wastelands

hey guys -

there are a ton of updates coming soon! we have about 10 or so ready to go and tons of photos too. only problem is wireless internet has been hard to come by. stay tuned!

The Road to Hafeet

We're driving through the desert on our way to Al Ain. Allow me to emphasize "desert." This is not a hot dry place with scrub brush. This is orange dunes, camels and a searing sun that bleaches everything. Trees and even grass along the roadside is imported, cultivated,maintained. Only the hardiest of plants grows wild here.

We stop at a road stop. The men are dark, their eyes are blood shot, pupils mere pinpricks. The toilet is a hole in the ground, the tile is stained and flies are everywhere. It's cool in the restroom, but there is humidity and stench. The comfortable life of Dubai city seems further away than the actual distance, a mere 100km.

Large walled communities and summer homes greet us off the highway, with big palms and bright flowers everywhere. I wonder how much work and water goes into keeping petunias blooming in this heat.


There are mosques everywhere along the road and at each wide spot on the highway. Some are open rooms with scant more than four walls. Others boast tall minarets, elaborate molding and expensive construction materials. I've wondered how many Muslims really keep their vow to pray five times daily. I'm beginning to believe that it's far more than I imagined. Just because religion takes a back seat in my country doesn't mean that true here. More evidence: even in the desert heat, the women and men are covered up. A group of guys walks a roundabout near one of the walled comminitites - dress shirts buttoned up, leather shoes and jeans. (we later pass the mosque at Abu Dhabi at sundown. My crumby image is below - google it to be impressed)





A barb wire fence seperates us from Oman. I know that perhaps 70 miles to the south, the border with Saudi Arabia looms. A short jaunt accross the sea brings one to Iraq or Iran. Civilization, it seems, is a fancy word for "fences."



On top of hafeet mountain, the tallest peak in the emirates, the sun is pouring down white, blinding light. To the north, there's a palace or hotel or something up here but no ones home it seems. I wish I could say it's silent or austere or meditative up here, but it isn't. There's a market selling snacks And soda, the ground is littered with bottle caps and ketchup packets, and the sounds of construction and traffic come up from the sprawl below from the highway on the mountainside. A few flies alighting on my moustache and a pair of sand colored birds are the only indications of nature.


The wing blows a welcome breeze. The heat is oppressive. So much so that I stand in the shade of a lampost to write some notes. A few cars drive up. Everyone on the mountaintop is silent.



To the west, a welcome view: the desert. A few rocky outcroppings frame dunes and the ironically water-rippled sandscape. "Arakis" comes to mind. There is a steady breeze coming from this quarter, a clear view and a sense of wilderness. With the taxis and truckstop to the east behind me, I almost feel like I'm in nature. The expanse is so vast that it merges seemlessly with the sky. Earth and wind, sky and sun are all the same. Only water is missing. And how it's missing ... This is true heat, true dryness. Lips cracked, ears tingling warm, I walk back towards what appears to be a broken gate.


It's the path to the top, a trail of dirt and scree. I shed a layer, tie on the lucky red bandana and start climbing. With every turn in the trail, a new desert vista. Haze blankets the ground below, obscuring the houses and date farms below. The parkong lot shrinks away everytime i glance west over my shoulder. Images of deserts flash through my memory - that scene from Bogus Journey / Star Trek, the exodus of the Jews, the aforementioned Dune, Lawrence of Arabia. The discomfort, the scale and scope is not communicable.





I find Eliot already at the top. Eliot puts "higher love" on the iPod and we rock out. The top of the highest peak in the emirates is littered with quartzite, pourous stone and shells that look and feel like concrete. I collect a few and we begin to head back down, to the fenced in balcony, the car ... and civilization.

4 Days to Go-Time

Here's a summary of Eliot's countdown week:

Yesterday: We weighed our checked luggage (see: bag of pannier bags) at Kinkos FedEx ( the guy there really gave us the hairy eyeball, too) - after a quick wager between Drew and I about the total cumulative weight of our non-bike stuff (he said 40-something, I said over 50 lbs), the bags came out to just about 41 lbs. Point Drew - he's definitely going to the showcase-showdown now.

Last night: Fabulous party at Cameron's folks' house (your Mom is a premium dancer). Ended up in a very cold swimming pool. Good night, amen.

Today: Packed up my junk, i.e. worldly possessions, into the back of the car and ready to take it down to my Grandparent's house for storage.

Tonight: Put my bike and anything else under 50 lbs in the giant shipping box that we'll be using to check our bags on our Emirates flight to Dubai in 4 days.

4 DAYS!!!!!!! HOLYMOLYROLYPOLY!!!

Tomorrow and Tuesday: Breakfast at Chuy's with Grandfather, dominoes and Trivial Pursuit with Grandmother, quality time with Merlin.

Wednesday: Hop a bus to Houston, meet with my cousins and spend the night. More Trivial Pursuit, hopefully.

Thursday: AIRPORT!!!! Adios, 'mer-cuh, hola Dubai and India-na-na-na-na-na-na

Time's up, let's do this!

Arrivederci, Alamo!

today ended my brief (but memorable) 17-month stay at Alamo Hospice (no, not as a patient, as an employee). it's interesting, when i started working there, my goal was to be as healthy as i could be with my ultimate goal to live to be 150. after working at a hospice i know now that i want to die a sudden, violent death at the height of my life. 

with that in mind, i turn my attention towards the cobras, tigers and multitudinous diseases of the Indian subcontinent. 9 days to close up all the ends of my life here in Texas, bike a ton and head out. 

OH! we added a twitter feed over on the side there. if you (groan) "tweet," then please by all means twoot your twit with us. or whatever you call it. bursts of genius, shots of stupidity and flights of fancy all @ghostrunners. 

(big breath)

eliot and i are officially insured.

we are also officially visa'd.

we have tickets.

(big breath)

here we go.

going number 2

i'm not going to beat around the bush: toilets in india are different than toilets in america:

the basic idea is the same. you, um, just put pull the train into the station, you know? but whereas we like to sit enthroned, comfortable and relaxed atop the porcelain seat, indian dudes and babes just squat down and let 'er rip. there's always a tap with a bucket which, as one set of instructions informs us, one is to "forcefully empty in the direction of your bottom." 

we're packing toilet paper. and hand sanitizer. 

EXHIBIT B - actually pretty cozy looking. Gross Factor: 1/5 Encharitos or a Whoopi Goldberg film

our basic perceptions of indian toilets are based on whatever google image search can turn up, the few indian movies featuring the pot, and this one story our buddy seth told us about this time in thailand where four dudes just came into the bathroom while he was popping a squat and stared at him while he finished his business. personally, i think they were taking bets. those thai dudes will bet on anything. 

EXHIBIT C - Gross Factor: 4/5 Encharitos or Pizza the Hut

On the other hand, it's possible (nay, probable) that we're just spoiled. i mean, putting your butt where other people's butts have been is pretty gnarly. this is actually a really sanitary way to make boom-booms. the only part of you that comes in contact with anything is your feet, which are hopefully in shoes and pretty dirty to start with. the water makes good sense and keeps you smelly-free. i mean, yes, using your hand grosses me out but then again i come from the west where we put paper on our toilet seats, paper in our bums and paper dries our hand. is it cleaner? arguably. is it more wasteful? almost certainly. plus, most toilets india are probably totally awesome: 

EXHIBIT D - Gross Factor: 0/5 - I would be honored to "numero dos" down there.  

we'll let you know what we make of all this when we get to india. i don't know what it says about us, but we get really excited about stuff like this. cultural differences i mean, not scat. 

eeeewwww. sorry for this one, readers.