No Day But Today: January 2010

Hello Rishikesh!

Paradise found. Technically Rishikesh is in India, but it is so far from the India of my first three weeks that I suspect I have changed countries. Rishikesh fashions itself the yoga capital of the world. Each year in March the town hosts the International Yoga Festival, and 400 people from around the world come to enjoy the charm and marvels of this place.

Rishikesh is located on the holy Ganges river. Holy to Hindus that is, and after sitting by its side for several hours, I now understand the appeal. The Ganges river winds through Northern India after leaving the Himalayas just south of Rishikesh, and it continues all the way to Calcutta and the sea. Along the way, 26 cities dump their raw sewage into the river. In the holy city of Varanassi, down river even farther, bodies are cremated non-stop, and the ashes and unburned parts are swept into the river. Thousands of people bathe in the river every day, but I am using the shower at my hotel. Perhaps the reason is obvious.

The Ganges in Haridwar, next big city down river from Rishikesh, is the site of the Kumhb Mela, which takes place there every 12 years. The Kumhb is a major Hindu pilgrimage, and millions of people come to bathe in the river on auspicious, important days between 14 January and sometime in April. Symbolically, a dip in the Ganges washes away all your sins. It also freezes you to the bone, as northern India has been registering record low temperatures for the last month. Arezo and I hope to attend the Kumhb Mela on 12 February in Haridwar. This is the first of the royal bathing days of the Kumhb. I don't know exactly what that means, but five million people are expected, so it just might be cool. (And by cool I mean crowded.) I will be back with stories and photos...

As for the Ganges in Rishikesh, the river is no less important. Each night prayer ceremonies take place along its banks. The biggest - and possibly most touristy - is at the Parmarth Niketan Ashram. We attended the ceremony, or aarti, last night, along with a very important man from Japan who is a leader in that country's Buddhist community. I was a bit disappointed when we found out who he was; the president of South Korea is currently in India, and I was hoping that was him. (No offense.) Photos of the ceremony to follow once I get the internet computer to cooperate.

Hinduism is unique amongst the world's major religions in that it teaches that there are many (and I mean many) ways to the Divine. The Hindus worship thousands of gods, all of which are manifestations of the one god, Brahma, and followers are encouraged to pick their favorite. It all seems a bit much to me, as India is liberally sprinkled with icons of all these deities, and I don't recognize most of them. But who am I to judge. What I do like is the inherent inclusiveness of Hinduism. All religions are accepted as valid, and all are respected.

Back to the yoga capital of the world. My stated objective in coming to Rishikesh was to find an ashram to tuck into for a month or so to do yoga, meditate, eat vegetarian food, and get enlightened. Or whatever. Now that I am here, I realize the ashram life isn't quite what I am after, so I suspect I will stay at the Hotel RajPalace (no space) and take advantage of their on-site yoga classes. To be honest, the food options here are just too good to miss by eating ashram food. And as an added bonus, Arezo is a yoga instructor, so we have decided to hold our own classes in the beautiful yoga and meditation hall at the hotel. We also agree we want to walkwalkwalk around the area, to the local waterfalls, through the various parts of the town, seeking out local treasures at the markets, and sampling all the restaurants we find. Arezo leaves to return to the US on 17 February, and then all bets are off. But for now, this is heaven, and if you want to find me, check Rishikesh.

Welcome to India!

Three weeks in India, and 300 times I have asked myself WHY did I come here??? This place is insane: overcrowded, dirty, dusty, polluted, busy, chaotic, dangerous. Trains are slow and never on time. It's not safe to walk down the street; it's a non-stop obstacle course with pedestrians dodging motorbikes, motorbikes dodging auto rickshaws, auto rickshaws dodging cars, cars dodging trucks and buses, and everyone dodging the holy cow. I thanked God that I made it back alive every time I returned to the guesthouse.

But things have taken a turn for the better. As mentioned before, on the train to Khajuraho I met Arezo from Southern California. She had been praying for someone to travel with, and the moment I met her I realized I'd been praying for the same thing. In Khajuraho we met Robert from Sacramento, another corporate runaway who'd recently met the Dalai Lama in Bodhagaya (the place where the Buddha achieved enlightenment, I think). They were heading next to Agra, so we all met up there at my favorite Agra guesthouse, the Tourists Rest House (not punctuated). There we met Peter from Missouri, a deep sea diver/wet welder on a side trip to India after finishing a job in Thailand (I think).

Traveling in India is just better when there are men in your party, so I was over-the-moon happy to welcome Robert and Peter into my life. It didn't hurt at all that both are stand up guys, well traveled, infinitely interesting, generous to a fault, and great company. Together the four of us roamed the streets and markets of Agra, enjoyed perfectly strong coffee at India's Starbucks, Cafe Coffee Day, feasted on street food, and toured the moghul town of Fatephur Sikri (see photos in another post). Major coup on the travel trail.

Arezo and I have now moved on to Rishikesh, which was my intended destination in India for yoga and all things enlightened.

Peter from Missouri, at Mama Franky street food stall (some seriously great Indian food).

Robert from Sacramento with the super-cool plastic hat men are required to wear in order to enter the tomb of the really important someone at Fatephur Sikr. Very cool.

Photos from the Moghul City of Fatephur Sikri

Side Trip to Khajuraho

Khajuraho is a major stop on the backpacker circuit in India. And getting there got much easier lately with the addition of a direct train line from Delhi to there. It's 12 hours or so on an overnight train, and it beats the heck out of taking the bus.

This town is known for something very specific: the kama sutra temple sculptures. There are some photos in the next post. Just a warning, a couple of them are quite explicit, sexually speaking. If I were to conclude anything from these temple carvings, I would conclude the following:

They fought a lot, as in wars.
They loved a lot, as in sex.
All women of the time had very large perfectly formed breasts.
If you are a god, you get to touch whomever you like, whenever you like.

Due to the nature of these sculptures, I think, Khajuraho was not the ideal place for a woman to travel alone. I was approached non-stop, and not in a good way. In India all foreigners are subject to a lot of attention, but this was different. I got invited to 'come back later' numerous times. I didn't of course. And several groups of men stopped to watch us look at the temple sculptures. Creepy.

Things weren't all bad, though. On the train from Agra I met Arezo (pronounced Arzoo) from southern California, and we teamed up for a good part of the time I was in Khajuraho. She has a friend of a friend in the town, so we had the inside scoop on just about everything. Still, it was creepy. Every time I entered the street / exited my hotel or a restuarant, a big handful of men sprung in to action and rushed over to my side to offer something.

Arezo and I left Khajuraho and went to another town, Orccha, which was infinitely better. Except the food was crap and I got sick. Thankfully antibiotics in India are dirt cheap and easy to get.

Photos from Khajuraho

WARNING!!! THIS POST CONTAINS SEXUALLY EXPLICIT PHOTOS. (Not pornography, I assure you, but some very racy temple sculptures.)

A great view of and from the temple.

The god Shiva, who has four arms, is always multi-tasking. In this case he is feeling up a very busty woman. The temples were covered with these women - perhaps this is where the idea for breast augmentation came from. Every one of them is a perfect D.

In this case perhaps man's best friend is the horse.

Demonstrating the viability of the headstand position.

And around town...

The Taj Mahal

In this weather, this is the view you get of the Taj Mahal. It's there, trust me!

Overwhelmed in Agra

This is one busy place. I have been hiding out in my guesthouse for a week now. I venture out at least once a day, but not for long. I am an utter failure as a tourist. I haven't been inside the Taj Mahal, which is why people come to this town. I saw it when I was here the last time, in 2004, and am quite satisfied to let that be one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences.

I did see the Taj from afar, while having lunch at a rooftop restaurant about a half mile away. The weather here has been weird - very cold yet also hazy and foggy at times. I could see the Taj, but not really. More like I could see the outline of the Taj against a same-color sky.

The trouble with Agra is the relentlessness of the rickshaw-wallahs. There are more of them than there are passengers, by a lot. They want to work; they need to work. But I prefer to walk. Again, an utter failure as a tourist. Tourists don't walk here. It's much too chaotic for a stroll around town to be enjoyable. But I prefer to walk, and this is very confusing to the locals. I usually have a cycle richshaw-wallah trailing me like a puppy as I walk down the street. But by now most have them have learned that I am serious about walking and they give up very quickly. Thankfully.

It's not that I don't like Agra or its people. It's just that there is one of me, and several million of them. And those are tiring odds.

Tonight I leave my peaceful guesthouse to take the train to Khajuraho, eight train hours away. I am hoping that the train will be close to ontime. Khajuraho is home to some of the best temples in India. The theme is Kama Sutra, and most of them are quite explicit, showing people in the process of all manner of sexual acts. Should be interesting. I have booked into an ashram a mile out of town that offers yoga and a peaceful environment. At least that's what the guidebook says. Boy do I hope it's true!

Delhi to Agra

Under normal conditions, if there are such a thing in India, the train ride from Delhi to Agra takes three hours. Winter presents a problem, though. Again it's mother nature asserting her authority in the form of FOG. In foggy conditions, the train conductor can't see the train signals - the ones that tell him if other trains are coming and if the track ahead is his to use or his to yield to the other train. In these conditions, trains move painfully slowly. But given the alternative - a head-on collision - slow is good.

Shortly before I arrived to India foggy conditions had been blamed for a railway accident in the north, near where I am. A bunch of peopled died, and even more were wounded. Given that, I am in no hurry to get anywhere.

So in my case, the three hour journey lasted 8 1/2 hours. Fortunately I had some interesting people to talk to: mother and adult daughter from Belgium by way of Armenia. Mom is a Hindu and is here on pilgrimage. She has read the Old and New Testaments twice, the Qu'ran, and the Bagava Vida (Hindu text, sorry about the spelling), and after careful condideration and review of these sacred texts, she selected Hinduism as the most valid religion. When they left the train in Mathura, birthplace of Krishna, their seats were filled by some local business men who work in Mathura and live in Agra. We had the remaining two hours of the journey to chat. It is a pleasure to chat with the locals, when you are not on the streets of India and they aren't trying to sell you something or provide you with transportation.

So here I am in Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. I haven't seen the place yet; I did visit on my 2004 trip to India, so there is no rush. Instead of siteseeing like a normal tourist, I have spent the last two days in my guesthouse room. After my hotel in Delhi, the Tourists Rest House is heaven - clean and odor free. So I have been catching up on my sleep and waiting to be less hormonal, and tomorrow I will head out to see what all the Agra fuss is about.

I have ventured out twice for food and have found a great Lonely Planet guidebook recommended south Indian restaurant. It's a 15 minute, 15 rickshaw solicitation walk from my guesthouse. The streets of Agra are busy in my neighborhood, but not as busy as Delhi, and not as busy as the part of Agra with the Taj. I'm a bit scared to go there, so I am waiting to be de-jetlagged to take that on. More to come. And I will post some photos once I take some.

My Arrival To India

I am happy to say I have arrived safely, if eventfully to India. Nothing scary, just mother nature reminding us, again, who is in charge. My flight touched down in Delhi on time, 11:30p local time, and then four hours later I found my driver and headed to my hotel.

Delhi was encased in a very thick fog, and the visibility was so low that the pilot couldn't find the airport terminal building on his own. He called for a "Follow Me" car, and it couldn't find it either. Next came the tow truck, with the tow bar sufficent to pull our 400+ passernger 747, but without the KLM engineer required to hook up everything, we were stuck. Even towed, the plane was not allowed within striking range of the terminal, so all 400 of us had to be bussed in. We were the second to last plane to land before the airport shut down, so I'm not really complaining...

Comparatively speaking, immigration and baggage claim was easy and fast. Finding my driver, not so much. The international arrival hall is a madhouse-zoo-circus, pick your metaphor. With drivers with signs lined up four thick on either side of the exit corridor, and family and friends five thick at the end of it, it was impossible to find my name on a sheet of paper as I crept by with my luggage cart. I had been instructed to exit through door # 2 and find my driver, Mr Pal, there. My, what a silly idea that was. There were more people outside than inside, and not one of them was holding a sign. Fortunately phone calls in India are a breeze, and cheap, so I dialed the number given to me by the hotel and reached, um, the manager who was asleep and NOT at the airport. But he had the driver's cell number (he'd sent me the wrong number), and soon Mr Pal and his 12 words of English and my no words of Hindi were connected at door #1 (fewer people, and he had my sign).

Driving through the deserted Delhi streets in thick fog at four in the morning in the back seat of a tiny car with no seat belts and little Mr P who weighs 80 lbs less than me was an adventure of its own. If this had been my first time to India I might have been nervous. But sometimes you just have to trust. Which I did. And I arrived safely at my not-so-nice-super-grotty budget hotel and was greeted by the newly awoken somewhat cranky night manager, checked in, and sent to sort out the smell in my room. Ah, India!

I immediately resolved to leave Delhi as soon as posibble, and today I went to the tiny-bit-busy New Dehli train station and easily bought a train ticket to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, for 140 ruppees, about $3.50. It is good to return to places you've traveled, where you have a certain competence. But this place is seriously crazy. I know it probably has its own rythym and symmetry, but to me it looks like chaos. Very loud chaos at that, with the non-stop cacaphony of horns from everything with wheels.

My first day in India was tough. I attracted the local beggar child, before I had been to the ATM, so I had no cash, just in case I was inclined to give. I went for lunch, again before I had been to the ATM, so had to exit quickly before ordering to go find cash. Then my ATM card didn't work - it's a bit fussy - and I had to go back to the hotel to get my back-up ATM card and ponder what to do about the primary one. Then coming back from lunch some kids took up target practice, throwing rocks at my back as I walked in front of them (what the f_ _k?!?!??!).

So...how has your day been???

In spite of all that, I really am glad to be here. India is just shocking in the extreme at first. Just takes some getting used to. We will find our rythym, I'm sure. Now back to the hotel to deal with that smell again...!

More Photos from Camino 2009

Saint James, patron saint of the Camino

On foot in Spanish, not directions to dessert.

Fall on the Camino

My favorite flower. Confirms for me there is a God.

Germany, January 2010

New Years snow in Germany, with my friend's Dad

Istanbul, 17 - 28 December 2009

I am enchanted by this city. It is the perfect blend of east meets west. It has the infrastructure and workability of any European city, with the vibrant, chaotic street markets one finds in the east.

I can't get enough of Istanbul. After nine days I started to feel sad that I was leaving, which is my strongest indication that I did the city right.

Each morning around 6:30am the first call to prayer of the day reverberates through the old town from the mighty Blue Mosque. I can hear it from my bunkbed at the Agora Hostel - one of the best hostels I have ever stayed at. I hear three more calls to prayer each day, all at full volume from whichever mosque I am near. From the terrace at the Topakl palace I can hear the calls from all the mosques across Istanbul. It's not a beautiful sound, but it is compelling.

The Topakl Palace was home to the Sultanate of the Ottoman Empire for more than 600 years. It holds many wonders, including an 86 karat diamond, the exquisitely decorated harem of the Sultan, and the Sacred Safekeeping Rooms. These rooms house relics important to Islam - the beard and tooth of Mohammed, the arm bone of St. John, and two drain spouts from the holy Kaa'ba in Mecca, dating from the 1600's (to name just a few of the wonders). The only way to understand the beauty of this palace is to be there yourself. Just go, really, you won't be dissappointed!

I spent Christmas Eve in a very non-traditional, non-Christian way, by attending a sema ceremony of the Whirling Dervishes at a proper monastery. The Dervishes are a sect of the Sufi order or Islam. The ceremony is reverent and full of symbolism, but the only thing to really know about this sect is that their core values are love, tolerance, brotherhood, and Divine Love. Women are identified as equals, and both men and women participate in the ceremony.

It takes several years to become a dervish. In order to qualify to participate publicly in a sema ceremony, a dervish must be able to spin 1000 times without incident. One thousand revolutions takes about an hour. Check out this website if you are interested in seeing the dervishes whirl: http://www.linktv.org/globalspirit/Ecstasy. The talk show (of sorts) is hosted by Phil Cousineau, author of one of my favorite books, The Art of Pilgramage. The episode is about Ecstasy, so if you watch it you will learn about more than just the dervishes!

Istanbul: Baklava, hand-painted tiles, carpets, tea, bazaars, mosques, mosaics, apricots, nargileh (water pipe; yes, I tried it), backgammon, Turkish Delight, clean restrooms with soap and paper towels; this is my new favorite city!!!

Photos from Istanbul, December 2009

My first sighting of the Blue Mosque. Not my last, as you will see. I am enchanted with this building, and am delightfully startled by it every time I see it. By the way, the Blue Mosque is blue on the inside.

The faithful performing pre-prayer ablutions in the courtyard of the Beyazit Mosque.

Exquisite hand-painted tile work at the Topakl Palace, where the Sultans of the Ottoman empire lived for 600 years.

Coffee break with Courtney near the New Mosque.

The Galata Tower behind the Galata Bridge.

My favorite food group is dessert. I counted 13 different types of Baklava. No, I don't miss eating meat!

Fishing from the Galata Bridge, with the new mosque in the background.

No, they are NOT my kids. (One of the FAQs of Istanbul. UGH.) Courtney (NY), Niall and Sasha (UK) Only Courtney is young enough to be my child, if I started really, really early.