Arise with the sunrise, as per usual, and leave the so-and-so hotel in so-and-so town. in just one or two days we would be in panji in goa. if we were to meet the alscasians, we would have to hurry. we made good time in the morning, cover about 30km in two hours. we managed to convine one of the three-wheeled truck wallas to give us a ride in the bed of his vehicle and covered about 15km before being dropped in the historic city of Savantvadi. ithe beautiful town is situated around a lake with many shops, fine bridges and old fortifications. if you have the time, stop over. worth a tourist photo or two.
from there, the weather had heated up, so the ride got much tougher. fortunately we hit a big hill and after some rugged climbing, hit the top and began the cruise down. zipping through the narrow bends of the downhill pass brought a welcome breeze to our sun-scorched bodies and we spent several minutes relishing the feeling as we dodged fully-laden trucks, motorcycles, potholes and monkeys on the road. seriously, folks: if you have the means, you must come bike the western ghats. the insane up hills are worth it for the equally insane downhills. do as i say, not as i do - wear a helmet.
unfortunately, the other side of the hill was even hotter. as we battled ever-rising heat with ever decreasing shade, we pumped the pedals to blow through a series of small towns before enthusiatic holi participants could get their toxin-stained little mits on us. we cross the border into goa about 13:00. no shade, few trees and a searing 95 degree heat meant we were in for a tough ride, slow going and potentially dangerous camping. being a tent with unguarded bikes in a snady expanse is a good way to attract snakes, bugs and bandits - a term i had never heard used seriously or literally until i came here.
fortunately, we flagged downa goods carrier truck. a couple of young guys let us stow the bikes above the cab, as we rode inside with the bags. they took us the remaining 40km to panaji, but not before we were stopped at a police check point and your old pal drew was called in to talk to the cops. i spent a tense 10 seconds staring at an indian police customs agent- nototriously corrupt dudes - hastily answering questions before he asked the truckers for 50Rs in "baksheesh" (bribe) before letting us go. whew.
in the end, the truckers were nice guys but their one long nail, gaunt looks and insistence that we pay them more than the ride was worth left us feeling a bit uneasy. to be honest, they are probably only slightly crooked, like much of the infastructure of the country. we arrived safely and reminded ourselves that even though things were fine and safe, in teh future we should barter more and discuss pricing and stuff up front. back-ending your transactions is a good way to get overcharged. there was never any fear that these guys would harm us or steal outright from us - that sort of thing is extremely rare here. but still, be careful. again, do as i say, not as i do - i trust myself and i trust eliot so i know that in a scrap, we'll deal and be fine. but in your travels, exercise caution when doing dumb gringo stuff like taking a ride with strangers.
a new lesson learned, we loaded up and headed into panaji. the former protuguese stronghold feels just like a tiny european town, complete with tiles rooftop cafes, winding streets and a heavily trafficed waterfront. finding a great room (Rs.600 for two nights! safe, secure, great windows, good beds - tourism definetly drives prices down!), we spent the night visiting a book store, watching a thousand-person street festival and then heading back to the room for a kingfisher, a little BBC world service (such a a treat!) and a good rest. i nod off to the breeze billowing our curtain, the sounds of the city dying under the police curfew and the knowledge that tomorrow, for the first time the trip started, i can sleep in ...
Showing posts with label new friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label new friends. Show all posts
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
maharastra by bus
yesterday we awoke on the beach, packed up and made tracks to Srivrahndan. after breakfast and water refill, we found out that we could on, in fact, take a ferry accross the creek to continue south but had to catch a mus to mahad and from there get a bus to Diapoli.
a quick note: the guide books don't mention Srivrahdan, but it is one of the cleanest, most organized and friendliest littles towns we're visited. eager help from the locals, great chai, cheap eats and a pristine hidden beach just 1 km from the roundabout at the big tree. we got the impression that tourist very extremely rare. we were treated with exceptional care, but the gem is the town itself: clean streest, wide ravines running infront of each well kept house. idyllic. if you happen to be in the area, check it out. the beach would be perfect for camping and i'm sure the locals would oblige. highly recommended.
we bused to mahad and waited for two hours for the next bus which too us to Ratnigir in four hours. we opted to use bus travel as both a day of rest from the four previous days of 6-9 hours biking, and a good way to cover difficult terrain quickly. in all we made it 100km down the coast.
the nightbus was terrifying and exciting. no lights, inside the bus or on the road it seemed. occasionally the headlights of an oncoming cargo truck, a snap swerve to avoid the collision, skirting a cliff gave and then back to total darkness. eliot and i opted to listen to music through earphones to keep ourselves distracted.
we got off the bus in Ratnigiri with no idea of where to stay or go. in the dim mercury-lamp glow of the bus station parking lot we loaded up the bikes, stray dogs and znoozing beggars watching. we were hopeful - if our time here in india has taught us anything, it's that when you hit bottom, india will provide something for you. you must have faith that thigns will be okay, and then they will be. so, with trepedation we put our feet to the pedals. rats scattered. dogs and cows featsted together on waste and trash in the streets, as we headed into the Ratnigiri night.
... only to hear a familiar voice calling "Hello, my friends!" we looked over to find Daniel, our Alsacian friend from the previous morning standing before a hotel not 30 yards from the bus station, lazily pulling on a cigarette with two friends. he tells us that he's staying in the hotel there, very cheap and clean, convenient and safe. we pull in, pay a scant 416Rs and head around the corner and up some stairs into a shady, blown out bar where we pick up a couple bottles of beer. back in Daniel's room, we sit on the balcony over looking the closed shops and the streets full of grabage and smelling of human and animal waste. we spend the rest of the evening there, talking politics, film and wine over kingfisher beer and beedies. the whole time we shake our heads and think "what are the odds?"
india is magic.
a quick note: the guide books don't mention Srivrahdan, but it is one of the cleanest, most organized and friendliest littles towns we're visited. eager help from the locals, great chai, cheap eats and a pristine hidden beach just 1 km from the roundabout at the big tree. we got the impression that tourist very extremely rare. we were treated with exceptional care, but the gem is the town itself: clean streest, wide ravines running infront of each well kept house. idyllic. if you happen to be in the area, check it out. the beach would be perfect for camping and i'm sure the locals would oblige. highly recommended.
we bused to mahad and waited for two hours for the next bus which too us to Ratnigir in four hours. we opted to use bus travel as both a day of rest from the four previous days of 6-9 hours biking, and a good way to cover difficult terrain quickly. in all we made it 100km down the coast.
the nightbus was terrifying and exciting. no lights, inside the bus or on the road it seemed. occasionally the headlights of an oncoming cargo truck, a snap swerve to avoid the collision, skirting a cliff gave and then back to total darkness. eliot and i opted to listen to music through earphones to keep ourselves distracted.
we got off the bus in Ratnigiri with no idea of where to stay or go. in the dim mercury-lamp glow of the bus station parking lot we loaded up the bikes, stray dogs and znoozing beggars watching. we were hopeful - if our time here in india has taught us anything, it's that when you hit bottom, india will provide something for you. you must have faith that thigns will be okay, and then they will be. so, with trepedation we put our feet to the pedals. rats scattered. dogs and cows featsted together on waste and trash in the streets, as we headed into the Ratnigiri night.
... only to hear a familiar voice calling "Hello, my friends!" we looked over to find Daniel, our Alsacian friend from the previous morning standing before a hotel not 30 yards from the bus station, lazily pulling on a cigarette with two friends. he tells us that he's staying in the hotel there, very cheap and clean, convenient and safe. we pull in, pay a scant 416Rs and head around the corner and up some stairs into a shady, blown out bar where we pick up a couple bottles of beer. back in Daniel's room, we sit on the balcony over looking the closed shops and the streets full of grabage and smelling of human and animal waste. we spend the rest of the evening there, talking politics, film and wine over kingfisher beer and beedies. the whole time we shake our heads and think "what are the odds?"
india is magic.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Mr. Kunal
there is no way to sum up everything that happened we met and stayed with mr.kunal. i think, for the sake of the blog, i'll try to sum things up quickly. sadly, i cannot transmit to you everything that was said and felt during our evening with him and his beautiful family. you'll just have to take my word when i say it marks a meeting with one of the finest souls i've met in this life.
(fyi, for visualization purposes, imagine ghandi and hemingway mixed together and you've pretty much got it)
so there we are, tired and hungry with only a dim hope that up ahead lies someplace, anyplace, where we can rest. we pull into a 'holiday house" to ask for directions. a deaf man waves at us and smiles, then motions to the big house. a smiling man in a blue shirt and simple sandals emerges and approaches us, smiling and waving.
we give him the standard speech. "hi, we're gringos. we're traveling india on bikes and we're looking for (insert poorly pronouced destination here)." we expect broken english and a vague sense of where the next town is. instead we get -
"kim beach is very close. but you may camp here on my land if you wish. here, here or over there - wherever. there are guest houses there you may use if you don't wish to camp. here is a double room. come inside. here is hot water. is this bathroom okay? the water is all filtered. i know how you westerners are about clean water. here is hot water for a bath. take one, it will work out all the knots. sit here, i'll get some tea."
we were stunned. he never insisted we stay, he only made sure we knew we were welcome too. "may we pay you for the room?" i asked. "why? just stay here, there is not trouble."
honestly, i was on the verge of tears. bleary eyed, i wiped my face and sat down to tea and biscuits. we had tea while the sun set in kunal's backyard. he left us alone saying he had a few things to do. when we were settled, we worked on the bikes for a while and both took a long indian style bath - basically pouring water over yourself from a small bucket. it's wondefully refreshing, a good exercise (as mr. kunal later pointed out) and oddly luxurious. we adjusted the brake pads and trued all the wheels before deciding that we should go thank our hosts again.
we were welcomed into the main house with smiles and were given the full tour. kunal spent years working as a wireless operator for different oil companies and ammased enough money to buy a little land, build a house and plant many trees to eat off of. his prayer room was beautifully tucked away and very cleanly swept. the kitchen was well used and smelt like fresh food. the whole place was spacious, comfortable and lived-in. we were seath and kunal and his lovely wife gave us rum and pepsi. we drank two rounds with kunal and talked about so much ... amnog the two hours or more throughout which there was never a dull or uninspiring moment, a few bright points stick out -
"europeans think too highly of themselves. you have to buy yours bread over here, not there. you are over there, i am over here. you are low. i am high. in France you must always be less than the french. france is a terrible place."
"churches can be very good but you must be careful - they like to build buildings and wear white robes, clean robes only. sometimes they are really good people but often they want some money or they say "you better think like me!""
"being on the bottom, being poor, is a very good thing. way up high on the mountain are the officials, the rulers and the priests and things. but from the bottom of the mountain you can see straight up their robes. so you know their asses are as dirty as yours."
"the world is a round place - what happens here, goes around to there."
"if you have stream that's flowing in one direction and you want to change it, you cannot cut it off, or just block it. it will explode and run over. you have to turn it very slowlyvery gradually and then it will go right where you want wihout any problems. this is how indians deal with things. when we kicked the british out, there were anglo-indians left who only wanted to associate with each other. so we said - okay. and we pushed them out a little. next generation, we push them out a little further. now, there are none."
"in america, decades ago, it didn't matter what you did, only how much money you made. we make the same? we're on par. it doesn't matter if he is a drug dealer or pimp or anything - money made you equal. now i think things are different. but here, we don't just move out the dealer. if you make it, maybe you sell it, or you use it. just like the stream - little bit at a time, we push them all over there. we kick them out. if you do any part of it, we move you over there, we move you out - slowly."
"there is no other woman than my wife for me, romantically. there are other women, i know. but sex or something - doesnt cross my mind. a son grows up and he says "this is my mom. this is my new mom. this is my new dad." and he grows up with that and he sleeps with whoever. i think you guys, your generation is better, but many americans and europeans grow up and they don't klnow what marraige is. i love my wife, she is my the only one."
"it's like benches or signs that say "no blacks or dogs allowed." a kid, maybe 6 or 8 he doesn't know, doesn't care. his best friend is black. but he sees that sign and his friend sees that sign. then about 10 or 11 he says, what is black? he is black, i am not black, like this. there are many examples. we shouldn't teach our children these things. but it's very important to know - something changes in the mind at ten or eleven. we stop just being us, our mind opens uand we start thinking and seeing other people differently. we should be careful what we teach children."
(fyi, for visualization purposes, imagine ghandi and hemingway mixed together and you've pretty much got it)
so there we are, tired and hungry with only a dim hope that up ahead lies someplace, anyplace, where we can rest. we pull into a 'holiday house" to ask for directions. a deaf man waves at us and smiles, then motions to the big house. a smiling man in a blue shirt and simple sandals emerges and approaches us, smiling and waving.
we give him the standard speech. "hi, we're gringos. we're traveling india on bikes and we're looking for (insert poorly pronouced destination here)." we expect broken english and a vague sense of where the next town is. instead we get -
"kim beach is very close. but you may camp here on my land if you wish. here, here or over there - wherever. there are guest houses there you may use if you don't wish to camp. here is a double room. come inside. here is hot water. is this bathroom okay? the water is all filtered. i know how you westerners are about clean water. here is hot water for a bath. take one, it will work out all the knots. sit here, i'll get some tea."
we were stunned. he never insisted we stay, he only made sure we knew we were welcome too. "may we pay you for the room?" i asked. "why? just stay here, there is not trouble."
honestly, i was on the verge of tears. bleary eyed, i wiped my face and sat down to tea and biscuits. we had tea while the sun set in kunal's backyard. he left us alone saying he had a few things to do. when we were settled, we worked on the bikes for a while and both took a long indian style bath - basically pouring water over yourself from a small bucket. it's wondefully refreshing, a good exercise (as mr. kunal later pointed out) and oddly luxurious. we adjusted the brake pads and trued all the wheels before deciding that we should go thank our hosts again.
we were welcomed into the main house with smiles and were given the full tour. kunal spent years working as a wireless operator for different oil companies and ammased enough money to buy a little land, build a house and plant many trees to eat off of. his prayer room was beautifully tucked away and very cleanly swept. the kitchen was well used and smelt like fresh food. the whole place was spacious, comfortable and lived-in. we were seath and kunal and his lovely wife gave us rum and pepsi. we drank two rounds with kunal and talked about so much ... amnog the two hours or more throughout which there was never a dull or uninspiring moment, a few bright points stick out -
"europeans think too highly of themselves. you have to buy yours bread over here, not there. you are over there, i am over here. you are low. i am high. in France you must always be less than the french. france is a terrible place."
"churches can be very good but you must be careful - they like to build buildings and wear white robes, clean robes only. sometimes they are really good people but often they want some money or they say "you better think like me!""
"being on the bottom, being poor, is a very good thing. way up high on the mountain are the officials, the rulers and the priests and things. but from the bottom of the mountain you can see straight up their robes. so you know their asses are as dirty as yours."
"the world is a round place - what happens here, goes around to there."
"if you have stream that's flowing in one direction and you want to change it, you cannot cut it off, or just block it. it will explode and run over. you have to turn it very slowlyvery gradually and then it will go right where you want wihout any problems. this is how indians deal with things. when we kicked the british out, there were anglo-indians left who only wanted to associate with each other. so we said - okay. and we pushed them out a little. next generation, we push them out a little further. now, there are none."
"in america, decades ago, it didn't matter what you did, only how much money you made. we make the same? we're on par. it doesn't matter if he is a drug dealer or pimp or anything - money made you equal. now i think things are different. but here, we don't just move out the dealer. if you make it, maybe you sell it, or you use it. just like the stream - little bit at a time, we push them all over there. we kick them out. if you do any part of it, we move you over there, we move you out - slowly."
"there is no other woman than my wife for me, romantically. there are other women, i know. but sex or something - doesnt cross my mind. a son grows up and he says "this is my mom. this is my new mom. this is my new dad." and he grows up with that and he sleeps with whoever. i think you guys, your generation is better, but many americans and europeans grow up and they don't klnow what marraige is. i love my wife, she is my the only one."
"it's like benches or signs that say "no blacks or dogs allowed." a kid, maybe 6 or 8 he doesn't know, doesn't care. his best friend is black. but he sees that sign and his friend sees that sign. then about 10 or 11 he says, what is black? he is black, i am not black, like this. there are many examples. we shouldn't teach our children these things. but it's very important to know - something changes in the mind at ten or eleven. we stop just being us, our mind opens uand we start thinking and seeing other people differently. we should be careful what we teach children."
Friday, February 26, 2010
Aneel and Co.
Stayed up last night working on the bikes and getting them ready for the exodus. About 1:45am there was a knock at the door. Aneel (one of our amazing hosts here at the hotel) saw we were still up, working hard and offered us a beer.
Aneel on the right speaking to Robert. They are either arguing about train protocol or arguing over what food or drink to bring us next.
Drinks in hand we hung out in the lobby with the staff drinking (us) and eating (them). We talked about how all the staff here are Christians, anjeel offered us a home to stay in in mangalore and we chatted about the bizarre rules of cricket. Aneel stated that he wished that he, like Americans, had money to spend on trips to see the world. I countered that while we may have more money in America, Indians have more heart. See for example today's earlier entries. This set anjeel and the staff into smiles of affirmation.
"work is very important here," he said,"and people may not have as much. The expectation is lower, but- as you say - the heart is bigger." We tipped a good rickshaw driver well and got smiles, honks and waves for a block after he let us out. We talked about our trip and interest in India and got maps, heartfelt congratulations and beer. I asked a guy today if someone Was lreparing pan and got two free pieces for me and Eliot and a complete history of the stuff. You give these guys an inch and they hand you back a foot. Is there crimeand poverty and sickness and complete injustice here? Uniquivically yes. But here also lies a working system of people who genuinely, truly have enormous hearts capable of service and laughter that breaks the scale.
Especially coming from Dubai, this place seemed shockingly poor, destitute and, yes, seriously dangerous. It is all of those things but much more too. Here lies the heart of the Buddha, the Vajra Sword, the Wisdom of Genesha, the Power of Allah, and the Spirit of Christ.
Aneel on the right speaking to Robert. They are either arguing about train protocol or arguing over what food or drink to bring us next.
Drinks in hand we hung out in the lobby with the staff drinking (us) and eating (them). We talked about how all the staff here are Christians, anjeel offered us a home to stay in in mangalore and we chatted about the bizarre rules of cricket. Aneel stated that he wished that he, like Americans, had money to spend on trips to see the world. I countered that while we may have more money in America, Indians have more heart. See for example today's earlier entries. This set anjeel and the staff into smiles of affirmation.
"work is very important here," he said,"and people may not have as much. The expectation is lower, but- as you say - the heart is bigger." We tipped a good rickshaw driver well and got smiles, honks and waves for a block after he let us out. We talked about our trip and interest in India and got maps, heartfelt congratulations and beer. I asked a guy today if someone Was lreparing pan and got two free pieces for me and Eliot and a complete history of the stuff. You give these guys an inch and they hand you back a foot. Is there crimeand poverty and sickness and complete injustice here? Uniquivically yes. But here also lies a working system of people who genuinely, truly have enormous hearts capable of service and laughter that breaks the scale.
Especially coming from Dubai, this place seemed shockingly poor, destitute and, yes, seriously dangerous. It is all of those things but much more too. Here lies the heart of the Buddha, the Vajra Sword, the Wisdom of Genesha, the Power of Allah, and the Spirit of Christ.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Dinner with the Sharans
We drove over to the house of a guy who works with eliot's dad. Vikram Sharan and his wife Shwetka invited us over for some amazing food and advice about travel to their home country. Besides having a great apartment overlooking the water, an adorable (and talkative) daughter, and a bunch of good advice, Vikrams wife is an amazing cook. We had two kinds of vegetarian dishes, a yogurt, rice, homemade bread,carrot dessert and curried chicken.
Before lunch, gathered around a small table in the living room, Vikram ran us through about a hundred little towns and cities we have to see. From simple straight forward advice like "the view of the north is that it's unsafe. It's really very safe. Even for westerners" to some lofty claims like "Fateh Pursikri is much better than the Taj." and in the contiuing tradition of people everywhere in the world loving Texans, Vikram smiled when he learned that's where I'm from and, with some prodding, proclaimed "Bihar (his birthplace) is the Texas of India!!" He made the motion of pulling out six shooters. The legend of Texas continues! All hail the mighty state!
Really, we talked about too much to sum up here
but I wrote down as much as I could and I'm sure we'll be referencing it throughout the trip. It sounds like we'll get to experience the festival of colors (Holi) when we first arrive, got some Great Advice about traveling and staying in Nepal, and perhaps best of all, Vikrams brother is a colonel in the army who we're assured will be happy to show us to the Golden Temple!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
What about Bob?
I (eliot) had the great pleasure to speak with an expert on India a couple days ago, Bob Patel. Bob and his wife Kusum have lived on Bastrop, TX for some time after moving from India to the US years ago. They owned a series of hotels in Bastrop over the years, and my grandparents Cecil and Chrysta Moore participate in the Moore family reunion in Bastrop every year. Long story short, my Grandfolks and the Patels got in touch when the need for a hotel for the reunion arose. Years later, the Patels host members of our family every year in their hotels.
SO: At the behest of my Grandmother (and with some help), I rang up Mr. Patel and we met up. Among other things, we discussed trip logistics, places to see and stay, and most importantly, the various types of mangoes to eat and how to eat them. India has WAY more mangoes than America, something close to 190 different varieties. Some mangoes have more fiber inside of them, and instead of peeling and pitting them, you can just make an incision along the top of the mango and squeeze the juicy goodness out the top. Holy moly roly poly, I am ready.
Mr. Patel is from the north western state of Gujarat. He suggested that if we go anywhere near the Pakistani border, I should shave my bodacious facial hair, as I may be mistaken for a Muslim and have to deal with, well, whatever may happen. I think I would have trouble relating my religious affiliation with the 24 Hour Church of Elvis to any curious Indians.
The talk was great - I came away with a batch of notes and knowledge and Mr. Patel came away knowing he helped a couple of clueless schmucks be less so. Thanks very much, Mr. Patel, and my Grandfolks look forward to seeing you and Kusum come the Moore family reunion!
In other news - I am getting over a totally mild cold. Actually hoping it was going to happen now and not right before we left for DubaIndia.
Also: 8 DAYS!!! AAAACCCKKkkkkk..coughcoughcough, huffkkugh.....Woo! 8 Days!
Monday, February 8, 2010
dinner with the saeeds
i work with a wonderful person named Nabeeyah Saeed. We just call her Bea. Bea was born and raised in Michigan but her family is originally from Yemen, and that's where her husband was born. Alot of their family lives in India, particularly in and around Hyderabad and Madras. Last sunday they invited us over for dinner.
When we first got there, Mr. Saeed treated eliot and i to a nice, cold XXs. apparently, he's crazy about mexican beer. i can empathize. we talked alot about the trip, his family, our family. we had some chili / lime fried chips (also from mexico). as we munch down and knock back beer it occurs to me that mexico and india have a lot in common. deeply religious, traditional older folks set against the modernization of the young, post colonialism and (as i've mentioned here) a love of mixing sweet with spicy. also, dancing.
mr. saeed talked a lot about his time in madras as a young man. about brahmans looking down on those lower than them (in the caste system, that's everyone else), about Sikhs hating muslims ... some strong words were exchanged. at the end of each assertion, though, Mr. Saeed would sweep it away. "Do what you want to do" he said later in the evening. "if people don't approve, then to hell with them. Go somewhere else." I guess that's how he ended up with Bea, in America.
Bea is a perfectly western woman. She lied to her mother to play soccer, hid her intentions to join the FBI and ended up working as a director of nurses at a hospice taking care of the dying. she does what she wants, says what she thinks and has one of the biggest hearts in the world. Mr. Saeed is a blessed man, and he knows it. As much as Yemenis extremists have been in the news, here are two wonderfully loving Americans, sharing food and wisdom with a couple of wide-eyed american-born idiots. Mr. Saeed left Yemen, then India, married a strong, independent woman and settled down with his family.
Bea makes Yogurt curry, rice, green beans and tuna curry. There's chutney, and chili sauce and something i can't identify - another chutney maybe? It's green and spicy and tastes good with everything. Me and eliot eat two plates before taking a break. I want more but i'm stuffed. I drink the rest of my beer to calm my stomach down. Everything tastes amazing.
He beams when his sons are in the room - he has 3. He scolds one of the young ones who is playing his video games upstairs too loud. he tells us about the food in india, how he loved curries and hot arabic dishes ... about how madras is the perfect city for vegetarians. He tells us that when he got married, bea told him she'd cook dinner on the first night. She made sloppy joe's. He was expecting curry and rice. Bea didn't know how to make curry (she grew up in Michigan - remember?).
Later we're in the garage. Mr. and Mrs. Saeed are smoking. Bea is sitting on an old bow-flex machine and Mr. Saeed leans on a desk. Eliot is in front of a heated and i'm in a plastic lawn chair. It's so cold we can see our breaths. Their cigarettes look warm.
"My sister was the third woman in Yemen to drive a car," Mr. Saeed is saying. "And you know, nowadays, that's okay. But then it was a big deal. It was Ramadan and you know, you're not allowed to eat all day. So people go out, they go for walks, they drive, they go to the market or the mall. So we were out driving and this guy, he stops us because my sister is driving. I get out and we start talking ... he says this ... I say ... I said a bad word. And it was Ramadan so I can't say these words. He pulls out a J-knife, a big knife, you know a j-knife? And he comes at me and I grab a rock and I hit him in the face." Eliot and I share a look.
We're back inside and the Saeeds are telling us about places to go, people they know we should look up. Mr. Saeed makes chai - we each have at least two cups. The tea is strong - and perfect. Mr. Saeed tells us to eat "paan" whenever we get a chance but to be careful where we spit - the treat turns your saliva red. He says to stay away from "sooka." It's like paan but stronger, made with some kind of tobacco or cannabis that will "turn our heads," he says. He says even indians won't touch it, the smart ones anyway.
We shake hands about a dozen times, i'm writing everything on my phone. We say goodbye five or six times and finally, four hours after arriving we walk out to the car, leftovers in our hands.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
following
if you're someone who is checking in on the blog from time to time, do us a favor and officially "follow" us by clicking the little white follow button over on the right there. see all them little pictures with the smiling people in them? YOU could be one of them! this helps us figure out just who is checking in - then we can send personal shout-outs, respond to your comments and perform ridiculous stunts at your behest.
thanks to those of you who are already following, and the rest of our readers as well.
thanks to those of you who are already following, and the rest of our readers as well.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
heavy
headed over to Good Sports again today to pick up a Katadyn Exstream XR water bottle (to add to our iodine tablets, fire and purchased bottled water for H20 purification options) and the most cool pants i have ever purchase because they are, in fact, 3 KINDS of PANTS.
1. Slacks
2. Button-up legs for Goucho-Style
3. Zip-off legs for Shorts.
I know, I know. I have crossed a threshold. The rubicon has been forded. There is no going back. I am officially an old man, and an easy target for attractive young ladies to giggle derisively at as he passes. I now own zip-off pants. sigh ...
On the other hand, they are super comfortable, way breathable, and I was never a very cool guy anyway. Meanwhile, Eliot went up to Houston / Austin this weekend for some family stuff and stopped over REI to pick up his own Katadyn bottle and some other stuff. Widdling down the purchase list (and my checking account ...). Got a few more big purchases (inoculations for me, insurance for both of us) and then we're off.
The enormity of the trip is really starting to hit me. Having some tough talks with family and friends about what this means, how much it costs and the risks. This is going to be the hardest thing i've ever put my body and mind through: dealing with culture shock, a semi-permeable language barrier, inclement weather conditions and more physical activity than some people do in a lifetime is going to rough to say the least. I'm scared to death.
But i'm also excited. This is exactly the kind of thing i've spent my whole life wanting to do. From my first steps into this big ol' world i wanted to push my limits and see what's over that next hill, around that next bend. So, to my family and friends: Wave goodbye as I go, keep me in your thoughts and i'll see you when the road comes back this way.
In the meantime, we'll be keeping you updated on these final 30 days-or-so. They'll be a big crunch at the end as we scramble to get everything lined up in time to shove off, but for now, keep checking in to hear about our wacky training-regime, ridiculous pants and personal dilemmas.
A special Ghost-Runners howdy-do to our newest follower Vinod Karimatt! Welcome aboard! If you guys get a chance, go check out one of his many sites, He's fond of the saying "Photography is the only language that can be understood anywhere in the world." Hey, from two film majors - we couldn't agree more. The picture above is from the website linked above. Go check out his photos!
1. Slacks
2. Button-up legs for Goucho-Style
3. Zip-off legs for Shorts.
I know, I know. I have crossed a threshold. The rubicon has been forded. There is no going back. I am officially an old man, and an easy target for attractive young ladies to giggle derisively at as he passes. I now own zip-off pants. sigh ...
On the other hand, they are super comfortable, way breathable, and I was never a very cool guy anyway. Meanwhile, Eliot went up to Houston / Austin this weekend for some family stuff and stopped over REI to pick up his own Katadyn bottle and some other stuff. Widdling down the purchase list (and my checking account ...). Got a few more big purchases (inoculations for me, insurance for both of us) and then we're off.
The enormity of the trip is really starting to hit me. Having some tough talks with family and friends about what this means, how much it costs and the risks. This is going to be the hardest thing i've ever put my body and mind through: dealing with culture shock, a semi-permeable language barrier, inclement weather conditions and more physical activity than some people do in a lifetime is going to rough to say the least. I'm scared to death.
But i'm also excited. This is exactly the kind of thing i've spent my whole life wanting to do. From my first steps into this big ol' world i wanted to push my limits and see what's over that next hill, around that next bend. So, to my family and friends: Wave goodbye as I go, keep me in your thoughts and i'll see you when the road comes back this way. In the meantime, we'll be keeping you updated on these final 30 days-or-so. They'll be a big crunch at the end as we scramble to get everything lined up in time to shove off, but for now, keep checking in to hear about our wacky training-regime, ridiculous pants and personal dilemmas.
A special Ghost-Runners howdy-do to our newest follower Vinod Karimatt! Welcome aboard! If you guys get a chance, go check out one of his many sites, He's fond of the saying "Photography is the only language that can be understood anywhere in the world." Hey, from two film majors - we couldn't agree more. The picture above is from the website linked above. Go check out his photos!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
idealism
representative leach spent the hour talking about civility and a series of talks he's giving on the subject. he also spent a good portion of his time talking about the need for citizens to be civil to one another, both in public discourse and abroad. he made a special point about citizen-diplomats and not relying on the government to be the sole diplomatic entity speaking on your behalf. in other words (with apologies to mr. leach) show some respect when you're talking to people. be a good guest and be gracious with your words and actions. anyway, i thought i'd drop him an e-mail:
Good Morning -
I'm still listening to you on the Diane Rehm show but I wanted to drop a note and say how much I am enjoying your talk - with special regards to something specific you said: that the government isn't the only diplomatic entity in the United States; that each citizen, in every way is an extension of diplomacy and has an obligation to remain civil. Powerful stuff, and I couldn't agree more! If you get a chance, please briefly check out http://ghost-runners.blogspot.com. A dear friend and I are going to be traveling through India as "ghost runners." We took our name from the suburban tradition of having an invisible man who plays for both teams during a baseball game, who helps how he can, and leaves no trace. We want to travel the country and meet with people one-on-one to just talk.
I think it's truly important to interact with people across the globe face to face - it's a chance to show respect to others and learn a bit about culture first hand. I deeply endorse the idea of citizen-diplomats and was overjoyed to hear that such an accomplished individual in such a prestigious position agrees whole heartedly. Thank you for being straight-forward and honest. We'll keep doing the same.
and mr. leach's repsonse came shortly thereafter:
Thanks for the note. I am intritgued with your perspective and term: "ghost runners." Sounds a bit conspiratorial but the intent couldn't be more idealistic and as few understand, idealism and practicality are frequently synonomous.what a thoughful, stand-up dude. we'd love to hear more from mr. leach, and we'll keep you posted if we do. his ideas about civility and respect hit right to the heart of what this trip we're taking is about.
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