Three weeks into my trip (read "trip", no drugs needed) I was at the Patna airport. My question to the ticket agent: "What is your next flight to pretty much anywhere out of India, preferably Thailand or Hawaii, someplace with internet access where I can update my blog and no one will be the wiser?"
One week after that: Oh my Brahma, one more month will not be sufficient. Oh no way. This is way too fun and painful in a good way. Now I am grooving and jiving to the India I thought I was expecting.
With less than one week to go, I was getting ready for the In-N-Out and lasagna. I must admit.
Now three weeks back in USA, I wish I were there. India calls "Coconut, with chicken-like skin, come home to us."
I liked my India problems. As we say in the geology world, "the worst day in the field is better than the best day in the office."
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Combing all this out
Water
So. Here I am in USA. Walked off the Cathay Pacific aeroplane gangplank. Gangplank - what a description for entering the airport. And entering the aeroplane. Shiva on a lingam. Get me outta here.
So the first object I spy is a water fountain stuck on a wall. "Oh my, a water fountain. Jeez, what the hell is that? Holy crimeny, what can I do? Drink out of that? Is it safe? Is it safe?" (visions of the dentist, Dustin Hoffman, Running Man, amoebic dysentery). Then I realize I'm in the USA. I can slurp away at the fountain of chlorinated water. I even remember my usual paradigm: Press button, let water blast any luggies out of the pipes into the drain, and voila, nice, fresh, water-board-regulated clean water. Oh so much faith I have in our public works.
Yummy.
Pleasanton
Where the living hell am I? I'm died and gone to the Muslim world of 77 virgins (or is it 72? Inflation you know). Clear roads. Almost mausoleum quiet. Trees lining the streets. People talking on cell phones - I need to lean in to make out their conversations. Citizens dressed the same. No flowing saris. Kinda miss the colors. Since it's cold I haven't seen the usual California low-riser jeans with tight shirts and female form that I've been been starved of. Amazing, didn't know how much I missed that. Not! Had to say "not" - sorry.
I almost went into an agoraphobic, anxiety panic attack. When are all the people? The people have been snatched away by the neutron bomb. I feel exposed, no warm bodies to hide amongst. Not even the crazy anoyance of being "pushed" out of line or having 50 cabbies rush me at the airport. I haven't even whipped out my Lonely Planet once. Don't need to, I feel lonely.
Although I am in the presence in loving and caring family and that makes up for the crush of hordes of unknown, un-named people. Very awesome.
What next?
Sleeping. Try that when there has been two months of constant auditory input. How do you get this experience? Set up a tent next to a railroad switching yard, but it needs to be near an active land fill with Cat D-11 dozers working the fill, and under the approach path of an airport, but don't forget to add the downtown financial district of New York's taxis and people. Then rapidly, like the vaudville movie dude pulling the table cloth from under the plates, wine , and silverwave, you are plunked into nice, pink cotton candy. Brain turns to "what do I do next?" Gotta get outta here!"
Solution: Sleep with the iPod radio on (because the earplugs create a brain-sensory deprivation chamber), turn on the flashing computer screen saver, open the windows with a view to the sky and the distant din of train clacks and horns. Now, ahh, peace and calmness and few anti-anxiety pills and sleep comes naturally at 11 am in the morning.
So. Here I am in USA. Walked off the Cathay Pacific aeroplane gangplank. Gangplank - what a description for entering the airport. And entering the aeroplane. Shiva on a lingam. Get me outta here.
So the first object I spy is a water fountain stuck on a wall. "Oh my, a water fountain. Jeez, what the hell is that? Holy crimeny, what can I do? Drink out of that? Is it safe? Is it safe?" (visions of the dentist, Dustin Hoffman, Running Man, amoebic dysentery). Then I realize I'm in the USA. I can slurp away at the fountain of chlorinated water. I even remember my usual paradigm: Press button, let water blast any luggies out of the pipes into the drain, and voila, nice, fresh, water-board-regulated clean water. Oh so much faith I have in our public works.
Yummy.
Pleasanton
Where the living hell am I? I'm died and gone to the Muslim world of 77 virgins (or is it 72? Inflation you know). Clear roads. Almost mausoleum quiet. Trees lining the streets. People talking on cell phones - I need to lean in to make out their conversations. Citizens dressed the same. No flowing saris. Kinda miss the colors. Since it's cold I haven't seen the usual California low-riser jeans with tight shirts and female form that I've been been starved of. Amazing, didn't know how much I missed that. Not! Had to say "not" - sorry.
I almost went into an agoraphobic, anxiety panic attack. When are all the people? The people have been snatched away by the neutron bomb. I feel exposed, no warm bodies to hide amongst. Not even the crazy anoyance of being "pushed" out of line or having 50 cabbies rush me at the airport. I haven't even whipped out my Lonely Planet once. Don't need to, I feel lonely.
Although I am in the presence in loving and caring family and that makes up for the crush of hordes of unknown, un-named people. Very awesome.
What next?
Sleeping. Try that when there has been two months of constant auditory input. How do you get this experience? Set up a tent next to a railroad switching yard, but it needs to be near an active land fill with Cat D-11 dozers working the fill, and under the approach path of an airport, but don't forget to add the downtown financial district of New York's taxis and people. Then rapidly, like the vaudville movie dude pulling the table cloth from under the plates, wine , and silverwave, you are plunked into nice, pink cotton candy. Brain turns to "what do I do next?" Gotta get outta here!"
Solution: Sleep with the iPod radio on (because the earplugs create a brain-sensory deprivation chamber), turn on the flashing computer screen saver, open the windows with a view to the sky and the distant din of train clacks and horns. Now, ahh, peace and calmness and few anti-anxiety pills and sleep comes naturally at 11 am in the morning.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Four
The first number to the answer of life, the universe, and everything. 42. Now this is weirdly ticklish. A bit apprehensive. A bit of yearning for more adventure. A bit just knowing I won't see these guys hauling a half-ton of bricks and rebar on a cart. By hand. Up hill.
A bit of wondering what changes the USA has gone through. What has the economy done to the landscape? are people hiding out in rubble with shotguns? Has Starbucks lowered the blast shields. Are the red evil devil eyes staring out? Now more lattes. The take over has begun.
What changes has the office gone through. How do I walk through the door of AECOM? Just like normal, sit down, get to work like no one's business. Hey, how come you're all here so early? I will miss thinking about how we could do projects here. Try writing a health and safety plan - just for crossing the street! That would be 3-inches thick on its own. Yeah, I don't so.
How long before India wears of? Maybe never? Part of it will never do that.
4 days.
Tomorrow I venture into Corbett Tiger Reserve. I understand the tiger sightings are up. The elephants are on the move. Matt will put on the anti-chicken smell and the anti-coconut shine. Kinda like the appendages and various pieces and parts I was born with. The jeeps are open to the air. At least the tigers are as lazy as AIG execs on a Palm Springs rejuvenation junta - on your tax dollars.
Where I am now is a little city called Ramangar. Noisy a f%#@. Near here is Corbett park named after Jim Corbett. He was the dude mostly responsible for "containing" the Man Eaters (I almost made a funny and said naan eaters) to the area now know as the Reserve. And that's exactly what was happening. The Man Eaters were surreptitiously slinking out of the jungle and dining on the local naan eaters. They didn't it was so funny. So in comes Jimmy-boy with his 416 Rigby and does a bit of crowd control. Subsequent to this success, India established one of it's first natural reserves here to study tigers, elephants, etc...
I'll let all y'all know how it goes. It may be a whirlwind what with the all day safari on Sunday and two half-day safaris on Monday. Then a train on Monday night. Then mostly sitting on my ass Tuesday in Delhi. I'll give it a go at uploading some photos. It's been a Parvati trying to do so.
Well, I'm going back to my mango grove guest house. I'm going to relax. Lounge on my bed. No, perhaps just sit at the bench and drink chai.
Ciao USA dudes and dudettes.
Love and naan and steak.
A bit of wondering what changes the USA has gone through. What has the economy done to the landscape? are people hiding out in rubble with shotguns? Has Starbucks lowered the blast shields. Are the red evil devil eyes staring out? Now more lattes. The take over has begun.
What changes has the office gone through. How do I walk through the door of AECOM? Just like normal, sit down, get to work like no one's business. Hey, how come you're all here so early? I will miss thinking about how we could do projects here. Try writing a health and safety plan - just for crossing the street! That would be 3-inches thick on its own. Yeah, I don't so.
How long before India wears of? Maybe never? Part of it will never do that.
4 days.
Tomorrow I venture into Corbett Tiger Reserve. I understand the tiger sightings are up. The elephants are on the move. Matt will put on the anti-chicken smell and the anti-coconut shine. Kinda like the appendages and various pieces and parts I was born with. The jeeps are open to the air. At least the tigers are as lazy as AIG execs on a Palm Springs rejuvenation junta - on your tax dollars.
Where I am now is a little city called Ramangar. Noisy a f%#@. Near here is Corbett park named after Jim Corbett. He was the dude mostly responsible for "containing" the Man Eaters (I almost made a funny and said naan eaters) to the area now know as the Reserve. And that's exactly what was happening. The Man Eaters were surreptitiously slinking out of the jungle and dining on the local naan eaters. They didn't it was so funny. So in comes Jimmy-boy with his 416 Rigby and does a bit of crowd control. Subsequent to this success, India established one of it's first natural reserves here to study tigers, elephants, etc...
I'll let all y'all know how it goes. It may be a whirlwind what with the all day safari on Sunday and two half-day safaris on Monday. Then a train on Monday night. Then mostly sitting on my ass Tuesday in Delhi. I'll give it a go at uploading some photos. It's been a Parvati trying to do so.
Well, I'm going back to my mango grove guest house. I'm going to relax. Lounge on my bed. No, perhaps just sit at the bench and drink chai.
Ciao USA dudes and dudettes.
Love and naan and steak.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Bugs with little wings
Rishikesh again.
Oh yeah, some Beatles fans may be aware of the Rishikesh connection to the Beatles and the White Album. Kinda cool to see the ashram where they composed the lyrics. Walked out to the end of the road where the monkeys threated to eat me. I snapped a few pix. I'll upload later when the I-net shop isn't closing.
History can be Awesome to stand where major events occurred.
Anyway, ciao.
Oh yeah, some Beatles fans may be aware of the Rishikesh connection to the Beatles and the White Album. Kinda cool to see the ashram where they composed the lyrics. Walked out to the end of the road where the monkeys threated to eat me. I snapped a few pix. I'll upload later when the I-net shop isn't closing.
History can be Awesome to stand where major events occurred.
Anyway, ciao.
Lions, Tigers, and Elephants, oh my
To my loyal followers and commenter's; and loyal lurkers - I know you're out there.
Take a look at your fingers and toes. Wiggle them around. Yummy aren't they? It think tigers think so also.
Remember the carnival ride at the local county fair? The fair where you wondered how many times the Ferris wheel had been set up and how many bolts were missing? Then that scary carnie guy would say "keep your arms and legs in until the ride is over." Yeah, no shit Sherlock.
Well, I will be venturing into a park where you'd be a dumb ass to even attempt poking your finger out the window. Remember the SF zoo? The tigers that escaped and tracked down exactly the jackass that taunted it and threw stuff at it? And then ate that kid?
For my final India stop I figured why not take Shrikant's advice - it's been pretty spot-on so far, almost like he lived here before, or something like that - and am heading waaay, waaay, waaay deep into the inner reaches of wild, wild Corbett Tiger Reserve. According to Sanjeev Mehta (Mohan), of Mohan's Adventure Travels, the tiger sighting have been pretty good right now. Right on! That's Hot!
Tigers. Not in a cage. Not in a zoo. Just tigers being tigers doing whatever tigers do. Hopefully not gnawing off my arm. But that's what tigers can do. Omnivores. No, opportunivores.
I depart on the 7th at 7, more on channel 7. This will be a 6 to 7 hour jeep ride. Then day one (the 8th) is two half-day safari-lets. We go into two separate parts of the park - just to see what's there. Day two (the 9th) is, ta-da, two more half-day safari-lets.
I hired a tour guide. Why? Trying to plan Corbett myself was making me pull my coconut fir off my head. Just calling the hotels and guest houses was comedy - I'd call and ask, "DO YOU HAVE ACCOMMODATION FOR ONE PERSON ON SATURDAY?" I hear back, "WHAT, HELLO?" Then click. This would happen 3, 4, 5 times over 2 days. I finally realized, hire a professional - they are only a credit card away! Who knows when I'll be back in these here parts?
In the evening of the 9th I bust a move to the Ramnagar train station for the 2140 pm train, overnight to Delhi. That silly train arrives at an hilarious time on the 10th at 0430 am. One taxi ride (probably cost 5,000 rupees) to my hotel near the Delhi Int'l Aeroport. Then it's check-out at vampire time - and uphill from there.
What's cool about my aeroplane ride? I leave at 0340 am on Wed 11th. I arrive SFO 1000 am on Wed 11th. In total, my flight will take 6 hours and 20 minutes - hear it's a vicious tail wind.
Squeezing my India experience to the max. Must run like a Swiss watch. Professionals.
Take a look at your fingers and toes. Wiggle them around. Yummy aren't they? It think tigers think so also.
Remember the carnival ride at the local county fair? The fair where you wondered how many times the Ferris wheel had been set up and how many bolts were missing? Then that scary carnie guy would say "keep your arms and legs in until the ride is over." Yeah, no shit Sherlock.
Well, I will be venturing into a park where you'd be a dumb ass to even attempt poking your finger out the window. Remember the SF zoo? The tigers that escaped and tracked down exactly the jackass that taunted it and threw stuff at it? And then ate that kid?
For my final India stop I figured why not take Shrikant's advice - it's been pretty spot-on so far, almost like he lived here before, or something like that - and am heading waaay, waaay, waaay deep into the inner reaches of wild, wild Corbett Tiger Reserve. According to Sanjeev Mehta (Mohan), of Mohan's Adventure Travels, the tiger sighting have been pretty good right now. Right on! That's Hot!
Tigers. Not in a cage. Not in a zoo. Just tigers being tigers doing whatever tigers do. Hopefully not gnawing off my arm. But that's what tigers can do. Omnivores. No, opportunivores.
I depart on the 7th at 7, more on channel 7. This will be a 6 to 7 hour jeep ride. Then day one (the 8th) is two half-day safari-lets. We go into two separate parts of the park - just to see what's there. Day two (the 9th) is, ta-da, two more half-day safari-lets.
I hired a tour guide. Why? Trying to plan Corbett myself was making me pull my coconut fir off my head. Just calling the hotels and guest houses was comedy - I'd call and ask, "DO YOU HAVE ACCOMMODATION FOR ONE PERSON ON SATURDAY?" I hear back, "WHAT, HELLO?" Then click. This would happen 3, 4, 5 times over 2 days. I finally realized, hire a professional - they are only a credit card away! Who knows when I'll be back in these here parts?
In the evening of the 9th I bust a move to the Ramnagar train station for the 2140 pm train, overnight to Delhi. That silly train arrives at an hilarious time on the 10th at 0430 am. One taxi ride (probably cost 5,000 rupees) to my hotel near the Delhi Int'l Aeroport. Then it's check-out at vampire time - and uphill from there.
What's cool about my aeroplane ride? I leave at 0340 am on Wed 11th. I arrive SFO 1000 am on Wed 11th. In total, my flight will take 6 hours and 20 minutes - hear it's a vicious tail wind.
Squeezing my India experience to the max. Must run like a Swiss watch. Professionals.
Oh yeah, this is New Age
Rishikesh.
The very heart and soul of India's yoga studying, meditation realization, Ayurvedic massage, satsang rejoicing, ashram visiting, and general OM-ing. And the Indians have the Western mindset accurately and precisely pegged. I am impressed with their industriousness and ability to survive in an area where otherwise there might be little more than a few ghats near a bend in the River Ganga.
And for some clarification: Ganga is the RIVER and Ganja, well, you smoke it. Bang is what your tire does when it pops. Bhang is what makes your mind pop when you drink it. Both are probably best avoided as India provides quite enough mind-altering experience. I think I might otherwise go insane and float down the River Ganga after drinking a big Bhang Lassi while smoking Ganja - all the way to the Bay of Bengal.
OK - I will preface this by saying a few things. First, I try to have an open mind for the experience. Just be. Absorb the place. The people. The sights and sounds. The beautiful river. Tons of Europeans, Aussies, Israelis, Japanese and Chinese (to clarify Asian) partaking in spiritual and holistic modalities of self-improvement. I agree and live part of this life myself. That is when I'm not partaking of eating meat, such murder, but such delicious murder. Oh, and my Scotch. Why does the world of OM have to exclude the highest food group from holistic ways? Vegetables are good. I like vegetables. I eat vegetables. Tasty. Yum. But cows eat vegetables. Cows digest vegetables. We eat cows. Therefore, we eat concentrated vegetables. And there would be fewer cow pies on the street to slip, trip, and fall. Fewer health hazards as we yogis and yoginis exit our yoga classes, barely able to stand on wobbly legs. "Oh, these legs? Yeah, I think those are my legs." Although I kinda like that set of legs over there better...
So I'm staying at this Omkarananda Ganga Sadan guest house. Yes, my first ashram stay! NO! It's actually only a guest house that's attached to an ashram - so the rules are a bit relaxed. No shoes, no alcohol (except the 14-yr single-malt I smuggled in), no meat, generally be nice, and the Iyengar class is totally full - all week - so sorry about all your problems:) Hey, the rooms are nice, the two bathrooms are shared amongst the Sadan floor dwellers. Ok, dig.
Details, details, details days later. I take a few Ashtanga yoga classes. Mornings have felt this good very rarely. It's like an internal Himalaya. Beautiful recharge.
Then here is the second part of my observation: A growing, gnawing, what Angelica (at Cafe Madrid) calls "Angry Matt" starts to emerge. The New Age trinkets for sale are overbearing. Shivas. Ganeshas. Natarajas. Buddhas. OM Hare Hare music. OM Shivaya music. Bells. Singing bowls. Who knows what else. Stuff. Motorbikes going 40 kph across the FOOTbridge honking their presence - and fuckall if you don't move out of the way. So I basically started cussing at the BDLDMFs and waving my arms at their heads. Slowed 'em a bit. Made me feel better. I don't think I slept for 3 nights due to the crazy roar outside my window each night. Yelling. Coughing. Singing. Autorickshaws. Trucks. Honking. Hot in my room. Open the window. Dust in my mouth.
I'm filling my Cipro bottle with single-malt just to calm my nerves. Prescription bottle. Just changed the contents.
Now here's the rub: Perhaps this place, this Rishikesh, this place that is the New Age heart and soul of India is the heart and soul. It's just how you deal with it because this is what it is, this is not something else. Buddha meditated for 6 years before enlightenment. I use this example only because of proximity. We go to great lengths to sit and neither think, nor not think. To not have thoughts, push thoughts away, pull thoughts toward. The Rishikesh that was outside of my window, with all the judgements, the trinkets, the chaos, there was also a mirror out there.
Well, the chaos was out there.
The very heart and soul of India's yoga studying, meditation realization, Ayurvedic massage, satsang rejoicing, ashram visiting, and general OM-ing. And the Indians have the Western mindset accurately and precisely pegged. I am impressed with their industriousness and ability to survive in an area where otherwise there might be little more than a few ghats near a bend in the River Ganga.
And for some clarification: Ganga is the RIVER and Ganja, well, you smoke it. Bang is what your tire does when it pops. Bhang is what makes your mind pop when you drink it. Both are probably best avoided as India provides quite enough mind-altering experience. I think I might otherwise go insane and float down the River Ganga after drinking a big Bhang Lassi while smoking Ganja - all the way to the Bay of Bengal.
OK - I will preface this by saying a few things. First, I try to have an open mind for the experience. Just be. Absorb the place. The people. The sights and sounds. The beautiful river. Tons of Europeans, Aussies, Israelis, Japanese and Chinese (to clarify Asian) partaking in spiritual and holistic modalities of self-improvement. I agree and live part of this life myself. That is when I'm not partaking of eating meat, such murder, but such delicious murder. Oh, and my Scotch. Why does the world of OM have to exclude the highest food group from holistic ways? Vegetables are good. I like vegetables. I eat vegetables. Tasty. Yum. But cows eat vegetables. Cows digest vegetables. We eat cows. Therefore, we eat concentrated vegetables. And there would be fewer cow pies on the street to slip, trip, and fall. Fewer health hazards as we yogis and yoginis exit our yoga classes, barely able to stand on wobbly legs. "Oh, these legs? Yeah, I think those are my legs." Although I kinda like that set of legs over there better...
So I'm staying at this Omkarananda Ganga Sadan guest house. Yes, my first ashram stay! NO! It's actually only a guest house that's attached to an ashram - so the rules are a bit relaxed. No shoes, no alcohol (except the 14-yr single-malt I smuggled in), no meat, generally be nice, and the Iyengar class is totally full - all week - so sorry about all your problems:) Hey, the rooms are nice, the two bathrooms are shared amongst the Sadan floor dwellers. Ok, dig.
Details, details, details days later. I take a few Ashtanga yoga classes. Mornings have felt this good very rarely. It's like an internal Himalaya. Beautiful recharge.
Then here is the second part of my observation: A growing, gnawing, what Angelica (at Cafe Madrid) calls "Angry Matt" starts to emerge. The New Age trinkets for sale are overbearing. Shivas. Ganeshas. Natarajas. Buddhas. OM Hare Hare music. OM Shivaya music. Bells. Singing bowls. Who knows what else. Stuff. Motorbikes going 40 kph across the FOOTbridge honking their presence - and fuckall if you don't move out of the way. So I basically started cussing at the BDLDMFs and waving my arms at their heads. Slowed 'em a bit. Made me feel better. I don't think I slept for 3 nights due to the crazy roar outside my window each night. Yelling. Coughing. Singing. Autorickshaws. Trucks. Honking. Hot in my room. Open the window. Dust in my mouth.
I'm filling my Cipro bottle with single-malt just to calm my nerves. Prescription bottle. Just changed the contents.
Now here's the rub: Perhaps this place, this Rishikesh, this place that is the New Age heart and soul of India is the heart and soul. It's just how you deal with it because this is what it is, this is not something else. Buddha meditated for 6 years before enlightenment. I use this example only because of proximity. We go to great lengths to sit and neither think, nor not think. To not have thoughts, push thoughts away, pull thoughts toward. The Rishikesh that was outside of my window, with all the judgements, the trinkets, the chaos, there was also a mirror out there.
Well, the chaos was out there.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Badass IS definitely fatass
I made it to Nagtibba. All the way to the tippy-top. It hurt like a mofo going up. Then up a bit more. Then in usual Indian style, but Indian mountian-guide style, "we are only half-way there today," I just knew I was in for a world of flogging. A world I paid to get flogged and see. So I sat back in my shoes, chewed my teeth off to the roots and said nothing. Easier for the root canal anyway. Might as well enjoy the rhodendron in bloom, the oak trees, the Himalayan woodpeckers, the rare species of high Himalayan ox and cow (at what elevation do these frackin things stop?), the weird prickly shrubbry with no berries that kinda act like jumping cholla-wanna-be's, the freak-me-out monkeys that may be 2% off from humans but they stare at us and there are more of them than us.
And a hilarious story from Kuldeep, my guide. He says growing up, one of his friends was chucking rocks at this monkey. Just like a kid would chuck rocks at a dog, cat, beaver, frog, wild boar, toothless-backwoods banjo player, etc... The monkey had enough and waited until the kid was plenty tired. I guess it's difficult to tag an animal when it can swing, jump, run, bounce, grimmace, hang upside down, all while eating a banana. And that dang monkey walked on over and slapped the kid upside the head about three times. Three times. Kuldeep says that type of brown monkey is known for mainly biting and tearing its victim's into submission. Now that's entertainment. For confirmation of other monkey business, check the WWW for that monkey/tiger video where those monkeys swing around and slap these tiger cubs. It's pretty funny. I was pulling for the tiger cubs, but no luck.
Oh yeah, I digressed. How weird. So I made the top. That, as Hillary said, is the optional part. Going down is mandatory. Oh so what a bitch that was. Trail? Ha. Cobbles. Loose. Dust. Cow shit slime. Pounding for something like 12 straight miles down in one day. I think I'm going to activate my old mountain biking mantra: "I'd rather bike it uphill twice than go downhill once." I kept think of Scotty. What would Scotty do? He'd probably bike part of it. I think Krafty could bike part of it. I think Tank could bike part of it. I think I could bike part of it. I know we would ALL go nuclear splat over most of it. Good times!
Ahh, but the view from the top! I can't upload here in Rishikesh - something about spiritual center of the universe. Story later. We weren't supposed to see Nanda Devi. It was supposed to be shrouded in clouds. Way too far away. Well, it wasn't. And at 7,816 meters (a 7-thousander!?, are you for real?), that's a peak taller than any Swede or German I've ever seen. Something that tall - and it wasn't the only peak around. The entire local Himalaya region, including Thalay Sagar (6904 meters - reading about since I was a small coconut), is like a brand new wood saw - sharp and waiting to rip you up if climb and don't pay attention.
It's been about three days in Rishikesh and I am now just learning how to walk down the ghats without wondering whether I'll need to activate my emergency medical evacuation coverage. I keep repeapting, "don't keep your tongue between your teeth." That would suck to fall and bite my tongue off. A bit of yoga helped. Or did it? The instructor asks what your weaknesses are - now I know - exploitation. Makes for good humor in the class.
OK - the dude wants to lock up now. My sadan locks up at ten then I sleep on the street. So I'm outta here for now.
Ciao bella!
Lasagne with one pound of ground beef
posole
lemon pasta
flame-broiled tender marinated steak
INO #1
Mountain bike in the Santa Cruz hills and back P-town ridge.
And a hilarious story from Kuldeep, my guide. He says growing up, one of his friends was chucking rocks at this monkey. Just like a kid would chuck rocks at a dog, cat, beaver, frog, wild boar, toothless-backwoods banjo player, etc... The monkey had enough and waited until the kid was plenty tired. I guess it's difficult to tag an animal when it can swing, jump, run, bounce, grimmace, hang upside down, all while eating a banana. And that dang monkey walked on over and slapped the kid upside the head about three times. Three times. Kuldeep says that type of brown monkey is known for mainly biting and tearing its victim's into submission. Now that's entertainment. For confirmation of other monkey business, check the WWW for that monkey/tiger video where those monkeys swing around and slap these tiger cubs. It's pretty funny. I was pulling for the tiger cubs, but no luck.
Oh yeah, I digressed. How weird. So I made the top. That, as Hillary said, is the optional part. Going down is mandatory. Oh so what a bitch that was. Trail? Ha. Cobbles. Loose. Dust. Cow shit slime. Pounding for something like 12 straight miles down in one day. I think I'm going to activate my old mountain biking mantra: "I'd rather bike it uphill twice than go downhill once." I kept think of Scotty. What would Scotty do? He'd probably bike part of it. I think Krafty could bike part of it. I think Tank could bike part of it. I think I could bike part of it. I know we would ALL go nuclear splat over most of it. Good times!
Ahh, but the view from the top! I can't upload here in Rishikesh - something about spiritual center of the universe. Story later. We weren't supposed to see Nanda Devi. It was supposed to be shrouded in clouds. Way too far away. Well, it wasn't. And at 7,816 meters (a 7-thousander!?, are you for real?), that's a peak taller than any Swede or German I've ever seen. Something that tall - and it wasn't the only peak around. The entire local Himalaya region, including Thalay Sagar (6904 meters - reading about since I was a small coconut), is like a brand new wood saw - sharp and waiting to rip you up if climb and don't pay attention.
It's been about three days in Rishikesh and I am now just learning how to walk down the ghats without wondering whether I'll need to activate my emergency medical evacuation coverage. I keep repeapting, "don't keep your tongue between your teeth." That would suck to fall and bite my tongue off. A bit of yoga helped. Or did it? The instructor asks what your weaknesses are - now I know - exploitation. Makes for good humor in the class.
OK - the dude wants to lock up now. My sadan locks up at ten then I sleep on the street. So I'm outta here for now.
Ciao bella!
Lasagne with one pound of ground beef
posole
lemon pasta
flame-broiled tender marinated steak
INO #1
Mountain bike in the Santa Cruz hills and back P-town ridge.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Coconut
All these wonderful cave paintings, carvings, Buddhist stupas, statues. Things that have major religious, artistic, historical, and cultural value. And they all want a photo with the white dude. Go figure.
Notice the one MAJOR problem here?
Are you experienced?
I couldn't help it. I had to do it. The devil made me do it. I swallowed the fly.
Kismet. Fate. Karma. Anyone? Anyone? Well, whether you believe it or not, I think it just happened to me. The first night I was returning from Gun Hill - where I photo'd those Himalayan peaks - and looking for Trek Himalaya. I merely wanted them to take me around to a few places around Mussoorie. A half day here, a day there. WHATEVER. Sort of the Yosemite experience of staying in the valley and seeing the regular tour-bus sights - then saying "I saw Yosemite." Well, yeah, you did, sort-of, especially if you've never been there before - hope this doesn't come across as being a "hater." But I also read of this mini 3-day trek to Nagtibba.
I thought of all the India experiences I've had to date. Most of it. Well, who am I kidding? All of it has been one big project management with cost overruns, missed deadlines, constantly changing goals, going crazy trying to keep the client (me) happy, and generally a good amount of "motions" out of both ends. Thank God for those multiple buckets in the bathroom - Khyati, Shri, Snigdha - I think you know what I'm talking about - best idea ever!
I wanted someone else to be the PM. While scouring my Lonely Planet, algning the map with my compass to find Trek Himalaya, I turned around and the shop was staring at my ass. How cool is that?
Kuldeep, my soon-to-be guide, was there. He had just enough time to do the prep and take me on a three-day trek. Day one: We drive from Mussoorie to Panthwari village, load baggage onto mules. Then it's trek time through terraced fields and (temperate?) jungle to our first camp at 8,000 feet. Day 2: We trek to the top of Nagtibba (about 10,000 ft), check out the scene. Trek it down to a village called Ontar and camp there. Hang with the locals and get loco. Day 3 is supposed to be relaxed level terrain, terraced fields of opium and coca (I just made that up) and trek through some villages a Devdar groves (I have no idea what those are). Guess what's next? Drive back to Mussoorie.
Hah, I have my first Himalayan foothills trek. I meddled with schedule quite a bit. Chucked a few things out to gain what promises to be a gem.
Now, if anything India is not like investing, "past performance does not guarantee future performance..." Past performance guarantees that the future will always be, well India. So "relaxed, level terrain," "moderate" etc... I hope you hear from me again, or else you'll find me on a pyre in Varnasi.
Let you all know what's up later...
Kismet. Fate. Karma. Anyone? Anyone? Well, whether you believe it or not, I think it just happened to me. The first night I was returning from Gun Hill - where I photo'd those Himalayan peaks - and looking for Trek Himalaya. I merely wanted them to take me around to a few places around Mussoorie. A half day here, a day there. WHATEVER. Sort of the Yosemite experience of staying in the valley and seeing the regular tour-bus sights - then saying "I saw Yosemite." Well, yeah, you did, sort-of, especially if you've never been there before - hope this doesn't come across as being a "hater." But I also read of this mini 3-day trek to Nagtibba.
I thought of all the India experiences I've had to date. Most of it. Well, who am I kidding? All of it has been one big project management with cost overruns, missed deadlines, constantly changing goals, going crazy trying to keep the client (me) happy, and generally a good amount of "motions" out of both ends. Thank God for those multiple buckets in the bathroom - Khyati, Shri, Snigdha - I think you know what I'm talking about - best idea ever!
I wanted someone else to be the PM. While scouring my Lonely Planet, algning the map with my compass to find Trek Himalaya, I turned around and the shop was staring at my ass. How cool is that?
Kuldeep, my soon-to-be guide, was there. He had just enough time to do the prep and take me on a three-day trek. Day one: We drive from Mussoorie to Panthwari village, load baggage onto mules. Then it's trek time through terraced fields and (temperate?) jungle to our first camp at 8,000 feet. Day 2: We trek to the top of Nagtibba (about 10,000 ft), check out the scene. Trek it down to a village called Ontar and camp there. Hang with the locals and get loco. Day 3 is supposed to be relaxed level terrain, terraced fields of opium and coca (I just made that up) and trek through some villages a Devdar groves (I have no idea what those are). Guess what's next? Drive back to Mussoorie.
Hah, I have my first Himalayan foothills trek. I meddled with schedule quite a bit. Chucked a few things out to gain what promises to be a gem.
Now, if anything India is not like investing, "past performance does not guarantee future performance..." Past performance guarantees that the future will always be, well India. So "relaxed, level terrain," "moderate" etc... I hope you hear from me again, or else you'll find me on a pyre in Varnasi.
Let you all know what's up later...
Two Questions
Guess what the most often asked questions are?
What is your good name sir? Matthew
What country? USA, America
Oh, America, what do think about Obama? We'll see, he's been Prez for 9 days (or 8 depending on which side of the Int'l Date your on). Looks like America has been able to overcome quite a bit of prejudice/racial zeitgeist to elect a part black/white dude.
What is your profession in America? I'm a geologist.
What's that? Oh, I look for pollution under the ground - in the rocks and the water underground. I use huge drill rigs (here's my artistic license) the size of that Buddhist statue (which happens to be about 35 meters tall - but WTF, I can dream, can't I?), then we analyze the chemicals to see what's toxic. Geologists paint a picture of the underground; then we send in the engineers to design some systems to try and clean the ground.
The response is usually, "huh, that sounds pretty cool." I remark, "Yeah, it is, and India, cough, hack, hack, cough, really needs some geologists and drill rigs."
So I'm in Mussoorie and have been here for two days. The elevation is 2,000 meters, very clear, cool during the days, frackin' freezing, cold even, during the early morning. But it's sunset that the true colors of India's air situation hits. The western sky is absolutely breathtaking. So Hallmark blood red, deep orange. I won't even provide a photo. Your mind is more amazing. The perfection lies in the razor-edge splitting the sky like a water/air interface. The sun sinks through crystal mountain air and hits this false horizon. It's way awesome to watch the sun splat like a tomato and spread across this smoggy haze that fills the Delhi basin. Yummy.
What I will show you is the 180. Ok, so forget all that bullshit above. Yeah, some of your posts are very true. If there was a profession of "Himalayan Mountain Starer" I would take the job. Probably get fired in the first sunset or two. Something about too much extra water in my eyes due to the cold air, yeah, that's it.
For the record, these are my two Himalayan peaks seen by my eyes. Sunlight traveled from The Sun (which sun? oh, The Sun) to those peaks, reflected, and then my rods and cones had the pleasure of intermingling with those blessed rays of light. The Himalayan peaks' names are: Bunderpunch, Srikantha, Pithwara, Gangotri Group. There will be a quiz when I return. Which peak is which and the elevations of each. I can't concern myself with those mere details. HAHAHAHA.
I know Forrest and I were talking about exquisite experiences. Putting this word into my situation is working very easily. Yet I must add absolute spendor and God-like meditative.
Namaste all y'all.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
What Next?
Wandering the Earth. Varanasi has been a serious journey. Perfect to follow up after visiting Bodhgaya and the place of Buddha's awakening. Varanasi is the awakening fast track.
It seams that I am settled in here. That means I must move on. Don't want to loose my ability to be the only coconut (that's my new name "the coconut" because the kids think, well you get it, my cabeza is a freaking coconut) at train stations and buying tickets and going to 17 different only to manage to miss my train anyway; jostling through autorickshaw row exiting any bus or train stop; getting used to the new scams in a new place. It's all good. Frustrating as all frack...but good.
I've been patiently waiting for the mountains and now I am going to inject the mountains into my being. I leave Sunday to Delhi. Then spend the night at the airport - hopefully security is down with that. On Monday fly to Dehra Dun's Jolly Grant Airport. It's the bestest name ever for an airport in the Himilaya foothills?
The plan is to explore some of Dehra Dun, Mussoorie, Rishikesh, Rajaji National Park, Corbett Tiger Preserve, and Haridwar. The final step is the Shatabdi Express from Haridwar to Delhi. Explore Delhi a few days then fly to the USA.
You know in Pulp Fiction when Vincent is talking to Jules about going to Amsterdam. He says, roughly paraphrased, "it's the small things that are different." "For instance?" "Well, they like their fries with mayonaise. They drown them in that shit." "Yuk." "And when you go into (was it a movie theatre?) they serve you beer. And I don't mean no beer in a paper cup. I mean a beer in a glass."
India has no small things that are different.
I'm looking forward to the mountains. Small things indeed? India has to do everything in superlatives. USA has 14ers (feet). Uttarakhand has the "lower" 7,000 meter Himalayan peaks - especially well-known is Nanda Devi (7816m) - ok, so it's not a lower 7,000m peak, it's an exception, an "outlier." What? What?
Cheers, love, peace, Target beer to all.
ps - thank you all for any and all comments. Those are much appreciated links back to my friends and family. That is another constant topic of Indian discussion - importance of family and friends. So thanks you wankers! Ciao.
It seams that I am settled in here. That means I must move on. Don't want to loose my ability to be the only coconut (that's my new name "the coconut" because the kids think, well you get it, my cabeza is a freaking coconut) at train stations and buying tickets and going to 17 different only to manage to miss my train anyway; jostling through autorickshaw row exiting any bus or train stop; getting used to the new scams in a new place. It's all good. Frustrating as all frack...but good.
I've been patiently waiting for the mountains and now I am going to inject the mountains into my being. I leave Sunday to Delhi. Then spend the night at the airport - hopefully security is down with that. On Monday fly to Dehra Dun's Jolly Grant Airport. It's the bestest name ever for an airport in the Himilaya foothills?
The plan is to explore some of Dehra Dun, Mussoorie, Rishikesh, Rajaji National Park, Corbett Tiger Preserve, and Haridwar. The final step is the Shatabdi Express from Haridwar to Delhi. Explore Delhi a few days then fly to the USA.
You know in Pulp Fiction when Vincent is talking to Jules about going to Amsterdam. He says, roughly paraphrased, "it's the small things that are different." "For instance?" "Well, they like their fries with mayonaise. They drown them in that shit." "Yuk." "And when you go into (was it a movie theatre?) they serve you beer. And I don't mean no beer in a paper cup. I mean a beer in a glass."
India has no small things that are different.
I'm looking forward to the mountains. Small things indeed? India has to do everything in superlatives. USA has 14ers (feet). Uttarakhand has the "lower" 7,000 meter Himalayan peaks - especially well-known is Nanda Devi (7816m) - ok, so it's not a lower 7,000m peak, it's an exception, an "outlier." What? What?
Cheers, love, peace, Target beer to all.
ps - thank you all for any and all comments. Those are much appreciated links back to my friends and family. That is another constant topic of Indian discussion - importance of family and friends. So thanks you wankers! Ciao.
Burning is Learning
I have no pictures for this. Only mental images. Only what I can paint divided by 1,000 words. Varanasi is a place to become lost, yet strangely you find out about what you "think" (which is another construction), what you own, what you did with your life, whatever karma, sins, goodness, job, loving, hating.
I've seen at least three dozen human body cremations. It's just supposed to be carbon and water, but it makes what we are and how we live and breathe and communicate. Then your physical body ceases to live. It's wrapped in cloth, dipped in the holy Ganga (not misspelled), wood is carefully weighed out, a fire that's been burning continuously for thousands of years is used to light the individual pyre. All you are goes to smoke and ash. It's open for the public to view. Tourists alike can stop to gaze, gander, pray, whatever motivates them.
Last night, and the night is the most spiritually tidal and head clearing, yet surreal. The fires are set against the dark ghats - Manikarnika is particularly smoke-stained black. I spoke to an Indian gentleman for about two hours. At first I was all porcupine-hair raised waiting for the rupee-vortex to form. It never did. We spoke about this 4,000 year old Hindu tradition taking place at select places on the Ganga. I was able to contrast that with our Western traditions of death and burial/cremation. I can't go into all the details because I was transfixed by the scene and the mere conversation taking place by an Indian Hindu who was there cremating his grandfather. Not once did he express the usual grief we do. I had complete emptiness - a good, cleansing emptiness - that after all I've seen in India, here in Varanasi, with death (and death is curiously never mentioned), this is finally the Incredible India that I thought existed. Just some small town somewhat isolated from major population centers. There is no Taj Mahal here. No Ajanta rock carvings. Just watching the reality of flesh burn away and the remainder of the big bones, the pelvis, sometimes the ribs, are placed into the Ganga.
I have heard from one vendor that when he can't sleep, he wanders to the main burning ghat and meditates for a time. Then worries vaporize and perspective shift - it's called "Burning is Learning."
I've seen at least three dozen human body cremations. It's just supposed to be carbon and water, but it makes what we are and how we live and breathe and communicate. Then your physical body ceases to live. It's wrapped in cloth, dipped in the holy Ganga (not misspelled), wood is carefully weighed out, a fire that's been burning continuously for thousands of years is used to light the individual pyre. All you are goes to smoke and ash. It's open for the public to view. Tourists alike can stop to gaze, gander, pray, whatever motivates them.
Last night, and the night is the most spiritually tidal and head clearing, yet surreal. The fires are set against the dark ghats - Manikarnika is particularly smoke-stained black. I spoke to an Indian gentleman for about two hours. At first I was all porcupine-hair raised waiting for the rupee-vortex to form. It never did. We spoke about this 4,000 year old Hindu tradition taking place at select places on the Ganga. I was able to contrast that with our Western traditions of death and burial/cremation. I can't go into all the details because I was transfixed by the scene and the mere conversation taking place by an Indian Hindu who was there cremating his grandfather. Not once did he express the usual grief we do. I had complete emptiness - a good, cleansing emptiness - that after all I've seen in India, here in Varanasi, with death (and death is curiously never mentioned), this is finally the Incredible India that I thought existed. Just some small town somewhat isolated from major population centers. There is no Taj Mahal here. No Ajanta rock carvings. Just watching the reality of flesh burn away and the remainder of the big bones, the pelvis, sometimes the ribs, are placed into the Ganga.
I have heard from one vendor that when he can't sleep, he wanders to the main burning ghat and meditates for a time. Then worries vaporize and perspective shift - it's called "Burning is Learning."
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Weirdest City on a River
Varanasi wins the award. And I love it. This is the most relaxed I've been the entire trip. I would never have thought that some city taking 2nd or 3rd place to Agra, Jaipur, Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata, Goa, Kerala, etc... could be so interesting.
I've been wandering the arms' width alleys, the ghats, the vendors' shops that line the alleys, eating food from various restaurants just because they are there and menu's fare sounds delectable.
I had first real Indian yoga class here. No Western brand. I guess you could call it hatha for lack of a better descritption. Today I am feeling like iron thrown against the wall and turned to putty. Sooo good.
I've seen the two "burning" ghats where families' take their dead to be creamated on pyres near the holy Ganges. After the creamation, the ashes are let into the river. This is perhaps, for a Hindu, the most auspicious way to pass into the next life.
Tons of offers for boat rides on the Ganges. I've been laughing because the offer is "cheap for you my friend, only 100 rupees." But my wacky humor knows it's 100 rupees to the other side and 600 rupees back.
By the way, the ghats, what are "ghats"? Well, they are like piers but they run parallel to the river. each ghat has a somewhat distinct flavor and design. Some are more grandios than others - the ghats built by maharajas have spectacular temples and shrines.
Many Indians do bathe in the Ganges regardless of the water condition. And working in that particular profession, and even if you don't, I am amazed at the willingness with which people enter the water. There is absolutely no sewage control, trash control, water buffalo control, nothing. It struck me funny the contrast that when in CA, if we have a heavy rain, the beaches are closed due to 0.001 ppm of methyethyl death. We are truly blessed to have the environmental controls we have - sometimes I wonder about the excess we freak out. But, that's the way of the world of my friends. Now, the Indians see foreign tourists (department of redundancy department) as walking dollars, I see Indian pollution remediation as serious dollars.
So as Varanasi goes, it is a town that now I understand Dawn's description - "you are just so happy to actually make it back home to bed that night. That's the day's accomplishment." I now have lived that. Almost been crushed by a water buffalo in the alleys, or run over by a motorbike, or lost for ever into the black hole created by the Super Conductor below Switzerland - it is in Varanasi.
Bodhgaya
Siddhartha Gautama became no longer. He became Buddha.
This, nothing can negative can be said. The dust, dirt, and craziness was worth it again. I would need to outrun my smokers cough first.
All I say is: Devotion.
It's not often that someone can visit the exact location where a major spiritual transformation occurred. There are few places on Earth where you can feel this energy. I would say that once in a lifetime, experience the birthplace of any spirituality. At the time I was there, there was some Buddhist "convention" or gathering of some type - the name of which escapes me. That is not the point.
However, Bodhgaya was awash in the real maroon robes of life-long devotees of Buddha from around the Asian world. I visited their monasteries: Japan, Thailand, Tiawan, Indian, Bhutan, Indonesian, Nepali, Vietnam. If there was ever a Major Cool in the Army, this is where he served.
I have two photos: One is where Siddhartha sat for six years without food or water. In a little cave. In the middle of the desert. In the middle of a rock cliff.
The second photo is at the Mahabodhi Temple. After six years in the cliff cave, Siddhartha emerged (this is a greatly simplified story because I think 15 people want to use this computer) and sat under the Bodhi Tree and became enlightened. A descendent of the original Bodhi Tree grows at the exact location behind the golden Buddha. I was there at night so the photo did not turn out - but the video was perfect, especially with the chanting.
Where's Sponge Bob?
I feel like Sponge Bob Square Pants. One exception: Instead of little sponge holes, I have little rupee and USD signs printed all over me. Well anyway, such is the way of the way of the world.
I have no idea where I last left off. But I don't think you've heard of my typings of Goa. I'm talking "THE GOA" of hippies, free sex, drugs drugs, and rock and roll. Except with the latest spate of terrorism, the Goan government has cracked down on the hippies, clubs staying open past 10pm, no drugs or you get seriously screwed, no free sex anymore (gotta go to other countries for that now - the USA is your best bet). It's mostly a nice place to vacation for families and foreign couples looking to hide out under the beach umbrellas and get ayurvedic massages. Hey, not to bad.
The ironic realization? You, sitting there right now, can have the (almost) exact experience! No $2,000 airfare or breathing liquid dust for weeks. Just hop into your car and speed on over to Santa Cruz. I was amazed at the similarity - a bit Santa Cruz mixed with a bit more Caribbean and this is Goa. I liked it. Now, some experiences you can not get in Santa Cruz: My biggest enjoyment was floating in the sea. Wait. This is the Arabian Sea. Waaaay Awesome. The Arabian Sea. I thought of all the craziness and tragedy that has transpired in these waters. Yet these same waters, at that moment, were providing enjoyment for a few thousand people.
The other very Goan experience are the bamboo restaurants that are built to within 500 or 1,000 feet of the surf. I can have breakfast, lunch, dinner, and lots of beers while watching the waves and tides flow in and out. And really, that's mostly what Goa has up its sleeve. Oh yeah, I had a very tasty burger at this on joint (hahahaha) on the cliff. In Goa, apparently any food is not off limits.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Where next
The past first:
Mumbai
Pune
Aurangabad
Ellora
Ajanta
Aurangabad to get to...
Pune to get to...
Mumbai to get to...
Goa
Bangalore to get to...
Mysore
Bangalore to get to...
Delhi to get to...
Then I said "I've had enough of the south, I'm going north, CA doesn't have the Himalaya.
Patna to get to...
Gaya to get to...
Bodhgaya
Varanasi
Agra
Jaipur
Haridwar to get to...
Rishikesh for a long time
Delhi to get to...
USA to get to...
In-N-Out
Mumbai
Pune
Aurangabad
Ellora
Ajanta
Aurangabad to get to...
Pune to get to...
Mumbai to get to...
Goa
Bangalore to get to...
Mysore
Bangalore to get to...
Delhi to get to...
Then I said "I've had enough of the south, I'm going north, CA doesn't have the Himalaya.
Patna to get to...
Gaya to get to...
Bodhgaya
Varanasi
Agra
Jaipur
Haridwar to get to...
Rishikesh for a long time
Delhi to get to...
USA to get to...
In-N-Out
Some tata humor
These may be the most humongous TATA's you have ever seen. They come in pairs. No two are the same. And if you get too close to inspect these goods, hey, you've been warned. The upper TATA is more ornately decorated and I found it to be of a model. It is a three-axle TATA so it can carry more non-discriminatory goods. Now the lower model is a bit understated, a two-axle model, made to carry fewer, but specialized, goods. Both drivers are very very proud of their TATAs.Lower than lowest. But I had to do it. I just had to.
At this point in time
Let's just call it "at this point in time" because I just said FAAHCK IT about time here. Certain people will understand this to their bone marrow. Now I understand this to my bone marrow. Add to this the noise, more noise, constant noise, Lonely Planet suggesting the rooms in the back are quieter, wear ear plugs - well guess what - it's all a load of bull crap. And I have the video to prove it. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I've gone nutso. I have dust up in the conch of my ear that even three hot/cold whatever temperature shower I can, when I can one, won't wash out that permacorundumdust. I just invented a new element. Not even q-tips help!
I can now see why so many religions exist in India - you have to turn yourself to something internal, universal, transient, or else the flesh would just vibrate itself into jelly. I am reminded of that scene in Airplane 2. Oy vey.
tendon. The trucks and Horns. Horns. Horns. Horns. Whistles. Whistles. Whistles. Whistles. I don't even know what sound is coming to bring me to my maker. And let me tell you, India, even the bicycles have right-of-way. Frisco bike Nazis would LOVE it here. The rickshaws will tear off your Achilles tendon, hope you have death and dismemberment insurance.
Time is of no consequence here. Two months. Wow, that's a long time. Two months. 1/6 of a year. One month in and I'm ready to run for the hills, get me to a monastery. Just hang out and do yoga. I think JD's idea of "nesting" is sounding lovely right about now.
If there are any bets about Matt: 1) never returning from India, or 2) how long Matt will last in India.
Answer: 1) definitely will return to the USA. Hopefully, at a minimum to outrun the liquid below the waist syndrome. Haven't broken into the Cypro yet. Some fellow Western travellers say hold off until you really x's 3 need it because it a gnarly dam damn of a blocker.
Answer: 2) I can not lie (well I can, just not well) that In-n-Out sounds exquisite. I could be like Cleopatra and lounge in a bathtub of #1 Animal Style, no tomato. But I tell my weak flesh, you can doooo eeet.
Time.
I can now see why so many religions exist in India - you have to turn yourself to something internal, universal, transient, or else the flesh would just vibrate itself into jelly. I am reminded of that scene in Airplane 2. Oy vey.
tendon. The trucks and Horns. Horns. Horns. Horns. Whistles. Whistles. Whistles. Whistles. I don't even know what sound is coming to bring me to my maker. And let me tell you, India, even the bicycles have right-of-way. Frisco bike Nazis would LOVE it here. The rickshaws will tear off your Achilles tendon, hope you have death and dismemberment insurance.
Time is of no consequence here. Two months. Wow, that's a long time. Two months. 1/6 of a year. One month in and I'm ready to run for the hills, get me to a monastery. Just hang out and do yoga. I think JD's idea of "nesting" is sounding lovely right about now.
If there are any bets about Matt: 1) never returning from India, or 2) how long Matt will last in India.
Answer: 1) definitely will return to the USA. Hopefully, at a minimum to outrun the liquid below the waist syndrome. Haven't broken into the Cypro yet. Some fellow Western travellers say hold off until you really x's 3 need it because it a gnarly dam damn of a blocker.
Answer: 2) I can not lie (well I can, just not well) that In-n-Out sounds exquisite. I could be like Cleopatra and lounge in a bathtub of #1 Animal Style, no tomato. But I tell my weak flesh, you can doooo eeet.
Time.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Shrikant and Niyati
The Maharashtrian wedding. Now that was spectacular. 3 days - that I know of - of preparation. An Indian classical concert the night before. Apparently the vocalist is a famous Indian singer, probably 750,000 Indians know of him, and Shri likes his music. I don't remember this man's name - he just happens to be Niyati's family's friend. Awesome when it works out like that. Of course the tabla, sitar, Indian accordian and vocals were hypnotic - apparently the entire crowd enjoyed the performance.
The next day, the actual wedding, let's just say it was all 24-karat gold robes, mehendi, 5 outfit changes, fire, tying knots in rope - well I think Niyati and Shri were tied together by the priest and their parents - to symbolise their future together. Colors of yellow, red, pink, blue, gold, green. It is a swirl of intricate steps leading to the exact moment when the Hindu astrological calendar of Shri and Niyati overlap - between 1144 and 1148 am - that's when the final event takes place and they are married. Oh yeah, and venue has to be available that day as well!
I wish Niyati and Shrikant the best of fortune and luck. Hope your heads didn't get banged together too hard!
Q-tip girl
Even if I don't need q-tips, when in Mumbai, when the q-tip girl walks into traffic selling q-tips for 10Rs, I buy q-tips. I may not even use the q-tips.
One wish: I wish my brain were faster.
If you can't help them all, and helping one doesn't matter, what does matter? I just didn't like it. So there.
It's a pretty harsh world out there. Yet it is beautiful. Well, maybe, all you need is dollars.
One wish: I wish my brain were faster.
If you can't help them all, and helping one doesn't matter, what does matter? I just didn't like it. So there.
It's a pretty harsh world out there. Yet it is beautiful. Well, maybe, all you need is dollars.
Eye Contact
You've all heard of the (in)famous Osho commune in Pune? Yeah, well I visited the area called Koregaon Park. It's the Beverly Hills of Pune. Except take Beverly Hills, extract it entirely, sweep a bit of space in Compton, a gingerly drop Osho in the middle. Now that's good times!
I can't trek 12,000 miles away and not see this First Encounter, which first off are the Bugs Bunny-robbed, mostly Westerners, wandering the streets. I tried, seriously, I tried, keeping an open mind. I even pulled out the drill, did a bit trepanning (sp), but, alas, for the first time in weeks I had tears of extreme laughter running down my face. I must have looked more wacko than those Maroons. Thanks Bugs Bunny!
Get your OM on! Holy freakin' Buddha on a luxury, gourmet, organic, carbon neutral, pesticide-free, chakra-aligned lotus leaf. This is in India? 90% white, 5% asian, 3% black, 2% Indian. Where is the Indian guru? He passed away, probably out of sheer hysterics at making his disciples run around in maroon robes.
OK - my way of judging? Because judge I did. Absolutely NO eye contact. None. Zero. Nada. Nyet. Maroonites have so liberated themselves and shed their outer shells to expose their inner light that merely acknowledging another human with a smile that goes past their nostrils, or eye contact that descends from the sky or rises from the sidewalk must not be part of their collective enlightenment.
So, let me contrast this, lest you think I am a horrible asshole. Which, by the way, I am. I headed across town to a small neighborhood temple. Since I don't have my notes with me, I have no name because I can't remember. The temple was beautiful, the Indians warm and friendly. There was no prentense. Eye contact and smiles were easy to come by. Two people were all too happy to explain the significance of the temple and the puja, or worship, that was about to take place. No robes. No getting their OM on. Yoga and pranayama was lived as life. No special classes or programs. I don't want to describe this as simple, it just was what it was, it was not something else.
I was beyond honored to sit with these devotees and just be.
I can't trek 12,000 miles away and not see this First Encounter, which first off are the Bugs Bunny-robbed, mostly Westerners, wandering the streets. I tried, seriously, I tried, keeping an open mind. I even pulled out the drill, did a bit trepanning (sp), but, alas, for the first time in weeks I had tears of extreme laughter running down my face. I must have looked more wacko than those Maroons. Thanks Bugs Bunny!
Get your OM on! Holy freakin' Buddha on a luxury, gourmet, organic, carbon neutral, pesticide-free, chakra-aligned lotus leaf. This is in India? 90% white, 5% asian, 3% black, 2% Indian. Where is the Indian guru? He passed away, probably out of sheer hysterics at making his disciples run around in maroon robes.
OK - my way of judging? Because judge I did. Absolutely NO eye contact. None. Zero. Nada. Nyet. Maroonites have so liberated themselves and shed their outer shells to expose their inner light that merely acknowledging another human with a smile that goes past their nostrils, or eye contact that descends from the sky or rises from the sidewalk must not be part of their collective enlightenment.
So, let me contrast this, lest you think I am a horrible asshole. Which, by the way, I am. I headed across town to a small neighborhood temple. Since I don't have my notes with me, I have no name because I can't remember. The temple was beautiful, the Indians warm and friendly. There was no prentense. Eye contact and smiles were easy to come by. Two people were all too happy to explain the significance of the temple and the puja, or worship, that was about to take place. No robes. No getting their OM on. Yoga and pranayama was lived as life. No special classes or programs. I don't want to describe this as simple, it just was what it was, it was not something else.
I was beyond honored to sit with these devotees and just be.
Look Ma, no hands
I had my first motorcycle ride in Pune a few days ago. Holy mother of God. That will make a believer out of you. Guess what you have for health and safety? Hang on, sit down. That's pretty much it. You don't even have to shut up. No helmet. No gloves. No leather jacket. No leather pants. No boots. Hell, these dudes are on mobile phones. I've even seen the passenger holding the phone to the driver's ear - gotta keep the convo going while honking a swerving.
Oh, lest I totally freak out some people, a few rules of the road do exist: Honk, honk, honk. You lane split all the time. Correction, there are no real "lanes" so when we are riding, it's just kinda swerving and honking and braking. Add to this a 20 pound day pack on me and wow, it's like crack and heroin combined - who knows because I have no idea.
One of the best traits of India? Conversations with the random people. It's best when they are literally 3 to 6 inches away from your knee travelling 20 to 30 mph. I can just smile, nod, say hey. When the traffic comes to a stop, always at weird times and unexpected locations, everyone kinda blackholes together. Physics is WRONG! Matter can occupy the same place at the same time as long as it's a motorcycle, autorickshaw, bus, or huge TATA freightliner. It's like a big mash-up scrum.
Hysterical.
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