Well, where to start? I suppose by apologizing to my mother, for I have lied. I've been in Afghanistan for the last month. I don't know why exactly... just to say I was there? So far my travels haven't been about that and I'm depressed if that's what it's become. Or is it to continue on my quest of eradicating fear beyond the point of seeing real danger? What is real danger? I could meet as awful a fate as any in my hometown of LA. If my time has come then death or injury can't be avoided. So why spend a lifetime in anticipation of the moment it ends? I try to follow my heart and this time it led me here... I thought maybe the reason would become clear once I was here, but not really... that's all I can say. These are the thoughts that brought me here. I wouldn't even normally try to justify my actions but I can see the look on mommy's face right now and well, she deserves something. So, I'm sorry.
Anyhoo... it all started in Islamabad. I came to Pakistan yet again to see the northern areas which eluded me last year when I got involved in the earthquake relief. This year my luck wasn't much better. Planning to head up through the north and in to China I started at the obvious place... the Chinese Embassy. Unfortunately people in these parts take their holidays pretty seriously and the embassy (and the Chinese land borders!) were closed for an entire week for National Day. Not being able to bear Islamabad for another minute I found myself on a bus towards Afghanistan. A bus that would put Greyhound to shame by the way, Pakistan has some serious buses floating between the major cities.
Last stop is Peshawar... I passed through here last year but this time was getting my Afghan visa and arranging permits through the dangerous tribal areas near the border, through which you're required to travel with an armed guard. Many people come here for a small taste of the outlawed lands... they get excited by the prospects of an armed guard, an open gun and drug market where you can by AK-47's and heroin and hash by the buttload, and catch a glimpse of the distant and infamous Khyber Pass. And a select few take the plunge and continue on through to the other side. I've met less than 10 travelers in my time here but more than 10 strange looks, most notably from expats.
I won't go deep into their lives, but I will say that they often function on a completely different level than any others here. Living behind high walls, traveling in heavily armed convoys and armoured vehicles, while to some degree a necessity, seems to really add to their level of fear and separation from the Afghans, and therefore, in my opinion, reality. I made it from Peshawar to the Khyber Pass just fine, but at the border met two UN workers also crossing at the same time. When I told one of them that I was heading in as a tourist he launched into a long monologue about the dangers, and told me, and I quote: "This is your first time to Afghanistan and it will be your last. You won't come out alive. Go outside and think this over, you're making a grave mistake." Naturally not the words you want to hear, but I've talked to enough people online about Afghanistan and I know what the general attitude and consensus is among him and many of his peers. It was very interesting insight into his world of fear. I kindly reminded him that he was the one traveling in an armed convoy, which the majority of recent attacks have been targeting. I opted for the local bus and kept my head low.
Kabul is an interesting city, it feels like it must be changing by the second. Much of the city has been destroyed through various wars and parts of it feel like a wasteland. But a few kilometres a way is the new town where I'm staying, with new hotels being built and old ones renovated, and glitzy shopping centers competing with internet cafes in numbers. Mobile phone and internet weren't in existence during Taliban rule, so it's amazing to look around and see the growth in just a few years. Not to mention the restaurants - such a large community of expats and military have spawned a whole level of amenities that most Afghans don't have access too. And my knack for ending up in the fanciest place in town on the first night in a country harks back to Rwanda, if you recall. This time it was L'Atmosphere, an upscale French restaurant/bar/hangout catering to foreigners, and the place of the moment for many of the expats. Am I really sitting in freakin' Kabul right now drinking a Corona Light and browsing over a $5/plate dessert menu that includes crepes and creme brulee and watching people take advantage of the wireless internet on their laptops? More importantly, is life ever what you expect it to be?
It turns out Afghanistan is exactly what I (un)expected. Is there destruction and war? Yes. Am I constantly threatened by it? Not really. Is there Coca Cola and french fries? Yes. Shitty Indian soap operas on the satellite tv's? Absolutely. Dubbed in to Persian? Unfortunately. Smiles? Everywhere. Strange looks? Also. Heard any bombs? Two. Was I in danger? Not really. Chances of being at the wrong place at the wrong time? Slim. Am I naive? Maybe.
My Pakistani friends were also concerned about me traveling here (in usual style in this part of the world neighboring countries tend to warn you about the next country you're headed to). Amjad told me he was sending Djinns along with me for protection. Another friend Ahmed said, and I quote: "Please take good care of yourself while you are in Afghanistan and Peshawar as these places are notorious for Homosexuality. CIAO another mind blower haan? But don't you worry, you can get one metal underwear with digital combination lock from Saddar Bazaar at very reasonable rates. Pathans are pretty good at inventing things."
I will say that, for the most part, Pakistan hospitality doesn't extend through the Khyber Pass. My last memory of Pakistan was of my friend Imran. I was visiting him at his shop in Islamabad, and I ordered some french fries. I waited for him to go to the toilet and then quickly paid for my food to avoid any arguments. Instead I greatly offended him by taking away his chance to do something for me, and he launched into a passionate monologue aimed at all of the restaurant employees, reminding them that I'm a guest in their country and they should all be ashamed of themselves for letting me pay. I got my money back. In Afghanistan some people will not only charge you for the fries, but will charge you triple and then maybe even try to stick a fry up your ass as you're leaving. Well okay, not really the french fry salesmen but certainly the taxi and minibus drivers. Some of the greediest muthas I've had the displeasure to meet.
In general things are pretty expensive here relative to other Asian countries and considering it's current state. Or maybe because of it's current state. Some of the locals blame it on the foreign aid workers who come in and spend a lot of money, pay whatever is asked, and drive prices through the roof. One hotel owner said his rent has more than doubled in the last few years. A hotel room here is costing me $10 a night and is of similar quality to a $2 a night hotel in India. Not to mention the dollar itself, it's as much a valid currency here as the Afghanis, and people are hungry for them.
Import stores abound... you can get just about anything you can think of here. I've taken advantage of the peanut butter and Cheeze-its, but left the Chicken-in-a-Biskit alone. You can read about the 'Bush Bazaar' here:
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2003291377_bazaar06.html
Back to my first night in Kabul, I met a couple of interesting people. One was a guy traveling across Afghanistan on a horse. Can't say that I would have the balls for that. A lady I met was far less interesting though. She told us the story of how earlier in the day a little girl came up to her asking for money, and reached down and touched her feet (a common way to show respect in many parts of Asia), to which she responded by threatening to hit the girl if she ever touched her again. She was truly appalled. What truly appalled me was that this girl was a journalist, responsible for reporting well-informed news and information back to the world. I can only hope that she was one of a kind and that the rest of them aren't so out of touch. I refrained from asking her what she thinks qualifies her to be here or why she would even want to come. I also refrained from calling her an insensitive bitch.
Anyhow, I visited a few more cities and some gorgeous surreal lakes... it was all beautiful... beautiful people, amazing landscapes, wonderful big mosques and one of the best call to prayers that I've heard. I went to Bamiyan and saw the site of the Buddhas that were destroyed by the Taliban - once the largest Buddhas in the world, now just a hole. You can see the pictures for all of that, I don't need to describe it to you here! Notice the abundance of donkeys!!! Their in almost every picture! I wonder if they make good pets, I might bring one home...
The last few weeks have been dominated by Ramadan, the holy month of fasting, which ends with Eid ul-Fitr, roughly the Muslim equivalent to Christmas. A weak and tired society has suddenly burst back to life over the last week eating as much as possible and generally celebrating in their new outfits which has been a fun atmosphere, with the exception of everything being closed for the entire week of Eid! More fun for the locals than visitors I think. I rejoiced yesterday when life finally returned to normal. Anyway, Eid Mubarak!
Here's a video clip of the call to prayer in Herat... not the best recording, but still nice to listen to. He was at his best in the early morning before sunrise, when the city was quiet and his voice fresh - it would echo loudly and could be heard for miles around. I wish I'd had gotten up early and recorded that one but it will just have to live on in my memory. And yours if you ever make it to Herat.
If you're a real Azan junky then I suggest this other video from Mecca that I found... better recording and beautiful...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYGVaclspl4
Mom, I'll be safely back in Pakistan sometime tomorrow, take a deep breath.
XOXO Wes
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Eid Mubarak from Donkeystan!!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Sikhs & Potatoes
I wish I could mention cheesecake in a 3rd consecutive email, but unfortunately my luck has run dry. Or more to the point the cheesecake has run dry. The last one I had was nasty and as gelatinous as ever. Yuck!
I finally got the hell out of Delhi. My intentions to return to Pakistan were temporarily grounded due to bad weather, as much of western India and Pakistan were drowning in monsoon rains, so I stopped by McDonald’s for one last Maharaja Mac and a McAloo Tikki burger and then headed for higher ground, namely Himachal Pradesh. And thank God I did, what a beautiful place! It was a great stop on my never-ending quest for natural beauty. An overnight train dropped me in Kalka, where you must switch to a narrow gauge ‘toy train’ to make the rest of the journey up to Shimla. I hadn’t pre-booked the second leg of the train which left me in cattle class, and fighting in line for a ticket so I could get on the train and get a seat. Some ruthless families decided to take unnecessary advantage of the ‘women’s queue’, which when there isn’t a separate women’s queue involves them walking to the front and demanding to be served immediately… nevermind the line of 100 people waiting for tickets. Chaos ensued, but thankfully I jumped into one of the last seats and on my way I was.
I don’t love Shimla, I was here a few years ago on my first trip to India. It’s an ok place, beautiful setting and all, but filled with ugly hotels and hundreds of Indian tourists. And shop after shop after restaurant after shop. Most unfortunate was my untimely arrival on the Indian Independence Day, meaning that Shimla was completely full, and prices had sky-rocketed beyond their already ridiculous ‘normal’ rates. Meaning I paid Rs 800 for a room that anywhere else in India would cost about Rs200. Yes, this still amounts to only around $18 or so, but this is India for fuck’s sake. Out of Shimla was the name of the game, so on a bus I found myself the next morning, speeding towards Kinnaur Valley to the east.
First stop was Sarahan, with only one real reason to come… the Bhima Kali temple. It’s about 800 years old, with gorgeous traditional Himachal architecture. A new temple was constructed in the 1920’s, thankfully in a complimentary style, but it’s seriously threatened by the old temple which is standing only 5 feet away and is leaning seriously towards it. Across the courtyard and where I was staying is another small temple where up until 200 years ago humans were sacrificed to Kali – now the honor is reserved for animals only. Sarahan is a lovely small village – certainly not untouched by travelers, but hardly overrun like Shimla, which seems to exist solely for their purpose.
There’s something nice about arriving in a place like Sarahan, where you can casually step off the bus and collect yourself without being besieged by taxi drivers and hotel touts, and standers-by will point you in the direction of the temple with a smile. Indeed I would be addicted to the move and the arrivals if they were all so pleasant.
And if my ass could handle another bus ride – I’m not so sure what to do, I think something may be broken. I wish I could just walk between towns, but I don’t have the stamina. Or skateboard, but I left mine at home and the roads here often suck anyway. A car would be nice. I used to think that I would prefer public transport because then you’re in closer contact with the local population and it makes for a more interesting journey. But I sometimes find it increasingly hard to sit through the same shallow dead-end conversation. Indeed it’s been a while since a bus ride has yielded a new and exciting experience. I would love to be taking the road at my own (safer) pace in a pimped out Cadillac, stopping when I want to and offering rides when I’m capable of conversation.
Occasionally someone refreshingly breaks the mould and tells you something you never knew you needed to know but are nonetheless happy to now have something new to ponder – like my new friend Hassan who, after the requisite 20 questions told me that the two most common things that could be found in every country in the world are Sikhs and potatoes. And now that he mentions it… But in the same 7 hour bus ride I also told at least 10 people (individually) my good name, age, qualification (schooling), country, and marital status (what? 29 and single, gasp!). American and you didn’t attend college?! But I thought you all lived perfect rich dream lives!!! I miss the days when I would have launched into a passionate monologue about the grass always being greener, how I want what you ‘have’ and you want what I ‘have’, but I just don’t seem to care anymore. So maybe it’s better that I just don’t speak.
There’s something about the length and effort involved in a journey that let’s you assume it will have a great payoff… Sangla isn’t such a place. The entire village is a construction site… new bridges, new hotels, etc etc etc… we spent ½ hour looking for a hotel that WASN’T near a construction site or under construction itself. ‘Us’ is me and the 2 Israeli girls that I met en route to Sarahan. We’re traveling together now – not much choice in this narrow string of valleys where there’s only really one trail to be followed. Everyone’s either heading east or west.
The route from Sarahan to Sangla involved a bus and 2 jeeps. While waiting for the 2nd jeep to depart and take us up the narrow winding track barely clinging to the side of the mountains (and often blasted out of the side of the mountain) two boys, about 13 or so, took turns jumping into the driver’s seat, and seemed to be arguing over which would be driving us up to Sangla. I was determined that it would be neither! Fortunately and overly friendly man in his 20’s and an awesome hat finally jumped in and made it clear that HE would be driving. Unfortunately no sooner did we embark then he pulled out a large bottle of Kingfisher (the local beer) and began chugging it and passing it around the front seat. He was the happiest man I’ve seen in weeks, and stopped to chat to everything we passed – vehicles, pedestrians – either because he knew them or wanted to. When another jeep eventually caught up to us he refused to let it pass and continued at his already established leisurely pace. He responded to neverending horn blasts by turning on the radio full volume to a soaring and ridiculous Bollywood musical number and smiling all the wider. We arrived safely if slightly shaken, stopping only once when we came to a tiny drive-thru temple built into the rock on the roadside. He honked the horn and a short dreadlocked baba came running out to offer us rock candy and place red smudges on our foreheads and wished us well.
The one positive note about Sangla was that decent accommodation was to be had for $2/night surrounded by apple orchids and wild dahlias. And some ok food. But then there was Chhitkul!!! So glad I wasted no more time and got up here with my 2 Israeli girlfriends. Sitting at 3500 meters it’s the last point along this (closed) ancient trade route to Tibet. The road was equally precarious to the Sangla road, and we did it in a 4wd jeep since buses are infrequent and at the moment non-existent due to a washed-out bridge. It’s only about 25km or so above Sangla but takes 45 minutes or so to slowly climb up around the bends and across the rocky and bridgeless streams, the scenery growing more stunning with each minute.
Chhitkul is an interesting combination of barren rockiness, pine forests, occasional waterfalls, a lush valley floor currently covered in yellow and pink flowers, and a river snaking through the center – combined with the beautiful traditional architecture it looks straight out of a mountain-set fairytale. We stayed in a lovely home stay where the family cooked for us.
We walked as high as we could (legally) towards Tibet which involved about 7km roundtrip, and a precarious cable with a one-seater basket attached used to cross the river by pulling yourself along with a rope, and an even more precarious foot bridge near the top made of 2 logs and some twigs – wet, a little slippery, fairly wobbly, and lacking in handrails. On the other side I scrambled up a very steep hill, and on the way back down, as it started to drizzle, I got stuck somewhere in the middle, couldn’t figure out which way to go, and without anything much to hold on to encountered near-death experience number 649 or something. I lost count a little while back.
From here I broke up with my Israeli girlfriends - they headed back towards Shimla, and I kept heading east to Kalpa. I wasn’t thrilled with the place, it’s a nice little village with some great mountain views, but lacked some of the magic of Chhitkul. I did, however, meet my new group of friends there whom I spent the next couple of weeks with. Erez, our wonderful Jewish grandmother, Joris from Amsterdam and Zak and Sarah from U.S. and Australia but not necessarily in that order. As I said before, in these valleys you get stuck with whoever is going in your general direction, and so it was. Kidding, I love you guys! Really, I mean it!
Anyhoo, we headed up and around to Spiti Valley, not so far away physically but another world in most other ways. A landslide washed away a good chunk of road a while back, so you have to take a bus to the landslide, then walk up and over a large steep hill to catch an onward bus, which we did, and stopped in Nako Lake… a fantastic village set around a holy lake and surrounded by gorgeous mountains. The village itself looks 1,000 years old and feels like a movie set. Not many travelers stop here, partly because it’s in the permit-only zone and most people think you can’t. Indeed you can, and I highly recommend it. We got up early and climbed up and around the mountains through endless chortens and prayer flags, and sat for a while looking out over and reflecting on Tibet, which at this point is only about 15km away. Stunning view. We kept walking around the mountains, not wanting to backtrack, and hoping that we would see another break in the mountains to cut back through, and climbing up to a ridge that would hopefully be the last just to get there and find another even higher ridge… eventually the day turned in to a marathon that I wasn’t quite in the shape for running. But I’m thankful still to Joris and Erez that they drug me along, believe it or not I feel in much better shape since that day and have continued to have to do hard walks after leaving you guys!
After a couple of nice days there we headed out towards Tabo on what turned out to be the bus from hell. Our driver was a cocky asshole with a lead foot, and seem to think it was fun to take the bus to it’s limits on a tiny narrow road clinging to a steep mountain side. I’ll spare you all of the details, but Erez and I asked him to slow down to which he smirked, and brought half the bus to near hysterics. Just so you know, when people are upset, laughing at them doesn’t really help. I feel sorry for the locals that have to take his bus regularly and see his behavior as normal! Like 3 buses or so fell off the cliff in Kinnaur valley the week before this. But something in there heads doesn’t seem to connect that they could be next when they have a driver like that. I’m a believer in ‘what will be will be’ but you still gotta be reasonable. Oh well, we survived. Although half way through the trip we drove through a rockslide and had rocks pounding the roof of the bus, which was interesting. They didn’t laugh so much at that.
Tabo was interesting enough, a monastery town set along a river and crammed between some mountains… imagine that! That describes about every village within 100 miles. We stayed at the monastery and were up in time to see the 6am prayers and have tea with the monks. They were fairly loose here, half of the monks wandered in leisurely mid-way through the prayers, and one of them was wearing a Pistons jersey beneath his robe. Tabo was the first real stop in Spiti Valley, and there were noticeably more travelers… a lot more make it to Spiti than Kinnaur, and the occasional wafts of hash smoke and throngs of Israelis at the ‘Third Eye’ restaurant were the first signs of it. They do an okay pizza though.
Next stop was Dhankar, a very old monastery set into incredibly dramatic cliff rock formations. It was stunningly beautiful, and the village was completely deserted and eerie as we walked through it wondering where the hell everyone was. In the evening we watched as a massive group of sheep and goats were herded down the mountain and then scattered down every lane of the village and found their ways home with amazing precision. It was liking watching a river run down hill and find it’s multiple paths and streams darting off in every direction.
Lalung was next, another high up village that we for some reason decided to walk to. Some hidden force is driving me to get into shape. It took us hours in the hot sun, but we were rewarded by arriving to Tashi and his warm and friendly guesthouse, and the best momos we’d ever had. We got to talk to him a little about Ki Monastery, our next intended stop, where the Dalai Lama visited a few years back. Tashi said that while it’s a great honor to have the Dalai Lama visit your town, it’s an incredible burden as well… it will costs each family in the village about Rs 10,000 to host him and his entourage.
Anyway, on to Ki Monastery, we’re getting higher and higher here. It’s beautifully set above a river in a gorgeous location. We slept in dorm rooms in the monastery (Rs 50 full board! That’s a little over $1), and the monks cooked us dinner and breakfast. In the morning we attended a 2 hour prayer and chanting service which was held in a dark and incredibly atmospheric room… an awesome experience. The only exception was the French tourist next to me who waited no time at all to pull out his video camera and treat it like he was watching a parade. Some people can be really tacky I say. The monks fed us tsampa and butter tea and it was otherwise an awesome morning.
Higher up the mountain we came to Kibber, supposedly the highest inhabited village in the world with electricity and a road. It’s set at 4200 meters (about 13,000 feet or so) and I really began feeling the effects of altitude here… I got winded while doing my laundry! The landscape in the Spiti Valley is stark and dramatic… while the Kinnaur valley was green and lush Spiti is a high altitude desert… high brown snow-capped mountains set against impossibly bright blue sky with white puffy clouds. It’s hot and scorchy when the sun is out but cools off significantly once the clouds move in. We stayed at a friendly guesthouse here with an overworked owner who is doing everything from the cooking to the cleaning and the laundry, and running the little shop as well. One morning I went in to order my breakfast and as he was talking to me he passed out and fell to floor, and his leg fell into the fire he was boiling water on. Had I not been there to pull his leg out he would have had quite a serious burn. I’m not sure why he doesn’t hire more help, maybe he was saving as much money as he could for the coming winter. In any case he’s alright. Slightly embarrassed, and still refused to come outside for fresh air, but alright.
From here we decided on Chandratal lake, which was a little out of the way and involved yet more hours of walking, but at this point I was getting used to it and slowly gaining stamina. It’s high up in the mountains at 4300 meters, and the walk and the setting of the lake are absolutely spectacular. You wind through the high desert mountains with snow-capped peaks, and feel like you’re walking on another planet. Chandra means moon which makes sense. The lake is a deep turquoise color and stunningly beautiful. We stayed in a tent on the lakeside and woke to a totally calm lake with amazing reflections… see the pictures folks… On the way to the lake we went through the Kunzum La pass which is definitely the highest I’ve ever been to date… 4551 meters! That’s over ½ way to the top of Everest! We met a huge group of motorcyclists at the top… would be a fun way to see this landscape, but I don’t know if I would want to do it with 30 other cyclists!
Basically from here we headed back into a little more normal version of India and ended up in Manali, which is fairly uninteresting but has a stunningly good Italian restaurant with the best pizza I’ve had in India (Pizza Olive in Old Manali). And then moved on to Dharamsala for a couple days for more leisurely strolls and some delicious Japanese food. We all went separate ways from here… I carried on with Sarah and Zak to Amritsar for my 4th visit (!!!) to the Golden Temple, possibly my favorite place in India!!! What an amazing feeling to it. I wanna, like, live inside of the temple. Maybe if I ever get really good at tabla I’ll convert to Sikhism and get a job with the musicians that sit in there all day. That would be heaven. Actually heaven would be that if I also had an assistant who delivered me amazing cheesecake a couple times a day inside of the temple. My future is finally becoming clear!
I crossed into Pakistan once again to Lahore, which was as filthy as ever. I do like it but it once again, for the third time, made me sick. There’s something about it that gives me explosive diarrhea. Obviously I don’t know exactly what it is or I would avoid it. But Jesus Christ, how can a city be so cruel? Not to mention the somewhat cold reception at the guesthouse there. What’s up everyone’s asses? There seems to be some sort of hard-core travelers contest going on there. Notches on the belt include: dressing like a ‘local’ in a salwar kameez, drinking the local water, longest ponytail, boredest facial expression, lack of need for a guidebook (or burying it deep enough that nobody will see it in your bag), etc… lighten up people. I can already hear the sensational stories they’ll be telling their buddies back home about how hardcore they were traveling in Pakistan. Well the secrets out… Pakistan is a normal, friendly, and relatively safe place to travel. But if it makes you feel good to sell yourself as GI Joe, then by all means…
Oh, backing up to the border for a second, I crossed with 2 Indians who have been living in Germany for 30 years or something. They were hilarious. It took over an hour to get our passports stamped, and the guy was having none of it. We’re back to ‘God’s time’ he said. First there was no electricity so they couldn’t process our passports, then it came back on just as the call to prayer rang out, so they locked the doors and ran across the road to the mosque. They returned only to be reemed by the Indian man. “I was in Dubai yesterday, and it only took them 10 seconds to stamp my passport! What kind of an operation do you have going here, what happens when you get busy!? I know there’s no airport here, but suppose there was and a big jumbo jet pulled up and 300 passengers filed out and lined up, at this rate it would take you a week to process all of their passports! Get your act together!”
Anyway, enough of my rambling frustrations. I’m back in Islamabad, and am working on finishing up a short documentary that was filmed on us last year during the earthquake relief, and will be heading up to explore the Pakistani side of the Himalayas, hopefully more scenery at least as gorgeous as what I just saw. The last few weeks have been so incredibly beautiful, I should have written about it sooner so that I could paint a better picture in your heads, but hey, look at the real pictures, it will give you an idea.
Speaking of pictures, Andrew’s first photography book is finally coming out after so much hard work and a lifetime of photography… check it out here! All proceeds are going to EIF Women’s Cancer Research Fund.
http://www.amazon.com/Two-Million-Miles-Andrew-Macpherson/dp/3832791604/sr=8-1/qid=1158005823/ref=pd_bbs_1/104-1193700-5351143?ie=UTF8&s=books
Ok, that’s my news… I hope all of you are alive and well!
Much love… Wes
I finally got the hell out of Delhi. My intentions to return to Pakistan were temporarily grounded due to bad weather, as much of western India and Pakistan were drowning in monsoon rains, so I stopped by McDonald’s for one last Maharaja Mac and a McAloo Tikki burger and then headed for higher ground, namely Himachal Pradesh. And thank God I did, what a beautiful place! It was a great stop on my never-ending quest for natural beauty. An overnight train dropped me in Kalka, where you must switch to a narrow gauge ‘toy train’ to make the rest of the journey up to Shimla. I hadn’t pre-booked the second leg of the train which left me in cattle class, and fighting in line for a ticket so I could get on the train and get a seat. Some ruthless families decided to take unnecessary advantage of the ‘women’s queue’, which when there isn’t a separate women’s queue involves them walking to the front and demanding to be served immediately… nevermind the line of 100 people waiting for tickets. Chaos ensued, but thankfully I jumped into one of the last seats and on my way I was.
I don’t love Shimla, I was here a few years ago on my first trip to India. It’s an ok place, beautiful setting and all, but filled with ugly hotels and hundreds of Indian tourists. And shop after shop after restaurant after shop. Most unfortunate was my untimely arrival on the Indian Independence Day, meaning that Shimla was completely full, and prices had sky-rocketed beyond their already ridiculous ‘normal’ rates. Meaning I paid Rs 800 for a room that anywhere else in India would cost about Rs200. Yes, this still amounts to only around $18 or so, but this is India for fuck’s sake. Out of Shimla was the name of the game, so on a bus I found myself the next morning, speeding towards Kinnaur Valley to the east.
First stop was Sarahan, with only one real reason to come… the Bhima Kali temple. It’s about 800 years old, with gorgeous traditional Himachal architecture. A new temple was constructed in the 1920’s, thankfully in a complimentary style, but it’s seriously threatened by the old temple which is standing only 5 feet away and is leaning seriously towards it. Across the courtyard and where I was staying is another small temple where up until 200 years ago humans were sacrificed to Kali – now the honor is reserved for animals only. Sarahan is a lovely small village – certainly not untouched by travelers, but hardly overrun like Shimla, which seems to exist solely for their purpose.
There’s something nice about arriving in a place like Sarahan, where you can casually step off the bus and collect yourself without being besieged by taxi drivers and hotel touts, and standers-by will point you in the direction of the temple with a smile. Indeed I would be addicted to the move and the arrivals if they were all so pleasant.
And if my ass could handle another bus ride – I’m not so sure what to do, I think something may be broken. I wish I could just walk between towns, but I don’t have the stamina. Or skateboard, but I left mine at home and the roads here often suck anyway. A car would be nice. I used to think that I would prefer public transport because then you’re in closer contact with the local population and it makes for a more interesting journey. But I sometimes find it increasingly hard to sit through the same shallow dead-end conversation. Indeed it’s been a while since a bus ride has yielded a new and exciting experience. I would love to be taking the road at my own (safer) pace in a pimped out Cadillac, stopping when I want to and offering rides when I’m capable of conversation.
Occasionally someone refreshingly breaks the mould and tells you something you never knew you needed to know but are nonetheless happy to now have something new to ponder – like my new friend Hassan who, after the requisite 20 questions told me that the two most common things that could be found in every country in the world are Sikhs and potatoes. And now that he mentions it… But in the same 7 hour bus ride I also told at least 10 people (individually) my good name, age, qualification (schooling), country, and marital status (what? 29 and single, gasp!). American and you didn’t attend college?! But I thought you all lived perfect rich dream lives!!! I miss the days when I would have launched into a passionate monologue about the grass always being greener, how I want what you ‘have’ and you want what I ‘have’, but I just don’t seem to care anymore. So maybe it’s better that I just don’t speak.
There’s something about the length and effort involved in a journey that let’s you assume it will have a great payoff… Sangla isn’t such a place. The entire village is a construction site… new bridges, new hotels, etc etc etc… we spent ½ hour looking for a hotel that WASN’T near a construction site or under construction itself. ‘Us’ is me and the 2 Israeli girls that I met en route to Sarahan. We’re traveling together now – not much choice in this narrow string of valleys where there’s only really one trail to be followed. Everyone’s either heading east or west.
The route from Sarahan to Sangla involved a bus and 2 jeeps. While waiting for the 2nd jeep to depart and take us up the narrow winding track barely clinging to the side of the mountains (and often blasted out of the side of the mountain) two boys, about 13 or so, took turns jumping into the driver’s seat, and seemed to be arguing over which would be driving us up to Sangla. I was determined that it would be neither! Fortunately and overly friendly man in his 20’s and an awesome hat finally jumped in and made it clear that HE would be driving. Unfortunately no sooner did we embark then he pulled out a large bottle of Kingfisher (the local beer) and began chugging it and passing it around the front seat. He was the happiest man I’ve seen in weeks, and stopped to chat to everything we passed – vehicles, pedestrians – either because he knew them or wanted to. When another jeep eventually caught up to us he refused to let it pass and continued at his already established leisurely pace. He responded to neverending horn blasts by turning on the radio full volume to a soaring and ridiculous Bollywood musical number and smiling all the wider. We arrived safely if slightly shaken, stopping only once when we came to a tiny drive-thru temple built into the rock on the roadside. He honked the horn and a short dreadlocked baba came running out to offer us rock candy and place red smudges on our foreheads and wished us well.
The one positive note about Sangla was that decent accommodation was to be had for $2/night surrounded by apple orchids and wild dahlias. And some ok food. But then there was Chhitkul!!! So glad I wasted no more time and got up here with my 2 Israeli girlfriends. Sitting at 3500 meters it’s the last point along this (closed) ancient trade route to Tibet. The road was equally precarious to the Sangla road, and we did it in a 4wd jeep since buses are infrequent and at the moment non-existent due to a washed-out bridge. It’s only about 25km or so above Sangla but takes 45 minutes or so to slowly climb up around the bends and across the rocky and bridgeless streams, the scenery growing more stunning with each minute.
Chhitkul is an interesting combination of barren rockiness, pine forests, occasional waterfalls, a lush valley floor currently covered in yellow and pink flowers, and a river snaking through the center – combined with the beautiful traditional architecture it looks straight out of a mountain-set fairytale. We stayed in a lovely home stay where the family cooked for us.
We walked as high as we could (legally) towards Tibet which involved about 7km roundtrip, and a precarious cable with a one-seater basket attached used to cross the river by pulling yourself along with a rope, and an even more precarious foot bridge near the top made of 2 logs and some twigs – wet, a little slippery, fairly wobbly, and lacking in handrails. On the other side I scrambled up a very steep hill, and on the way back down, as it started to drizzle, I got stuck somewhere in the middle, couldn’t figure out which way to go, and without anything much to hold on to encountered near-death experience number 649 or something. I lost count a little while back.
From here I broke up with my Israeli girlfriends - they headed back towards Shimla, and I kept heading east to Kalpa. I wasn’t thrilled with the place, it’s a nice little village with some great mountain views, but lacked some of the magic of Chhitkul. I did, however, meet my new group of friends there whom I spent the next couple of weeks with. Erez, our wonderful Jewish grandmother, Joris from Amsterdam and Zak and Sarah from U.S. and Australia but not necessarily in that order. As I said before, in these valleys you get stuck with whoever is going in your general direction, and so it was. Kidding, I love you guys! Really, I mean it!
Anyhoo, we headed up and around to Spiti Valley, not so far away physically but another world in most other ways. A landslide washed away a good chunk of road a while back, so you have to take a bus to the landslide, then walk up and over a large steep hill to catch an onward bus, which we did, and stopped in Nako Lake… a fantastic village set around a holy lake and surrounded by gorgeous mountains. The village itself looks 1,000 years old and feels like a movie set. Not many travelers stop here, partly because it’s in the permit-only zone and most people think you can’t. Indeed you can, and I highly recommend it. We got up early and climbed up and around the mountains through endless chortens and prayer flags, and sat for a while looking out over and reflecting on Tibet, which at this point is only about 15km away. Stunning view. We kept walking around the mountains, not wanting to backtrack, and hoping that we would see another break in the mountains to cut back through, and climbing up to a ridge that would hopefully be the last just to get there and find another even higher ridge… eventually the day turned in to a marathon that I wasn’t quite in the shape for running. But I’m thankful still to Joris and Erez that they drug me along, believe it or not I feel in much better shape since that day and have continued to have to do hard walks after leaving you guys!
After a couple of nice days there we headed out towards Tabo on what turned out to be the bus from hell. Our driver was a cocky asshole with a lead foot, and seem to think it was fun to take the bus to it’s limits on a tiny narrow road clinging to a steep mountain side. I’ll spare you all of the details, but Erez and I asked him to slow down to which he smirked, and brought half the bus to near hysterics. Just so you know, when people are upset, laughing at them doesn’t really help. I feel sorry for the locals that have to take his bus regularly and see his behavior as normal! Like 3 buses or so fell off the cliff in Kinnaur valley the week before this. But something in there heads doesn’t seem to connect that they could be next when they have a driver like that. I’m a believer in ‘what will be will be’ but you still gotta be reasonable. Oh well, we survived. Although half way through the trip we drove through a rockslide and had rocks pounding the roof of the bus, which was interesting. They didn’t laugh so much at that.
Tabo was interesting enough, a monastery town set along a river and crammed between some mountains… imagine that! That describes about every village within 100 miles. We stayed at the monastery and were up in time to see the 6am prayers and have tea with the monks. They were fairly loose here, half of the monks wandered in leisurely mid-way through the prayers, and one of them was wearing a Pistons jersey beneath his robe. Tabo was the first real stop in Spiti Valley, and there were noticeably more travelers… a lot more make it to Spiti than Kinnaur, and the occasional wafts of hash smoke and throngs of Israelis at the ‘Third Eye’ restaurant were the first signs of it. They do an okay pizza though.
Next stop was Dhankar, a very old monastery set into incredibly dramatic cliff rock formations. It was stunningly beautiful, and the village was completely deserted and eerie as we walked through it wondering where the hell everyone was. In the evening we watched as a massive group of sheep and goats were herded down the mountain and then scattered down every lane of the village and found their ways home with amazing precision. It was liking watching a river run down hill and find it’s multiple paths and streams darting off in every direction.
Lalung was next, another high up village that we for some reason decided to walk to. Some hidden force is driving me to get into shape. It took us hours in the hot sun, but we were rewarded by arriving to Tashi and his warm and friendly guesthouse, and the best momos we’d ever had. We got to talk to him a little about Ki Monastery, our next intended stop, where the Dalai Lama visited a few years back. Tashi said that while it’s a great honor to have the Dalai Lama visit your town, it’s an incredible burden as well… it will costs each family in the village about Rs 10,000 to host him and his entourage.
Anyway, on to Ki Monastery, we’re getting higher and higher here. It’s beautifully set above a river in a gorgeous location. We slept in dorm rooms in the monastery (Rs 50 full board! That’s a little over $1), and the monks cooked us dinner and breakfast. In the morning we attended a 2 hour prayer and chanting service which was held in a dark and incredibly atmospheric room… an awesome experience. The only exception was the French tourist next to me who waited no time at all to pull out his video camera and treat it like he was watching a parade. Some people can be really tacky I say. The monks fed us tsampa and butter tea and it was otherwise an awesome morning.
Higher up the mountain we came to Kibber, supposedly the highest inhabited village in the world with electricity and a road. It’s set at 4200 meters (about 13,000 feet or so) and I really began feeling the effects of altitude here… I got winded while doing my laundry! The landscape in the Spiti Valley is stark and dramatic… while the Kinnaur valley was green and lush Spiti is a high altitude desert… high brown snow-capped mountains set against impossibly bright blue sky with white puffy clouds. It’s hot and scorchy when the sun is out but cools off significantly once the clouds move in. We stayed at a friendly guesthouse here with an overworked owner who is doing everything from the cooking to the cleaning and the laundry, and running the little shop as well. One morning I went in to order my breakfast and as he was talking to me he passed out and fell to floor, and his leg fell into the fire he was boiling water on. Had I not been there to pull his leg out he would have had quite a serious burn. I’m not sure why he doesn’t hire more help, maybe he was saving as much money as he could for the coming winter. In any case he’s alright. Slightly embarrassed, and still refused to come outside for fresh air, but alright.
From here we decided on Chandratal lake, which was a little out of the way and involved yet more hours of walking, but at this point I was getting used to it and slowly gaining stamina. It’s high up in the mountains at 4300 meters, and the walk and the setting of the lake are absolutely spectacular. You wind through the high desert mountains with snow-capped peaks, and feel like you’re walking on another planet. Chandra means moon which makes sense. The lake is a deep turquoise color and stunningly beautiful. We stayed in a tent on the lakeside and woke to a totally calm lake with amazing reflections… see the pictures folks… On the way to the lake we went through the Kunzum La pass which is definitely the highest I’ve ever been to date… 4551 meters! That’s over ½ way to the top of Everest! We met a huge group of motorcyclists at the top… would be a fun way to see this landscape, but I don’t know if I would want to do it with 30 other cyclists!
Basically from here we headed back into a little more normal version of India and ended up in Manali, which is fairly uninteresting but has a stunningly good Italian restaurant with the best pizza I’ve had in India (Pizza Olive in Old Manali). And then moved on to Dharamsala for a couple days for more leisurely strolls and some delicious Japanese food. We all went separate ways from here… I carried on with Sarah and Zak to Amritsar for my 4th visit (!!!) to the Golden Temple, possibly my favorite place in India!!! What an amazing feeling to it. I wanna, like, live inside of the temple. Maybe if I ever get really good at tabla I’ll convert to Sikhism and get a job with the musicians that sit in there all day. That would be heaven. Actually heaven would be that if I also had an assistant who delivered me amazing cheesecake a couple times a day inside of the temple. My future is finally becoming clear!
I crossed into Pakistan once again to Lahore, which was as filthy as ever. I do like it but it once again, for the third time, made me sick. There’s something about it that gives me explosive diarrhea. Obviously I don’t know exactly what it is or I would avoid it. But Jesus Christ, how can a city be so cruel? Not to mention the somewhat cold reception at the guesthouse there. What’s up everyone’s asses? There seems to be some sort of hard-core travelers contest going on there. Notches on the belt include: dressing like a ‘local’ in a salwar kameez, drinking the local water, longest ponytail, boredest facial expression, lack of need for a guidebook (or burying it deep enough that nobody will see it in your bag), etc… lighten up people. I can already hear the sensational stories they’ll be telling their buddies back home about how hardcore they were traveling in Pakistan. Well the secrets out… Pakistan is a normal, friendly, and relatively safe place to travel. But if it makes you feel good to sell yourself as GI Joe, then by all means…
Oh, backing up to the border for a second, I crossed with 2 Indians who have been living in Germany for 30 years or something. They were hilarious. It took over an hour to get our passports stamped, and the guy was having none of it. We’re back to ‘God’s time’ he said. First there was no electricity so they couldn’t process our passports, then it came back on just as the call to prayer rang out, so they locked the doors and ran across the road to the mosque. They returned only to be reemed by the Indian man. “I was in Dubai yesterday, and it only took them 10 seconds to stamp my passport! What kind of an operation do you have going here, what happens when you get busy!? I know there’s no airport here, but suppose there was and a big jumbo jet pulled up and 300 passengers filed out and lined up, at this rate it would take you a week to process all of their passports! Get your act together!”
Anyway, enough of my rambling frustrations. I’m back in Islamabad, and am working on finishing up a short documentary that was filmed on us last year during the earthquake relief, and will be heading up to explore the Pakistani side of the Himalayas, hopefully more scenery at least as gorgeous as what I just saw. The last few weeks have been so incredibly beautiful, I should have written about it sooner so that I could paint a better picture in your heads, but hey, look at the real pictures, it will give you an idea.
Speaking of pictures, Andrew’s first photography book is finally coming out after so much hard work and a lifetime of photography… check it out here! All proceeds are going to EIF Women’s Cancer Research Fund.
http://www.amazon.com/Two-Million-Miles-Andrew-Macpherson/dp/3832791604/sr=8-1/qid=1158005823/ref=pd_bbs_1/104-1193700-5351143?ie=UTF8&s=books
Ok, that’s my news… I hope all of you are alive and well!
Much love… Wes
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Dirty Men and the Brother's Who Hate Them
Well, I’ll start this update the way I ended the last one… talking about cheesecake. I found some cheesecake. Not just cheesecake. GOOD cheesecake. Of the lemony variety. I swear it even had cream cheese in it, but the owner of the café insists that they use curd and hang it in some weird way for the desired effect. Anyway the search is over. I’ve found it. It’s at a tiny café in Khan Market in Delhi. I don’t remember the name. But you’ll find it if you really want to. And if you ever travel as long as I’ve just traveled and find yourself in Delhi, trust me you’ll want it bad enough to find it. I’m not going to say it’s the best cheesecake that I’ve ever had. Just the cheesecake with the best timing. If there was a heaven on earth it would have been Hazelnut cheesecake. Anyway, it was creamy, not even the slightest bit gelatinous like all the other cheesecake imposters that I’ve had in the last year. So now you know, between me and you… Khan Market.
So we didn’t really do all that much in Nepal in the end. I left you in Kathmandu, where we stayed for what seemed like an eternity trying to figure out a plan for Kim, and basically being too lazy to do anything or leave. We had some good pizza and ice cream (thanks Jodi!). Found an organic restaurant called Organic that did nice organic vegetable burgers. Used the internet. A lot. Decided that Kim was going to Taiwan to teach English and bought some plane tickets. And pretty much ignored everything else that’s of interest around Kathmandu except for the big giant stupa on the hill, which was pretty nice but filled with too many tacky souvenir sellers once you reach the top, which I think should be free of any commerce and just a peaceful place to sit and admire the view. Oh well, not the first time I’ve seen a nice place shat upon. Did I mention the KFC near the sphinx in Cairo? I think I did.
With Kim’s bank account running on empty we headed back towards India so she could catch a flight to Taipei. On the way out we stopped at Lumbini which is right near the border, and the birthplace of Buddha. It was more than a little hot, and slightly out of the way requiring us to stay overnight, but I’m really glad we made the effort. It’s a really nice and peaceful place set on many acres of nice land. It doesn’t see a ton of tourists so feels a little like you’re out in the middle of nowhere. There’s a pond which is supposed to be where his mother went to wash directly after the birth, and Ashokan Pillar that designates this as the spot, and a temple standing over the exact location, which unfortunately is a new temple that replaced the old one which was knocked down in the name of excavation about 10 years ago. Ashoka was a famous Emperor in India who left many pillars everywhere that he went. I’d heard a lot about them, and it was nice to see one in person, but it was hardly breathtaking and more than a little boring. The temple was also torn down in search of a rock that he had supposedly placed on the exact spot of birth. They found the rock, but even then I would say it’s all speculation since he didn’t visit this spot until about 300 years after Buddha died.
Since we were now experts in the life of Buddha we decided to also stop at his place of death, a couple hours back on the Indian side of the border. Kushinagar is yet another nice place, but is much larger than Lumbini and is actually a functioning town that sees a lot of visitors. We stayed at the large and slightly tacky Chinese/Vietnamese temple. I hate to admit giving up the chance to stay at the Tibetan Temple, which was a far more interesting place to sit, but we opted for the nicer and cooler rooms at the other place which also had a bucket so we could do laundry. By the way I haven’t seen a washing machine in over a year. That is one luxury that I definitely miss. But I’m pretty used to hand-washing now, it’s not as much of a pain as it was in the beginning. Anyhoo, the main temple in town is built over his place of death, and houses a very large statue of him lying in the ‘freed’ position. It’s quite beautiful. As is the lawn which we sat on for a couple hours and talked to locals and other Indian tourists and fended off a big monkey that was making a beeline for Kim’s bag.
While eating in a restaurant one night we saw that the owner and her kids were tending a newborn baby so we went to say hi. It turns out they had just adopted the baby that day. It was only 4 or 5 days old and had been thrown (literally) in a field behind one of the temples. Luckily someone spotted it before dogs and starvation got to it, and this kind-hearted woman took it into her family without even a second thought. Or informing her husband who was out of town on business. Surprise!
A long train ride later we arrived in Delhi. We spent Kim’s last few days here eating good food, watching movies and wandering around Old Delhi, where Kim was molested by a disgusting man who shoved his hand between her legs. Unfortunately this isn’t uncommon here. Some of our movies and a few oblivious and sluttily dressed tourists have left some Indian men with the impression that western girls are easy. I’ve heard lot’s of stories about this from most of the girls that I know that have visited India, but it hits you a little differently when you see it yourself and when it involves your sister. He actually had the nerve to do it when she was with me and another guy! Kim smacked him and yelled a bit and we all stared him down, but unfortunately it all happened a little to quickly and then he was gone. I’ve dreamt most nights since that we beat him until he bled. I’m not a violent person, but I know it’s in there somewhere. I find it amazing how willing people are to turn a blind eye to this kind of thing. In theory it’s a punishable offense. According to signs on the trains it’s illegal to even stare too long at a girl. Yet I know at least 10 people that have had similar incidences, and not once did anyone help or stand up for them. That said, I stood there speechless as well. Should’ve cut his dick off.
In lighter news, one of the bigger stories here in Delhi at the moment is about 3 doctors that are accused of performing amputations on healthy limbs to turn people into more successful beggars. It’s not a new concept by any means, but it’s often denied or overlooked. But there is supposed evidence against these guys, which is awesome. It’s widely believed that many beggars work for others, a ‘pimp’ if you will, who will do almost anything to bring in more money. Sometimes it’s even their parents. Nobody knows how many people are actually working for others, or if they’re just hard on luck and fending for themselves. But the prospect of giving money that will end up in the hands of the terrible people who ARE committing these kinds of crimes sickens me to the core. I’m not a stingy person but I find it really hard to give here in India. I’ve actually seen kids on a couple of occasions begging and then taking the money across the street to an adult they’re working for/with. I can’t decide who needs help and who I just want to slap. I think buying food is a good option maybe… a nice hot samosa perhaps. But even then I tried to give some bread that I had with me to and 80 year old homeless woman on a train a few weeks ago, and not only did she refuse but gave me an incredibly nasty look that all but told me to fuck off.
Oh yeah, speaking of shat upon monuments, I gave the Jama Masjid here in Delhi a small beating in one of my previous emails, but I visited it again the other day, and I have to say it wasn’t as bad as I remember. It’s still not nearly as nice atmosphere as the Badshahi Mosque in Lahore, but it wasn’t as filled with the tourist hunters as it was on my previous visit. We sat inside against a wall for quite awhile and were only bothered by 1 family who were tourists from another state and just wanted to say hi, and then 1 more man who would not accept that I didn’t speak Urdu, and kept talking rapidly for many minutes. I would shake my head and he would just keep going. I didn’t understand all that he said, but some of it was definitely telling me how to live more like the Prophet Muhammed lived, which mostly involved adjusting my facial hair to a more suitable style. Long beard with short neat moustache. I told him I would work on it. Or not. Then he made me repeat the Islamic declaration of faith, which I’m pretty sure makes me a Muslim now. Sorry Mom.
So now Kim’s gone, and our friend Michael went yesterday as well, and I’m all alone yet again! And in Delhi, which is like a vortex for me… I never seem to be able to get out of here. I can sit here in indecision for weeks. Where to go? What to do? Somewhere cooler would be nice… it’s fairly warm here… maybe a few more cheesecakes will help with the decision making…
Much love!!! I hope you’re all well! And for my Lebanese friends I’m thinking of you!
So we didn’t really do all that much in Nepal in the end. I left you in Kathmandu, where we stayed for what seemed like an eternity trying to figure out a plan for Kim, and basically being too lazy to do anything or leave. We had some good pizza and ice cream (thanks Jodi!). Found an organic restaurant called Organic that did nice organic vegetable burgers. Used the internet. A lot. Decided that Kim was going to Taiwan to teach English and bought some plane tickets. And pretty much ignored everything else that’s of interest around Kathmandu except for the big giant stupa on the hill, which was pretty nice but filled with too many tacky souvenir sellers once you reach the top, which I think should be free of any commerce and just a peaceful place to sit and admire the view. Oh well, not the first time I’ve seen a nice place shat upon. Did I mention the KFC near the sphinx in Cairo? I think I did.
With Kim’s bank account running on empty we headed back towards India so she could catch a flight to Taipei. On the way out we stopped at Lumbini which is right near the border, and the birthplace of Buddha. It was more than a little hot, and slightly out of the way requiring us to stay overnight, but I’m really glad we made the effort. It’s a really nice and peaceful place set on many acres of nice land. It doesn’t see a ton of tourists so feels a little like you’re out in the middle of nowhere. There’s a pond which is supposed to be where his mother went to wash directly after the birth, and Ashokan Pillar that designates this as the spot, and a temple standing over the exact location, which unfortunately is a new temple that replaced the old one which was knocked down in the name of excavation about 10 years ago. Ashoka was a famous Emperor in India who left many pillars everywhere that he went. I’d heard a lot about them, and it was nice to see one in person, but it was hardly breathtaking and more than a little boring. The temple was also torn down in search of a rock that he had supposedly placed on the exact spot of birth. They found the rock, but even then I would say it’s all speculation since he didn’t visit this spot until about 300 years after Buddha died.
Since we were now experts in the life of Buddha we decided to also stop at his place of death, a couple hours back on the Indian side of the border. Kushinagar is yet another nice place, but is much larger than Lumbini and is actually a functioning town that sees a lot of visitors. We stayed at the large and slightly tacky Chinese/Vietnamese temple. I hate to admit giving up the chance to stay at the Tibetan Temple, which was a far more interesting place to sit, but we opted for the nicer and cooler rooms at the other place which also had a bucket so we could do laundry. By the way I haven’t seen a washing machine in over a year. That is one luxury that I definitely miss. But I’m pretty used to hand-washing now, it’s not as much of a pain as it was in the beginning. Anyhoo, the main temple in town is built over his place of death, and houses a very large statue of him lying in the ‘freed’ position. It’s quite beautiful. As is the lawn which we sat on for a couple hours and talked to locals and other Indian tourists and fended off a big monkey that was making a beeline for Kim’s bag.
While eating in a restaurant one night we saw that the owner and her kids were tending a newborn baby so we went to say hi. It turns out they had just adopted the baby that day. It was only 4 or 5 days old and had been thrown (literally) in a field behind one of the temples. Luckily someone spotted it before dogs and starvation got to it, and this kind-hearted woman took it into her family without even a second thought. Or informing her husband who was out of town on business. Surprise!
A long train ride later we arrived in Delhi. We spent Kim’s last few days here eating good food, watching movies and wandering around Old Delhi, where Kim was molested by a disgusting man who shoved his hand between her legs. Unfortunately this isn’t uncommon here. Some of our movies and a few oblivious and sluttily dressed tourists have left some Indian men with the impression that western girls are easy. I’ve heard lot’s of stories about this from most of the girls that I know that have visited India, but it hits you a little differently when you see it yourself and when it involves your sister. He actually had the nerve to do it when she was with me and another guy! Kim smacked him and yelled a bit and we all stared him down, but unfortunately it all happened a little to quickly and then he was gone. I’ve dreamt most nights since that we beat him until he bled. I’m not a violent person, but I know it’s in there somewhere. I find it amazing how willing people are to turn a blind eye to this kind of thing. In theory it’s a punishable offense. According to signs on the trains it’s illegal to even stare too long at a girl. Yet I know at least 10 people that have had similar incidences, and not once did anyone help or stand up for them. That said, I stood there speechless as well. Should’ve cut his dick off.
In lighter news, one of the bigger stories here in Delhi at the moment is about 3 doctors that are accused of performing amputations on healthy limbs to turn people into more successful beggars. It’s not a new concept by any means, but it’s often denied or overlooked. But there is supposed evidence against these guys, which is awesome. It’s widely believed that many beggars work for others, a ‘pimp’ if you will, who will do almost anything to bring in more money. Sometimes it’s even their parents. Nobody knows how many people are actually working for others, or if they’re just hard on luck and fending for themselves. But the prospect of giving money that will end up in the hands of the terrible people who ARE committing these kinds of crimes sickens me to the core. I’m not a stingy person but I find it really hard to give here in India. I’ve actually seen kids on a couple of occasions begging and then taking the money across the street to an adult they’re working for/with. I can’t decide who needs help and who I just want to slap. I think buying food is a good option maybe… a nice hot samosa perhaps. But even then I tried to give some bread that I had with me to and 80 year old homeless woman on a train a few weeks ago, and not only did she refuse but gave me an incredibly nasty look that all but told me to fuck off.
Oh yeah, speaking of shat upon monuments, I gave the Jama Masjid here in Delhi a small beating in one of my previous emails, but I visited it again the other day, and I have to say it wasn’t as bad as I remember. It’s still not nearly as nice atmosphere as the Badshahi Mosque in Lahore, but it wasn’t as filled with the tourist hunters as it was on my previous visit. We sat inside against a wall for quite awhile and were only bothered by 1 family who were tourists from another state and just wanted to say hi, and then 1 more man who would not accept that I didn’t speak Urdu, and kept talking rapidly for many minutes. I would shake my head and he would just keep going. I didn’t understand all that he said, but some of it was definitely telling me how to live more like the Prophet Muhammed lived, which mostly involved adjusting my facial hair to a more suitable style. Long beard with short neat moustache. I told him I would work on it. Or not. Then he made me repeat the Islamic declaration of faith, which I’m pretty sure makes me a Muslim now. Sorry Mom.
So now Kim’s gone, and our friend Michael went yesterday as well, and I’m all alone yet again! And in Delhi, which is like a vortex for me… I never seem to be able to get out of here. I can sit here in indecision for weeks. Where to go? What to do? Somewhere cooler would be nice… it’s fairly warm here… maybe a few more cheesecakes will help with the decision making…
Much love!!! I hope you’re all well! And for my Lebanese friends I’m thinking of you!
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
A self-helping hand to Mother Teresa
DHA GAY THIRIKITU THOONA KA THA
DHA GAY THIRIKITU THOONA THIRIKITU
THEENA GINNA DHA GAY NA DHA
THIRIKITU DHA GAY NA DHA THIRIKITU
THA KAY THIRIKITU THOONA KA THA
THA KAY THIRIKITU THOONA THIRIKITU
THEENA GINNA DHA GAY NA DHA
THIRIKITU DHA GAY NA DHA THIRIKITU
I wish I had something more interesting to tell you than that, but for the last couple of months or so I've done nothing but learn repetitive rhythms on my shiny new tablas. I settled in pretty quickly and comfortably to life at school in a small village in southern Kerala. Meal times were set at 7:30, 1:00, and 7:30, with classes spread out between… a far cry from the life I've been living for the last year, and a welcome change at that. At least for the short term. hehe.
I shared a house with Kim and 3 other people which was really nice after staying in so many hotels and lodges. The houses and the rest of the school were a little spread out through the village, which made it feel more as if we were living in the village than in a school compound. While our house was pretty large and comfortable and equipped with TV, DVD player, etc, I also was woken by the elephants next door most mornings making whatever sound it is that elephants make… and close enough that I could throw a stone at them from my window (but didn't… or at least won't admit it). They would also occasionally walk through the village to go and collect their food, or head to the river for a bath. One of them is blind. We sat and watched them eat one day. They seem only to eat the branches from the palm trees, but with quite a routine. After picking it up in their trunk they would first use it to fan themselves for a minute, then use it to scratch their back and sides, and finally devour it. [End of random elephant stories]. And most nights I had one or two fireflies in my room. I thought they only existed in the fake-form that you find in Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland. Nope, they were real.
We also lived across the street from the Toddy shop, which is about as close as you're going to get to a bar in this little village. Toddy is a nasty drink made from coconut, but apparently this place just uses harsh chemicals and calls it toddy. Kim tried it anyway and she's still alive. But it was pretty seedy, and a few men were seen on occasion passed out in their underwear on the roadside out front. Apparently people die from it once in a while so the toddy shop has to close for a while, but manages to open again after a few months and a little police bribe. Oh well.
The monsoon was supposedly coming as well which I thought we would drown in, or at least get to take some pictures of people in water up to their nipples, but after a week of rain it subsided and the heat resumed. Another couple rainy days in Calcutta and that's all we saw of it.
Anyway, I mainly studied tabla there, which is my first instrument, and one of the more difficult. According to my teacher it takes about 16 years to master it. Hhhhmmmmm. For my first month I was mostly studying with his assistant, who is 16 years old, only been playing for 3 years, and fairly incredible. I can't imagine my fingers will ever move as fast as his, but can't blame me for trying now can you.
I also studied south Indian cooking, Kollam (sidewalk chalk designs, basically), traditional singing, and a few weeks of Hindi classes. But my main subject was eating. We ate a ridiculous amount of food, which was so so so good, and basically over-ate every meal leaving me with a stomachache almost daily, but was highly worth it.
It was hard to pry myself out of the stability and routine, but all things must pass, right? So I find myself with a sore ass once again, having traveled thousands of kilometers, the last few hundred sitting behind a clucking chicken, and writing to you from Kathmandu. While I'm one of the luckier few with a 10 year Indian visa, I can still only stay 6 months at a time without crossing a border, and stayed at the school in Kerala until nearly the last minute, so our journey from there to here was quick and direct (well, by overland standards). One night in Bangalore and a couple in Calcutta, which unfortunately deserves more time and exploration that will have to come at another time.
Calcutta also yielded the highest number of penis sightings, I think I counted 4 in one day. They're a free people I tell ya. So conservative in some respects, and at other times so open and willing to share. One guy offered to give us directions to Mother Teresa's place, but seemed more interested in giving us directions to his penis that he was holding in his hand. We politely declined. We did manage to get to Mother Teresa's charity headquarters, which was really friendly and peaceful. It turns out she's dead, so we didn't get to meet her, but we visited her tomb and payed our respects. They asked us to come back if we ever have time to volunteer. I told them as long as we get to wear those sexy nun uniforms to count us in.
Passing through the Nepali border was easy and simple, and an immediate relief from the rush to get there. We've been calmly moving in Nepal since then, taking our time getting to Kathmandu. First we stopped at Chitwan Nat'l Park in the south, which was beautiful, but ridiculously humid and hot at this time of year. Nepal may have freezing cold mountain tops, but the valley is far from that reality and was even worse than the heat we thought we were escaping from in south India. We did a couple of really nice bike rides, and avoided spending the money to go into the park itself, instead exploring the surrounding area which was beautiful in it's own right.
We made our next stop in Daman, which is a summit town in the southern Mahabarat mountain range. It was cool and misty and raining for most of the time we were there, which was exactly what we were looking for. A little less rain would've been nice, but hey, can't have it all. The main reason to come to Daman is for supposedly one of the best views of the Himalayas, but sadly we're in Nepal off-season and catching a glimpse between the clouds is a rare event. Our 3 days in Daman yielded about a 20 minute descending of the fog where a few peaks were visible above the clouds. It was a stunning view indeed, but unfortunately the clouds still obscured Everest, so we had to settle for a few of it's slightly less stunning neighbors.
I spent so long in India and was so spoiled by it's train system that I actually forgot how much I had begun to loathe buses, but was quickly reminded after crossing into Nepal. We arrived in Kathmandu yesterday on a bus full of the old usual pukers and smelly children, and my tailbone is indeed still nearly broken. Or something. We don't really have a plan yet for Nepal, as I said we're here out of season for the most part, trekking will be wet and muddy at the moment, and the valleys pretty hot. But there's lot's to see around Kathmandu, so we'll likely be renting bicycles soon and heading out to explore some temples and countryside.
Otherwise it's been a pretty calm and eventless couple of months, so not much to tell you about! So far the best thing about Nepal is that I found Almond Roca today of all things. I could've eaten all meals for a week for the amount I just paid for it, but who could pass that up?
Well, hopefully the best is yet to come and I'll have the most awesomest update for you next time, but for now, life is relaxed and easy and simple! But actually I suspect it will stay that way. Things aren't the way they were last year. It's not a crazy exciting adventure, if it ever was to begin with. I'm comfortable everywhere, seem to know more or less what to expect, and seem to be just floating on a conveyor belt watching it all go by. It's no less enjoyable, just easier and more relaxing than before. Maybe the newness and the not knowing what to expect was leading to more exciting situations, or at least being excited by what I now see as normal situations. But now it just is as it is. Last year I saw the differences between my country and these one's, and now I'm seeing the similarities. Last year I thought I was taking a step back in time coming from my country to some of these places. But the things that mattered to me then are far from important now. And who was I to decide that we were more advanced anyway? Advanced in what? I'll take the calm pace of life in Nepal any day. That and a freakin' DSL connection, what's up with this crappy dial-up that's being shared between 14 ancient computers? And a decaf chai latte from the Coffee Bean. And some plump juicy raisins. And a crunchy apple (only had one in the last year). And some corn on the cob. And a burrito. A little guacamole. Lemonade. Cheesecake. Cheesecake. Cheesecake. Shit, 2 steps forward and 3 steps back. Oooh, Paula Abdul! Hey, what's happening on American Idol these days anyway?
DHA GAY THIRIKITU THOONA THIRIKITU
THEENA GINNA DHA GAY NA DHA
THIRIKITU DHA GAY NA DHA THIRIKITU
THA KAY THIRIKITU THOONA KA THA
THA KAY THIRIKITU THOONA THIRIKITU
THEENA GINNA DHA GAY NA DHA
THIRIKITU DHA GAY NA DHA THIRIKITU
I wish I had something more interesting to tell you than that, but for the last couple of months or so I've done nothing but learn repetitive rhythms on my shiny new tablas. I settled in pretty quickly and comfortably to life at school in a small village in southern Kerala. Meal times were set at 7:30, 1:00, and 7:30, with classes spread out between… a far cry from the life I've been living for the last year, and a welcome change at that. At least for the short term. hehe.
I shared a house with Kim and 3 other people which was really nice after staying in so many hotels and lodges. The houses and the rest of the school were a little spread out through the village, which made it feel more as if we were living in the village than in a school compound. While our house was pretty large and comfortable and equipped with TV, DVD player, etc, I also was woken by the elephants next door most mornings making whatever sound it is that elephants make… and close enough that I could throw a stone at them from my window (but didn't… or at least won't admit it). They would also occasionally walk through the village to go and collect their food, or head to the river for a bath. One of them is blind. We sat and watched them eat one day. They seem only to eat the branches from the palm trees, but with quite a routine. After picking it up in their trunk they would first use it to fan themselves for a minute, then use it to scratch their back and sides, and finally devour it. [End of random elephant stories]. And most nights I had one or two fireflies in my room. I thought they only existed in the fake-form that you find in Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland. Nope, they were real.
We also lived across the street from the Toddy shop, which is about as close as you're going to get to a bar in this little village. Toddy is a nasty drink made from coconut, but apparently this place just uses harsh chemicals and calls it toddy. Kim tried it anyway and she's still alive. But it was pretty seedy, and a few men were seen on occasion passed out in their underwear on the roadside out front. Apparently people die from it once in a while so the toddy shop has to close for a while, but manages to open again after a few months and a little police bribe. Oh well.
The monsoon was supposedly coming as well which I thought we would drown in, or at least get to take some pictures of people in water up to their nipples, but after a week of rain it subsided and the heat resumed. Another couple rainy days in Calcutta and that's all we saw of it.
Anyway, I mainly studied tabla there, which is my first instrument, and one of the more difficult. According to my teacher it takes about 16 years to master it. Hhhhmmmmm. For my first month I was mostly studying with his assistant, who is 16 years old, only been playing for 3 years, and fairly incredible. I can't imagine my fingers will ever move as fast as his, but can't blame me for trying now can you.
I also studied south Indian cooking, Kollam (sidewalk chalk designs, basically), traditional singing, and a few weeks of Hindi classes. But my main subject was eating. We ate a ridiculous amount of food, which was so so so good, and basically over-ate every meal leaving me with a stomachache almost daily, but was highly worth it.
It was hard to pry myself out of the stability and routine, but all things must pass, right? So I find myself with a sore ass once again, having traveled thousands of kilometers, the last few hundred sitting behind a clucking chicken, and writing to you from Kathmandu. While I'm one of the luckier few with a 10 year Indian visa, I can still only stay 6 months at a time without crossing a border, and stayed at the school in Kerala until nearly the last minute, so our journey from there to here was quick and direct (well, by overland standards). One night in Bangalore and a couple in Calcutta, which unfortunately deserves more time and exploration that will have to come at another time.
Calcutta also yielded the highest number of penis sightings, I think I counted 4 in one day. They're a free people I tell ya. So conservative in some respects, and at other times so open and willing to share. One guy offered to give us directions to Mother Teresa's place, but seemed more interested in giving us directions to his penis that he was holding in his hand. We politely declined. We did manage to get to Mother Teresa's charity headquarters, which was really friendly and peaceful. It turns out she's dead, so we didn't get to meet her, but we visited her tomb and payed our respects. They asked us to come back if we ever have time to volunteer. I told them as long as we get to wear those sexy nun uniforms to count us in.
Passing through the Nepali border was easy and simple, and an immediate relief from the rush to get there. We've been calmly moving in Nepal since then, taking our time getting to Kathmandu. First we stopped at Chitwan Nat'l Park in the south, which was beautiful, but ridiculously humid and hot at this time of year. Nepal may have freezing cold mountain tops, but the valley is far from that reality and was even worse than the heat we thought we were escaping from in south India. We did a couple of really nice bike rides, and avoided spending the money to go into the park itself, instead exploring the surrounding area which was beautiful in it's own right.
We made our next stop in Daman, which is a summit town in the southern Mahabarat mountain range. It was cool and misty and raining for most of the time we were there, which was exactly what we were looking for. A little less rain would've been nice, but hey, can't have it all. The main reason to come to Daman is for supposedly one of the best views of the Himalayas, but sadly we're in Nepal off-season and catching a glimpse between the clouds is a rare event. Our 3 days in Daman yielded about a 20 minute descending of the fog where a few peaks were visible above the clouds. It was a stunning view indeed, but unfortunately the clouds still obscured Everest, so we had to settle for a few of it's slightly less stunning neighbors.
I spent so long in India and was so spoiled by it's train system that I actually forgot how much I had begun to loathe buses, but was quickly reminded after crossing into Nepal. We arrived in Kathmandu yesterday on a bus full of the old usual pukers and smelly children, and my tailbone is indeed still nearly broken. Or something. We don't really have a plan yet for Nepal, as I said we're here out of season for the most part, trekking will be wet and muddy at the moment, and the valleys pretty hot. But there's lot's to see around Kathmandu, so we'll likely be renting bicycles soon and heading out to explore some temples and countryside.
Otherwise it's been a pretty calm and eventless couple of months, so not much to tell you about! So far the best thing about Nepal is that I found Almond Roca today of all things. I could've eaten all meals for a week for the amount I just paid for it, but who could pass that up?
Well, hopefully the best is yet to come and I'll have the most awesomest update for you next time, but for now, life is relaxed and easy and simple! But actually I suspect it will stay that way. Things aren't the way they were last year. It's not a crazy exciting adventure, if it ever was to begin with. I'm comfortable everywhere, seem to know more or less what to expect, and seem to be just floating on a conveyor belt watching it all go by. It's no less enjoyable, just easier and more relaxing than before. Maybe the newness and the not knowing what to expect was leading to more exciting situations, or at least being excited by what I now see as normal situations. But now it just is as it is. Last year I saw the differences between my country and these one's, and now I'm seeing the similarities. Last year I thought I was taking a step back in time coming from my country to some of these places. But the things that mattered to me then are far from important now. And who was I to decide that we were more advanced anyway? Advanced in what? I'll take the calm pace of life in Nepal any day. That and a freakin' DSL connection, what's up with this crappy dial-up that's being shared between 14 ancient computers? And a decaf chai latte from the Coffee Bean. And some plump juicy raisins. And a crunchy apple (only had one in the last year). And some corn on the cob. And a burrito. A little guacamole. Lemonade. Cheesecake. Cheesecake. Cheesecake. Shit, 2 steps forward and 3 steps back. Oooh, Paula Abdul! Hey, what's happening on American Idol these days anyway?
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Wesley Cousteau
Today I saw a chicken standing on top of a cow, and I realized that anything is possible. Sab kuch milega. I don’t usually gain such rapid insight from animals, but they were special! Again, the chicken was standing on top of the cow. I’m not kidding. REALLY. I tried to take a picture for you, but he jumped down too soon. So you’ll just have to trust me, and believe me when I say that it was a defining moment, one that I’ll cherish for years to come. When I think of things that I want to achieve, I’ll always think back to the little chicken that could. I wonder if they sort of talked first, or if he just saw the opportunity and went for it… either way, pure magic. I could have sold that picture for millions, if it existed. But it doesn’t. Just in my head. And hopefully now in yours. I start with that story because well, it’s probably the most exciting thing that’s happened in the last month.
The Andaman Islands are stunningly beautiful, low key, and full of laid back friendly people. They are part of India, but actually closer to Burma, in the middle of the Andaman Sea. The earthquake that caused the tsunami in 2004 was close to here, and parts of the islands were damaged, taking around 3500 lives. But most of the touristed places seem back to normal. The islands have only been open to foreigners for less than 10 years, and even still are highly restricted. You must have a separate 30 day permit from your Indian visa, and only have access to a small handful of the nearly 600 islands, while the Nicobar Islands are off limits to tourists all together. They’re also an important military base for India, and a not-so-believable local rumor has it that the earthquake was triggered by the testing of bombs somewhere in the highly guarded Nicobars.
Aside from the main island accommodation is mostly only available on 2 other islands, Havelock and Neil. There are a few others you can visit if you plan to camp and bring lot’s of supplies, and all of this had me thinking that few people would be there, but not so fast… Air Deccan started cheap flights last month, and now it costs about a quarter of the previous price to get here… and I wasn’t the only one to take advantage of that. About half of Israel was there as well, strumming guitars, smoking chillums, eating shak-shuka and making jewelry out of coconuts, and if the cheap flights continue I think it will remain firmly on the Tel Aviv trail. Despite there being more people than expected it’s an amazing place. Absolutely none of the hassle you find on mainland India, and stunning scenery and underwater life.
I arrived to Havelock on the day of the Holi Festival, one of the largest celebrations in India. This mainly involves a lot of drunkenness and drinking of bhang lassis (basically a potent marijuana milkshake), but more importantly, the throwing of colored powder dyes. Somehow I had forgotten all about it, even though I had been looking forward to it for a while. Luckily the inhabitants of Havelock were keen to remind me. I came straight off the ferry and jumped into a rickshaw to my hotel, noticing people already covered in dye, hoping that I would be safe from it crouching in the back. But the temptation to be the first to hit someone who is clean was too much, and the kids all along the road were throwing handfuls of red, green, blue, etc at us as we sped along.
Finally at the resort (far from a resort, but I don’t know what else to call it) I decided along with a few others that I would hide out there for the day and avoid the mess. But by late afternoon we decided we shouldn’t be missing out on all of the action, even if it meant ruining a pair of clothes and having multicolored skin for a few days. Unfortunately we didn’t get the memo that the island had decided on a 3pm cut-off for the throwing of dyes. The first rickshaw that sped by had three freshly showered and immaculately dressed Indians in it, and my dear friend Lauren decided to throw a big handful of red dye in as it flew by… and then came to a screeching halt followed by angry men brushing themselves off on the roadside. We thought they were just being uptight, but by the time we reached the village we noticed that pretty much everyone there was freshly showered and wearing new clothes. Oops! So on the way back we powdered the dogs and the cows instead. There were some stunning white ones that were screaming out for some orange and red.
At this time the only diving operators are located on Havelock Island, and being that that was my main focus and that I wasn’t into camping I ended up spending the entire month there. It wasn’t hard. I would think about going somewhere else, but a week later I would still be sitting in front of my hut staring at the sea. The diving here is still relatively undiscovered. The dive shops have mapped out a few of their favorites that are within reasonable distance, but you definitely get the sense that there is a lot out there to be found. India makes it nearly impossible for them to employ foreign dive instructors, and finding good Indian ones is proving difficult as well. Aside from that they can only use old fishing boats (dunghis) with slow and nasty diesel engines until a decent gas station opens on Havelock that sells fuel pure enough to run nicer and faster boats.
I did 18 dives here, far more than I expected (I’m pretending to be rich apparently!) but it’s just so beautiful and there isn’t much else to do! I greatly enjoyed what I experienced now, but I think to come back in about 3-5 years will be even more rewarding, as by then the shops will have also opened on North Andaman and other areas giving access to plenty of ship wrecks and some massive coral banks off the west coast. Even now they’re out in their spare time searching for new sites… they hire local fishermen to go out exploring with them and show where they tend to catch a lot of reef fish or pull up coral. I inquired about going on one of these expeditions but they were too busy at the time. I hope that many of you get to experience scuba diving some day, what a beautiful thing! People are learning in record numbers, half the people on Havelock were doing courses. I’ve now got my Advanced Open Water diving license, and even more of a thirst for diving! Have been hearing talk of the Philippines…
I also got to watch an excellent documentary on the oceans!
The Blue Planet http://imdb.com/title/tt0296310/
When not diving I spent the days lazing around and pondering the velocity of falling coconuts, which, rumor has it, kill thousands of people every year. I came very close a couple of times, as did a few others. They’re huge and getting hit by one would at the very least cause serious injury from that height. Luckily I survived, and just drank a lot of them instead.
Anyhow, the profile of the islands is rising fast… Peter Weir just shot part of ‘Shantaram’ here (I’m about to the read the book, it’s dauntingly huge), and some magazines are billing #7 beach on Havelock as the best beach in Asia or even the world. That may be a bit much, but there’s no doubt that it’s an awesome place to spend some time! The water is blindingly turquoise on a sunny day, there are sandy patches for swimming and huge coral reefs to snorkel around with a lot of fish life. And the best part is that it doesn’t feel spoiled, and the people aren’t jaded and difficult to the travelers. The unfortunate news is that there are plans to open up flights from Thailand, which I think could quickly change the situation here. There were already protests while I was here about the new Air Deccan flights bringing such an influx of tourists, and opening it up from Thailand will no doubt send the number of visitors through the roof as the Thailand tourists ever in search of the perfect beach expand there quests. We shall see… but I think it’s a terrible move, they should develop them slowly and carefully… don’t turn them into another tacky resort holiday destination!
Well, that’s about it… I fly back to the mainland tomorrow and head to Kerala to meet Kim again and start school there… Keralan cooking and Tabla drums! I managed to sunburn my face on the ferry back to Port Blair, so instead of leaving the islands with a glorious even tan I look more ridiculous than when I arrived. C’est la vie!
Wes
Interesting…
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/08/opinion/08pagels.html?th&emc=th
http://www.cousteau.org
http://www.diveindia.com
No pictures this time, not sure when I can get new ones up, will probably be a while!
The Andaman Islands are stunningly beautiful, low key, and full of laid back friendly people. They are part of India, but actually closer to Burma, in the middle of the Andaman Sea. The earthquake that caused the tsunami in 2004 was close to here, and parts of the islands were damaged, taking around 3500 lives. But most of the touristed places seem back to normal. The islands have only been open to foreigners for less than 10 years, and even still are highly restricted. You must have a separate 30 day permit from your Indian visa, and only have access to a small handful of the nearly 600 islands, while the Nicobar Islands are off limits to tourists all together. They’re also an important military base for India, and a not-so-believable local rumor has it that the earthquake was triggered by the testing of bombs somewhere in the highly guarded Nicobars.
Aside from the main island accommodation is mostly only available on 2 other islands, Havelock and Neil. There are a few others you can visit if you plan to camp and bring lot’s of supplies, and all of this had me thinking that few people would be there, but not so fast… Air Deccan started cheap flights last month, and now it costs about a quarter of the previous price to get here… and I wasn’t the only one to take advantage of that. About half of Israel was there as well, strumming guitars, smoking chillums, eating shak-shuka and making jewelry out of coconuts, and if the cheap flights continue I think it will remain firmly on the Tel Aviv trail. Despite there being more people than expected it’s an amazing place. Absolutely none of the hassle you find on mainland India, and stunning scenery and underwater life.
I arrived to Havelock on the day of the Holi Festival, one of the largest celebrations in India. This mainly involves a lot of drunkenness and drinking of bhang lassis (basically a potent marijuana milkshake), but more importantly, the throwing of colored powder dyes. Somehow I had forgotten all about it, even though I had been looking forward to it for a while. Luckily the inhabitants of Havelock were keen to remind me. I came straight off the ferry and jumped into a rickshaw to my hotel, noticing people already covered in dye, hoping that I would be safe from it crouching in the back. But the temptation to be the first to hit someone who is clean was too much, and the kids all along the road were throwing handfuls of red, green, blue, etc at us as we sped along.
Finally at the resort (far from a resort, but I don’t know what else to call it) I decided along with a few others that I would hide out there for the day and avoid the mess. But by late afternoon we decided we shouldn’t be missing out on all of the action, even if it meant ruining a pair of clothes and having multicolored skin for a few days. Unfortunately we didn’t get the memo that the island had decided on a 3pm cut-off for the throwing of dyes. The first rickshaw that sped by had three freshly showered and immaculately dressed Indians in it, and my dear friend Lauren decided to throw a big handful of red dye in as it flew by… and then came to a screeching halt followed by angry men brushing themselves off on the roadside. We thought they were just being uptight, but by the time we reached the village we noticed that pretty much everyone there was freshly showered and wearing new clothes. Oops! So on the way back we powdered the dogs and the cows instead. There were some stunning white ones that were screaming out for some orange and red.
At this time the only diving operators are located on Havelock Island, and being that that was my main focus and that I wasn’t into camping I ended up spending the entire month there. It wasn’t hard. I would think about going somewhere else, but a week later I would still be sitting in front of my hut staring at the sea. The diving here is still relatively undiscovered. The dive shops have mapped out a few of their favorites that are within reasonable distance, but you definitely get the sense that there is a lot out there to be found. India makes it nearly impossible for them to employ foreign dive instructors, and finding good Indian ones is proving difficult as well. Aside from that they can only use old fishing boats (dunghis) with slow and nasty diesel engines until a decent gas station opens on Havelock that sells fuel pure enough to run nicer and faster boats.
I did 18 dives here, far more than I expected (I’m pretending to be rich apparently!) but it’s just so beautiful and there isn’t much else to do! I greatly enjoyed what I experienced now, but I think to come back in about 3-5 years will be even more rewarding, as by then the shops will have also opened on North Andaman and other areas giving access to plenty of ship wrecks and some massive coral banks off the west coast. Even now they’re out in their spare time searching for new sites… they hire local fishermen to go out exploring with them and show where they tend to catch a lot of reef fish or pull up coral. I inquired about going on one of these expeditions but they were too busy at the time. I hope that many of you get to experience scuba diving some day, what a beautiful thing! People are learning in record numbers, half the people on Havelock were doing courses. I’ve now got my Advanced Open Water diving license, and even more of a thirst for diving! Have been hearing talk of the Philippines…
I also got to watch an excellent documentary on the oceans!
The Blue Planet http://imdb.com/title/tt0296310/
When not diving I spent the days lazing around and pondering the velocity of falling coconuts, which, rumor has it, kill thousands of people every year. I came very close a couple of times, as did a few others. They’re huge and getting hit by one would at the very least cause serious injury from that height. Luckily I survived, and just drank a lot of them instead.
Anyhow, the profile of the islands is rising fast… Peter Weir just shot part of ‘Shantaram’ here (I’m about to the read the book, it’s dauntingly huge), and some magazines are billing #7 beach on Havelock as the best beach in Asia or even the world. That may be a bit much, but there’s no doubt that it’s an awesome place to spend some time! The water is blindingly turquoise on a sunny day, there are sandy patches for swimming and huge coral reefs to snorkel around with a lot of fish life. And the best part is that it doesn’t feel spoiled, and the people aren’t jaded and difficult to the travelers. The unfortunate news is that there are plans to open up flights from Thailand, which I think could quickly change the situation here. There were already protests while I was here about the new Air Deccan flights bringing such an influx of tourists, and opening it up from Thailand will no doubt send the number of visitors through the roof as the Thailand tourists ever in search of the perfect beach expand there quests. We shall see… but I think it’s a terrible move, they should develop them slowly and carefully… don’t turn them into another tacky resort holiday destination!
Well, that’s about it… I fly back to the mainland tomorrow and head to Kerala to meet Kim again and start school there… Keralan cooking and Tabla drums! I managed to sunburn my face on the ferry back to Port Blair, so instead of leaving the islands with a glorious even tan I look more ridiculous than when I arrived. C’est la vie!
Wes
Interesting…
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/08/opinion/08pagels.html?th&emc=th
http://www.cousteau.org
http://www.diveindia.com
No pictures this time, not sure when I can get new ones up, will probably be a while!
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