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.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
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."
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