Everyone's a VIP to Someone

I've been packing all day, and am somehow leaving india with way more stuff than I arrived with. Em and I are going traveling in a few days, and we are going to be hauling huge rolling suitcases through little allies and lifting them onto the tops of buses; the square shape of those suitcases is an inconvenience for once. Em and I just spent the weekend together in Mumbai (Nadeem was busy wrapping up his Imam report, at last count over a hundred pages), and we're at the brother and sister stage- we both bug each other for fun.

We haven't known how to thank Assef, Doussef, Neelu, and Yakub for all their hospitality. Night after night they have fed and entertained us, housed us, and cared about us. We couldn't have asked for a better home away from home, and I will miss them (especially Yakub, who has been a grandfather or uncle figure to me) all dearly. Eating with forks and knives instead of fingers and chappati will be a poor replacement; like wise I no longer know how to eat over a table, but rather on the floor. And Ishal; what an amazing 15 month old. She had changed so much over the course of the three weeks I was traveling, becoming more energetic, balanced, and playful. I will miss having a toddler around; it reminded me of how far we have all come and how to laugh at the little things. In an attempt to thank them, we are making a fish shaped pinata for ishal to break; there is nothing to truly give nadeem's family, so hopefully this memory will do.

Mumbai was....hectic. Its a huge city on a peninsula, but with little sites and few sit-down resturants. Emily and I spent it walking around and sitting on the rocks by the crashing arabian sea. We visited the tomb of a muslim-afgani mystic, which was in a mosuleum set out on the rocks of the sea, only reachable at low tide. The walk there and back was full of beggars - children, women, and the horribly crippled. Its heart wrenching to have poor children following you the whole walk, begging for change; the low school fees in india are still too much for many lower class families.

The white-washed tomb with multiple piercing spires and domes was less impressive up close, but the fresh sea breeze and view of cargo ships and the coast made it a relaxing place to spend some time away from the rotterdam-esque bazzars and backstreets of Mumbai. There was a blind man standing perched near the mosuleum, wailing some beautiful arabic or hindi tune. His whole body shook and trembled as he held his arms across his chest, his eyelids fluttering over their hollow sockets. This devout blind man was given a gift, even when another was taken from him. His singing image pierced my soul, and the meloncholy, never-ending vocalizations made me think of the sad and beautiful realities of being blind, much less being blind in India.

Cherish every gift you get; not everyone gets a seeing-eye dog.

Midnight Voyage

We've been watching the television all night at Assef's and Neelu's house; this is the first time since I've been here the house television has been on, and this time there are no cricket finals. At 6:45 pm today, bomb blasts started going off in the city. All throughout dinner, we stayed glued to the TV and watched the counts rise. As ofright now (9 pm), there have been a reported 17 blasts and 18 deaths; the political parties are pointing fingers at each other, and various ministers are asking not to point fingers, hoping to quell the possibility of any retalitary attacks.

Less than a week ago, there were 7 or 8 blasts in Bangalore, and two people died. Rithi and her family are just fine; it is still yet to be determined if these attacks are related. We were going to leave for Mumbai tonight, having one more weekend in the city. Needless to say, we aren't leaving.

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I have spend the last few days inside. Doing crosswords, watching the news, sleeping. Im going nuts. Again. We are going to leave for Mumbai tomorrow night, and when we get back, we will be going to Jodhpur and Jaipur a few days after.

There were a total of 17 bomb explosions and 49 deaths; two bombs were planted outside of hospitals to cause even more terror. There seems to be little motive for these blasts; what has been stated refers to the history of tension between hindus and muslims, especially with the 2002 riots in Ahmedabad not that faded into history.

Anyone Else But You

Well, I'm back on the train; 14 hours from Delhi to Veranasi, 4 hours in town, and now 26 hours sitting right where I am. Funny thing - I have not seen or met any Korean people in India until yesterday; the last train ride and this tgrain ride I am in a car surrounded by them. And on the way here, I asked if they had a travel book (I lost mine, if you aren't keeping up), and they did - in Korean.

Veranasi is one huge head trip. It is said Shiva gave puja here (prayed) for twenty years, and so it is a very holy place. The river ganges especially, because it is the source of life and subsistence on the dry, incredbidly flat indian plateau. It is said if you are burned along the banks, you will escape reincarnation and go straight to heaven.

Knowing I would only have a few short hours in town, I stashed my bag in the cloak room and hired a rickshaw wallah who spoke english to show me around. We went first to the Ghats, and to get there one must weave through narrow city streets where women are washing clothing and dishes, men are sitting and spitting paan, you can buy anything one needs for urban life from a 100 different vendors, and cows and water buffalo roam the streats munching on garbage.

The ghats themselves are simply steps leading to the bank of the river, many atimes with a temple or shrine roadside. To truly see the ghats, you need to rent a boat with a guide and some rowers. First leaving shore, you send little floats crafted of leaves afloat, armed with flower petals and butter candles, serving to bless your family upon mother Ganga. As you row upstream, you see women and men washing and little boys diving and swimming, enjoying the water. Among all this are tops of buildings and temple spires; its monsoon season and the lower banks are flooded over 50 feet.

And then it starts to smell wierd, something I can't describe. Giant flames leap from stacks of wood; it was a burning ghat. From 100 feet ashore you can see everything, including the ceremonial positioning of the body on the pyre. After cremation, the ashes are put in a pot and dumped in the river; charred bits of wood and flower petaals had been floating downstream the full boat ride. Not everyone is burned on wood; it is very expensive because after hundreds of years of traditon Veranasi has run out of wood and forest, and so has firewood shipped in. Also, holy and pure people are thrown directly in the river, rather than burned. This includes Sadhus, cildren under 10 (dont know the difference between right and wrong yet), animals (same), and lepers, all have a stone tied to them and thrown in the water. Lastly, those who die by cobra bite are put in the river, but are tied to a banana tree so they float. The cobra is a holy animal because it hangs around Shiva's neck. To be a true Sadhu, one must find a cobra stricken body downstream, and say montras over it. If this is done within 21 days of death, the person is supposed to turn to life.

The holiness of this place is overwhelming, but it is not all Veranasi is famous for - also silk. There is a neighborhood where hundreds of silk handlooms run, it takes 20 days around the clock to make one silk sari. So now I'm broke and headed back to Ahmedabad. I guess I will work for IAVN doing research and putting together a future travel guide, and hopefully learn how to cook something. After that, Rajastan, Delhi, and NY!

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8 pm. I'm going crazy, and there are 20 more hours on this train. I shift between shuffling cards and reading Moby Dick. About an hour ago I hung myself out the traincar door cursing like a pirate at the rapidly passing countryside. Pretending I was at the bow of a ship and claiming to bury my treasure on the remote island of Sri Lanka, this kept me entertained for a good half hour. Ya har!

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11am. Being onan indian train is like going to a chinese resterant for dim sum. Thgere are way too many people, all crammed together wanting a seat. And then people walk up and down the isles all day yelling the food products they are pandering. So maybe its more like a ball game, except you have to share your seat with an unwanted friend. And this too shall pass.

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5pm. The train is running about four hours late; this severely upset me. Im so sick of all this bullshit, this hustle and bustle, being asked by blind men or starving children for change. I miss the comforts of home, and the ignorance to the world's problems that comes with the american way of life. I wonder if Ill ever be able to enjoy it the same way. I think of resturants and grocery stores, and all the luxury and unfathomable service they provide. And I think of water fountains, clean streets, and completely paved roads.

I once asked my parents if we could stop mowing our front lawn. We pay someone alot of money to mow it, and waste alot of water keeping it green in the summer. The answer is obviously no; despite the fact that we use the front lawn only as a farther distance for the mailman to walk or the paperboy to throw, the lawn must be kept in perfect condition. Property values, I was told. It would decrease the value of our neighbors houses, and they could bring up a legal objection. I got it, but it just doesn't make sense. Grass can be cut if a neighbor decides to sell their house. What kind of petty bullshit does suburbia engage in? I think suburban america was invented to occupy the middle class with petty problems; to ignore the larger questions that a meaningful existence asks. Well, its not anything a trip to Home Depot or Bed Bath and Beyond can't fix.

I'm sitting in the doorway of the traincar, with my legs fighting the wind. Its really the simple things that make you happy; the sun beating down on me and the endless fields of crops that zoom by seem like the perfect background to ending my three week lone travel. When you feel like crap, soak up the sun and try to be with the ones you love.

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11pm. Now we aren't getting in until 6 am tomorrow, how long have I been on this train? I passed up dinner thinking I would be in Jamalpur soon. I was near an open door getting some fresh air and being pissed at the 14 hours late train when two policemen (armed with M1 rifles - what americans used in WWI) approach and ask me to return to my bunk. I look around, seeing people scattered everywhere, laugh, and plainly say no.

I don't think this went over well. Alot of conversing in hindi later and looking at my ticket, they left me alone. When I did go back to my bunk, I found out the policemen stopped by and moved the stray man out of my bunk. I was kindof bummed that they walked away and didn't return; I had my cell phone out waiting for them, so I could pretend I was busy. I was going to say I was talking to his mother, and she said to leave me alone. I was really hoping that one would be translated right.

What More Can I Say

I'm back in Delhi, specifically at the Red Fort. I hope to make it to the Jama Masjid and then find some non-indian food before I return to Ahmedabad tonight.

I took an all night bus from Manikaran, and talked most of the time to Matan, my seatmate from Israel. We talked mostly of American politics and foreign policy, and he thinks the upcoming elections are rigged for Mcain. Honestly, a black man named Obama can't be president, he said.

His brother is a conspiracy theorist, and beleives 9/11 was planned by the US government to support a war for oil - and all the paperwork and evidence was destroyed in building 7 of the world trade center complex - apparently not very close to the towers, but it fell anyway. He suggested viewing a documentary called Loose Change, which points to alot of inconsistencies surrounding 9/11.

All I know is that while 45oo US soldiers have died in Iraq, over a million Iraqi civilians have also perished, and the US government tends not to care or acknowledge this. We are selfish assholes, and the world should hate us. Oh wait, they do.

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I'm still in Delhi. I was told at the train station yesterday I need only show up an hour before the train comes, and buy my ticket. So I waste the entire day, taking long meals and drinking beer; I also went to the red fort and jama masjid, but it was fast sightseeing since I had been there before.

Well, I slept in a room about the size of a cot, plus a foot to one side to get in. I slept pretty well, I guess skipping a nights sleep will do that. Today I bought my ticket to Varanasi and went to the zoo. The zoo was pretty good - there were beautiful jaguars and cheetahs. So there was no train to Ahmedabad today, so I could not go until tomorrow and get there the day after, or go to Veranasi for a half day and spend about 42 of 48 hours on a train. This will be a good test of my solitary sanity, because I have been dreaming of company or familiarity for a while now.

I talked to a street vendor last night for a long time; Lakush was selling maps, and for some great reason he decided to sit down and talk instead of continuing to pester people. He was a really great guy and like alot of the not-dirt-poor but not well-off people, he lived elsewhere and traveled to tourist locales. I gave him 50 rupees at som point, and we continued talking. When he got up, he said, "No one just gives me money," and in friendship gave me a map a half an hour before he tried to sell me for 400 rupees.

Really, less well off people don't want your sympathy or your money, they just might want someone to talk to.

The Lovecats

On a separate note, anyone want to go see Wolf Parade in Toronto on sat. August 9th? Tickets arent sold out and it could make for a fun of age weekend.

Do It Again

Today has been incredible. I took a local bus for a few hours from Bhuntar, where I arrived at 3 in the morning and wandered around in the dark (with stray dogs howling and following me), to Manikaran. Buried in the hills of the Parvati valley, the bus drove around steep cliffs where it was a rock face on one side, and a raging brown serpent of a river on the other. Riding atop the bus for the first hour, lurching with the tons of metal going around cliffs, while chatting with locals and feeling the fresh wind in your hair is indescribably awesome. The second hour, when things got steeper, the driver crammed everyone inside. Being packed like sardines is an experience for everyone to have once, and having hindi hip-hop pop blaring as the soundtrack just adds to it.

Upon arrival in Manikaran, I found the a guest house and dropped my stuff and began wandering. Manikaran is famous for its hot springs, and resulting Shiva and Sikh temple. The town is mostly a pilgrimage site, and most of the shops are for devotional objects and food. Sadhus wander the town (religious men who have given up worldly possessions and beg to get by), with a combination of huge wrapped dreadlocks into a cone, or beardlocks, or both.

It is said Parvati and Shiva meditated here for over 11000 years. One day a jewel fell from Parvati's ear into the water of the raging mountain river, and Shiva was furious when his disciples couldn't find it; his third eye opened. At that moment, the king of the serpents appeared, and hissing, brought fourth the jewel, among many others, and the hot water. His anger vanished from this moment. Manikaran is a sanscrit word, deriving from mani - jewel - and karan - ear - , so jewel of the ear - Manikaran. The water is said to have healing powers and ranges in temp from 88 to 94 degrees C. Upon stepping into the temple, one notices people boiling rice and walnuts in the sulfurous hot springs. Upon being blessed and respecting the Shiva statue, you are fed rice cooked in the hot springs. Pilgrims travel all over to collect this water, cook in it, and bathe in it. This is not a western place.
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I wonder if there is an inherent superiority based on being "western," ie european or americans holding mosre wealth than the third world, as defined by the cold war. I realized I just called over my waiter at dinner, and asked him what was being built just outside my mealside window. Once I was told it was to be a new police station, I realized that I 1. expected my waiter to speak english (which he didn't), and 2. expected all my questions to e answered and responded to. Maybe this is not that different from what a waiter does in the states, as wait on the needs of the customer. But somehow to have these miniscule yet spoken demands to my waitstaff was difficult to bear after the fact (currently typing this up, i am laughing at my liberal, overthought, but poignant bullshit).

Who am I to just command around the actions of another? Why are we not in different shoes? why is it I am used to the way the man from atop the bus reacted when he got the answer to his question, How much does it cost to fly from the US to India? I just feel so much guilt about my society. It seems like they invent jobs here for the sole purpose of giving another person employment, not for the work needing to be done. For example, every time a person is shoveling on the side of the road, a rope is attached to the pole, so that another person can tug on it and help with the labor. Is this because work is so strenuous? Or because the men are too weak to do the job, probably from malnutrition? Or is it a way to get someone to participate in society, with little hurt to the investor's pocket?

The US has forgotten about places in the world like this, otherwise it would not let such groveling and brutal poverty continue. Surely in the US, a small fraction of society living in the street the way masses do here would cause a stir. I suppose it is not in our country's responsibility to change such things, but I feel like we have always tried to promote the upward motion of the human standard of living; where is the humanity of being plugged into "24" or "Desparate Housewives" when people struggle to pay 50 cent bus fare to visit their family on holidays?

The power just went out in my resturant, and as I look out, in the entire town as well. Well, a generator just went on, and now the only power and source of light is the Sikh temple.

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Today was beautiful. I woke up late, since I was up in the middle of the night writing and reading the Ramayama. I washed my clothing with a bar of soap in a room with a large in floor tub of hot springs water. It takes over an hour to wash three days' clothes by hand; Im never going to take a washing machine for granted again.

After this I decided to take a hike, and sat set straight up the hillside the town was on after inquiring. There must have been thousands of uneven concrete steps, and the panorama made me feel like I was Frodo climbing to mordor (if I don't get heat for that I'll be disappointed). But really, I felt like a hobbit when I was going up and up hand over hand and foot over foot, trying to keep myself as close to the mountain as possible; my two sides alternated jutting rock face and a precipitous fall, disguised by long green grass and the occasional crop terrace. As I ws passing huge telephone towers and the occasional slate-roofed house, I started to get worried about time. I didn't start my hike until 4 pm, and I had been going uphill for almost two hours. I really wanted to make the top, or at least be able to see into the adjacent ridge.

Well, I got into a flatter area, with alot of little terrace farming patches and eventually stumbled upon three or four slate roof and tin sheeting houses; how the families got the building materials this high, I don't know. I realized this was as far as I was going to make it. There was another summit buried in the clouds which couldn't be seen from ground level; in the next valley was an even higher snow-peaked mountain, its craigy tips only partially visible.

And then a wirey twenty year old popped up next to me holding a tiffin, carrying his dinner. Hotam Ram lived in one of these little houses, and of his two older sisters and two younger brothers, he is the only one in college. Kullu college is 45 km away (not to mention down the hill), and he would go to school for a month and then come home for three or so days. Hotam was really amazing and I respect him emmensley; He said the little village (if you could call it that) I was standing in was named Shushanceri. This translates to cold, cold, long-field agriculture; "Life is hard here" is an understatement. The only income and subsistence is from puny hillside apple trees, wheat terrace farming, and a cow. I gave Hotam my email address, but he hasn't seen a computer since 9th or 10th grade. Hotam wants to be a teacher, "to teach the little ones." His eyes lit up so much when he said this, I pray he achieves this noble but seemingly difficult task, they don't even have internet at his college. Maybe one day I'll hear from him.

The rest of the day wasn't nearly as cool. I hiked down (telling myself, one step at a time, when I could see thousands of meters down a few feet from my footsteps)' and eventually dipped my aching muscles in the hot springs pool of my guest house. Now I'm eating mushroom, olive, and tuna pizza (really good!), and might go shoot some pool.

Back to Ahmedabad in a few days! I think I may stop for a night back in Shimla before going through Delhi to Gujarat. Whooo!!!!!

Welcome to Jamrock

Right now I am sitting waiting for my bus to Bhuntar. From there, supposedly are hotsprings that can boil rice, and beautiful hiks in the Parvati Valley. The ride to the bus stand was great. Dharamsala is actually 5 km from Mcleod Ganj, where the life of the town is. Walking downhill and munching on a sandwich I realized I wouldnt make it to the bus on time. So I flagged down a young looking guy on a scooter. He was out of petrol and couldnt stop if on a flat, but luckily we were on the downhill. Cruising back and forth across the hillside, the huge orange red sun was setting. Rajiv - the guy - said this is why they call it the land of the gods - Jaanat - hindi for heaven.

It was an old scoooter from 95 and it stalled in a passing town where the ground was flat. In restarting the motor and kicking the start, the engine exploded with force and sent the scoooter zooming foreward on a wheelie. Luckily, we survived. But everyone in the street thought we were goners.

Mcleod Ganj was amazing. Less touristy than Manali, the hillside community of Bhagsu offered much more community, and I got to know a handful of people, two guys in particular. Rory was a scottish mate, and him and his band are all traveling separately around India, and then meeting up and writing. He was going to Java in a few weeks, but was using Bhagsu to recharge his batteries. Owen is from Ireland, and was spending a half year in India. Owen I sat next to on the bus from Manali to Dsala, and I originally despised the guy because he was so big. But both of em were lovable, and could drink me under the table. and did.

Bus is really shaky and hot. Im close to the back door, which doesnt close, so its got a breeze. We just went over a huge bump, and I must have been lifted off the seat a foot. And now a woman behind me is gagging and puking out the window. Whoo. I love India.

I think fog rolling over the crest of a mountain is perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It slowly envelops the hillside, unthreatening but unstoppable, a cottonlike blanket to warm the jutting rocks and green hillside.

Well, the fog approached me faster than I thought it would. Soon I found myself huddled under one of the sparce trees my newfound veranda offered. The only comorting thought I had as I was caught in this torrential downpour was that I am incredibly grateful I haven't seen a single bolt of lightning in India. Looking out on the rain, I wondered what I was afraid of. These hills have held the largest raindrops I have ever seen, and the rain comes and goes like the drop of a curtain. Yet I realized I was missing an opportunity. I came to this outlook in the middle of two dividing green mountain ridges to drink a bottle of beer and watch the sunset.

So I stepped out (leaving the secondhand book I bought under the tree) into the rain. It seemed that almost immediately a rainbow burst out over the left ridge. It semed like the arc was a magical rasta flag with its read yellow and green lines painting the sky. Ank I watched as this extended all the way into a full bow, with each colorul end tucked behind a steep and precipitous green line that cut the skyline distinctly.

Out of the edge of my vision I saw red. The fog and haze was slowly turning into gorgeous cumulous clouds being painted in red sunshine. As the sun set over the right ridge, I turned to watch the shapely clouds illuminated. Turning back on the rainbow was tough, but it was fading anyway. Simply amazing. Directly in front of my vision, the two ridges met with flat ground to show the underlying lowlands, the eye drawn to it by a meandering brown stram which seemed to weave its own particular path. I could see layers upon layers of clouds; those above me , those I was envelped in, and lower-lying horozontal stretches. As I turned to my right as the scene was shifting again, I was shocked.

You know, today was a bad day. I meandered around town, contemplating my self doubt and with no real purpose but to wait and see what fate holds for mee in the next few days (moving on, being inspired to do something radical, or to continue wandering in this small mountain town). And this was seemingly unreal, like something larger than myself was reassuring me. Crystal white and erie-ly large and up close was the moon, peering down among the clouds and the remaining half rainbow. Try as I might, no words deserve this moment. And at some point the rain had stopped.

I have to say I am firmly attatched to material objects. Not that I expected not to be, but it is still hard to face when one realizes how much worthless objects can mean. Two nights ago, on a wild saturday night drinking adventure with Israelis, I lost my camera, scarf, and travel book; all three extremely important to me for extremely different reasons. Im afraid to leave Dharamsala, as I know nothing about where I would go. And I dont know what to do about my camera, I have retraced all my steps, along with convincing myself since it was a serious camera, it would be the last I bought for a long time.

As a sidenote, there is an excellent dread-mullet sitting next to me right now in the Haifa cafe.

More on this in the future, but the Tibetan population is seriously oppressed here. Over 1.2 million tibetans have been killed or tortured by the chinese government, and the population has a 2000 year independent history of china, which has been retaken in the last 60 years by the People's Republic of China. Additionally,the second in command to the dalai laman the Panchen Lama (born in 1989=under 20 yrs old) was abducted by the chinese government in 1995 and has not been heard from since. You think about it.

Ridin' Dirrty

Dharamsala is cold. and foggy. and israeli.

Last night (or the night before?) the bus was supposed to get into town at 7 am. I guess we took the shortcut through the mountains, because we arrived at 3 am. unloading our stuff and no cafes or boarding houses being open, an american (yours truly), a scot, an irishman, an indian, and an israeli sat down to a game of cards in the middle of the street, while a japanese couple and dutch couple watched. As time passed, it got lighter and friendlier, probably due to the shared exhaustion and multiple bottles of bad indian whiskey.

And all of a sudden, Will, from Yorkshire, England, comes stumbling onto our band of renegades. He was wandering through town, as whatever he was on was wearing off. He stopped and chatted for a couple of minutes, mostly of the magic of sacred geometry (everything is made of it!). He has been around town for two months, and i always seem to see this tattered figure wherever I go.

And when i stumbled into a cafe for a cup of coffee before hitting the sack at 8 am, riding dirty came on the soundsystem. yes.

I've decided to go trekking. It involves mountains, a guide, and some horses carrying your stuff. We'll see how it goes.

Lonesome Day Blues

Ahm peacing out of Manali.

Overall a great experience. I feel as if I am finally at peace spending time with myself. At first, traveling was difficult; my mind racing against unwinnable thoughts. What am I doing? Where do I want do go? All this kind of bullshit thats not really bullshit if you are twenty, alone, and have enough time to slow down and think. All of this, I owe in part to Evan.

My second night in Manali (of three total), I walked into a rooftop cafe and joined a dreadlocked dude who didn't have any company. We start talking, and to be honest it was clear that Evan was a smart and satisfied guy. Being 39, and a cab driver from australia, I wondered. But he said he spent all day shuttling around well-off people who thought their lives were shit, and who had everything. The anynomity of the cab gives people 15 to 20 minutes to unburden all their problems on a sociable and empathetic cab driver, and Evan helped me alot. Maybe only because I wanted to hear him more than talk my self. When talking about worldviews, visions of self and community, acheivement, girls, and happiness, he had many insights, and said he had seen along many of the same lines at one point or another. He said that like himself, he was enlightened (or as I think of it, burdened) as being a thinker (I hope this doesn't sound pompous) to be a thinker, and that the best medicine was reflection. Forget TV or drugs. Those are just instant changes of perspective, whereas real changes of perspective (what we all desire) are much slower.

Normally I wake up groggily and feeling like going back to sleep; I think this is an effect of a seemingly mundane existence which we can get caught up in. Its like when we do something repetitive, we get sleepy, and even the mention of going out or doing something more preferable wakes us right up. Anyway, the following morning I woke up, and was awake immediately. Honestly one of the first times this has happened in a long time, and I hope to remember this perspective on tiredness.

So what have I been doing? Well, I saw two 500 year old temples, one on top of a treacherous hill. The other was swarming with tourist touts selling junk and old women clutching very furry rabbits, which are subsequently shoved in your arms in demand for rupees. I guess holding a really fuzzy moving white ball is worth paying for. I also checked out an amazing Tibetan gompa with a 25 foot high bronze statue of buddha inside. The building itself was being meticulously hand repainted, and it is incredible to think that this seemingly impossible task must be undergone a couple times a decade, for the last 300 years, due to the damp and varying climate here. I also found the natural hot springs, funneled into pools for each sex in a temple. Excruciatingly hot, the sulfurous water was bearable only after a half hour of wading and receding. Being a mix of Western and Israeli tourists, screaming local children, and derobed tibetan monks, it was a great place to take a soak, with an open roof looking onto the beautiful sky.

So I've met some cool people, locals and Israelis (which are everywhere, half the guest house signs are in hebrew), and read and am learning how to enjoy not doing everything. For those of you who don't know me, I am a perfectionist and an overacheiver, and have been fighting the impulses these traits bring for the past year or so, and Manali is certainly helping. However, I don't think I'm going to spend a month sitting in one of the cafe's smoking a chillum like some people do; vacations here start brief and turn to an elongated, hazy stay (at least for the Israelis). I had a jacket made here; with tailoring and how I wanted it, it cost only about 12 dollars (which is still kindof a ripoff in India, but this town is 100% tourist economy).

The outlying areas are very tibetan, and they rely off of hash production or apricot and apple harvesting. An amazingly meager lifestyle, especially in direct comparison to the tourists. And many of the shop owners here are from Rajastan or Kashmere, who come from May to October, leaving their families behind in order to make some money here. One kid had high hopes to study abroad, but being the oldest in his family and working in Manali at the age of 16 to help bring stability to life in Kashmere, it was hard to take chai with him and stay optimistic, and then turn to more jovial topics.

Blah, my ipod's almost dead. And I am at least a week from being able to chare it.

Bouncing Around the Room

This morning I woke up with the intention of rolling out of bed and being at the Jakhu temple bright and early so as to see the Himalayan panorama before the clouds gathered. So of course I rolled over at 10 am. AFter taking a shower and cursing myself, I started on the trek up the mountain. Figuring it would be a short excursion, I ate a few handfuls of peanuts and downed some water before setting off.

Knowing that the temple was at the crest of a 2500 meter hill, at some point I left the road and started climbing a well-worn path. Well, eventually the path led to an uphill outcropping of shoddy houses. On asking a man, who was carrying a large bowl/tray of vegetables on his head, I followed a much more overgrown path uphill. As I continued to crisscross uphill through the lush, wet shrubbery and trees where the hill could provide some dirt and enough flat space to grow, I started to wonder. It was obvious this was not the normal way up, and I started to worry I would end up on a different peak. Still, I had seen few other ways of reaching the top, so this had to be right.

Finally I saw a red flag over the crest of green. Then a red roof, and then the concrete walls of a building. And then the road. If I had justed stayed on it, I would have had a quick, leisurely stroll to the top like everyone else. But I like the way I came. It was reclusive, exhilarating, and made the sights to come well-earned.

AFter removing my shoes, I started to explore the compound. First off, its covered in monkeys everywhere. Monkeys sleeping, nursing their babies, and monkeys peskering visitors for dried cickpeas. The temple itself is said to hold the footprints of Hanuman, commander in cheif of the monkey army that helped RAma is his struggle against the demon Ravana, all entailed in the Ramayana. And so naturally it should be a respite and hotbed for these baller animals.

Well anyway, I was stooped down taking a photo of a statue, when all of a sudden I find myself bellowing, offbalanced, and mysteriously seeing the world distincly fuzzier. A monkey ran up and stole the glasses right off my face! When I was warned that they were a pest, I guess I didn't really understand. Anyway, after consultinga guard and with his help, I bought some chickpeas, and looked for the monkey, a needle in a haystack, especially with everything looking like I was wearing those drunk goggles from health class in high school. Well I found him, perched in a tree. With some coaxing and alot of help from my uniformed friend I got my specs back; It was clear he had done this before (the monkey and the guard).

The temple itself is a whole 'nother experience, upon climbing stairs and ringing an overhead bell, you enter a colorful carpeted room full of Hanuman images, and an ornate shrine in the middle. Two holy men are sitting in front, one ferrying offerings into the sanctuary, which is adorned with multiple statues, gold and brass bowls, flower struings, among the burning oil lamps. The other was conducting ritual blessings upon visitors. AFter going through the motions, I wanted to leave quickly to not lose anything else to the monkeys. Well after talking to a few people ( a man who had been planning to visit the temple for 40 years, and some Indian boy scouts) I scurried down the mountain being famished. And somehow I came down the mountain the wrong direction. Smooth.

So finally I sit in a cafe, munching on a veggie burger and sprite, in bliss. When I'm starving, indian food just doesn't cut it. And to make me fel more at home, a phish tape just came on. I guess I am doing something right. So I am going to find a bus ticket to Minali and split tonight.

The region I will be traveling through tonight -- the Kullu valley, is surrounded by impressive valleys on each side, and served as one of the only trade routs between central asia and the northern plains of india, and has been invaded by most major rulers from the north and south, for owning the Rohtang pass (3987 m) means significant trade between china and india and the right to tax it. Today the economy revolves around apple and cannabis production, most of which is done by tibetan refugees in the area. The locals wear topis, the square wool hats of old. And the tibetans (most having arrived from exile in the 50s and 60s) spend their meager income from tenant farming on expensive sliver and turquoise jewelry, fancy headscarves, and other adorning items, which somehow I learned is part of a rare continuation of tibetan buddhism and its practices.

thats all for now, stories to come.

Glory Box

I have a question -- where are the violent problems of India? Yes, in 2002 there were religious riots in Gujarat (which I will talk about another time) but there are so many that are not well-off and still so few security problems.

In the United States, poverty leads to alternative sources of income, some of those being illegitimate. Drug dealing, stealing, and gambling are huge problems in the states. In fact gambling is the fastest-rising addiction in the US, and in many ways (similar to the lottery, a form of gambling) is reverse taxation; the less fortunate are more likely to risk their strained assets than that of the upper-middle or middle class.

Drug dealing, too, is a huge problem, especially among the urban poor. While studies have shown that drug use is equal across economic and racial barriers, those who turn to drug dealing as a living tend to be of lower status. I don't understand; is it an American cultural attribute that leads to high drug use? Drugs are used in India for religious and recreational purposes. In Rajastan, food and drink enhanced with cannabis, Bhang, is widely available and used. And I have seen a large share of clothing adorned with the cannabis sativa leaf, alluding to its use among the youth (and for once, refreshingly, these symbols are not connected to bob marley in any way).

And the third avenue of wrongdoing I have mentioned, stealing. Some American poor resort to crime as a fix to dire financial problems. The United States has a population of under 350 million, and yet it has the largest per person incarceration rate. Now India has over 1 billion people living on its subcontinent. Given, India could be split up into multiple countries (it has over 22 official languages and 12oo dialects), but the population living under one dollar per day (general world standards for poverty) exceeds 260 million as of 2006. And yet these individuals that compose a fifth of the population cause little stir. Sure they are groveling on the street, or working as shoeshiners, bicycle rickshaw wallahs, or nut vendors. But they aren't resorting to these vices (although alcoholism is on the rise in India, despite limited accessability) or criminal behavior.

Is it cultural differences? Has the 4000 year history of the Indian civilization led to a self respect and humility that has not developed in North America in the last 300 years? Or do the basic tenets of capitalism (a much larger force in American history than Indian history) lead to an unstoppable greed or necessity that overcomes morality? Or perhaps the social welfare state is much more present in India (I don't think it is)? I don't have the answers, but these are just thoughts that have been spinning lately.

On another note, Shimla feels more like a european city than resembling the other indian cities I've experienced. Being the capital of Himanchal Pradesh, I'm sure this accounts for some of the organization and street cleanliness. However, the state gov't certainly isn't well off - the gov't buildings and state library are pathetic.
Everyone spends the last third of the day strolling in the town ambience, enjoying the communal atmosphere. Marble and brick and pavement cover all that isn't hilly green; there is a complete absence of dirt and dust. And everyone is dressed in button downs, sweater vests, or stylish t-shirts. Perhaps its too cold up here for the poor to grovel and live without shelter. But this is a whole different side of India I have yet to see.

All The Small Things

So my sanity is at risk; I left my ipod charger at home, and had been charging it through my computer. Now that I am on my own and separated from my computer, I have about 5 hours of listening for the next two weeks. Its kind of sad to need it, but I'm traveling alone and all that jazz. And in case you haven't figured it out, the blog titles are songs that come up on shuffle -- and yes I still have a love for blink 182.
One of the only other times I listened to my ipod was on the metro. Dancing, doing a little white boy shuffle, as I waited for a train got looks. But you know what, I think they were jealous of my sweet moves. And I get looks anyway, sowhy not?

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(A few days ago).... This has been a completely unreal, normal, crazy, rational day. Again I find myself sitting on a train, one of the few awake. The crack in the window provides a great nighttime breeze to ease one into sleep, as the countryside, illuminated only by traincar windows, goes zooming by.

Emotions are temporary, and on this journey I must learn to realize that and therefore come to terms with in the moment happenings. Right now for example. There is a beautiful young baby curled against her mother sleeping; only a few hours ago I was miserable from the wailing. Now it seems so unreasonable to harness those thoughts as it is of course part of traveling.
Or take the man sitting on the end of my reserved bunk. This bench is mine; I as well as he knows that. But I'm sure he has an unreserved seat, and I don't want to make him sleep on the floor, like the people I walked over to use the loo. I don't "need" all my legroom, and if he is happily slumped over himself, so be it.

Today I treated myself and three others to the best and cheapest food I have had yet. Wandering Jamalpur and not wanting to eat candy, fruit, or raw veggies I ducked into one of the resturants (dhabas) lining the street. On the left as you enter is a man on an elevated platform, scooping food out of huge copper pots onto plates. Its blazingly hot, as to the right a man is spinning an firing roti (flat bread), practically sitting on the tandoori oven, and then expertly fishing out the bread with two long metal pokers.

I handed the guy a 50 rs note and waved at the change, figuring I would feed someone else too. The man waves in three hunger squatters who can't afford lunch, and hands them a plate full of food. Inside, two little boys continued to ferry me roti, daal and rice. Every time I said baas (enough), they brought more food. I was confused, but continued to stuff myself. Note to self: Busy, grubby looking resturants are that way because they serve the best food on the block.

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In Delhi...

I have no idea where I am. I signed into a hotel near the biggest mosque I have ever seen. It took me over two hours to find the place, but my room has a great view of the Jama Masjid. I spent the afternoon exploring the red fort - built by the Muhgols in the 1400s. It was beautiful and a true testament to the empire's power. Now I sit in a western resturant, thinging about going out. I have explored using the metro, which is great. So when I ordered dinner I asked about three different dishes, and then chose one. The staff proceeded to bring me all three, and Im proud to say I struggled throuh 2 and a half of em.

Next Day:

I tripped over a sheep laying on the pavement as I came out of the hotel today. wow. I traveled across town and bought an overnight bus ticket to Shimla, 10 hours away. Its in the foothills of the himalayas, and was the summer capital for the british. Its supposed to be an interesting mix of tibetan and raj influences. I also prayed in the huge mosque today, and went up one of the minarets; the view of delhi was impressive, but I was not impressed with delhi. There is so much pollution that you cannot see that far, and it seems to be mostly sprawl development with little zoning. And I just got back from the bazaar, which truly comes alive at night. Stores selling shoes, clothing, food, and just about everything that is used for everyday urban life, spilling out onto the street. Add in animals, motorcycles, beggars, and people chewing and spitting paan everywhere, and you just might start to get the picture.
I was hanging out and talking to a paan wallah (chewing tobacco worker), and he made me a sweet one. They wrap betel nuts, coconut, and a mix of spices in a leaf, which you stick in your cheek and chew. You can swallow the sweet ones, but with tobacco you spit it out, which is where the red stains all over the pavement come from.

And I was in a bar earlier nursing a large kingfisher and reading about Jainism, and celine dion coms on the sound system. I burst out laughing, and the few people around me are confused. I guess titanic theme music is taken seriously worldwide, because I have heard this song in multiple bars. I'm going to start a tally of celine dion songs i hear here (not counting nadeem's ipod). Also, I have heard enrique eglesias played three times in the last half hour.
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Now Im in Shimla...... its awesome. The city is on the edge of a hill, and the lower valleys are enveloped in fog. I pray it clears, but in the meantime I'll wander the bazaars and do some reading. There is a famous temple to Hanuman (king of the monkeys, helped Rama win an important battle in the epic Ramayana), a 40 minute hike uphill. The town is swarming with monkeys, no one here notices, but they are like the dogs or goats of Shimla. Im going to wake up early tomorrow, take the hike to the temple which supposedly is swarming with monkeys.

And its the Fourth of July! im going to go find some fireworks and be an idiot in the middle of town tonight.