by the son who wanted to know if I knew how to give injections. No, I groggily replied. I looked over to see the middle aged man sitting up in bed on oxygen. His daughter intently sitting with him. I went to the bathroom and peed, and groggily returned to my bed. Finally, I inquired what was going on? I suggested if it was merely altitude sickness, that a simple retreat down the mountain would cure it. The daughter said that her father was suffering from kidney disease and his lungs were full of congestion. They had apparently anticipated such things and had some vein-injectable medicine for him. But no expertise in needling. I offered Reiki and went and gave the man some Reiki which he said was helping. Then someone walked in with a "doctor".. a young man who smelled of alcohol. He did seem to be knowledgeable about injections and medicine though. Unfortunately, the sick man had "no veins". After an hour and a half of unsuccessfully jabbing the man with a needle, the doctor gave up. I held my headlamp over them the whole time, and the son tried to help find the veins. I nearly grabbed the syringe and tried my intuitive luck, frustrated at the doctor's attempts. I was rather glad though that I didn't try my first injection on this difficult case. He had been imploring me to try before the doctor showed up.

I did some more Reiki on the man after the Doctor left and gave him the large Bethlehem Grid Crystal I was carrying to hold and sleep with... he seemed to be enjoying it. I asked if the family would retreat in the morning. No, they said... they would perservere and take a helicopter from the top! Crazy, I thought! Enough faith to get killed, but no enough to get cured! As I went to sleep, I had the intuitive thought that the man was dying of dehydration. In the morning I suggested water only to be told that that is the worst thing for a kidney patient! Here is someone whose kidneys are clogged and need to be flushed out. Meanwhile he is likely on heavy medications that are clogging and killing the kidneys. And so he is told not to drink water. Instead, drinks a few thimblefuls of tea or coffee... which likely only contribute to the problem. And certainly contribute to dehydration. A death sentence, I thought to myself. Then I prayed that I was wrong and that somehow he would survive in good health! No need for my judgements to affect him in the quantum consciousness of reality. I gave him the crystal after breaking of a few small pieces for offerings in my journeys.

In the morning I chanted by the river, then set off for Kedarnath. After the sun and my walking warmed me up a bit, I slipped off my sandals to savour the trek. I thought I'd waited long enough so the pavement would be dry from the previous night's rain... and I thought I'd gotten past the places where goat herds had soiled the pavement. I rounded a corner of the switchbacked trail to find the stone path speckled in goat droppings. I laughed at my attempt for cleanliness, and pressed on. I thought of my Grandma Emma and her tales of walking barefoot through the barnyard and enjoying it! I embraced my heritage! A bit reluctantly, but I embraced it!

I hummed, chanted, and sang enjoying the scenery. I passed, and was passed by the family with the kidney patient. I hailed "Jai Kedar!" to them with a broad smile each time I passed one of them. That is the chant of this pilgrimage to cheer your sister/brother pilgrims on. The whole family was riding in dandi's.

Soon, my enjoyable solitude was intruded upon by a Nepali man. He kept demanding to help carry my backpack, to which I refused. In part, I didn't want to feel colonial; in part, I was quite happy carrying it and strengthening myself; and in part, I wondered if it wasn't a ploy for money. I was soon missing my solitude and singing to myself. I wondered how I might nicely part from him. Luckily a group of porters carrying a dandi passed and said something to him... it seemed that maybe he had some work to do and he ran off! I rejoiced in my solitude again.

Eventually I reached the bowl of land holding Kedarnath, surrounded by mountains on three sides... like an open flower. I could see some peaks in spite of the clouds. The path was flat now, and ponies and pilgrims trudged into the center. On the outskirts of the small town surrounding the temple, I passed a row of dhabas serving food. Fresh mustard greens caught my eye and I ordered a thali... a plate of rice with dahl (lentils) and sabji (vegetables... in this case cooked mustard greens)... and I enjoyed one of my favorite greens!

Then I proceeded into to town only to be overwhelmed by the chaos of a tourist center surrounding the temple. At 3583 m, no one lives here year round, except maybe a couple of priests. The town is merely for the tourists. Numerous priests hawked the route to sell puja's (rituals). Several tried to latch on to me as I walked through the town. I shed them. But at the temple I grew fearful. Could I just go in? Was it required to have a priest and puja? I sat and meditated on a stone wall. A doctor from the nearby clinic chatted me up. He turned out to be genuine and nice. He said I didn't need a priest... that I could just go in the temple.

The chaotic civilization scattered my mind. Maybe the altitude too. It took me a while to figure out what nearby sites I wanted to visit. Then I got "lost" for a bit from directions in pigeon English. After a failed attempt at the shortcut path to Ghandi Tal, the glacial lake where Gandhi's ashes were spread, I finally got on the right route. Unfortunately, I was quoted a time of two hours, and I wanted to return to Rambara. The day was running short. But I decided to try to make it to Ghandhi Tal.

I clipped along up the rough path, higher above the already high Kedarnath. I practically ran. Rain started falling. I began to get wet and stopped to change from lungi to windpants and rainjacket. I debated turning back. But a group of young Indian men trudged past. So I decided to follow them. A couple of them were good at eeking out the shortcuts between the switchbacks. I was glad I perservered because in a few minutes we reached the lake. It lay about 30 feet below the path in a cloud bank. Moss green shown through from the rocks below the clear water. It was beautiful. I didn't dare photograph it in the thick rain/sleet for fear of my camera getting too wet. I made some prayers and tossed a piece of Bethlehem grid crystal into the beautiful abyss.

I barely finished my prayers and chants when a plastic covered figure came out of the mist. A monk from Bangledesh who had trekked over the glaciers from Gangotri greeted me. I glanced down to the ground and picked up a small stone that "spoke" to me, putting it my pocket. I continued with my "work" to visit a cairn that lay above me on glacial til. Not much to see there, I returned to find the monk waiting for me. I wondered where his guide and/or companions were. I learned he wanted to join me in the descent. I was a bit dismayed as I was happy alone, and was now bent on running down the mountain so I could get on to my other trekking destinations.

We made our way down to Kedarnath, where I visited the Temple and he continued downwards. The temple was anticlimatic. I managed to get through it with out buying a puja (ceremony) from the many priests. I then started jogging down the mountain. I was drenched. I was cold. I didn't fancy the clustered village of Kedarnath. And I was ready to head out to Hemkund the next day. Even in my jogging, I was passed by Nepali porters carrying the dandi's (chairs with passengers). I marveled at their synchronized steps and endurance. They jogged down the road with their loads. They seemed to dodge the raindrops while their passengers grew wet and cold. I marveled at their seeming comfort in simple cotton clothes that seemed to shed rain while I grew colder and wetter under my poly base layer and raincoat.

Just above Rambara I ran into my glacier trekking monk friend. I wasn't sure I wanted to end my solitude. We trod down into Rambara together. The rain kept us wet and cold while the lower elevation took a bit of the edge off the chill. In my mind, I mulled over the idea of staying in Rambara, but decided I wanted to head to Garikund so I could leave for Hemkund the next day. About 100 m past the guesthouse I'd stayed at in Rambara, I felt a twinge of pain in my left knee. Stupidly, I thought it silly to return up hill. Surely I'd cruise on down to Garikund in no time. Aches continued to spread through both legs with each of the 8 km. The monk tried to talk with me but my misery kept me removed. He shared some glucose powder with me, which I mixed with water. I began to realize I hadn't taken the best care of myself. Water and food I knew would go along way to rejuvenating me. I tried to drink more water. I felt a lack of time, in wanting to get to Garikund by dark.

We trudged onwards down the cobbled trail, stepping aside as ponies with cold wet riders clipped past us, sometimes nearly running us down. The monk went into a spontaneous spiel on the wonders of meditation and how if you meditate into pain it will go away. My ego made me feel talked down to... I knew all that from a Reiki perspective and wasn't sure I needed the free advertisement! Nonetheless, I tried to heed the advice... I don't think he realized how much pain I was in. I tried to meditate the pain away. Well, as well as one can when they are trekking down a mountain in cold wet rain. About as hard and fun as trying to do a sitting meditation in a room of mosquitoes! A few minutes later I grumbled to the monk that I was trying and the meditation thing wasn't working! He acknowledged the difficulty that we all face. He acknowledged his own challenges.

We trudged on through the rain and mud. I stepped off to pee a few times to let out all the water I was drinking in hopes of lubricating my knees. At one point, he asked if I wanted to stay with him in the ashram; he'd have to check with the manager of course. I never gave him a direct answer. The truth was I wasn't sure if it would be nurturing. Perhaps it would be better for me to take care of myself. Finally, he asked if I was going to answer his offer. I said I wanted to see how things went. He didn't know where the ashram was. I didn't want to walk any further than I had to.

About an hour after dark we finally reached Garikund. A hotelier asked me if I wanted a room as I went by... how much I asked? 100rs he replied. I was going to check it out, but the monk was upset that I wasn't going on to the ashram. He said it was near. I hobbled along like a spent race horse. The pain was unbearable as it had been for nearly 2 hours. We reached the ashram which was down by the hot spring. The manager did not permit me to stay. He told me to follow a boy, who led me to the hotel next door. The hotel didn't thrill me a bit. The manager led me all the way up the stairs to the fourth floor. I gimped up the stairs. He showed me the room. Grimy green walls and musty odor didn't impress me. He said it was 250rs. I told him I'd seen another for 100rs. He was shocked when I started following him back out. "Don't you want the room?" I said why should I pay 250rs for a room when I can get one for 100rs! He finally relented to 150rs. My legs were aching so much, I took it, top floor and all.

I gimped down to the hot springs 50 m around the corner, and found the "pool" emptied for cleaning. Uggh. I returned to my room for a cold bucket shower. I went for food. I risked ordering palak paneer (spinach cheese curry) from a priceless menu, thinking I'd treat myself to a favorite dish. It wasn't so good. Then I was charged 90rs which seemed outrageous. My feet hurt from rubbing on my sandal straps. My legs ached. I lay in bed. I went to a pharmacist for Tiger Balm. All he had was some chemical heating lotion. Not even anything like Ben Gay. I got some Vitamins C and B. He said I'd be fine after a day of rest. I wasn't so sure.

Miserable. I lay in bed. I yearned for home. "I want to go home!", I moaned to myself. A typical response to sickness in a foreign land. I tried to imagine home Images of the US flashed through my mind... my last domicile in San Francisco, my parents house, my Aunt and Uncle's house. But I couldn't really imagine going back and creating a home, setting up housekeeping, etc. And later sitting in the steaming waters of the public bath, a stone adorned tank similar to a swimming pool, I began to appreciate where I was. In India. In a public hot pool. Surrounded by men (women have a separate pool). It was comforting. And I began to see my confusion.

I want to go home. But where is my home? Fond images from all over the world popped into my head. Steamy saunas of Thailand, and the familiar streets of Chiang Mai and Bangkok with their marvelous street food. The foggy hills of San Francisco and my faerie friends there. The stone lined streets of Thamel, Kathmandu, Nepal, and the little disco that calls itself the Funky Buddha Bar. The hills of the Butternut Valley where my father grew up in upstate New York. The Clay Hotel Hostel and Washington Street in South Beach, Miami. The glowing energy of Joshua Tree in California. And my beloved Mauna Loa in Hawaii. The friendly people of Laos and tubing in Vang Viang.

I realized I have no place to call home anymore. My sense of place is shattered. I'm truly homeless. I've virtually shattered my identity. The only thing left to do is to be at home wherever I am. The only thing left to do is to be present with who I am in the moment.

I felt empty. I felt pain. I lay in my bed depressed. The pain and injury didn't fit into my plans. The balm from the pharmacist didn't seem to work. I was miserable. In 36 hours I'd gone from discovered my greatest joy... traipsing up the mountain... to loosing it. To top things off, I felt a cold coming on.

Then I picked up the stone I'd found by Ghandi Tal (the lake above Kedarnath). I felt the vibration and energy of the stone permeate my body. I grew excited. The "other" reality. The Reality of Reiki and metaphysics and energy healing was back! I thought to myself how years ago after getting into Reiki I had learned to disown the reality of having/catching colds. I had started viewing them as detox symptoms from my body clearing toxins. Why, that made sense now after my first big exercise in a month. Further I remembered how several years ago I had decided to quit having colds, and merely seen them as patterns of being that I could choose my way out of if I started to have symptoms. Then I realized my knees and legs were no different! Why was I projecting a self hypnotic future of not being able to continue on my treks? I started to remember my own magic. The power of empowerment I had shared with so many clients in my Reiki practice. I remembered how several years ago I would simply ask my body to release the pattern if I started to feel twinges of knee pain. And it would work. I remembered how one day riding my bike up a hill to work, I had felt a twinge of knee pain, and banished it off, saying "I don't have time for this now!"

I grew excited. I started setting intentions for healing for alignment. I started to envision myself going trekking at Hemkund. The next few days rained. I spent two days in that hotel room. I discovered the best sleep in months as the raging river made a beautiful melody that drifted in the bathroom window. I enjoyed dreamy sleeps that felt like streams of consciousness. Memories from my past bubbled through my minds eye as the rains bubbled through the hills. I felt the most relaxed I had in months. I felt good! I slept and napped and Reiki'd myself throughout the day. I found a dhaba that had the best all you can eat thali (only 35rs) ever! I ate there twice a day. The staff treated me like a king. In between I soaked in the hot sulphur waters of the public bath, enjoying the views of the other men. My pains indeed went away. And finally one evening I booked a ticket for the 6 am bus to Govindghat, the departure point for the Hemkund trek.

The magical monk from Bangladesh, who had popped out of the fogs at Ghandi Tal, I never saw again. I tried to find him the day after our descent, but he had left. I'll always wonder how he transversed the glaciers from Gangotri to Kedarnath, apparently alone in a lungi and a plastic raincoat. Like so many others we meet walking about the world, he flashed out of my life as quickly as he appeared.

The Trouble with Tourists

2007-09-01T12:43:00.000+05:30

I read William Sutcliffe's "Are You Experienced?" one night in a delightful reading frenzy. It's a bit racy at times, but captures some of the tourist and traveller vibe on the road in India. And has some hilarious black humor.

The day after I read it I sat down in a crowded restuarant in Bodhgaya opposite two German fellows on their third day in India. I was shocked that they had arrived in Bodhgaya after 3 days, since they had landed in Mumbai (Bombay). They had managed to visit Varanasi in between. No small feat. It turns out they had flown from Mumbai to Varanasi. They were in shellshock. No doubt. Varanasi is an intense town. It's the epitomy of India. Filthy. Crazy to the western mind (I met an Irish guy there two years ago, who said "cows are supposed to be in pastures, not in town!"). The German fellows said they were overcome by the smells and filth. Every shop has a different smell... intense inscense, strong foods, burning charcoal, burning garbage. The street has a variety of dung in it... most often smelling a bit like a cow barn.

They had been hassled by touts. Sold a bus ticket for a bus that didn't exist. When they got to where the bus was supposed to be there was nothing. They were at the mercy of a rickshaw driver who suggested they go to Bodhgaya. Not knowing what else to do, they agreed to pay him an inflated price to go to the train station. They were smart enough to say they wouldn't pay him if he was lying about the train.

They said "everyone here is lying and cheating!" They had taken a proper taxi from Gaya to Bodhgaya. Everyone takes rickshaws. They had clutched there bags beneath their feet afraid of being ripped off. They were truly in shock and fear. I don't know if they didn't have a guide book or what. Usually I try to get some information on transport and prices.

They had a crazy 5 week itinerary. Mumbai, Varanasi, Bodhgaya, Patna, Gaya, Kolkata, Varanasi, Mumbai, Goa, and the west coast. I tried to tell them there were two ways I knew of to get some relief from the intensity of India... one is to go to non-tourist areas. Sometimes just a few kilometers will make all the difference in being suffocated by touts and aggressive approaches. And then there is the mountains... the Buddhists, and the mountains are much less intense.

I tried to convince them to take a trip to Darjeeling or Sikkim. They had 18 days before their flight from Varanasi to Mumbai. Kolkata, I told them would be a repeat of Varanasi. Intense. Poverty. Filth. Touts. Nobody goes to Gaya and Patna... I had never heard of anything interesting about them... they were just intense, crime-ridden travel hubs from what I had heard.

An American guy Jason sat down. He's been doing research on NGO's in Bodhgaya and lived there 6 months aready. He tried to convince them to change their itinerary as well. He said, "You know all that filth that disgusted you in Varanasi... the dung, and urine, and dead rats, and half burned trash? when it rains in Kolkata, the streets flood up to your waist and you have to walk through it!"

I saw the German's the next day. They had been on one of the school tours to see the money making school operations. (I'm proud to say, I didn't see one school in Bodhgaya). It's the number one touted item. The German guy went on about how the children sit in a dark dingy room without light, or proper books, or paper etc. He said how amazing it was because you hear such things about the third world, and now he has seen it with his own eyes. I didn't have the heart to tell him it was likely not so real as he thought.. but merely a staged show to let tourists feel compassionate and charitable. I felt sad because I'm sure that such ill equipped schools do exist... in a way the one he saw existed... but it was merely a cash hog for it's owners.

They had booked a train for Darjeeling. I was relieved for them.

It reminded me of a tourist I met my first days in Bodhgaya. She had been on a local tour with a local guide to see some poverty stricken village. She exclaimed, "They are so poor they eat rice and cow dung!" "I don't think so," I said, "I know they dry cow dung to burn for fuel, but I don't think they eat it." "No, really", she said, "I had a local guide and he showed me how they shape it into round disks and dry it in the sun... and he told me they are so poor that is what they eat!"

I took it in. I said, "Well, in India, anything is possible, I suppose." Yesterday, I told my local friend Kundan about it, and he burst out laughing, "Tourists will believe anything!" I joked that maybe we should make a business an make fried cow dung to sell to tourists. It could be like the fried grasshopper carts I see roaming the streets late at night in Thailand to take advantage of drunk tourists who want to show off.

I tried to explain to Kundan the humorous folk song "Moose Turd Pie." The song is about a group of cowboys and how whoever complains about the food has to cook. It goes on about how this one night, the cook makes moose turd pie and feeds it to the cowboys. One cowboy exclaims, "Uggh, this is moose turd pie.... but it's the best I've ever had!"

Bye Bye Bodhgaya: Hello Varanasi

2007-09-01T10:57:00.000+05:30

I left Bodhgaya at 4am on 31 August. My last day found me a bit sad and resisting leaving. I spent some time under the Boddhi Tree and regretted not having spent a whole day at one time sitting under it. I'm not sure I have ever felt such a powerful place... everytime I went there and sat under it, I felt an amazing energy pervade me instantly.

Over the last few days in Bodhgaya, I finally regained my strength and felt strong again after the pilgrimage. I befriended the chef at the next guesthouse and spent some time with him when I could... it was difficult because of communication and also that he was bad with appointments. Twice he said he would come by my room at a given time and never showed up. A man that had sold me a piece of plastic for the pilgrimage emailed me worried that I did not get back safely. I went to visit him at his father's hardware shop. They were so nice. They treated me to chai and asked how the pilgrimage went. Narij had given me his mobile number in case I had any trouble. We tried to meet for a bike ride, but when I showed up at his house at the appointed time, he was not there. Local custom is to give the guest tea and biscuits. Sweet, but I find it a bit grueling to have to sit through awkward social situations with those that I can't communicate with. And I hate being put on a pedestal. One day Narij took me to his house and I was given some dry snack mix... apparently only for me to eat and not the family. I went to work trying to politely down it all quickly. I left my chai(tea) alone wanting to save it to was the food down with. A woman who lived at the house told me "Drink your tea!". People here are often willing to tell you what to do. I am tired of it.

I made the mistake of agreeing to go to Sunil's (the chef) village one day. I was in a very Western frame of mind. I alotted 1.5 hours for the village trip, then I wanted to do some internet, and try to visit some other folks that had helped me prepare for the pilgrimage. The twenty minutes of predeparture time turned into an hour. It didn't help that I had a bout of diarrhea. The 5-10 minutes I was quoted for the travel time turned into 30 minutes. Sunil asked if I had gifts for his family while we were on the way. Why he didn't think to brief me before I don't know. I was also upset because I hate being treated like some ATM or gift machine. I told him I didn't have gifts. I thought we could just skip it. Next thing I know we stop at a shop/stall and he asks for 22 rupees (a small amount) and purchases a bunch of candies and some sweets (kind of like cookies). He gets an amazing amount for such a small price. And we continue to his village. I am stared at like I am maybe the first white person to visit their village... if not the first, definitely an unusual occurence. Sunil keeps asking "any problem?" I tell him I am tired, and don't want to stay long. His village is primarily of mud huts. Naked and half naked toddlers run around. His house is set up like a small compound with a tiny courtyard surrounded by mud rooms with thatched roofs. There is a brick building of two rooms as well. He shows me what was "his room" (he stays at the guest house where he works), a small space cramped because of a huge mud urn to store the family's harvest of rice. He tells me "give gift. one to one." One piece of candy to each child. I don't like this. It feels silly because I am being told what to do, rather than giving out of my heart. Plus I don't like the idea of starting the tradition of giving teeth rotting candies to "poor children" from "rich tourist". It starts a habit of begging, and a "poor me" attitude. There are much better ways to gift and be charitable. I could have bought them a big bag of dried beans or something.

Sunil asked me whether I wanted water, tea, or hot milk. I declined saying I was sick in my stomach. I really didn't want to put anything questionable in it. And since I was having diarrhea, I didn't really want to put anything in my stomach until I was near my guest house and "my toilet". I was surrounded by his brother's kids and probably some neighbors. I presented the box of fancy sweets to his brother's wife as instructed. Then I was led into a tiny room in the brick structure and presented with a glass of hot milk that was far too hot to drink. In the hot weather, it would take forever to cool. I was cornered in this stuffy little room with about 12 mainly kids staring at me. A hand fan was brought and one of the children fanned me. I fumed with hate on the inside... hating being a spectacle, and being put on such a pedestal. I smiled graciously on the outside. Luckily the little child fanning me quit quickly, and I grabbed the fan and fanned the children nearest me. They smiled. After about 15 minutes, my milk was finally cool enough to drink. It tastes of smoke from the fire to heat it. Probably they burnt the dried water buffalo dung I saw plastered in a mosaic on the outside walls drying in the sun. I made the prayer that the milk was just what my stomach needed and tried to counter my thoughts of unsanitary conditions. My eyes had noted distended belly's and skin rashes on the children. I prayed for their health. Finally, Sunil said "let's go" and we escaped. But when we got to where we'd left our bicycles, he asked if I had my camera. I did and so we had to go back so I could take pictures of his home and family. Finally we were on our way back to town. I was ready. The 1.5 hours I had allotted had turned into 3 hours. I was starved. We rode with a small friend of Sunil's and next he was pleading with me to stop at his house. I tried to get out of it, but they said they had to run a 5 minute errand. So I was "dumped off" at his house. His father stared at me. His sister spoke some English, and I was offered tea, milk, or water again. I explained my stomach was upset and opted for the water. My friends left. I tried to smile in spite of my exhaustion and frustration. Sure enough, they were back in five minutes. The family tried to present me with some food that looked like mashed potatoes, but was some sort of sweet. I declined pointing to my stomach. Sunil got stuck being the guest to eat the offering. He didn't eat all of it. Finally we left. I was ready to eat and be alone. Sunil and his friend I think tried to get me to take them out to lunch. I gave him the choice of me printing the photos for him or taking them to lunch. I felt a bit guilty. On one hand it is nothing, but on the other hand I have a small daily budget and my savings are depleting. And I resent being expected to gift and pay everyone. I wasn't sure if Sunil understood my offer of choices to him, but when we got to the restaurent, he and his friend turned away on their bikes saying they didn't have money. I ate and felt better that my hunger was gone.

One afternoon I stopped by the clothing shop where I had bought some of my "orange wear" for the pilgrimage. The man didn't speak much English, but found a neighboring shopkeeper who did. He had explained to me what to expect and how to prepare for the pilgrimage. They had asked me to come by when I returned from the pilgrimage. The older man who didn't speak much English was there... genuinely glad to see me. He set me in a chair.. the only chair at his stop... most sat on the mat on the floor. Then he went to get me tea, couldn't find any, and brought me a soda instead. I was touched. We couldn't share much in words, but I told him a little of my experience and indicated that I had carried the Holy water on my shoulder with the stick. He was happy to sit in silence with me after our words ran out. I was grateful not to have to have forced conversation. The genuine interest and hospitality made me feel good... a nice counter balance to the streets full of touts. He asked me to come by again before I left. I came back the next day to show some pictures of me on the pilgrimage.

I spent my last time in my room at the guest house. I would miss it a bit. It overlooked some fields and a cluster of ramshackle houses. Low brick walls surrounded the nearest fields. The first days there I noticed kids squatting on the walls... I thought it was sweet how they were hanging out with each other. Then one day I noticed a girl squatting on the wall and a pile of feces under her. I realized they were using it as a toilet! For some reason in Bihar, toilets don't seem to be fashionable. When I rode along the roads, seeing people squatting and doing their business was a common sight.

Hairy black pigs roamed around the area as well. Wallowing in the flooded swampy areas. I thought perhaps they were part of the system in this lack of latrines. I have heard that in China the outhouse backs up to the pig pen and provides a food source for the pigs. But I noticed the girl's feces was still there a day later.

My train was at 5:30 am. I was traveling with a local fellow and businessman who I had befriended during my stay in Bodhgaya. Having someone to travel with would make things easier. It turned out there was a group of three Japanese tourists going on the same train, so we arranged to hire a rickshaw together. I didn't sleep much, waking every half hour to make sure I was up and ready at 4am. Everything went smoothly and we got to the train station 30 minutes away in Gaya. Our train left on time. I got some sleep on it. Then the train became delayed by several hours.

We arrived in Varanasi around noon. My friend negotiated a bicycle rickshaw... I was grateful not to have to deal with the haggling. Varanasi is hip to tourists... in the sense that there are plenty of touts looking to take you for as much as they can. We bumped along the crowded mayhem of Varanasi streets. It was hot. The roads were crowded. I was getting lots of attention. Passing bicycle rickshaw drivers kept saying "Hello". I ignored them.

My friend planned to return to Bodhgaya the same day after he did some business. I was sad. He had talked of staying several days here, and I would have liked that. But for some reason I couldn't convince him to. I was hurt the night before when he talked with another friend in Bodhgaya the night before... a friend he had planned to come to Varanaisi with. He told him he wished he was coming so they could have fun and hang out. I was hurt that he didn't want to do the same with me, though he talked of how sad he was that I was leaving Bodhgaya.

In the heat on the bone shaking rickshaw, it came out. He asked me why I wanted him to stay and hang out. I replied to "hang out like you said you wanted to do with your other friend Jason." "But with you it's different," he said, "People know you here." I was flabberghasted. It was homophobia. He was afraid he would get a reputation. He was silly because only one local person in Varanasi knew I was gay and I didn't expect or plan on seeing him. It all began to come together... comments made and actions made with other of his friends the last few days. I had felt slighted at times, but had tried to ignore it and not take things personally.

It was silly because my friend, the chef, and his colleagues knew I was gay and they didn't have any issue hanging out with me. The group from Assam I finished the pilgrimage with had known and didn't have any issues.

I was upset, because I had really liked this guy... we had been close platonic friends. I thought good friends. And now I realized he would let his paranoid fears limit his time with me. I fumed along the bumpy crowded road. I told him that really I didn't have any reputation here in Varanasi. I said I was quite annoyed with his issues and behavior. He didn't reply. I fumed more. After little to eat and long train ride, it was harder to keep perspective. But I vowed to myself I would be fine and happy here anyways. We got off the rickshaw in the busy Goudalia Center. We paid the driver and he tried to extort more than the agreed upon fare. We ignored him. I shook hands and said goodbye and turned away abruptly. He asked if something was wrong. I told him I was angry with his behavior and told him to go away. I walked off into the crowd half hoping he would follow me. The touts pleaded with me ... did I need a guest house, hashish, a rickshaw.... I flicked them off like fleas, saying "cello" which means go away in Hindi. I began to feel good. It was a familiar place. The energy swelled up inside me. I felt the magic and power of Varanasi... or maybe it was just a sign from my spirit that I was supposed to be here.

I stopped at the internet shop I remembered from before, where a nice young man worked. Sure enough, Rahul was there. He remembered me. He agreed to let me stash my big backpack there while I found a place to stay. A big backpack is an invitation to all the touts who assume you are looking for a guesthouse. The problem is that if a tout takes you to a guesthouse, you end up paying an inflated price to cover the money they demand from the guesthouse for bringing them a customer. Plus, I had ideas about where to stay.

I wandered through the narrow alleys, watching out that I didn't step in ever present cow dung. I saw the poor, wretched dogs I remembered. Never reincarnate as a dog in Varanasi... they are the worst looking, unhealthiest dogs I have ever seen. Starving, rabid, mangey. I got stuck behind a tri-cycle with it's cargo of soda trying to navigate the narrow alley. (On the road I had noticed one of the greatest ironies... a tricycle with a cargo of color TVs!).

I decided to eat in one of my favorite restaurants here before searching for a room. Then I got my room... 70rs for a single with attached bath. It wasn't spectacular, but it was cheap and done. I was dissapointed because I had thought that guesthouse allowed local guests... in case I made amends with my friend... but they no longer did... something about permits, and more likely bribe money for the police. Many times it is common for guesthouses to segregate... to try to create a safe place for tourists away from hustlers and touts. I'm not sure how I feel about this form of bigotry. I can see both sides.

I walked down to the River... the Ganga... as broad as an ocean... well not really... but it gives the feeling of the ocean. I thought about bathing in it to purify my sins. But I saw it's filthe. And even though I know that cholera can not survive long in it, from the blurb in the guidebook, I decided I would put off a plunge into it. It was easier at Babadham in Sultanganj, when I was doing the pilgrimage and egged on by locals. I tried to stroll along the ghats (banks), but was dissappointed to find the river was too high now. When I was here two years ago, it was winter and the river was low, and you could walk the river the length of the town.

I found Shelley, a traveller and kindred spirit I had met in Bodhgaya, and had a good visit with her. I met some of her friends in her guest house. I considered moving there. It was a traveller's hang out. It might be a good place for me now... having been immersed alot in the local culture.

I slept a good night's sleep in my room. I am looking forward to doing some painting and sitting by the river. Looking forward to eating some good cheap, food... the variety is good here. There is even a wood fired pizza place. The last few months I have been in places where food options on my budget have been limited.

I will also decide where next. The season is ending soon in Ladakh... the place I felt called to come here for... but have procrastinated getting to for 3 months. It's about 60 hours from here. I'm not sure how many treks I can do by myself there. Most require guides and ponies. So I am considering going someplace closer for a mountain experience. I am realizing that I really miss the US for outdoor things... here can be hard to be alone, and information and maps for what wilderness are hard to come by. I think back to my fun on Mauna Loa in 2005... the park service had a map and a trail and shelters.

I also heard from my Indian friend and colleague in Rishikesh, that it is good there, and he would like me to teach Reiki there. The idea of having a home base appeals to me... perhaps I would like to do that sooner rather than later (after Ladakh).

So todays plans are to research Ladakh, and other options and sort out my feelings... if I head to Ladakh, I might end up on the bus for my birthday... it would be nice to plan something nicer...

Speaking of homophobia, someone sent me this link about the first federal official in Canada to have a same-sex marriage:
http://www.ctv.ca/servlet/ArticleNews/story/CTVNews/20070818/brison_wedding_070818/20070818?hub=TopStories

Holy Etiquette

2007-08-27T16:54:00.000+05:30

Like all places, India has it's traditions and idiosynchrisies... and it's inconsistencies.

One of these involves the left hand. Because of it's use in personal hygiene (remember that toilet paper is not used here), the left hand is considered "dirty" and considered taboo for many things. It is never to touch the mouth for eating for instance. And yet there are inconsistencies in practice. For instance, some people use their left hand to help break apart their chapati's (flat bread), while others are purists, and use their right hand by itself to break their bread, using their fingers with great dexterity. At the water filters by the Temple here in Bodhgaya I see people used their left hand to push the push button on the spigot for drinking water! As a foreigner, I am under constant scrutiny. At Babadham, I made the mistake of breaking my papadum (a very thin crisp chip) with my left hand and was immediately chastised in front of everyone, by an obvious purist. My disrespectful left hand had to be rinsed with water.

Speaking of water, the water from the Holy Ganges River is considered very sacred and holy. A "bathe" in it is supposed to clear you of your sins. It is considered so powerful in it's cleansing abilities, that cremated remains are thrown into it for auspicious "burials". That is except in the case of dead babies, and pregnant women... whose bodies are simply thrown in the river. Offerings to the Holy River are made with the flowers still in a plastic bag. Humans urinate and evcuate their bowels along the river banks... I assume they also do so directly in the river as I have seen them do so in other rivers. I don't know if this is good for your karma as well!

So you can imagine, that water from the lower Ganges is not anywhere near what the Western mind considers as clean, with it's special additives of feces, urine, runoff from villages and cities, dead bodies, crematory ashes, etc..

(The Ganges has extremely high fecal matter contents. Interestingly though, I read that because it has so much bacteria, there are bacteria eating organisms such that staff bacteria are almost instantly killed, whereas in tap water they survive for days!)

Water from the Ganges is considered auspicious and one of my local friends asked me to bring him some from my pilgrimage at Babadham. I filled a plastic juice bottle for the purpose. I didn't see any nice containers around to gift him the water in, so I asked him if he had a nice container and pulled the juice bottle out of my bag. He said he did not want the water because the bottle was probably not pure because it had touched someone's lips! So much for the Holy cleansing power of the Ganges!

Babadham Prison Blues

2007-08-24T13:09:00.000+05:30

Three weeks ago I set forth from Bodhgaya, following my Spirit's call to engage in the Hindu Pilgrimage called Babadham. I left Bodhgaya dressed in orange, the color of Shiva, and carried only a small handbag will a sheet of plastic to sleep on, a couple of cloths, a small journal, flashlight, some incense and matches. I went barefoot, according to the rules of Babadham. I felt a bit naked, yet free with so little. I felt nervous, excited, and hopeful.

Some friends in Sikkim had told me of Babadham and invited me to join them a week earlier. I hoped to find them. The few days before, I spent buying my orange clothes and gaining some insight from locals about what to expect.

I took a train from Gaya to Sultanganj. I nervously entered the station 10 minutes late, fearful I had missed my train. Luckily it was late... unfortunately, four hours late! I waited nervously on the platform. Relatively few locals speak English in Bihar. I hoped I was on the right platform. I was soon motioned to sit down with a group of orange clad pilgrims... guys in their 20s from Gaya. One of them gruffly accosted me about my piercings and hair style... "why?" I didn't feel comfortable, and was waiting for a chance to escape, when another guy in the group sat down and had a more gentle demeanor. He asked the usual: where are you from? your name? ... and also about my journey to Babadham. I felt more comfortable and kind of decided that these guys were probably ok, just not very polished. It can be hard to tell across cultures sometimes.

Finally the train came, and I lost my accomplices in the boarding process. I wasn't sure if I was on the right car, but the other passengers said to sit down anyway. No one ever checked the ticket, and the car was packed, over packed for the number of seats. A middle aged teacher who knew some English talked a little with me and introduced me to a train engineer who was on his way home to Sultanganj. It was comforting to know he would make sure I got off at the correct stop.

It was a long grueling train ride... only five hours... but I was anxious to get to Sultanganj and find my friends from Gangtok. Instead of arriving at 5:20pm, the train arrived at 9:30pm... well after dark. Sultanganj was alive and busy with activity in it's narrow streets. The train engineer pointed me to a dharamsala (rest house)... which I decided I would check out after I walked around town and looked for my friends.

I was the only white man. I felt very vulnerable. I managed to walk up and down the main street with little harrassment. I couldn't find my friends. Then I ran into the nice pilgrim from Gaya, who said they had looked for me on the train. I walked through town with him. This time I was getting alot of harrassment. Shopkeepers grabbing my arm to get me in their shops. We stopped for tea, and I was surrounded by 20 curious onlookers. The police came and beat them away with switches. I went with my friend to the train platform where his friends were camped out. They planned to start their pilgrimage in a few hours (like 2am), but advised me not to. My friend motioned me away and before I knew it introduced me to the police. He had decided that it was not safe for me and asked them to watch me. It was both comforting and a bit aggravating. I was soon put into a guest house that would cost 300rs... a big chunk of my budget for the journey. I thought the manager quoted me 150 rs for a meal... but luckily it was 15 rs. Unluckily, the rice was not cooked fully. A man who seemed big in town had led me from the police to this guest house. It was about 1 am when I went to my dingy room. The town clammored away outside, bustling with incoming pilgrims. I managed to sleep a few hours and awoke early and was ready to search for my friends. I went downstairs to find that I was locked in... the big sliding steel door (like a garage door) locked down. I was frustrated. It was daylight. I wanted my freedom. I returned upstairs and stared out the balcony, hoping to glimpse my friends from Gangtok. No luck. Eventually, the hotel opened up. I went out, looking for my friends, with no success.

I bought my kanwar (a stick you put across the shoulder and suspend bottles of holy Gange water from). The "mayor" had told me he could get me one for I think 900 rs.... I got mine for 60rs. It was wrapped in brightly colored foil paper, like wrapping paper, adorned with tinsil, and plastic tridents and incense holders. I declined offers from salesboys roaming the streets wiht bells, whistles, and plastic flowers to accessorize the kanwar.

I found a place to eat. They had no menu, but said rice and vegetables were 25 rs. Then they brought me vegetables and chapati's and sweets. When I went to pay, they said it was 60rs. Damn cheaters! I didn't like this town. I went back to my room, showered, and prepared to leave. I went to find my crystal pendulum that I had had for 9 years, and discovered it had fallen out from my wallet. I had hoped to use it to divine where and how to find my friends. I lay on the bed and cried for 10 minutes. I wanted my friends. I knew I would be ok and meet people and everything would be fine. But I had intended this to be an easy and fun experience with my friends from Sikkim. I had my fears as well. The manager came to see me, and filled my water bottle. I wondered if he had heard me crying.

I walked out into the unknown, knowing I had to move. My friends likely arrived yesterday as well, and there was nothing to do but hope I would see them on the way. I had surmised the general direction of the Ganges... they holy river where to fill my water bottles. I walked through the town, hoping to see my friends. I followed pilgrims whose bottles were empty... figuring that would lead me the right way.

I got to the river and a Hindu Priest latched onto me. I tried to ignore him. To my good fortune, a young pilgrim from Uttar Pradesch came along and said "Come with me!" His English and energy were good, so I tagged along. He took me with his group of six friends into the river, where we met a priest sitting on a wooden platform. Like a greenhorn, I started to fill my water bottles. Then I was told I had to bathe in the river first. I looked forlorn. The water was filthy. I was wearing my money belt and neck wallet. My valuables were in plastic, but I still wondered if they would take submersion. And I also wanted to make sure I bathed the "proper" way for this Hindu ritual. My friends pushed me onwards, and I went over a few feet and submerged myself quickly. I prayed the germs away, and hoped I didn't get any water in my mouth. Apparently that was good enough. I went back to the platform where we gathered around the priest. I had to dump my water out... since I was not "clean" when I filled my bottles before. And I refilled them, in my now "clean" state.

The priest gave us rice and flowers to hold and we repeated after him the names of Hindu gods and some invocations I couldn't understand. We put some rice and flowers in our Gange water. My friend saw my drinking water bottle and said I had to dump it out and replace it with Ganges water for drinking! I was flabbergasted at the thought of drinking this dirty river water. He was insistent. So I finally dumped my bottle (500ml). I nervously asked him if I needed to do the same with my 2 liter bottle, and luckily he said no. Then there were words between the guys and the priest and finally the guys said I had to say what I wanted to donate to the priest. They said it could be any amount of money. I had been warned in Bodhgaya that it should only cost 10-20rs. The amount of 31 rs came to my head. And that is what I gave. We then paraded around the priest shouting "Bal Bam", and took off with our blessed water. The idea is to carry it barefoot to the holy temples and pour the water on the Lingams in the temples.

As we left, my friend said they were not happy with the priest and his work. It turns out he had wanted to charge me 5000rs! Sometimes I wonder why anyone thinks India is spiritual at all! I told my friend I thought that we were blessed anyway regardless of the Priest. I find it a bit discpicable when any religion puts a middle man between the individual and God... especially when the middle man makes power and profit from it.

It turns out my new friends planned to make the 105 km pilgrimage in 3 days. I later learned that this is the most usual itinerary for Indians of the plains. Sikkimese and Nepali's usually plan 6 days. My friends from Gangtok had said they would take 8 or 9 days. The longer time suited me. I figure I would just go a few kilometers the first day and gradually toughen my feet.

As we trod along the streets, my feet felt the heat of the late morning sun. It was scorching. Probably around 90 deg F. My friends told me to walk in the dirt along the side of the pavement wherever possible. We made our way through town at a pace that was a bit fast for me, but I was enjoying my escorts. I figured I would part with them after a few km.

After and hour or a bit more, we finally stopped for some food. Rice and vegetables and dahl. Not the best. But cheap. I was ready for the break. I have suburban white boy feet. Most of my barefoot experience is walking across the carpeted bedroom to the shower. Maybe a few yards on a well groomed lawn. Some painful excursions into a lake or river to swim. I put my feet up. We rested a bit after the meal. Then had a pee break. Then we had to "bathe"... because of the holy water we were carrying, we had to be clean whenever we picked it up. So after eating or smoking, it was requisite to wash the hands, and any kind of toilet activity meant washing the whole body.

Now this is India, so "washing the whole body" meant pouring water over the head, with a bit of pretend scrubbing, aiming some water at the private parts, and especially washing the feet. This was done fully clothed, either with a bucket, or in many places open showers were set up.

My friends and I continued on the road again. Their pace was fast. I was struggling a bit to keep up. I figured I would stop soon. Suddenly, one of them realized they had forgotten their bag at their hotel. This was a dilemma because on the pilgrimage, one was never supposed to go backwards with their water. They stopped to discuss it. After a few minutes, I said I would start walking and they would catch up with me and my slower pace.

I trudged along, enjoying the road. Out of town, now, I enjoyed the surrounding landscape of rice paddies and farm fields. The land was flat. Some coconut groves were scattered here and there. I came upon a police post, and tried to ask if they had seen any Sikkimese pilgrims. They didn't understand. I decided to wait for my new friends for translation. I waited and waited. Finally, a pilgrim came along who spoke English. He tried to ask the police. They weren't helpful. Then he said if I came with him, he would make an announcement at a rest house. He and another middle aged man from West Bengal were travelling with a group of 80 people. We waited out a monsoon downpour in a thatched tea stall that threatened to blow away. I continued on with them, struggling to keep up. My feet were failing.

I was so desperate to find my friends from Sikkim, that I struggled beyond my capacity in hopes that the promised announcment would help me find my friends. Here I made a critical mistake. This group of 80 was on the 3 day plan... so that meant 40 km the first day. I kept up until their lunch spot. They had a bus and a group of cooks who made a lunch camp. I met a sadhu from Varanasi who was in their group, as well as others. They fed me. Then encouraged me to nap with them in their camp. I met the group leader and he invited me to join their group. My feet were already spoiled, but I decided to join them. This decision cost me alot.

After resting through the heat of the day, we embarked again on our walk. The group leader was a character. Probably 50 years old, with a big belly, he like to dance. We would stop for tea every hour or two. He would dance like a belly dancer. He was the center of the show. Some of the othe men would join him. If it were in the US, I would think they were gay. But this is India, and the men are different.

By now my feet were blistered. I complained. The leader said, I needed more "Bol Bum"... the chant of the pilgrim... the prayer to Shiva. As the pilgrims walk, they chant this, often as a call between the leader and the rest of the group. It is a mantra, a prayer. Often you can tell someone is in pain, and they are using the chant to keep themselves going. Then the leader rubbed some balm... like Tiger Balm... a heating balm on my feet. I wasn't sure that that was the best thing for blisters... like they need more heat!

We moved on like this into the evening. I struggled and struggled, often falling behind. The young Sadhu would sometimes wait for me. Several times I almost gave up on keeping up with them. At one point I was about to give up, barely hobbling along, when a middle aged woman pilgrim came along side me and looked into my eyes. "Bol Bum" she said. "Bol Bum", I replied. "Bol-a Bum" she said. "Bol-a Bum", I replied. She chanted in a sweet melody, and I continued to answer. The chant lifted me up and carried me along. This is some of the great magic of Babadham... the comraderie... the sharing of the group. The acknowledgement of the hardship and the prayer for each other to carry on... "you can do it", "i am here with you brother/sister", "god, shiva, is here with you"... Bol Bum!!!

This woman lifted me up so, and helped me transcend my pained feet so much, that I nearly passed right by my sadhu friends at one of the tea stalls where they were resting!

One of the W.Bengal group, a very dark skinned middle aged man, who spoke little English, and was very even in temperment... became my "partner". He held my hand helping me limp to a tea stand when we stopped. He watched out for me. I followed him and his bright yellow "Hawian style" shirt in the dark. Finally we got to their evening camp. I plopped down on the ground in exhaustion. A drank a liter of more of water as it was offered glass by glass. Soon dinner was served. About 30 people sat on the tarp, eating rice and vegetables and dahl. Then they got up and the next group was served.

My next term of imprisonment began.

A man who spoke a bit of English took me under his wing. He took me to a foot doctor where my feet were swabbed in iodine and bandaged. That helped a lot. But it felt futile walking around the dirt and sometimes mud. I just wanted to lay down. But there was entertainment!

The group of 80 had their own band and several singers. The music was powered by a generator, and played at full blast. So here in the middle of the countryside, after an exhausting day of walking, was a loud petrol generator droning away to power amplifiers, speakers, and bright lights. A woman sang. The Indian aestetic for music must be different than in the US. Here the quality of the singer is not apparently important, and at this and other camps I often heard the least melodic, most out of tune, "singing" I have ever heard in my life... and played and amplified a full volume!!! The woman singer sounded to me as if she had swallowed a cat and a blackboard and the cat was sliding down the blackboard with it's nails. I tried my best to smile in spite of the grating affect it had on me, and in spite of my exhaustion and pained feet. A man sang as well. He was much better suited to my taste. The same songs were sung over and over... hymns to Shiva... I would hear them repeatedly on the pilgrimage trail.

Sitting there exhausted, praying that it would be bedtime soon, I heard the singer say, "And now, Mr. USA, won't you please share a dance with us!" I grimaced. I surmised that I was the only one from the USA here. I had to get up to dance.

Dancing is taken seriously here in India. All the men know the moves of the latest Bollywood dancers. It is choreographed. It is not the hippie styple free form disco that I am used to in the USA. I often feel embarrassed by my dancing here... in the states, I usually feel good... but here I feel like an amateur. I summoned my energy and got up and did my best. I was on spotlight. George Bush's special ambassador from America. I did my best moves... well the best I could muster in a state of exhaustion and aching feet. I was flabberghasted that they would ask someone who they knew was having severe foot pain to dance. But what could I do?

I did my best to enjoy my moment of fame as Mr. USA!

I was told I would get to sleep on the stage. Instead I was placed on a wooden platform by the road. Everyone was either sleeping on these wooden platforms or on tarps on the ground. I felt vulnerable. Supposedly there were thieves about. I was told to use my hand bag as my pillow. Not that it mattered much, as there was nothing valuable in the bag. But the lights were on all night. And I was surrounded by my 80 new friends on the other sides. It was my first night of what I would learn were typical sleeping conditions.

Camp started to awake at 4am... I think some didn't really sleep... I got up at 5 am when the leader came around banging a stick on everyone's platform. The idea is that everyone gets up at 4am, has their bowel movement, takes their holy bath, and starts walking. Not being known for my regularity, this program had me nervous. Someone got me a neem stick to brush my teeth with... this is one of the ways of the pilgrim.

Pilgrims are to be celibate, not eat onions or garlic, not eat meat or eggs, etc for the month. Apparently there is something about a toothbrush or toothpaste as well. So twigs from the neem tree are sold. You chew on the end until the fibers expand, and then use like a brush.

I had seen someone with a necklace that looked like a pendulum yesterday. I was debating staying here to look for my Sikkim friends. I was pretty sure I was ahead of them. I tried to ask for a pendulum. This was a futile enquiry that dragged in everyone who thought they understood English, and a circle of 10-15 others as well. I tried to draw a picture. I tried to borrow the Sadhu's necklace. All to no avail. It can be so frustrating when language is a barrier. I didn't know whether to stay or go. I mainly wanted my friends from Sikkim. This group of 80 was attached to having me with them. They wanted to "protect" me. They wanted to be my friends. They said, "we are your friends". It was true, and yet it was not the same. My friends from Sikkim knew I was gay and were sophisticated about it. They treated me more as a peer. Here I was more put on both a pedestal, and a prisoner.

I ended up staying with the group of 80, attached to having something "known". They also had a bus and with the condition of my feet, I was allowed to ride the bus. We road through the countryside to the place where our lunch camp would be. The route of the pilgrimage is more or less lined with tea stalls, paying resthouses, and free dharamsala's either run by the government or by private donations. Much of the businesses were temporary, constructed of bamboo and thatch and plastic. Occasionally the route passed through a village. I scanned the roads for my friends from Sikkim. Along the route was a steady stream of orange clad pilgrims and their chants of Bol Bum.

The pilgrims' slang for each other is Bum. "Hey Bum!" was the way to get someone's attention. There were various adjectives as well: slow, fast, Sikkim, etc. "Dak Bums" were pilgrims that completed the 105 km route in 24 hours or less. Then often wore white, and raced through the crowds shouting "Bol Bum, Side Bum!" asking others to step aside.

The Problem with Donations

2007-08-24T12:53:00.000+05:30

Sitting in Bodhgaya last night, eating dinner, I talked with an American guy doing research here on NGO's and development. Like many tourist areas, Bodhgaya is full of touts... one of the big things here is getting people to donate to local schools. Being in Bihar, one of India's poorest states, the Buddhist shrine's location here allows spiritual tourists ample opportunity to fulfill their desires to help the poor.

There are many schools set up, mainly to make money. Allegedly, in many of the schools, over 50% of the monies go to the owners. And my American friend told of one school that has encountered a grave problem. It sits near the center of the tourist area, and has outdoor classes and an obvious lack of facilities. For years, many years, if you get my drift, it has been "trying" to raise money to build a proper school. The apparent lack of facilities make it an obvious choice for donors. To the school owners' dismay, a foreign lady managed to raise enough money for them to build a completely new school with complete facilities. If they build the school, they will loose their cash hog because tourists won't see the need to donate money... like they see when they see the roomless classrooms. And the owners will loose their way to make money. Yet here they are with the amount of money they asked for. Apparently they are in quite a quandry.

Burning Hot in Bodhgaya

2007-08-03T11:31:00.001+05:30

Yesterday I was a bit dismayed to learn that the temperatures here are now only in the 80s and 90s Fahrenheit... it feels much hotter.

I arrived Sunday afternoon about 3:30pm after about 29 hours of transit time from Gangtok. I left Gangtok a bit bleary eyed, sad after my long sojourn there and in Sikkim. I was sad to leave the comfort and security of the known and my handful of local friends there; mainly the half dozen or so men that worked at the guesthouse, but also a few others as well. My permit was expiring though (Sikkim requires an inner line permit for foreigners because it is close to the volatile Chinese border), and the season in Ladakh where I planned to be already ends in mid September.

I had planned to leave the day before but ran into a nice guy I'd met a few weeks before and hadn't seen. He encouraged me to stay a day and hang out with him and his friends. I did, and they proved to be very sincere and nice. I ended up coming out to them about my being gay, and they were quite sophisticated about it, though had many questions. They even had a gay friend they knew of. And the best part is they were not about to hustle me, as I had encountered from others.

They invited me to join them on a Shiva pilgrimage in Bihar in a week. I declined, feeling the need to get to Ladakh.

The journey to Bodhgaya was grueling, but also not as bad as I'd feared. I'd been dragging my feet so about leaving Gangtok. Lakpa and Binod from the guest house actually drove me to the jeep stand... very sweet of them ... I the jeep left about 11 am for the normally a four hour journey to Siliguri. Excessive rains had caused numerous landslides though. The journey took about 5 1/2 hours... luckily there were only two landslides that seriously slowed us down with the associated traffic jams.

It felt a bit vulnerable seeing the road eaten away so seriously. And as we drove along the river I wondered how thin the roadbed was that we traveled on in places. At several of the blocks, only small/light vehicles were permitted through. I hoped someone with some engineering sense was monitoring the damaged areas.

Siliguri proved to live up to it's reputation as a "pit". It's a traffic hub full of crime and ripoffs. It was quite a shock after the mountains and the more peaceful cultures there. As soon as I got out of the jeep, touts started asking where I was going so they could see me travel tickets. I resented the feeling of not being able to trust anybody. A "travel agent" right next to the unloading jeep said he had a ticket for me to Patna (my desired route to Bodhgaya). I asked a Hindi man who had travelled in the jeep from Gangtok with me, if there was a bus at the government bus stand across the road. The tout overheard and butted in on the conversation saying there was no government bus to Patna. The Hindi man said that I likely needed to bargain and that I should not take a ticket for any bus unless I actually saw the bus. I took it to mean I should be wary of the tout. Against the protests of the tout and his friends who were insistent that there was no govt bus, and that I ought buy the ticket from them, I managed to head across the street to the bus stand, saying I had to use the toilet. There I found out indeed that there was no govt bus to Patna. A guard asked where I was going and introduced me to a friend to take me to a private agent to get a ticket. Rather, the man was dress like a guard. The gov't information clerk seemed wary of him. I was led to a stand where a fellow with a nice energy quoted me the fare. I declined saying I would think about it... I figured the guy who led me over there was a tout on a commission.

I was hating the plains already. Sikkim has its touts for sure, but they are not as aggressive. I walked along the street to ditch the tout who followed me a ways. Another fellow came along and said he'd overheard my inquiries and that it was true there was only one private bus to Patna. I didn't know whether to trust him or not. I walked a half mile and took a moment or two on a bridge over the wide muddy river. It was 4pm and I figured I best get a ticket. I went back and tried one other agent. He wasn't there and I was immediately accosted by another customer... asking where I wanted to go and then barraging in on me to practice his English. Finally the agent came back. He ended up leading me back to the agent with the nice energy whom the tout from the bus stand had taken me to. My new "friend" accompanied me. I decided to trust and buy the ticket. My new friend then took me to get some food and explained how his Uncle was a monk in Florida; he had told this young man to always practice his English when he met a traveler, and to always help them out. Though a bit overwhelming, he was indeed an honest and nice young man.

Waiting for the bus, I met a monk from Sikkim who was returning to his monastery in Bodhgaya. He was nice and we were both sad our seat assignments didn't place us next to each other. The overnight bus, supposedly leaving at 6pm and arriving in Patna at 6am, was late, and proved one of the most unpleasant bus rides I've ever had. It left late. It was terribly hot and sticky and claustrophobic as the bus stood fully loaded and waiting to leave. I met a English traveler and we vented to each other about the hassles of traveling in India. Finally the bus left and we went careening down the terrible roads... bumping, and shaking our way along. The windows shook themselves open and were impossible to close when a rain storm overtook us. We pulled the curtains down over the windows to block the rain. It was moderately successful in keeping me a little dryer. Luckily it was only a brief storm. The Englishman switched seats and I later learned that his seat was soaked when he first sat in it, but with the humidity and heat and sweat, he hadn't realized it until he was soaked. He said he tried his best to meditate and hypnotize himself into comfort during the night.

I managed to get a little sleep. I laughed at the irony that Bihar people were noted roadworkers on the road in the far north of India to Ladakh because no one else would work for such a low wage. Yet the roads in Bihar were so poor, I wondered if all the road workers had left the state! I think the reality was that we were traveling along a new highway being built, and we were on the temporary right of way. It was a typical India road experience... a road with no lanes and everyone going where they thought the road was best. Five lanes of traffic on a three lane road. The seating on the bus must have been different than the jeep, which had felt like I was breaking skin.

As we approached Patna in the morning I saw alot of poverty and lack of health. I saw a beautiful teenage boy, with what looked like elephantitus in one of his legs. Children with distended stomachs from parasites. People sleeping on bamboo cots in front of ramshackle sheds. In Sikkim I didn't really see poverty. I mean I don't consider it poverty if you don't have money... but if you don't have health, food, and decent shelter, then that is poverty. In Bihar, it looked like poverty to me.

Heavy rains had flooded areas around Patna, and we arrived about 10am to a huge lot full of buses. My monk friend did the wheeling and dealing and decided a train would be better than bus to get us to Gaya. He haggled with the rickshaw driver and got our tickets at the train station. He was a nice man. I was thankful not to have to sort all of it out by myself. We sat exhausted on the train platform awaiting our train. What I thought was to be a three hour ride, turned out to be two hours. From Gaya we took a rickshaw for the half hour ride to Bodhgaya.

I was not enjoying my new environment. The filth that heat brings. The aggressiveness, craziness of the plains people. The hectic pace of multitudes. The monk had bargained a good fare for the rickshaw, but that meant we would be sharing it with as many others as the driver could cram in. At one point a couple of business man passengers balked when the driver tried to pick up a passenger that would have to cram in across our laps. The driver himself was sitting in front of four crammed on the front seat with him!

We finally arrived in Bodhgaya, and I went with the monk to Sechen Monastery where he lived and checked into the guesthouse run by the monastery. Bodhgaya proved to remind me of Khajaraho where I visited last year. Small, but touristy. Full of touts. Shedding a big backpack is the first line of defense, which marks you as a new arrival, maybe looking for a guesthouse. But even then, they still knew I was new. Children horded me trying to take me to their school ("no money, just we need books...") Typical scams. A ring of kids run by a fake teacher who acts like a "pimp". Sometimes even the schools are mostly scams, as I learned from an American guy teaching English here. He said most of the real schools here take about 50% or more off the top to make money for the owners.

I was surprised to have energy after my long journey. I roamed around town after washing some clothes by hand. I was excited that here my clothes actually dried under the ceiling fan overnight! In Sikkim, it was so hard to dry things, that most of my clothes would get musty before they dried.

I met a really nice and honest guy running a bookstore and chatted with him. He had a wife from Belgium whom he had just married in Thailand. She is there teaching English. He is a local guy and businessman. He proved to be one of the nicest people I've met, and one that could understand Westerners.

I eventually made my way to the main temple here, marking the place where Buddha became enlightened. A big complex, full of monuments. I found the Boddhi Tree (actually the 2nd replacement of the original), under which He attained Enlightenment. I sat under it and felt the most amazing energy. There I transmitted the distance Reiki for a series of Soul Empowerment Blessings I am sending to clients around the world.

I was glad to be here, but also hating it. Even in the main temple grounds, there are children dressed like monks trying to extort money. There are rings of old women begging. Daily, one is affronted by boys and men trying to get you to visit their school. It is sad because there is much poverty here. And you have to sort through the corruption to see if and where it is appropriate to help. I haven't done much in the way of giving money, because it mostly seems like corrupt scams.

Over the days, I have become clearly called to join my friends from Sikkim on the pilgrimage. I am excited and nervous. There are many orange clad pilgrims passing through town. I know I will be a focus of attention as I join the pilgrimage. I haven't met any who speak English much here. I get alot of stares from them. I started getting my necessities for the pilgrimage... mainly orange clothing ... yesterday. I will leave everything here in Bodghaya except for a little money, passport, and toothbrush. I found a website explaining the pilgrimage yesterday (http://www.angindia.com/sultanganj/sultanganj_sultanganj_shravani_mela.html ).

My friends said they aim to take 8 or 9 days for the 100 km or so pilgrimage. The walking doesn't scare me, but I am intimidated by the crowd of foreignness I will be immersed in, and a little wondering about facilities and hygiene in such a crowd.

I hope there are less mosquitoes on the journey than there have been in the last two guesthouses I have tried...

Green Sikkim and Green World and Hunger Strikes

2007-07-27T13:29:00.000+05:30

Sikkim sometimes reminds me of a "hippie" state... well not really... but it seems to have an activist and self-responsibility flair.

Signs along the road talk about keeping Sikkim Green, and say that Sikkim is pledged to organic farming and foods. One sign says "We do not inherit the Earth from the Past, but we borrow it from our children". There are anti litter signs and signs on protective cages around planted trees. People litter anyways...not used to garbage that doesn't biodegrade. Plastic shopping bags are banned. Newspaper is used to wrap purchased goods, folded into makeshift bags for produce, and even used for disposable food plates.

I think about how many resources are saved by the traditional way of life here. Mud and lathe homes made of local materials and independently of fossil fuel. Brooms made without wooden handles. Short stools used in homes to squat on. Most people are used to squatting for the toilet and also just as a way to "sit" wherever they gather. How much lumber does this all save? What will happen environmentally if they become "devolped" like the West and have chairs and brooms with handles. Multiply that by the population of India, and it is staggering.

I think people are much more limber here from all the squatting. Little stalls like convenience marts are usually hosted by a clerk/owner sitting lotus position in the little booth. I also would love to see a study of bone density and spinal health with all the carrying of loads suspended from the head. Working bones is supposed to be the best prevention against osteoporosis. They ought to be healthy here! The loads I see carried by young and old are amazing. Furniture... large cabinets... wood, produce, you name it. All with a simple locally made rope headband and perhaps a bamboo basket.

Currently there is a hunger strike going on (over 30 days). See http://weepingsikkim.blogspot.com for details. The local tribes and community are protesting a hydro-electric project that threatens local culture socially, environmentally, and physically. It's beautiful to see the empowerment of these people and the interest in cultural preservation. There are 12 participants about 15 meters from my hotel. Everyday local Buddhist monks and community members come and pray and make music, chants, and "puja" for them.

It's fascinating to see how technology and Westernization affect the culture and environment. In Ladakh two years ago, I learned how government sponsored projects bringing electricity to rural communities created poverty... because suddenly people needed cash to pay electric bills. Previously, they were able to grow or barter their necessities. I continually am upset by people's belief that poverty is based on dollar ammounts rather than a person/family's ability to have food, shelter, community and basic needs. And yet I see people pull themselves into it... wanting to have luxuries like the "developed world", and I see world corporations push it for the sake of money.

Speaking of things that smell of permaculture and sustainability, some friends of mine have an organization to teach people how to build sustainably:
http://kleiwerks.org

And I found this website on water collection:
http://raincatcher.org/

Gangtok, Sikkim

2007-07-22T17:42:00.000+05:30

Last night I went out to eat for about the third night in a row with an older Englishman and younger Australian guy I met a few days ago. I've been enjoying eating some different foods as I'd been mainly eating the same stuff for days: Puri Sabji for breakfast (fried chapati's and stewed potatoes); Samosa Sabji for lunch (samosas are fried pastries full of vegetables and the sabji is often stewed potatoes and chickpeas); thali for dinner (thali's are complete meals including rice and 3-4 stewed vegetable/dahl toppings... dahl is lentil stew or broth depending on the preparation). Cheap and local and easy, but I was getting bored and I think protein deficient. So eating with Eric and Trent in some different places has been a treat. We went to Little Italy one night and I had what was really a decent pizza... something that can be hard to find in a country where cheese selection is often non-existant, and dough/bread often means chapati. So last night we had Chinese food, and tried to make a special order... some chilis added to the stir fry. Our first hurdle was when we asked for rice. The waiter said, "No, we don't have." Eric said, "You must have rice this is India!". "No." "Rice! Rice!" "Ohhhhh... rice... yes we have rice." Then Eric asked for some chile peppers to be added to a dish. "No, chicken vegetable does not come with chiles." "But you can add some chiles, can't you?" "Ok". The food comes and there are some strange looking bright red round things in it. I think maybe a tomato or some unique Indian vegetable. We taste them, and determine that they are cherries! We decide that the waiter heard "cherries" not "chiles". They must have thought we were so strange! Sometimes I wonder that we communicate anything. There is so much difference in accents and pronounciations.

Finding a good place to eat can be a cherished treasure. Eating local food is usually a good bet, but even still it varies. One Samosa Sabji comes with a vegetable broth/soup; another may come with a more hearty stew. The place I like to get my Puri Sabji comes with 4-6 large light puri's, and refills of stewed potato sabji... a good deal for about 20rs. One day they were out of Puri Sabji, so I got their vegetable chowmein: it was a tea saucer full for 18rs... not a very good deal. Western food, can be a real crap shoot (sometimes literally, because they don't know how to prepare it safely); pizza can be anything from a chapati with some sort of soft cheese to an airfilled dough with a more real cheese, to full blown woodfired oven cooked dough with sauce. Trent had Hawaiian pizza at a place that prides itself as a western style bakery the other night. He couldn't find the ham on the pizza, untill I pointed to a little piece of pinkish substance, and I don't think he ever found the pineapple that was supposed to be on it. The dough was full of air and sugar.

I try to eat local foods as much as possible, but usually find I prefer a little variety from time to time. We are so spoiled in the West. The locals here eat virtually the same thing everyday. Rice and rice and rice, and stewed vegetables and dahl. The vegetables are usually cooked to death. I can't really discern much difference in the spices.

Simple things can become so complicated.

A couple days ago, a couple of younger English guys showed up at the guesthouse. It's been raining everyday. Umbrellas are important here. Jerome's umbrella was broken already, only a few days old... so I took him to the umbrella repairman. I got mine about two weeks ago when I decided a rain coat or poncho just weren't so handy around town. I made the mistake of not trying it out myself when I bought it. From the start it would occassionally close itself. The metal tab that slides out of the shaft was sticky. It was also shaped to gradually so as to not form a good ledge for the sliding and holding mechanism to rest on. Within a week, it was no longer working. I tried to work on it myself a little; my local friend said there are "umbrella wallahs"... umbrella fixers. Sure enough, I remembered seeing men sitting on the side of the street with assortments of umbrella parts. So I sought one out. He held up a new catch to replace my old one. I thought this would mean disassembling the umbrella, but he merely slid the old one out through the slot, and inserted the new one. Less than five minutes. He charged me the tourist price of 25 rs. I imagine locals pay half that. I wondered why the umbrella manufacturer couldn't have just made a decent product to begin with. But this is typical of India. There are so many people here, so many customers, that quality doesn't matter. Someone will buy whatever you make. And labor is so cheap, that most anything will have a repairperson.

It can be frustrating. A few weeks ago I bought a manual pencil sharpener. It was only 3 rs (about 0.10 US$), but it didn't work. The pencil was rather flaky for that matter. Last week I went in search of some glue to afix photos to thicker paper in an attempt to make postcards myself. Finding a suitable glue was an ordeal. I told the first shop what I wanted, and they gave me some glue they said would work. It didn't. The paper peeled right off of the photo... it might have worked in a photo album, but not for going through the postal service. Then I tried to find "Fabquick" suggested by a local friend, and I ended up with super glue. It worked, but was difficult to work with and expensive. I went to a couple of shops and they tried to sell me a glue stick, which I just didn't trust to be permanent. So I gave up and bought envelopes... not wanting to spend more money on glue that didn't work. Everything takes longer and has more complications than you think here. Communication is probably the biggest factor besides it just being a different culture and world here.

I often go to the View Point... about a 10 minute walk from the guesthouse, its a relatively quiet pathway around the side of the hill that Gangtok sits on. From it, there is a nice view of the valley and river below, as well as surrounding hills. That is there is a view when it is not cloudy, which is rare this time of year. Many days, you just see the white of the clouds rolling by. The first day I went, I me a husband, wife, and their little girl selling peanuts, popcorn, and some snack I can't remember the name of made with dried noodle, fresh herbs and onions and peppers chopped in.... and then tea. One day the girl was practicing her ABC's. They are the sweetest family... always with broad, genuine smiles for me. Often when I walk the main street here after dinner (it is closed to cars after 6pm), I hear a "Hello" and see the man or his wife smiling at me. They speak about as much English as I speak Nepali and Hindi, so we can't communicate much. But I cherish seeing them. It can be relatively rare to find genuine, beaming smiles of friendship here. So often relationships are based on needs and expectations. And so often people are caught up in their own world... I know I often am. And I appreciate that they take me as they get me... sometimes I buy some snacks from them... sometimes I don't... there is never any pressure. They obviously trust their abundance.

Sikkim: Temi Tea Garden

2007-07-12T20:45:00.000+05:30

Two weeks ago, Bhychung, a young man on the staff at the New Modern Central Lodge where I'd been staying in Gangtok, was laid off for the slow season. I found out after he had left and I was sad to not have been able to say goodbye. Bhychung always smiled and didn't gossip or tease, and never asked me for anything. Many of the other staff seemed to have ulterior motives. I searched the bus depot and jeep stand hoping to say farewell to Bhy. Fruitless in my search I wandered out to the viewpoint, a nice quiet area overlooking surrounding valleys. To my joy, there was Bhy, sitting on a bench. We chatted a bit. We watched workers clear a fallen tree by hand saw and human power. On their shoulders, four workers carried each log suspended on crosspieces lashed to the log. The strongest appeared to be a wrinkel faced 50-60 year old man who showed superior strength and grace to the 20 somethings assisting him. We watched him balance on the near vertical slope and heave logs up as the others pulled by rope from above.

Bhy and I enjoyed a hike down to the river through local farm villages: terraces of corn surrounding simple mud and thatch houses. I sang and prayed at the raging river. Then we hiked back up the steep hill. Bhy invited me to his village: Temi Tea Garden, Namchi, South Sikkim. He said we could jeep there the next day and do some treks together. I said I'd sleep on it. My pendulum said to go for it. And so the next day I met him at the jeep stand for the 2.5 hour ride to his home. I fought some car sickness on the winding roads... typical steep switchbacks of Sikkim. You can usually see your destination from a viewpoint, and practically throw a stone on it, yet the switchbacks and hills make a long journey out of it.

We arrived about midday at his village which was a smattering of farm houses amidst a vast tea estate. His home was rather like a compound of simple daub and wattle barracks around a central kitchen/home/living room complex. The coupound was shared by his grandmother, mother (his father deceased), several siblings and their spouses, and several aunts/uncles. Bhy and his brother Binod were my main companions. A couple siblings spoke some English, but to much of the family, communication was limited.

The household activity revolved around the central water spigot of spring water in the center of the compound, the kitchen hearth where the meals were cooked and eaten. There was also a living room with TV (a sattelite dish outside). The hearth made of clay was typical of those I've seen trekking in Nepal. About 15 inches high, 2 feet deep, and 4 feet wide, the hearth had a central hole about 12 inches into which the ends of firewood pieces could be stuck. Several burner holes for pots like on a cookstove were over top. A stove pipe carried some of the smoke out, slots in the roof took the rest. It was made out of adobe/clay. Burning embers were dipped in water to make charcoal for later fires. The family sat around the hearth on little wood stools (maybe 3 inches high). For a squatting culture, this is comfortable... the dishes were done squatting on one's haunches around the spigot... the toilet is a traditional squat toilet. One of the Aunties would laugh and bring me a stool when I tired of squatting by the water spigot to wash my feet.

Meals consisted of rice, a potato based curry, often dahl or lentils, some vegetables (beans, bitter melon, or squash). Three times a day! I sometimes grew bored... mainly because they wanted me to be well fed and often heaped my plate up with rice... too much rice for my tastes! All in all it was delicious though. Sometimes some sour milk left over from making curd was served as well.

About three doe goats and their offspring, a cow and calf made up the livestock. The cow provided milk for the family. The goats were raised to sell for mutton at 100 rs/kg. Terraces of corn with some squash and vegetables surrounded the compound. And a shade house for ornamental plants completed the compound.

I stayed in Binod's room (he stayed at his aunt's) which was one room in a row of three making a sort of barracks. The walls were paper thin and when the toddler on the other side moved in the night, I felt it.

The tea estate was the big employer in the area. Bhy's mom worked at a guest house on the estate. His sister in law picked tea. I think one Uncle worked for the government.

The day started at 5 am with dishes being washed, teeth being brushed, the cow being milked and animals fed. At 6 am the little nieces and nephews were singing and reciting their lessons outloud guided by parents or uncles. I got to help escort the 3 little children to school (about 20 minutes walk) a couple times. This was one of Binod's "duties". Binod, 19, had quit school a couple years ago after completing 8th grade; he did "duty" for the family which consisted of cutting a couple of baskets of fresh fodder for the livestock, chopping wood, escorting the children to and from school, and errands. The fodder was cut from the undergrowth in the nearby tea estate. It took maybe an hour to hour and a half for him to fill the large basket that would be suspended from his head. I helped a couple of days and was not very fast with the sickle and didn't dare try a big load without working up to it for fear I'd hurt my neck. The onlookers laughed and laughed at "the big man with the small basket!"

Binod says he wants to make money to have luxury. I find it odd. He doesn't realize the luxury of time he has in his life. He cuts fodder for a a couple hours per day, chops some wood, escorts the younger children to and from school and a few other chores. Maybe it adds up to 4-6 hours per day. Hard to say. He works a bit, watches TV a bit. Maybe plays card with relative. Visits with some friends. I know few people in the states who have such a relaxed life. Most are running around finding money to support their gadgets, then maintain their gadgets, in an endless cycle. Binod and his family seem to have what we say are the important things: family, food, shelter. They have a TV and phone. A car would be useless as there are share jeeps by the dozen passing by the nearest roadhead. Most of the village is connected by paths that cut across the steep switchbacks. Roads would be inefficient and environmental disasters.

The home is relatively comfortable and appropriate for the local conditions. Most of it is made from local materials except the metal roof, which has replaced the bamboo/thatch roofs of the past. The lumber, mud, daub, plaster... all are local, cheap. Some houses/buildings have roofs of flattened tins. I love the recycling here. Newspaper is used to wrap things at stores and even folded into makeshift bags. Sikkim has a ban on plastic shopping bags. Unfortunately corporate marketing still brings in plenty of plastic wrappers for things like candies, tobacco, detergent, processed foods. Locals are used to the past when they could just throw garbage over the bank and it would biodegrade. Hillsides are covered with litter now that doesn't biodegrade. Binod told me that the government pays people to pick it up. I'm not sure that happens or that it happens everywhere. Binod chastises me for always bringing my garbage home. It can be a real challenge to balance imposing my standards from my culture on another, and educating, and just trying to BE. After a week or two, I cringe and throw a potato chip bag on the ground. Binod laughs. I pray for environmental forgiveness.

The day we go out to cut fodder together with a sickle and basket, it is raining. Bhy asks if I want mosquito repellant. He is slathering kerosene on his legs. I decline. I haven't noticed many mosquitoes and usually don't use repellent in any case. I think about telling him that fuel is toxic. But I don't want to impose my reality on him. I wonder when someone will educate the community about the harmful effects of kerosene, and then sell them some chemical product like DEET which also has harmful effects, yet makes some corporation a lot more money.

It takes me a long time to fill the small basket I've chosen; I've never carried a basket from my head before, so I don't want to strain anything. I'm surprised how long it is taking me. They make it look so easy to gather a large amount of fodder from herbage that is maybe 6 inches high on average. Somehow they make a even cut about 1.5 inches off the ground. We are cutting the undergrowth from around the tea plants on the tea plantation. Tea pickers are above us on the hillside, laughing at me... the big man with the little basket. It took some effort for me to convince Bhy and Binod that I should cut fodder with them. They are so honoring of their guests. I tried sweeping one day, and immediately got the broom taken away from me.

I spend two weeks with Bhy's family. The first week, Bhy and I went trekking to Maenam Hill (10,300 ft) by Ravangla. Mist, rain, leeches. I had my first real bought with leeches. In West Sikkim, I had a few bite between my toes without me noticing. Now, my feet were getting attacked. Trying to scrape them off, I learned the meaning of the phrase "You bloodsucking leech!" They hold on like super glue. It reminded me of how some of the touts hang onto tourists for money.

It took a long time to hike to Ravangla from Bhy's village. We passed a group of road workers and Bhy used my camera to take some pictures. A roadsign said Ravangla was 8 km. We figured two hours. We hiked and played the game of guessing the distance on the next roadsign. It said 12 km! The next one was unreadable. Bhy said the bus would come by. Eventually it did. Luckily we took it (we debated thinking we must be nearly to Ravangla). We took lunch in Ravangla and bought some vegetables (onions, radish, carrots), crackers, and snacks to tide us over for the night. We then started through the state forest to Maenam hill amidst heavy rain. Bhy took the water bottle and filled it from water running over the ground, saying it was good water because it was running over soap plant. I didn't believe him. Later I looked at the water and it was very clear. I tasted it and it tasted very good. It was fine. I learned a lesson about wilderness water. The rain was fairly heavy, and so we decided to stay in one of the rest houses... an open sided shelter with concrete floor. I would later curse that concrete floor. In the meantime I had one of the best meditations ever with visions of travel to Ladakh, memories of hikes in college, memories of my farming days, thoughts of friends and family, and a real feeling of empowerment. That ended quickly when I lay down to sleep. We had just two blankets and a bamboo mat. I had left my sleeping bag behind when I realized that it hadn't gone through a suitable quarantine from the lice infestation I had a few weeks before (I think 4-6 weeks sealed in a bag will break the cycle, if I remember correctly). The concrete sapped all of our heat. Luckily with the two of us we could share body heat, and we were cold enough we had no hangups about that. (Actually, like in many traditional cultures, it is common for guys to sleep together here.) It wasn't that cold temperature wise, yet cold enough to be miserable. We got up at 5 am and took off for the peak of Maenam hill. By 7 am we were on top enjoying a sunny view above the clouds. Kachenjunga (I believe is is the third highest peak in the world ...Everest, K2, then Kachenjunga) is the local peak to see. I got sunburned in the thin air. We blew a conch we found at the hilltop altar... Hindu tridents as well as Buddhist pictures of the Dalai Lama.

We returned to Bhy's house for a day or two of recovery. Some of my leech bits got slightly infected and irritated by my sandal straps. Bhy and Binod treated me to my first taste of "chang" ... a fermented millet drink, kind of like a milky wine in taste. I liked it. It felt somewhat nutritious and not like empty calories. The "high" is different than alcohol... more dreamy. The chang was served in a local house. We tried it on several more occasions and learned that the strength varied alot depending on how long it had fermented. The first three times it was mild and relatively "harmless." The last evening we went, it was strong... very strong! It was cheap at 20 rs/ kg.

Then Bhy and Radeep (a friend of his) and I hiked Tendong Hill (8,000+ feet). It was a nice day hike from his house. There was a monastery on top. A few days later we bused to Namchi together and saw Sandruptse, a huge Buddha statue...it was very powerful and I had some good prayers there. We walked through the "rock garden" a ornamental garden. Played a bit on the seesaws and swings and sauntered into Namchi. We had planned to spend the night and have some pictures printed from my camera, but printing prices were too high. Bhy had used my camera to take pictures of his family and wanted them printed out.

The remaining days were spent hanging around the home and village. It rained daily. I got back in touch with my painting. The family was mesmerized by this. I ended up buying them some paints and papers. Bhy's sister had me make some illustrated ABC charts for her.

For me it was hard at times. Communication with much of the family was extremely limited. Bhy and Binod were my main companions, but even with them communication could be difficult. Many times we discovered we were understanding things two different ways, when we thought we were on the same page. Often, someone would just come up and say "you come here now". One morning at 7am, Binod said, "come with me, we are going to the village." I didn't know for what, for how long, but got prepared within five minutes. It turns out he was distributing some papers to different families for his mother. We enjoyed a nice hour walk around the village before coming back for breakfast. I got so if asked if I were hungry, I would always say "a little bit", because I never knew the days plan. There was no privacy. Writing or painting in a journal is an invitation for someone to come along and look through the journal. That seems common here.

They have very strong community and family. We have very strong individualism. In Tashiding, I told some locals I was gay, when they asked why I wasn't married. They asked if my mother and family was terribly upset. I said not, that my family respects what I need to do to be happy. They said they couldn't do anything without family, friends, community overlooking and directing them. They can't fathom traveling or being or doing things alone. Both cultures have their advantages and disadvantages. The way Bhy's family lives, child care is shared between parents, aunts/uncles, grandparents. Resources like land, food, money, TV and phone are shared. There is great security. But there is a sacrifice to individuality and being oneself.

I was quite sad to leave the day I finally left. I realized I had fallen in love with this family and their simple life. I enjoyed simple walks with friends and meeting their friends and family around the village. Quiet. Peaceful. Serene. Simple. I think it must have been something like this years ago, perhaps in the village my father grew up in. I'll miss my new found family and look forward to seeing them again if and when I make it back to Sikkim.

West Sikkim

2007-07-12T20:44:00.000+05:30

I started in Pelling, a town full of hotels. I forget the exact statistics: 200 residents, 500 hotels or somethings. It's not a bad place, at least when the hotels are empty. There were a smattering of Bengali tourists escaping the heat of the Plains when I was there, and a handful of westerners. The food and lodging is cheap.

The sights are Sanga Choeling Monastery, Pemyangtse Monastery, and Rabdentse Ruins.

Trekking up to Sanga Choeling, me and my friend Esben were caught in the rain. We took refuge under an overhang with a road crew and chatted with them. Esben, who has spent a year in Mumbai, did most of the talking with his conversational knowledge of Hindi.

I stayed a couple nights at Sanga Choeling Monastery where there is a guesthouse run by the monks. Very peaceful. Very sweet. It sits upon a steep hilltop like a fortress above the town. The clouds flow through the chortens. The Gompa has some tantric paintings on the walls and an older monk does a nice daily puja. A couple adult monks, and the rest are little children who have classes daily.

One day a little monk sat by me cleaning his nails with an old razor blade; his hands were pretty filthy. He was maybe 8 or 10 yo. A couple nights later I was by the kitchen hearth watching the little monks boil potatoes in a steam cooker. They weren't done the first time, so they repacked them and put them on the hearth again. Then the older monk told them to mash the potatoes. They peeled them hot with their tough little hands and mashed them between their fingers. Amazing how much responsibility they give the little tykes here, I thought. I prayed he had washed his hands! It was all reheated anyways, and tasted good... a potato dahl curry. And it sat well in my stomach.

There is much more trust here. Usually, I find little kids just want to do what adults do, but we in the West tend to put them off, not taking the time to teach them, to let them do what they are able to do... telling them they are not old enough. Then we kick them out at 18 yo and expect them to know how to do all the things we didn't teach them. But here children are given what they can handle. Little kids have little baskets to carry things in.

One day, I went with the monk on the hour long walk to Pemyangtse Monastery where a Rinpoche was giving a special blessing. I was amazed at how the little kids walked without complaint or grimace. I sat for a couple hours on the floor enjoying the good energy I felt from the Rinpoche ... then my knees and legs began to cramp so I went outside. I chatted with a couple of monks outside and learned that they and the locals do not commonly feel energy. I was surprised because I figured they could. I learned that because of my Reiki experience and energy awareness, I was special even here. I had wondered why I hadn't found some of the mystical experiences I expected here in India.

Afterwards, the monks from Sanga Choeling and I sauntered home to Sanga Choeling, a group of playful boys wandering the road. It was fun.

The next day I started my trek to Ketchopari Lake. It took 6 hours. It was grueling as I took the shortcuts across the switchback road. The short cut was paved with cement for quite aways. This is not a good thing in a humid country on a steep slope. Moss covered cement is slippery! and so I had to go slowly. Then, like many paths here, the cement ended and the trail turned to rock or dirt and grew smaller until it was a mere footpath. Then it came to houses and cornfields and split. So I had to stop and guess which way to take several times. Often someone would be nearby that I could ask "River?".... and they would point.

I saw some lumbermen in the woods. Two men using a pitsaw... a large crosscut ripsaw ... to make boards out of a log. One on a platform, the other underneath, on either end of the saw. It was impressive. They didn't even rest between boards. I passed another similar operation a bit later. Funny, at Sanga Choeling, I had inspected some boards being used to build a shop there, and thought the saw marks were those of a pitsaw.

I was weary by the time I got to Ketchapari Lake. I met a fellow who said he was staying at the monastery and he guided me there. I discovered that he was running a guesthouse by the monastery. I had the impression that I could stay at the monastery and became mistrustful of the gentlemen. I eventually learned that he was correct and there was no lodging at the monastery. I enjoyed a night up on this hilltop "village"... a monastery, a smattering of houses among cornfields and pasture.

The next morning I checked out the Holy Lake of K., and a monk guided me around. Allegedly because of its spiritual significance, a leaf never settles on the water even though it is surrounded by trees. There were quite a few Bengali tourists. I found it amusing that the Hindus did not know to spin the Buddhist prayer wheels in a clockwise direction! They obviously hadn't read a Lonely Planet Guidebook!

I trekked to Yuksom. The path was better marked and more level than the day before. Yuksom proved a nice village with Dzo (Yak / cow crosses) teams wandering through. Yuksom is a gateway to the mountains. I spent a couple nights here in the pleasant village. Some day hikes to the Coronation Throne and Dubdhi Monastery. My knees were sore, so I rested them a bit. Food and lodging were cheap and good here. Some other tourists to socialize with.

Then I jeeped to Tashiding. Tried to trek to some hot springs with Leon, and Israeli guy. It started raining and we couldn't find the way. A local family invited us in for tea and encouraged us to stay the night, saying the hot springs were flooded. Leon went on. I turned back at the next steep part... wanting to save my knees. I stayed with the family. It was strange. They had invited us before when we stopped for tea. Now when I returned, it was not offered. A neighbor boy spoke a little English, and eventually it was ok for me to stay. They put me in a room It was like 3 or 4 pm. No tour. Grandpa had invited me. He was dour faced. His wife or daughter was quite grimfaced and expressionless. She occassionally looked in on me. The neighbor boy hung out for a while. And some small kids. Occassionally, grandma would look in with her cataracted eyes, but not say anything. Tea was brought in. Grandpa came in and motioned "food". seeming to ask if I had food. So I pulled out my biscuits and offered them to him. He refused and indicated I should eat them. So I did. Thinking this was my dinner. I shared them with the little boys. Grandpa had indicated I shouldn't give them much. I couldn't resist giving them more. After a while, Grandpa signed me and I realized he was asking if I eat meat... he indicated goat or cow with horns, then chopping. I made the mistake of saying yes. Eventually rice came in on a plate. Then dahl.... but when I poured the dahl on the rice, it turned out to be a meat stew. Mutton, I think. Rank tasting. I didn't want to be impolite so I forced it down, only to be given a second bowl. I prayed it would settle ok. Soon it was dark and I walked outside, virtually forcing my way out... until they understood I wanted to relieve myself and a boy pointed to the burlap sack sided outhouse. Then I went in and grandpa and uncle were making my bed. It was a long night until morning when I heard Grandpa yelling at family members. It didn't seem like a happy house. They brought me tea in my room. I didn't wait for breakfast. I packed and left. I debated whether to give them money, but didn't want to insult them. I gave them my remaining biscuits, which Grandpa took readily.

It was a long hike back down to the river gorge and up the steep hillside to Tashiding. But I got to the guesthouse by 9 am and enjoyed a proper breakfast. Leon showed up hours later. He never found the hot springs, but enjoyed a much nicer homestay.

Tashiding had a beautiful monastery with a "resident" stone mason who carves om mani padme om into stones continually. Beautiful work. A peaceful devoted man. The monastery was having a ceremony and I sat with the monks a while enjoying the chanting.

I ended up getting approached for Reiki by a man with marital problems which were interesting to hear about and harder to discuss across cultural and lingual boundaries. Then several of his friends came in for sessions. I found it felt awkward because I am used to being able to communicate complicated concepts with my clients regarding intentions and the modality.

After Tashiding, I jeeped to Ravangla where I found a town into drinking with alcohol sold in every other shop. I was told a guide was required for Maenam Hill... the trek I wanted to do. And it rained heavily. I went to a Bon Monastery where I ended up spending the night. I enjoyed it alot.

Then I escaped to Gangtok, where I thought I might find a gay scene in a city of 250,000. Not!

Kali Kali Kali Ghat to Darjeeling

2007-05-30T20:09:00.000+05:30

Kolkata: My last day in Kolkata I went to visit Kali Temple at Kali Ghat. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with tourist places. I took the subway from Park St, near Sudder St. The subway worked easily enough... go to a ticket window to get the ticket, then board the train. I intently peered out the windows at every stop looking for the English signs denoting the name of the station. I got out at the right stop, and didn't have a decent map of Kolkata, so I remembered the general direction to the Kali Temple and started walking. I found myself in a delightful local neighborhood on a small market street lined with stalls selling vegetables and fruits and meats. Not many people and very few cars. Definitely not a tourist area as no one approached me. So refreshing. I wandered onwards and discovered some crematoriums along the river. I checked one of the them out, not sure if it was the temple or not. Onwards I strolled through the quiet neighborhood until a man sitting at a tea stall called and waved me over. I decided to ignore my initial response to keep walking in a land full of touts. My action proved good as I was treated to some chai by some local business men. Only one spoke much English. The others asked questions through him. It was nice and sincere. Plus we were able to communicate some more complicated thoughts beyond the usual: what is your name? where are you from? first time india? are you married? why not? We talked of exchange rates and prices in the US... so many times people think that US money is as big in the states as it is in India. After a good 30 minutes, I left with a fond memory of some nice folks. As I walked onwards, I passed a group of young men playing caroom. They motioned me over and bought me chai. I felt a bit uncomfortable as they seemed to make fun of me. Soon a friend of theirs showed up who spoke better English. We enjoyed some nice talk as well. My suspicions were confirmed when he berated one of his friends for joking about me in Hindi. He showed me his motorcycle... a prized possession. He was the only son in a family of six and enjoyed monetary benefits for the fact. He explained how he was a bit wreckless with the money buying motorbikes. After 30 minutes or so, I parted... on parting he told how he'd be happy to play tour guide for me and my friends at 500 rs / day.

I was ready for some down time as I left... the strain of communication, and the unsurety of where one stands with a group can be draining. I found my way to Kali Temple and was led in by a self appointed guide. It was a mob scene of Hindis. I'm not sure if I saw any other tourists. I warily, and hesitantly stepped in to the mayhem. My guide said I needed to wash my hands with flowers and as I stood a bit spellbound by the massive crowd and commotion, he got some flowers and incense for me. I smelled a rip off, but wasn't bold enough to leave. He said the goods were 10rs, and that I could pay later. He took me to the front of the long line and into a crowded anteroom and led me through the crowd to a viewing point of the Kali statue which was hidden behind crowds. There was fighting and pushing in the room where the statue was. Luckily I wasn't Hindu so I wasn't able to go there. After several minutes of me thinking I ought leave, the crowd parted for a moment and I saw Kali. Then my guide led me out and around to another anteroom where a "priest" stood by a decorated tree. He led me through praying for my family and hanging my flowers on the tree. Then came the "money shot". He showed me a book where visitors signed and put how much they donated. On the page were Japanese visitors who allegedly gave 2500rs or more each... like $75 USD. He asked me to write down what I wanted to donate. He wanted me to write down the amount before I looked in my wallet, which I ought to have done as my thought was to give 20 rs, or maybe 40rs. My guide had slyly pointed to an area which he said was a kitchen out of which they fed the poor. I doubted it. The priest suggested 500rs and indicated that I would be honoring my country as I signed in the guestbook. I looked in my wallet and unfortunately only had a 100rs note and a 5 rs note. I wasn't bold enough to only give 5rs. So I gave the 100rs. The guide and priest suggested I ought to give more, but backed off when I shaked out my wallet and showed them there was nothing more. They quickly dismissed me and somehow waved my payment for the flowers and incense and also for the shoe stand where you leave your shoes for the mandatory barefoot approach to the sacred space.

I quickly left. Angry at the ripoff scheme and at myself for falling into it. The temple didn't feel at all powerful to me and my prayers didn't feel answered. I spent my last 5 rs on some fresh pressed cane juice, and proudly showed my empty wallet when beggars approached me. I spied a lot of red thread in the nearby street stalls, and realized I ought to have bought some and wrapped my wrist before I went in. The priest had wrapped my wrist as a blessing with the same colored yarn. I realized that a good practice when visiting such temples would be to first buy the yarn outside, the wrap yourself so that the touts would think you had already been ripped off. I stewed a bit angry at the perversed spirituality of stripping tourists of ridiculous sums for blessings that didn't feel real. I thought how much futher my 100rs would have gone at Mother Teresa's. Then I tried to let go of my anger. I walked down a side alley to a river and watched a couple of guys sift through river sludge for things of value. Some kids swam. About 8 m upstream a little boy shit in the river and a young man peed. An older man came with his offerings for the river (flowers and such for the gods). He threw them in along with the plastic bags he they came in from the vendor. No sense of pollution here. I tried not to let it stretch my mind. You just have to watch sometimes as an outsider in a foreign culture and try not to judge.

Later that night, Martina and I boarded the train to NJP... the nearest train station to Darjeeling. It was a typical train ride in India. We road 2nd class sleeper which is fan as opposed to air conditioned. The seats are long benches that serve as cots. Three people sit on a bench. When it is time to sleep, two benches folded against the wall above the lowest one are dropped down and everyone goes to bed. It is reasonably comfortable, more so than reclining seats used in the U.S. on buses and trains. The vinyl was sticky and grimy... if I'd been smart I'd have packed a sheet or something. I awoke early and watched the villages of the plains pass by. Mud thatch houses and water buffalo. We pulled into NJP station early in the morning and found four other westerners in our car. We decided to travel together to Darjeeling.

First we had breakfast at a local place near the restaurant. There was no menu and we ordered what the locals were eating. Puri sabji. Puri are fried chapati. Sabji is stewed potatoes, sometimes with chickpeas. Me and another fellow ordered some curd. When we paid the bill, we found out the error of making assumptions. They tried to charge us 40 rs each for the puri sabji, which usually runs 10-15rs in such places; and 20 rs for each curd, which is normally 5-10rs. We balked and argued the prices and ended up just leaving what we felt was appropriate. It was then that one of our travel mates said that in the train station restaurant prices are regulated and cheap! I had steered away from the train station vendors because in the U.S. such places are usually more expensive.

We took at share taxi to Shiliguri where we got a jeep for Darjeeling. It was a long 4 hour ride on winding roads. The first thing different was the driving habits. In the mountains, they actually back up. And horn honking is used to signal approaches on blind curves. The roads are often single lane or one and a half. So sometimes one vehicle backs up to a wider spot so oncoming vehicles can pass. Mountain drivers in India, I feel are some of the best drivers in the world. Often passing each other with only an inch or two of clearance!

The mountain villages provided quite different scenery from the hubbub of Kolkata. Steep hillsides. Steep switchbacks on the roads. We passed a baby defecating on a piece of newspaper in the road. We arrived in Darjeeling to find most of the hotels full of Bengali tourists. It took a couple hours to find a place that had rooms for us all and was reasonably priced. We settled in to the hill station of Darjeeling.

Kolkata Kolkata Wahe Guru

2007-05-25T17:18:00.000+05:30

Hi Everyone,

Just to let you know I arrived safely and happily into Kolkata (Calcutta), India, yesterday. The trip was grueling because it was a 6am flight... which I discovered after I bought the ticket. It turned out to be in Bhutan's Drukair Airlines. To avoid paying a huge taxi fare, I took the last airport bus from Khao San Rd in Bangkok at 11pm. I was sad to leave Thailand. I was dreading India. It can be so intense and I remember the worst of it from my previous visit. Yet, my pendulum and spirit called me to go on to India.

I spent a sleepless night in the airport. The flight went smoothly... on the plane I slept. And in 2 hours I was in Kolkata at their International airport which was small and grimy and looked ancient. Customs/immigration went smoothly. There I met Martina, a Czech woman, who asked if I wanted to share a cab. As we awaited our baggage at the carousel, I laughed at the sign that read "in case of missing baggage, fill out a 'Baggage Irregularity Form'!" That sounds like bueracrat-speak for "we lost your bag". Martina's bag turned out to be "irregular" in the sense of being missing. She laughed about it remembering that as she packed she considered consolidating things into her carry on, and that she had been thinking it would be nice to travel lighter. She practices Buddhism and the important things in the missing bag were just prayer items. The official who helped her fill out the form, gave the standard reply "have no worries, relax... no problem"; they always say that when you have everything to worry about and they have nothing to worry about. I envied Martina as we walked from the airport and I carried my 30 lb backpack.

I had watched the Indians in the airport, the mannerisms, and was wondering what I am doing here. Such a crazy place. Maybe I would just turn around and go back to Thailand. As we attempted to walk a couple of km to the bus stop, every taxi and rickshaw stopped to ask us where we were going and did we want a ride. Martina was wearing down in the heat and the attention. We got to the bus stop and got such confusing information, that we finally negotiated with taxi drivers. Martina wanted to go to the Mother Teresa House to see about volunteering. I was curious to check that out, but also wanted to check into a hotel on Sudder St (the backpacker/cheap accommodation ghetto). Finally we negotiated 150 rs for Mother Teresa's, and 180rs to take one of us there and one to Sudder St. As we drove off, the taxi driver laughed and talked to his friends in Hindi, holding up two fingers. I realized he was going to try to cheat us by claiming it was 150 rs each instead of total. Now I remembered the advice of the Indian guy we asked for information: "make sure you get a metered taxi". Hindsight is always the best. The traffic was horrendus and drivers drove as they do only in India: never look back, never back up, always move forward, always honk your horn. Four lanes like this... well not really lanes because any place on the road is fair game for merging and swerving. They always manage to get twice as many cars/vehicles in the space as we might think would fit. Clearances between vehicles is inches. In one of the merges, a taxi hit ours. Our driver cursed and got out, but no damage was done. Martina and I could only laugh with adrenaline as we saw near accidents. We passed a cow ambling down the highway. Then we passed a man squatting and peeing (an Indian technique for being discreet) in the sewer drain in the curb of the meridian. Our driver yelled out at him as we passed.. just for the fun of harrassing him.

I decided to just go with Martina to the Mother Teresa House and hope it was close to Sudder St. We arrived there. Turns out there are several "houses"/locations. We arrived the place where the Sisters/Nons live. We got to see Mother Teresa's tomb. Then some local men who were in some sort of Christian organization took us for the five minute walk to a children's infirmary where we toured with some others through the facility. It was strange... I felt like I was in a zoo. The wards had cribs and one was filled with children with conditions that looked like autism and ms. Though it felt strange to be touring through, some how the atmosphere was very good and seemed ok for the children. We went to another ward where the children seemed healthy. Several adopted me to play with a ball. One rascal started climbing up the wire mesh on the door to work the sleve bolt latch!

Overall the energy and atmosphere seemed very nice and very beautiful and healing. Volunteers watched the children and cleaned beds etc. As we were leaving one of the Sisters said I would be very handsome without my piercings, and said I ought not follow others! I laughed because if I were following others, I wouldn't have piercings at all! Funny how some Christians can be so judgmental.

Martina and I walked through the streets... 30 minutes to Sudder St. It was intense, and hot. Many stares directed at us. And always the rickshaws and taxi drivers jabbering at us to see if we wanted a ride. Some children grabbed onto us begging for food, pointing at their bellies, pleading in English. We were wavering on giving in, though we only had big bills from the ATM. The children said and a man said "no money, food!" The man came along saying we should buy them food. As we stopped a the first shop, all there was were biscuits and cookies: white flour, white sugar... nothing healthy. Martina nearly bought a package, then the man came up and said we should buy something else next door. The shopkeeper yelled at him. I realized the ploy then. You buy something for an inflated price, the product gets returned to the store, and the whole gang makes money. It took a few minutes to loose the whole crowd.

After a long 30 minutes we found a hotel with a dorm room on Sudder St. The last 50 meters, a tout walked along with me trying to get me to see the 300 rs rooms. We got dorm beds for 70rs. I went out walking. I found myself bubbling with joy inside. Something here for me I guess. Interesting sights on every step. Alleys with goats, human powered rickshaws, barefoot children, women in sari's, and men in dress slacks and button shirts. Smells of charcoal for the food stands, urine, incense occassionally waft up through the overwhelming exhaust fumes. A bizzare mix of poverty in a world culture. Pavement and dust, barefoot and dress shoes, human powered rickshaws and Chevorlets. The men who pull the rickshaws seem as content as anyone else. Some work barefoot. Others in flip flops. Street vendors sell western clothes that look much like they wear in Thailand; made in China I guess.

Funny, in January I had a vision that I was to return to India. By the time I left San Francisco 7 weeks ago, I was really wanting to just stay in San Francisco. And now that I am here everything feels right. Just being here, I feel like I am in a meditative state, and everything feels clear.

We went to a free dance program listed in the Lonely Planet. Turns out it is a dance school where they teach traditional Indian dance to children. We got to watch a rehearsal for their recital on Saturday. It was beautiful and cute. I thought of Kim and Paul and Sarah and Mom in their recitals!

Then we went to the Planetarium. Luckily they had a show at 6:30pm in English, not Hindi. An older Hindi woman narrated through the program in very proper English. It took her a whole paragraph to say "turn your cell phones off". Midway through the show, she saw someone turn theirs on, and she went on a two minute spiel asking the to turn it off, explaining that cell phones disrupt the show, and that if they can't go without their phone for 30 minutes, they should leave. Well, she was right, that cell phone sure did disrupt the show! All this was in the Queen's English with an Indian accent. Her monologue about the stars and planets was nonstop and a bit hard to understand and at times I felt a bit dizzy with it all. When the show ended and we walked outside to the mayhem of 6 lanes of cars following the Indian rule of the road "no matter what, always honk you horn", I thought to myself how nice the peace of the planetarium was, but then I thought how it wasn't really that peaceful with the Hindi woman's monologue.

As we tried to navigate our way back home to Sudder street, a nice Hindi man pointed us the right way, suggested we walk on the park side of the street... it was much quieter and better air than the other side of the six lanes of exhaust belching cars. He said he was walking our way. And chatted. And I thought how nice it was to meet a simple kind soul without the pretext of money. Then he suggested some sights to see and conveniently pulled out two handwritten sheets of sights in Kolkata arranged by compass direction and along with bus numbers. Pretty soon he suggested we might buy him a drink as he was between jobs. He was one of the sweetest hustlers I had run across. Quite helpful. We gave him a few rupees.

Today, Martina and I walked through the traffic and heat and crowds to the Railroad Ticket Office and then had to fill out a form for a ticket request. After an hour, we got a ticket for tomorrow night to New Jalpaiguri (the way to Darjeeling). We ran into a group of three, an Argentinian couple from the plane, and a guy from Belgium that was in my guest house in Bangkok. They got tickets to Darjeeling as well, but apparently we got the last tickets for tomorrow; they had to get tickets for the next two days.

We roamed around with them. I introduced them to some Indian foods. As we walked back we dodged the crazy traffic crossing the roads. We stopped at a bank so they could get some smaller notes. As I waited a security guard came up and asked what I was doing. I told him I was waiting for friends to change money. He said they can't exchange money (foreign) here. I tried to explain that they were changing 100rs notes for 20 rs notes, and he said they couldn't do that. Meanwhile they were at the teller doing exactly that. I finally said, "No tension, no tension, no problem!" And laughed at myself finally able to use that Indian line on an Indian!!!!

Sugar and Spice: Wed, 23 May 2007

2007-05-25T17:17:00.001+05:30

Yesterday I arrived back in Bangkok on an overnight bus from Krabi/Ao Nang where I spent the last three weeks. The bus arrived in Bangkok at Khao San Rd at 4:30am. Khao San Rd is the backpacker's ghetto. It's a bit hectic, but convenient for booking travel and being around other travellers.

I ate noodle soup at a street vendor stand within the walls of the Temple and Monastery here. A guard, I think from 7-11 got some soup to go. It was packaged in a plastic bag sealed with a rubber band--common packing for street food around here. He added some condiments to his bag of soup---quite a few spoonfuls of sugar (enough to kill a diabetic), and several tablespoons of crushed dried chilis (enough to burn a house down both coming and going!). He didn't really speak English but if I understood his sign language correctly he was saying the sugar and spice would cure a hangover!

I was sad to leave Krabi... more specifically the beaches of Tonsai and Railay... the climber's paradise. I spent about three weeks there after arriving with some young Frenchmen, climbers I met in Phuket. We travelled from Phuket via Phang Nga together. We enjoyed a local bus ride. The local buses are full of chrome and brightly painted colors. Even large speakers and the driver put on some upbeat music as we started the ride. It was like a dance bus.

The public transportation is so wonderful in Thailand, like much of Asia. You can find a variety of trucks, minivans, buses, motorcycles, trains, and taxi's to get around. Often in towns and cities, covered pickup trucks with benches roam up and down the main throughfares every few minutes. Buses run between towns and cities such that you can practically just show up at a bus station and get anywhere.

Cyril, Ben, and I spent a couple of days in Phang Nga, where we enjoyed the atmosphere of a local, rather than tourist town. We enjoyed local dishes such as rice porrige with meat for breakfast, spicy papaya salad and sticky rice, and corn on the cob (not very sweet here). Everything was priced nearly half of the tourist towns like Phuket, or the island of Ko Phan Ngan, where one is held ransome by the boats and lack of local markets because it is merely a tourist place.

We dodged rain storms to check out local caves and waterfalls. One cave by a Buddhist Temple was called the Heaven and Hell Cave. We entered the cave through a tunnel constructed to look like a dragon. Inside the huge cave were some altars. Outside were amusement park like figures depicting Heaven, Hell, and Judgment. Bizzarre! A monk was collecting donations as we left and activated some of the moving figures: a corpse figure sprang out of a coffin making goulish noises! We were startled and laughed! We determined that most every figure made some noise or action when coins were deposited. Rubber plantations surrouned the town as well as magnificent limestone cliffs.

We took a boat ride to nearby islands: James Bond Island were some scenes were filmed for a Bond movie, and Koh Panyee, a Muslim stilt village adjacent to a rock jutting out of the sea. On the Island we followed the Tsunami evacuation signs (we were looking for some rock climbing crags). The led us through the village on stilts to a path. The signs showed an image of a building/shelter. Yet when we got to the end of the boardwalk through town, we found a muddy narrow path that seemed to mainly lead to the diesel generators that provided the town with electricity. It didn't seem like anything that would be very safe or fun with a horde of people fleeing from a tsunami. I decided I wouldn't want to be there during a tsunami. Perhaps it is just the beginning of government's disaster infrastructure. It makes me wonder how much of our own disaster preparations in the US are as adequate as we might believe. We got to hang out for a few moments with a pet monkey a village women held out to us. It was wearing a diaper. She encouraged us to take photos as she thrust it into each of our arms. Then of course she asked for money to feed the monkey. I'm sure she made a good living from it. And it was quite a bit sweeter than the lady outside a temple in Bangkok who had a caged bird and asked me to pay money to set it free!

From Phang Nga, we took another local bus to Krabi. We got off the bus and were accosted by a couple men asking where we were going. I reared up my defenses... well used to touts and scams at bus stations... and put them off. When Ben and Cyril came along as we discussed how to get to the beaches of Railay, it turned out that the men were actually helpful and honest and directed us to a "sangthew" (pick up truck taxi) that was priced correctly. I felt bad. I hate to mistrust people, but many areas there are such scams. When I arrived on Kho Phan Ngan a few weeks ago, I put off a boatman who quoted me a price of 150 baht because I had read in the guidebook that the price was 50 baht... yet the guidebook was outdated.

We got to Railay and found the cheapest bungalows. Railay is quite a resort place with expensive hotels and concrete in which you might as well be in Hawaii or Florida as you will likely pay similar prices and merely get Western culture. Ironic because one of the expensive hotels viewed over trash heaps in the next lot. And another caught wind of sewage. Most of them would catch wind of burning plastic as garbage was burned daily. Obviously development is poorly managed and very much an ecological disaster.

Our bungalow was pretty, though away from the beach were the mosquitos swarmed. We took turns between the two beds and my hammock with mosquito net hung on the porch. The first night was the owner's little girls birthday and so there was a party with family and bungalow guests at the bar. The little girl was cute. I think she was five or six. And she was ready to celebrate! She danced and loved to pop the numerous balloons that were tied around. An early teenage nephew was obviously gay and it was fun to see him accepted into the family. Everyone laughed at his dancing which was better than the others. He was quite feminine. I asked if he was the birthday girls brother, and I was told he was the mother's sister's daughter. At first I thought her English was simply poor, but the next day I realized that perhaps they honor the boy's tendicies and refer to him as a girl. Thais are very open and accepting on some levels. One of my friends from San Francisco has a Thai boyfriend who was aghast when he learned that in the US some families disown gay children, or that some are beat up.

We bought some beer at the bar and soon were hungry. The family shared some birthday food with us. I soon found myself eating chicken salad, so they said. It was crunchy and also soft. I feared it was raw chicken. But I figured if they all were eating it that it wouldn't kill me. I was hungry and a bit tipsy after a beer on an empty stomach and so I ate on. It was terribly spicy too. Soon plates were brought for my accomplices and we began to talk and try to figure out what it was. Finally we talked with the mother and she pointed to her elbows and we figured out we were eating chicken cartilage and maybe feet. In Laos last year some locals shared chicken feet roasted on a stick with me... not much meat and chewy!

A few days in Railay, then we moved to Tonsai, the nearby beach where it's the center of the climber's heaven. One of the bars is next to climbing routes. Ben and Cyril were much more experienced than me and were nice enough to set up a couple easier routes for me. They left after a few days, and a German women, Julia adopted me into her climbing "family". She and her Aussie climbing partner Dave, were quite experienced and enjoyed lead climbing and setting up ropes for me and other less advanced climbers to climb. Our family changed as members came and went along the travel circuit. A German guy, Flo and me became the last of it when Julia left. I spent most of my time working through my fear of heights, clinging to the earth as if I might fall off! Towards the last days I got some strength and confidence. The trick to climbing is trusting the ropes... it's all about knowing how to use the gear. Done properly, you have little to worry about.

Weather was a bit rainy. I moved in which Julia to a little bamboo bungalow. I put my hammock on the porch. It was quite cozy. The first day it started to rain just as we had cleaned up for dinner. We sat on the porch. The wind blew harder. We felt a few drops of rain coming in on the porch and we stashed clothing and gear farther inwards. The gale picked up as we sat like Ma and Pa Kettle on the porch. Soon we found ourselves under shawls from the coolness, and my poncho draped like a tarp over us with just our heads poking out. The rain drove in harder and at last we relented to taking shelter inside the dark small bungalow. Torrents of water washed around the bungalows which all sat on stilts. It was the monsoon. Most days we were dampened by showers, a couple days were total washouts. The last days were quite sunny.

Much of the climbing routes were on overhangs and were fairly dry if you could get to them.

Days usually started meeting for breakfast and picking some routes to climb. A few climbs. Lunch. Then maybe some more climbs or the beach. The community of travelling climbers was sweet with many options to climb with different people, chat, and play cards.

I have many stories, but it is time to prepare for my flight to Calcutta, India at 6 am. Not the best time as I will likely have to take a bus at 11pm unless I want to pay twice as much for a taxi.

Kho Pha Ngan and Nahkon Si Thammarat-Tue, 24 Apr 2007

2007-05-25T17:14:00.000+05:30

Hi Everyone,

Just thought I would fill you in on my latest travels. The last several weeks I have been in Kho Phan Ngan, an island on the gulf (east) side of Thailand. I traveled down with a friend of some friends from the US that I ran into in Bangkok.

Amnon and I took the night bus from Bangkok and ferry from Surat Thani. The bus made a stop in the night at an inflated priced food stand... a typical ruse to make up for cheaper bus tickets. The ferry ride was beautiful over turquoise waters and sights of islands. Kho Pha Ngan is mainly a tourist island. Not much local culture there... probably a few fishing villages were all that was there before tourism hit. Now the beautiful beaches are covered in tourist bungalows. Many of the beaches can only be reached by longtail boat. We stayed at Had Thian, one of the more remote beaches which was very quiet. A resort called Sanctuary was there which was kind of a new age California like vegetarian resort with spa services like Thai massage, facials, a fasting program, colon hydrotherapy, etc. A few other bungalow operations were there also. A good place to relax and do little. Though snorkeling and diving trips were possible along with sea kayaking and just swimming in the shallow waters.

I found it a bit boring, though I enjoyed a few swim, and met some nice people. Saw a couple of good movies (One Giant Leap, and Dances of Ecstasy, on the weekly movie nights) Amnon left to go home to Israel and I hooked up with a English/Aussie couple, Tom and Emma, who were interested in coming to Nahkon Si Tammarat. We went to another beach on the north side of the island where there was a small town. It was funny as we first went to Bottle beach which was supposed to be the second busiest on the island. We hired a boat for the 45 minute ride. As we pulled up to bottle beach, we found a deserted beach with a few bungalow operations. We were all a bit disappointed. We checked it out and decided to head elsewhere. Our boat had left, so we took a boat taxi to the nearest travel juncture, which was Ao Thong Nai Pan Yai... that turned out to be a small village and so we stayed there. I found a nice family run bungalow operation where the family seemed caring rather than money grubbing, like some of the more resort like operations feel.

It was exciting in that there was a little bit of a village. The place is growing fast... with lots of new construction of bars and resorts. I stayed in a musty bamboo hut with a fan and light... actually I slept in my hammock on the porch for 150 baht/night ($4.70). On the nearby penninsula lay a resort with swimming pool and artificial water fall and air conditioning. I would guess it cost $100/night. Emma and I took a walk away from the beach and found a bar which was to open that night. It was a huge 2 story glass and concrete industrial design, with patio and ponds... something that could be in Bangkok or New York. It wasn't even completely finished. across the dusty dirt road was a row of tarp houses, probably for the construction crew. About as drastic a culture shock and juxtapostion as I could imagine. I felt good about my bungalow and the family running it... like I was living more like them, rather than just coming and partying and not experiencing local culture.

Two nights there, then we took the night ferry to Surat Thani. The good news was the ferry had sleeping berths for the 10pm-5am ride... the bad news was they were narrow mats right next to each other on the floor. It was actually reasonably good sleeping. They had the tourists on one side and the locals on the other so people would worry so much about being ripped off.

We got off the boat at Surat Thani at 5am and were greeted by taxi touts... 10 baht to the bus station for a bus to Nakhon Si Thammarat they said. It sounded a bit cheap. We took a mini van taxi ride to the "bus station" along with maybe 6-8 others... we pulled up to a street side storefront with a travel counter on one side and a bunch of chairs in the street and food stand on the other side. The bus ticket was quoted at 256 baht... our guide book said 70 baht, and though guidebooks are never completely up to date, we realized it was likely a scam. In fact, Tom read the section on Bus Scams where a high priced ticket is sold and you end up on a local bus or minivan. We looked up the bus station on the map and it didn't match where we were, and so we escaped to there and found a bus for 70 baht.

We arrived groggily at Nakhon Si Thamarrat yesterday morning at about 9 am. Tom and Emma booked their bus ticket for Bangkok for the evening bus. They fly to England in a couple of days. We walked around the sweltering heat and I got a room and dropped off my bags. We then were looking for a place to breakfast and ran into a local boy who'd befriended Tom on the bus. He cutely practiced his English and helped us order some local dishes at a restaurant. He was an obviously gay student about to enter college. Smart and obviously clued into the world culture. His English was rough, though far better than our Thai. We tried to ask him what he liked to eat or what was a good local breakfast, and I'm not sure he ever really understood... at first he thought we wanted to buy him breakfast and he politely refused, embarrassed a bit (plus he'd just eaten).

Khao Yam is a rice salad... rice and dried spices and chilies mixed together. Then some meat curries. It was nice to get off the island of Kho Pha Ngan where everything is 2- 3 times as expensive due to shipping costs and just due to tourists. There a meal cost 60-100 baht (2-3 $). Here you can eat for half that. I released alot of tension as my budget of 10$/day was impossible to meet on the island.

Our Thai friend left us to eat. We roamed the city taking advantage of sangthaews (pickup truck taxis which roam up and down the streets like mini buses picking up and discharging passengers along the way). They cost 10 baht. It felt like culture shock going from the quiet tourist island where we were removed from car traffic, to being in a typical Asian city full of polluting cars, and also where tourist were the exception. I felt many stares at us.

We visited the local shadow puppet master's home and workshop. A beautiful old wooden home, with a workspace under the stilts. It was a wood structure, more substantial than the bamboo huts of the islands. The shadow puppets are made of goat or cow hide and intricately cut and painted... some are translucent and their color shows through during the show. There was a display of puppets hundreds of years old. We enjoyed a private show. Complete with sound effects and gongs. It was in Thai. Some sort of love story, then a joker/devil and god involved. We laughed when a cell phone appeared as well as an airplane and motorcycle. The storyline was obviously tradition Thai, yet made current.

We stopped by the Gov't Tourish Office where I tried to get information on the nearby park where there is a 1785 meter moutain. They told me about a 3 day tour lead by villagers who live there. But it was out of my budget unless I could come up with a group to distribute costs. I tried to find out if I could just go and hike around for a day, but the communication was just not good enough. Today I went a inquired about village homestays I read about in the brochure. They had no openings, but a lady working at the Tourist office invited me to her home where her mother teaches English. There is a waterfall nearby. So I am off on that adventure this evening. Hopefully it is not a date! Nor a scam. She says it is free (the regular homestay has a per meal and per night cost). I will stay a night or two depending on how it goes. Then I will go to Malaysia on a visa run (U.S. citizens get a free 30 day visa upon arrival, and can "renew" it by crossing a border and re-entering).

Back to yesterday. Tom and Emma and I then ate at a busy street vendor. Typical of Thailand, many street and alleys have vendors who have a cart with cooking apparatus, and often tables set up around them. I was dismayed to find out that most of the food carts are owned by entrepreneurs (I could apparently buy one and rent it out) and rented to the operator/cook... I thought each one was a family-owned business. We ate a new to me dish... noodles and sauce... then each table is adorned with pots of toppings which were various pickled vegetables as near as I could tell. Boiled eggs were available too. And cut up raw green beans, cucumbers, etc. It was good. And I think cost 20 baht (70cents) for a semi-all you can eat meal (all the toppings were self serve).

After that we roamed around the streets sweltering in the heat. Tom and Emma were going to do some shopping, but by the time they got to an ATM, were tired of shopping. We had ice cream and fried bannanas. It was a posh place and air conditioned and still prices were only 30-40 baht per meal... half even the cheapest place on the touristy island. There was ice cream purported to be from San Francisco, though I didn't recognize the brand.

Tom and Emma had some beef noodle soup at a street stand to fill up before there 6pm bus. They parted. I was sad to be alone, especially in this very untouristed town. I went back to my huge, dingy room. Only 140 baht with attached bath. I showered and felt better after the sweltering heat. I ventured out for dinner. Everything except street stands seemed to be closed by 7:30pm. It didn't feel like a good place to explore. I felt very conspicuous. So I ate, and retired and caught up on my sleep. I had hoped to meet some backpackers to explore the nearby park and mountain with... or at least who might have some information. But there were none.

I expect to spend a night or two at the village, then to Hat Yai and Malaysia for a visa run. Then to Krabi to check out the rock climbing there. I have until 17 May when I depart from Bangkok to Calcutta, India.

So that's my latest report!

Write when you can as I enjoy hearing from you!

Toilet Talk

2007-04-05T10:16:00.000+05:30

As you might have heard, toilets in Asia work a bit differently than in the United States.

The first major difference is toilet paper. In many areas of Thailand, Laos, Nepal, and India, toilet paper is for tourists. The locals use water to clean themselves with. It saves trees. It doesn't clog the small sewage pipes. It is much easier on the bum... no harsh abrasion, and it's cleaner. (in some areas, such as Ladakh, composting toilets are used, and bits of newspaper are recycled for cleaning the hinderparts. In fact, one must be careful and not recycle the paper bits twice as sometimes there is a box to place your used bits of paper, and you don't want to confuse them with the box of clean bits of paper!)

Traditionally, squat toilets are used, which I have heard is better for digestion and evacuation, and it's definitely good for your leg muscles! There is a tub of water with a bowl to scoop out water to flush the toilet with. Likely, you also use the bowl to pour water on your left hand which you use for cleaning your hinder parts.

Once you get over the initial hurdle, it's actually quite nice. For us Westerners, who have been taught such shame and disgust about our bodily functions, the initial hurdle can be hard. It also helps to have loose bowls, which is usually not a problem in S. E. Asia. The technique is easy enough, wetting your fingers, scrubbing, repeat until your fingers pass the sniff test. Then wash well in the nearby sink. Again, the sniff test will let you know when your duty is done. You will also find, that the left hand has a taboo against it in these countries. Greeting, eating, passing things are done with the right hand for somewhat obvious reasons. I say "somewhat" because when you wash your hands, you use your right hand and fingers and finger nails to clean those of your left hand. So in some ways, it is a mute point and matter of probability whether the right hand is actually cleaner than the left.

The new thing in areas of Thailand and Laos, is the power washer. This I absolutely love! You know the spray hose that most U.S. kitchen sinks come equipped with? Something I rarely see used in the U.S. My mother washes her hair with it. And once in a while I have thought to use it to rinse off an exceptionally large pot or dish. In Thailand, they have found a good use for that hose and nozzle. It is connected to the water inlet on the toilet, and used to clean your hinderparts! It takes a little to get the knack of using it. I remember my first attempts seemed to shower my entire lower recesses from my legs to lower back. It was only when I returned from India and the hand method that I got the knack of it. For me, leaning forward to present the hinderparts more backwards, and then holding the nozzle close, and aiming well... you can feel it when you aim well!... seems to work best. And it is such a delight! no need to shower. no abrasive toilet paper. I highly recommend you take the hose off your sink and get a "T" and hook it up to your toilet!

Now, I have noticed that these water methods work best with loose bowels, which fortunately is not a problem in S.E.Asia. Diets high in vegetables and fruits and low in processed foods tend to promote looser bowels. Travellers diarrhea is relatively common due to relaxation, and changes in diet. I think a lot of travellers diarrhea is mistakenly attributed to parasites and food poisoning. In fact, it is common for foreign travellers to get diarrhea when the visit the U.S. How white bread and processed flours can produce diarrhea is a bit beyond me, but for the same reasons (changes in diet, relaxation, etc) the "hygenic" foods of the US can cause diarrhea in travelers. I have found in Thailand there seems to be less parasite/food poisoning related diarrhea than in India and Nepal. Yet, among travelers, loose bowels oft come up in conversation... sometimes abruptly ending a conversation in fact!

Which brings me to the punch line. In the Merry V., my favorite guest house on Khao San Rd in Bangkok, there is a sign in the toilet (equipped with western seat-flush toilets) which reads "Please dispose of toilet paper in the bin. Pipes are small and clog easily. Please hold the handle for 10 seconds when flushing." And then, parenthetically, the sign elaborates about flushing: "the toilet"! I always chuckle over the other possible takes on "when flushing"! It could be your bowels, or the power washer that you are flushing!

March 2007: I am Back in Bangkok

2007-04-02T08:52:00.000+05:30

Just thought I'd let you know I arrived safely in Thailand after some 20 hours in transit. Luckily, the departure proceedings were easy as I was exhausted from the final busy days in San Francisco. Inspite of the subway being late, and missing my stop, I got on the plane easily with time to spare.

The flights were mainly a daze of naps. The in-flight food was good, though I'm not sure what I was eating. I'd selected asian-vegetarian from the food preferences. The side salads were most interesting. I think perhaps pickled bamboo shoots formed their basis.

I arrived in Bangkok and walked through customs... worries about being hassled for only having a one way ticket were for not. I took a taxi to my Thai friend Maan's house... I'd met Maan in Kathmandu last year. He works for a magazine and does something with fashion/design/photography and travels extensively himself with his work. He took me to lunch at a nearby Mall, which was the biggest Mall I've ever been in. It was a bit bizare to be in such a place. It truly is a world culture now, for better or worse. The Mall had Auntie Anne's Pretzels as well as being filled with "American" brands: Sony, North Face, Adidas, etc. I took a nap which ended up being a deep sleep for 5 hours then went with Maan to a party hosted by his friends and then to meet a friend who'd just been separated from her boyfriend.

This morning Maan took me by taxi to Khao San Rd where I got a room at my favorite guesthouse. It felt good to be here, familiar from my previous visits. A strange mix of sights and smells. Motorcycle tricycles hauling vendors/goods. Three wheeled taxi's called Tuk tuks that sound like chainsaws. Smog, traffic, feral dogs. Yet many smiling people. On my layover in Tai Pei, I sat in the airport people watching. The airport seemed modern... full of duty free shops. Yet at the gate for a departing flight, a steward barked for over an hour "Ho Chi Min City" like a newspaper boy of days of yore hawking his wares. The plane was to leave at 7:30am, yet the steward was still calling out an hour later and went looking for a missing passenger. It reminded me of my Biman Air flight of two years ago, where we sat on the ground waiting until every last passenger was found. A nice civility in a way.

My body is in shock from the heat. I think it's in the 90's and humid. I've been catching up on my favorite foods. Thailand is unique in the world for it's abundance and assortment of street foods which are surprisingly hygenic according to a recent documentary. Corn on the cob, rubbery pancakes called roti filled with bananas and covered with Borden's sweetened milk aka corn syrup, stir fries, papaya salad, roasted meats on a stick, fresh fruit smoothies... and more.

I enjoyed street shows by a group of traveling cyclists whose motto is "we go it by bike"... accordion, juggling... a classic folk traveling entertainment. The group has been traveling for 6 years throughout Asia. Their website is http://myspace.com/cyclowns.

The Buddhist New Year is coming up and that means travel routes will be filled and many services/businesses closed. So that may impact my travel. I'm going to research the trekking season in Nepal and perhaps dash off there. Otherwise, will likely stay in Thailand for 2-4 weeks.

Traipsing thru Thailand

2006-03-16T16:35:00.000+05:30

I'm on my second week in Thailand where I've been since 03March. I got out of India none too soon as I was completely burnt out on India.

I've spend the last three days in Chaing Mai, Thailand, doing practically nothing. After landing in Bangkok and taking a day or two there, I took the night bus up to Chaing Mai, new friend, dred-headed Californian man Taylor in tow. As in July, Bangkok blessed me easily for my prayers for a travel companion. Eerily like in July when I prayed for a travel mate one morning and met the Aussie bloke Matthew that afternoon, I prayed Saturday morning for a mate and two hours later Taylor popped up on the street in front of me inquiring if I knew a place he might trade his guitar for a mandolin, or someone who might buy his climbing gear. I was interested in his climbing gear and we ate together and talked and soon decided to travel north together and do some climbing.

We appeared at the same travel agent who calls himself Mel Gibson where I'd taken Matthew in July. Just as Matthew had to get a visa and india plane ticket, Taylor needed the same for his trip to India. Then we got bus tickets together to travel to Chaing Mai.

Two days later we arrived in Chaing Mai and discovered there was a good climbing crag nearby. Crazy Horse buttress proved wonderful with probably 20 bolted routes, a toilet, and a couple thatched open shelters. Taylor and I rented a motorbike and scootered out there with our gear. Three days sleeping in hammocks. Awesome climbing. Taylor proved an awesome climbing coach. Meanwhile I shared Reiki with him open his amazed eyes to the wonders of Reiki energy. Birds that sang into the night, bamboo fire cooked omelets, and trips to nearby sulphur hot springs lead the list of fond memories with Taylor.

He left for Bangkok and his flight to India after 4 days here. I took a couple days to realign and planned to go by motorbike to Chaing Rai. Two days in a row I checked out of my guest house with the intent of leaving, but didn't get out of town. I delayed my departure hearing Aussie Matthew was in town and hoping to see him. We finally met Monday morning and I heard tales of his newfound guru-ji in India where together they will form a world healing grid. Funny Matthew has been networking with people into tree houses... and I've been dreaming of sleeping in a hammock in the woods and climbing and finding a kinship with the dred-headed new age tree hugging back to lander types. After breakfast with Matthew, I once again intended to leave, but was faltering in gumption and sitting exhausted after a late night on the streetside. I glanced up to see the sign for Mr Whiskey's Guest House ... a place where I'd failed acouple times to find vacancy, and where there was a great looking patio hangout space. I felt a buzz of energy and decided to get a bunk and some sleep.

A few hours later I relaxed the most in several months hanging out on the patio at Mr Whiskey's. I realized I was exhausted and hence the indecisiveness about leaving. The next few days proved that this was just what I was looking for. In a few hours I had made freinds and shared Reiki and intuition excercises with fellow backpackers. I met two gay guys! Oddly enough I had been carrying a copy of the Celestine Prophecy workbook and that morning had intentioned tapping into feeling the energy flows.

I think about staying or moving here. Chaing Mai has interesting people, and is a great place to access the outdoors and easy to travel from. I wish I had more than the two weeks left before my flight to the USA, but at the same time feel a need to regroup.

Pushy in Pushkar

2006-02-28T22:56:00.000+05:30

I'm jaded on India....everyone in the tourist towns just wants something from you... well, rupees to be exact!

I went to a festival supposedly free by the hotellers with a free camel ride provided. The camel ride was a joke. A half hour wait for the procession to get going, some people waited an hour. Then an hour long crawl through the narrow streets of Pushkar while everyone stares at you. I felt like a stupid tourist idiot up on the camel. Then we arrived about a 10 minute walk from town at a sand dune where a stage was set up and various performers did local dance and music. My camel was lowered for me to dismount and I was nearly off, when someone said, "no, get back on!". So I hop on and am elevated up and find myself with about a dozen others in a photo lineup on our steeds along with the town Maharaja... a local dude in fancy silks and turban astride a very decorated camel. We were left there for about 15 minutes for photo opps. Finally my camel driver takes me aside and drops my camel so I can dismount. Then I go to pay him... a camel tour guy had said it was 50rs, and when I asked the driver for change he said the fare was 175rs. I laughed and said, "No". I looked around for the guy who told me it was 50rs. And I wondered who was lying. Unfortunately I only had a 100rs note. Finally I threw it at the driver and said "F--- you!" Then I found some friends who said it was supposed to be free. I was so mad. I%%

Photos posted at:

2006-02-26T17:27:00.000+05:30

http://photos.yahoo.com/dhamiboo

http://gypsywizard.shutterfly.com/action/?a=2AZM2jlu1csXMQ

Khajuraho: Feb14-16, 2006

2006-02-15T15:21:00.000+05:30

I took the night train from Varanasi to Satna (11:30pm departure, arriving late at 8:15 am) and then a bus to Khajuraho. I received a surprise sendoff from a group of young men I'd met at the ghats. They appeared at the train station at 11:20pm... what a surprise to see the four of them. I'd planned to say goodbye earlier but got busy packing. I'd been kind of feeling their friendship was for money... they'd implored me to take them all to the movies last week... only 120 rs, about $3, but still a chunk of my 5-10$/day budget. So my faith in them was renewed when they made the journey to the train station to see me off. I gave them each a friendship bracelet. Tomorrow, they said is Seekunder's birthday. I gave them 100rs to celebrate with... they turned it down at first saying "friendship, not money"; but then they took it. After they left, a Hindi man said they were making fun of me and that I shouldn't have given them any money. Don't know what to think about it all.

Sleeping on the train proved difficult... comfortable enough, but when an old lady slapped my feet and awakened me from a deep sleep after an hour or two... I don't know what for... I lost my nerve about sleeping afraid I'd miss my stop. There are no announcements and the conductors pay no special attention. A Korean guy was in the same compartment and going the same way. Between the two of us we kept track of our stop and managed to get off, and take a rickshaw together to the bus station where we got the bus to Khajuraho.

Getting off the bus in Khajuraho was akin to my Sauraha experience. Except there were maybe six tourists to a dozen touts this time. (In Sauraha I was the only tourist arriving on the bus and was surrounded by about 20 beautiful men who all wanted me... almost a dream come true, except they wanted me to stay at their hotel.) I wasn't having any of it. Fed up and a bit jaded after 3 weeks in Varanasi, tout heaven, I said the next person that approaches me, I will vow NOT to stay at his guest house. Still about 6 followed me and my Korean friend as we walked into town. A sadhu passed by and I sarcastically asked him if he wanted a room and pointed to my "tout friends". It must be time for me to leave India!

My Korean friend and I kept asking to be left alone. As we got into town another few touts glummed onto us seeing us with our telltale backpacks fresh off the bus. We separated to look at a few places. I walked on out of town to get a moment alone and compose myself. Looked at four places and went with the Yogi Ashram about 2 km north of town.

This is not a town where "alone" is a feasible concept. Low on tourists, everyone wants your business. Even a small boy befriended me as I rode my rental bike around and insisted I see his school; I literally begged off on seeing his home. I met the principal who seemed nice and offered to show me to the children; he easily backed off when I declined. My new little boy friend said I must come visit the school but not without him. Odd I thought. Later when I read my guidebook, the warning for this town was about school children who hook in tourists to make donations to their school then split the donation with their principle. It was an afternoon of touts as I tried to soak in the town. Another boy was desparate to get me to his house for tea and dinner. After I declined several times and kept running into him, he dejectedly said "you not want be my friend" and rode off. Alone at last, sitting on the road in the midst of town, three Indian men came up being friendly, complimenting me on my beard and piercings. "Ahh... at least they are just being friendly..." Then came the sales pitch for a taxi ride to the nearby jungle to see tigers. Then after the marriarage question, they offered to hook me up with a pretty Indian woman... for a price of course!

Today I dreamed up the following:

Street Lessons for Indians learning English:

Day 1: "Boat? Sir! Boat? Sir! Boat?"

Day 2: "What you like? Hashish?"

Day 3:" Marijuana, Cocaine? Good Manali Cream? I have everything: what you want?"

Formal English Lessons for Indians:

Day 1: "Hello."

Day 2: "What is your good name?"

Day 3: "First time? India?"

Day 4: substitute name of current town for India

Day 5:"How you like [name of country, town, etc...]?"

Day 6: "Where you stay?"

I'm quite sure this is how their english books are written, as this is the unvarying order of conversation.

Continuing in my list of interesting sights on the roads and loads on vehicles:

A thin mattress held upright on a motor scooter by the passenger riding behind the driver.
That was yesterday. Today I saw them with the bedframe!

I toured the temples this morning. Beautiful sandstone sculpted works of art chock full of relief statues... many horses, elephants, warriors, and Ganeshas. And then intermixed many erotic sculptures of men and women in kama sutra positions. Quite beautiful temples.

I had lunch at "Amy's International Restaurant" which advertised Indian, American, Italian, Continental, and Japanese foods. When I tried to order a bean burrito, the manager said he was sorry but the market has no beans today. So I went for an Indian thali. While I tried to wait and have some peaceful moments alone, the manager started a "conversation". How he'd started the restuarant with and American woman Amy who he loved and missed as she was out of the country right now. He droned on about how the electric was shut off because he couldn't pay the bills because tourists were few this season. But he had big plans for cheap rooms to build for a tourist guest house "Amy's Guest House". And he said how Americans would love getting food they are familiar with while travelling. All good thoughts, but I wondered if they ever had the beans for the burrito?

Varanasi Revisited - Jan-Feb 2006

2006-02-11T20:06:00.000+05:30

January 21-22

My Nepal visa expires today so I make a sad farewell to Sauraha, a Nepali Village by the Chitwan Jungle. I've spent several days riding a rental bicycle around the Tharu villages full of wattle and daub mud huts, elephants, and the local jungles where I've seen peacocks, deer, crocodiles, and storks.

Me and the two others on our "tourist" bus are excited that there are only 3 of us on the bus. But we soon learn the methods of Nepali thrift when we stop in every village to try to take on passengers. At one village we wait 10 minutes at the gas station accumulating passengers before pulling up to the pumps. I'm guessing the driver was waiting to have enough fares to pay for the gas. It's a short 4 hour ride before I am dumped a few km from the border in a small village bus depot. The touts beg me to take a rickshaw, but I know there is a 8rs bus. I ask around and get pointed in the direction of a jeep packed full of locals, with 4 standing on the bumper. The conductor motions me to throw my backpack on the roof rack and for me to ride up there as well. So I get the princess seat! It's a short 15 min ride to the border town of Sounali. I am thankful for the short ride as I'm sure a long ride hanging onto the roofrack could be quite a thrilling adventure.

As we pull into the bus depot at Sounali, a shaggy hair and bearded man gives me the Hawaii thumb and pinkie wave peering from beneath his low slung hemp hat. I meet Ariel formally at the Nepal immigration counter as we check out of Nepal. Ariel is a 20 something Israeli guy into tantra and Reiki. I feel a strong energy between us and surmise some mystical travels are starting up for us. We end up taking a tourist bus from the border to Varanasi. Planned to bus 3hours to Gorakpur and take the more comfy train from there, but didn't want to risk having to overnight in Gorakpur if it wasn't possible to get a last minute train ticket. And as the bus tout reminded us, we could just get on this tourist bus with no other worries til Varanasi... and the bus would get us to Varanasi aat 6am rather than the train's 2am... better to look for a guest house after sunrise.

There were a half dozen Hindi guys hanging out on the bus.... it was three hours before departure. They offered to sell us hashish. The suggested the "best seats". We had initially been promised double seats for each of us... but that no longer held since we had bargained 50rs off our ticket prices. At departure time, all the worry of seats turned to nought when we discovered there were only 3 passengers! Me, Ariel, and an Italian guy, Alberto.

I remember the old big wheeled bicycles of the 1800's were called boneshakers. That ought to have been the bus' name. The sliding windows missing their latches vibrated open every five minutes letting the cold night air in. Try to sleep? Forget it. The bus felt like it was shaking apart... like we were going through the atmosphere, but never quite getting to hyperspace. About midnight, I started coughing badly as we passed through a town of burning plastic rubbage. Uggh, I thought, the air is bad already and we are not even to Varanasi. I thought of the 5 remaining hours... looking forward to sunup. Sleeping was impossible. Holding onto the seat was about all I could manage. Then, miracle of miracles, one of the couchmen says "Wake up! This Varanasi". "Here? Varanasi?" I replied...seeing it was only 1 am. Sure enough, it was no joke, he woke my friends and we were dumped into Varanasi at 1am! A mixed blessing since sleep might be possible now, but roaming late night Varanasi where everything closes and locks at 11pm wasn't ideal. A jovial autorickshaw tout glummed onto us promising 50 rs rooms. We took him up, but demanded to be taken to the ghats, where we knew we wanted to stay. Somehow the five of us and our luggage crammed into this autorickshaw: the driver and his henchman, Ariel, Alberto, and I.

A surreal late night circus, Ariel and the driver and henchman laughed and screamed joking like banshees as we careened the late night streets where sleeping cows were the main traffic. The first two guesthouses proved to be 250 rs expensive! Finally by the Hanuman Burning Ghat Ariel got us a 120rs room for the three of us. We got 4 or 5 hours sleep before searching more permanant quarters in the morning.

23 Jan

Today I walked down a narrow alley and was delayed as a rickshaw laden with furniture navigated the narrow passage. Every few yards, there was a step or obstruction to squeeze the load around. We got to a intersection where an oncoming rickshaw had to pass. It seemed impossible, yet the rickshaw wallahs were somehow making room around each other. Then a cow peeks around from the other alley at the intersection and in a moment walks right through, somehow bending space and getting around the rickshaws on this narrow alley! Oh, the Holy Cow of India!

Feb 11

As I strolled out after my lunch, I wandered a narrow alley towards the ghats wondering what to do. I came upon a dying cow surrounded by 3 tourists and a couple of locals. The tourists were attempting some love and healing for this poor cow. I saw some Reiki hands in the air and realized Spirit had something for me to do. Apparently the cow no longer gave milk and had been neglected by her owners. She'd been shitting water for nigh on a month and daily passed on her way to the Ganges. This morning she fell over and lay here all day. An Israeli woman seemed to be heading the care. A Canadian lady and a Dutch guy lended some loving hands. An a Hindi hoteller was enthusiastically helping. I laid my hands on the fleabeaten cow, giving her some Reiki and hoping she would pass easily.

The Hindi guy said he thought an injection would help. Meanwhile he poured some kerosene on her feet whcich drove a stream of maggots out. It was clearly a case of many cooks in this kitchen of love. Hindi's came by and everyone had a different idea. Me and the Canadian gal were hoping the cow would give up on life easily... even if she got up, she'd need some longterm care, and likely no one could give her that here... her owners certainly had abandoned her. The local guy suggested a fire near the cows belly for warmth... some garbage and wood appeared and a fire was built. Every once in a while the cow would mover her leg, knocking the firecircle stones and rest her foot in the fire. Soon the Israeli gal and the Hindi helpmate went off for some injectionible drugs. We gathered they were going for life saving rather than euthanasia drugs. While they were off, some locals came up. Different ideas. One brought some herbs and put them in a water bottle and we held the cows head up and poured the mix down. Another guy brought some herbs and put them on some coals by the cows nose as an inhalent. I feared they'd singe her nose. Someone came and said a vet was in the area if we wanted to call him. The Israeli gal and Hindi helper returned with what appeared to be antibiotics. Some injectible and some to be crushed and fed. The gal wanted to mix the edible drug with sweets, but the aurevedic guys disaggreed... no sweets for the cow they said! It was one of those cases where I wondered the cow wouldn't die from everyone trying out their idea of what was best!

Only in India... Anything is possible... I thought to myself and laughed. I was helping hold the cows head mouth up to the air to swallow her medicine... others were prying her mouth open... the drug mixed with sweets got in and now cupful by cupful they were trying to wash it down her throat with water. So I'm sitting there helping hold her head when a mouse drops down on my lap from overhead! I jokingly wondered if one of the monkey's that had peered down from the roof had thrown it. The mouse scurried around and around, going across my feet several times. After a couple of injections, based on the group consensus. Everyone went off for a break. Meanwhile the cow lay with a fire by her belly. The Canadian gal hoped the cow wouldn't burn herself.

In India, Any thing is possible!

I walked by a few hours later and the cow lay cold and dead... I pray someone removes her.... in November a dead dog lay in a busy alleyway next to samosa/fried food stand for a day and a half... I thought that was bad until I mentioned it to a guy at my guest house and he said the dog was laying there dying the day before!

In India, Any thing is possible! and it usually is!

About me...

2006-01-13T11:08:00.006+05:30

In some ways I've been on a walk about for years. In 1989, fresh out of grad school, I finally followed my heart's dream of farming. I sold my car, bought a horse, buggy, and plow, and learned to farm. The used set of wheels I happened to get for my buggy, were painted yellow, with bright red hubs. At the time, I was interested in being more "plain". The local Amish began to refer to me as Rob Yellow Wheels... my wheels sticking out from their plain black wheels. I painted my wheels black before taking a 1 1/2 year walk about with my horse Emma and the buggy from Pennsylvania to New York. I ought to have taken Spirit's hint more seriously. After 7 years with my horse, farming a handful of places in PA and NY, I ended up in San Francisco coming out as a gay man. About years there found me evolving into a rather queer shaman, practicing Reiki and shamanic energywork. In 2004, I felt the call to disband my home there and take up the nomadic life once more. In NYC, I met GregO a nomad from HongKong who said, "Most people can't be gypsys because they are too attached to what works for them... and too attached to what doesn't work for them!" I heard the words in my heart and knew it was time to roam the world a bit. The vision was of a wandering mystic. But sometimes I forget my power and lapse into the mundane.

Kathmandu Climbing - Jan 2006

2006-01-13T11:08:00.000+05:30

05Jan06 - Climbing with Para-Command

Today was the second day of the climbing class. A routine of a morning commute, walking along the Assan Market to Kantipath, then hopping on the #5 Kathmandu Tuk Tuk - an electric 3-wheeled van that holds maybe 12 people. A stream of them runs along the Kantipath artery and provides cheap (6 rs ... about 0.10 US$), quiet, fumeless transport. I picked up a loaf of "Swiss sesame bread" to go with my yak cheese (actually nak...the female), carrots, daikon, and onion for lunch.

Like yesterday, the Nepali army was at the climbing wall for practice. My cohorts Tasha and Kathy and I climbed the vertical wall again. A Army guy approached me and asked if they could take a photo. I agreed and then found out they wanted me hanging off the wall. I got my camera so I could have a pic too. They gave me an army cap to wear, strapped me in the belay and I did my best to get up the overhanging wall until they yelled to stop for the photo opps.

Back to class afterwards, we practiced the vert wall and bouldering, then a few attempts on the overhanging wall... very hard for me. Cathy was the only one of our threesome to top it and it took her a long time with many stops. The Army guys called me over for buiscuits and tea later, chatted me up, asking what I thought of the Nepali Army. "Great!", I replied, "they give me tea and buiscuits!" They explained they were in Para Command... paratrooper training.

06Jan06 - Climbing on Exhaustion

Last night I awoke at 3 am for a bowel movement. I went to the toilet expecting diarhea, but was pleasantly surprised. I tried to Reiki my stomach as I returned to sleep. Apparently I didn't Reiki enough because I awoke at 6am to a wet spot in my sleeping bag! I'd shit myself! Uggh. Never did that before. A dismaying way to wake up. Fortunately, not so much of a mess, I cleaned up. Returned to sleep a little before going to the Dairy Center on Durbar square for my morning yoghurt. The beneficial bacteria I figured would restore my gut to it preferred microflaura. Some bannanas from the market. This is my 30rs usual breakfast.

I prayed for regular bowels and did my morning commute. Didn't feel much energy for climbing, but did better than I thought and tried route 3, got about 2/3's up the wall, and found it easier than route 1, which is supposed to be the easiest of the overhanging routes.

We learned our third knot: the fisherman's knot for joining two ropes. The first two were the figure 8 and bowline knots for attaching to the belay.

No dhaba today, I stuck with macaroni and cheese at Ganesha where they play HBO on the television. The movies are usually horrid violent action movies... no wonder our country is at war. My stomach settled down, thankfully.

06Jan06 - Climbing on Exhaustion

Last night I awoke at 3 am for a bowel movement. I went to the toilet expecting diarhea, but was pleasantly surprised. I tried to Reiki my stomach as I returned to sleep. Apparently I didn't Reiki enough because I awoke at 6am to a wet spot in my sleeping bag! I'd shit myself! Uggh. Never did that before. A dismaying way to wake up. Fortunately, not so much of a mess, I cleaned up. Returned to sleep a little before going to the Dairy Center on Durbar square for my morning yoghurt. The beneficial bacteria I figured would restore my gut to it preferred microflaura. Some bannanas from the market. This is my 30rs usual breakfast.

I prayed for regular bowels and did my morning commute. Didn't feel much energy for climbing, but did better than I thought and tried route 3, got about 2/3's up the wall, and found it easier than route 1, which is supposed to be the easiest of the overhanging routes.

We learned our third knot: the fisherman's knot for joining two ropes. The first two were the figure 8 and bowline knots for attaching to the belay.

No dhaba today, I stuck with macaroni and cheese at Ganesha where they play HBO on the television. The movies are usually horrid violent action movies... no wonder our country is at war. My stomach settled down, thankfully.

08Jan06 - Climbing Strong!

Finally today, I found some strength developing! Instead of trembling to hold on, my hands and arms are strong enough to relax a bit and work on technique. I was a bit discouraged, but now feel excited. The instructors say climbing is not about arm strength because you should use your legs to push up the wall, rather than pulling yourself up. And you should hug the wall, and balance on your feet. But I feel like a basis of hand and arm strength is needed... and I didn't have that base of strength.

09Jan06 - Climbing Frustration

Still no luck in topping the wall on any of the overhanging routes. And my goal of transversing the lower wall, bouldering style, seems to flee from me. Our instructors attempted to have us "lead climb", placing the rope in runners as we go up the wall. They mistakenly had us try on one of the overhang routes, which was really beyond our strength. Finally, after everyone got a bit frustrated, they had us try the vertical wall. And we were able to accomplish that.

A couple of Nepali med students were climbing and I joined the two fellows to take turns belaying for each other. They were easily tired and finding it challenging too. I felt better in our common weakness... I was really feeling a bit unworthy. They were well versed in Reiki and alternative healing modalities and we enjoyed some great conversation about how Reiki works. I was impressed by their open minds and interest. They will be good doctors with such openness. One walked much of the way home with me and told me of his experience with the village "dhami" or shaman. We agreed that God and Spirit are beyond words and sometimes better left a mystery. Science sometimes robs us of our power and experiences merely because science doesn't have the tools to measure some things.09Jan06 - Climbing Frustration

Still no luck in topping the wall on any of the overhanging routes. And my goal of transversing the lower wall, bouldering style, seems to flee from me. Our instructors attempted to have us "lead climb", placing the rope in runners as we go up the wall. They mistakenly had us try on one of the overhang routes, which was really beyond our strength. Finally, after everyone got a bit frustrated, they had us try the vertical wall. And we were able to accomplish that.

A couple of Nepali med students were climbing and I joined the two fellows to take turns belaying for each other. They were easily tired and finding it challenging too. I felt better in our common weakness... I was really feeling a bit unworthy. They were well versed in Reiki and alternative healing modalities and we enjoyed some great conversation about how Reiki works. I was impressed by their open minds and interest. They will be good doctors with such openness. One walked much of the way home with me and told me of his experience with the village "dhami" or shaman. We agreed that God and Spirit are beyond words and sometimes better left a mystery. Science sometimes robs us of our power and experiences merely because science doesn't have the tools to measure some things.

I walked home--about an hour and a half, enjoying the views and people watching.

10Jan06 - Stoked on Climbing - GLOWING

This morning we met at the climbing wall. Cathy's Mom came along with their driver, Ajay, who took the bulk of us to the King's Royal Forest to climb on natural rock.

We chatted abit about the policital situation... apparently the King was visiting various districts trying to gain support for the upcoming elections. He disappeared for 45 km without any guards on some travel of his own in the country. No one knows who he chatted with. Maoists were speculated. Apparently the King doesn't offer much information, so no one really knows what is going on. He controls the army and police, or vice versa. There are a half dozen political parties, the King, and the Maoists in the lineup. And apparently they can never all come to an agreement. Though the Maoists are considered "terrorists", just as the colonists of the US in the 1700's would be considered today, much of their cause is for basic human rights. As far as the elections, it seems a bit farfetched that they will come to much because most people are too busy working and trying to support their families to risk time and potential conflict and dangers at the polls. Its an interesting situation... in many ways the struggles are transparent... life goes on here, people are busy with their work and families... I mean that I might expect complete turmoil and upheaval, and instead, life goes on. Being bred with democracy, even though the US is primarily a two party system, rather than a real consensus based system, the 7 or 8 groups in Nepal sounds potentially more democratic. And yet if these groups can never agree, what will happen? The philosopher in me wonders what would happen if people ignored the government and just focused on their families and neighborhoods and their "lives"...in some ways that appears to be what happens here... perhaps the government will just atrophy and people will create systems to live from the grassroots?

Enough digression!

Everyone met at the Royal Forest to get through the gate... everyone has to be on a list and check in and check out so no one gets lost on the King's land. The two Nepali students who have been a shadow part of our class catching up after their work, etc, and the other instructor have travelled by different means and we all have to enter together. The paperwork gets sorted and we head in. One student and instructor pair up on a motorcycle and try to ride the gravel road in. It appears they ought to be wearing some belaying gear or something as they squirrel around on the gravel. We park after a bit, and walk into "the rock". There are about 20 routes laid out with pitons on the rock face. A couple of climbing groups are busy going at it.

I'm wondering if I really like rock climbing. The artifical wall was hard. I'm still a bit scared of heights, and I wonder why or if I want to do something so hard. We get our toprope up, and like usual I get to climb first. I start up the rock face and get about 30 feet up to where I saw the instructor struggling a bit when he put the rope up. Its about a 6 foot smoothish outcrop to get around. Six chefs from the kitchen below try to suggest recipes for me to get over this outcrop. After 5 minutes that seem like 20, I yell down, "Ahhh... this is what they call a 'problem'!" And everyone laughs at my discovery of how rock climbing terminology makes sense. I am really thinking I ought to give up, when somehow I move... a foot here, a hand there, and the belayer's pull hard on the rope and I've gotten past the problem!!!! I'm excited, yet tentative as I climb the rest of the way up. I begin to feel that feeling I had as a kid climbing the rock in our back yard. My hands roam the rocks for grips. I begin to forget about everything except the next move. I reach the top! The belayer says to come down. Fears of coming down flash through my head. Jutting outcrops of rock to bruse and cut the skin line the path down. This is not the overhanging artificial way at the gym, where it's a clean shot to the ground. The belayer yells "Come down! Slowly!" And I move, and in my movement, my fears dissolve in to the reality of one step at a time with the intention of safety.

I hit the ground, nearly falling backwards, as my perception of which way is up after walking backwards down the wall is a bit slow to catch up. The instructor catches me with a laugh. And all the endorpines rush to my head. "Wow, that was cool!", I say. I describe to Cathy and Tasha how I found the climb physically easier and mentally more challenging than the artificial wall. You have to search the real rock for features to hold onto and step on.... while in the gym, the grips stand out like sore thumbs. Everyone has a go a climbing the route. Cathy is afraid to come down and it takes 5 minute to convince her. One instuctor walks the back way up to the top to coach her. She is so scared she forgets to walk down the face L shaped. Pema's brother gleefully climbs like a monkey. He's five, maybe eight year's old and has climbed for a year already. He's a bit timid coming down as well, and I joke that he's supposed to come down like a capital L, not a small l!!! Tasha psyches herself out...saying she's too weak. She gives up, and refuses to go past the troublesome outcrop, though we offer to lift her over it. Everyone else makes it, and we all cheer each other on. It's funny how 6 people on the ground get so involved in the climber's dilemma and yell out far too much "beta" and struggle to communicate right and left feet and which ledge might have a grip. But it was fun!

We move the rope to an easier route, hoping Tasha will have a go at it. She refuses. The rest of us have another climb.

We return about 3:30pm to the artificial wall. I am feeling a bit sad that my time here is ending. The seven days with these friends and cohorts and this wall have grown on me. Having been nomadic for a year and a half, I find myself easily clinging to any semblance of permanence. I give my last try at transversing the wall. I find myself much sharper after the real rock experience. Much more enthusiastic. I try the transverse repeatedly for 40 minutes and finally I nail it! Yay! That was one goal... the other to top the wall... but I'll let that one pass!

After a week, my arms feel strong. Though they still tire, it feels like there is a backbone of solid strength there. I so enjoyed the real rock... touching the Earth through her rock... It's been several years since rock climbing came to my awareness when I joined the climbing gym near my home in San Francisco to work out at. Then the last year, it's been on my mind to take a class. Now I fulfilled that step and honored a subtle call from my Spirit to rock climb. I can't wait to do more. I've got to get some gear. Find some rock in India and Thailand.

I'm glowing as I walk home. Feeling fully empowered. Stoked on life. Glowing with Life. Reminds me of when I committed to living with my friends Bob and Karen years ago in Penn's Valley Pennsylvania... and I started learning to work with a draft horse and honor my farming dreams. I wandered home. On the Ring Road, an attractive man road by on a bike and yelled "hello" to catch my attention. Without missing a beat, I replied "Hi Sexy!" No fear, no repression... just glowing with life.