Jari

Gretch and I found a very special place. A real gem. Words are not coming to me now as I  try to convey the beauty of this place. Simply, we are staying in a family run gustehouse on the top of a mountain overlooking the Parvati Valley. The house is in the middle of an apple orchard. Wheat, onions, marijuana, and peas cover the ground below the apple trees. There are several temples in the village of (I would guess) 12 families. Snow capped mountains dominate the horizon. Cows live in the lower level of the village houses. The houses are made of timber, stone, and mud. They look ancient.

Emotionally distraught. Burnt out. Angry. Sad. Ready to go home. Yesterday had its downs and downs and downs. And finally at the end of the afternoon, its ups. And Ups. And Ups. Parlaying the 2 dollar hotel at the village below where we are now staying, in hopes of something a little less ramshackle and more comfortable, we decided to make the verticle hike up to the village where we now reside. When we finally arrived, joy overtook both of us. All I could say as I scanned the scene of rural mountain paradise was- this is rediculous.

There are three other westerners staying here (I am using a computer down in the village below). A hash smoking hippy German couple. And a Brazilian philosophy student via Chapel Hill North Carolina currently writing his dissertation on the values of luck and morality. All three have been in the village for three plus weeks. We have three days here. Three lucky days. Ahh... I think we are both ready to come home.

Walking...

along the Parvati river Gretch and I spotted a mountain lady on a steep slope of pine. She was bending, picking and scoping the ground. I became excited. MUSHROOMS! I approched the old woman and greeted her with- Namaste, mushrooms?! She was as excited as me. She handed me a plastic bag. I untied the bag revealing a nice catch of morels. Out of her wool apron she pulled out a bundle ot fiddle head ferns. She was proud to have me take her picture. I took one and left her alone, losing the chance of a great photo shoot.

Huntsman Spider

After a little googling we have confirmed that the large spider lounging on the wall in our bedroom last night was a Huntsman spider. Although harmless, the sight of the hand sized monster put Gretch at unease. I gave her two choices 1. Kill 2. Let live. I was not about to attempt a capture and release, as Gretchen requested.

A stiff jab of my sandal only sent the spider at wicked speed behind a dresser. It was a direct hit with a force that I was sure to kill. Spider juice left a wet spot on the soft foam of the sandal.

My next plan was successful and offed the beast swiftly. As the spider hid between the back of the dresser, on the wall, I made a quick gamble that the dresser and wall would squeeze flush if I lifted and pushed the piece of furniture to the wall. The spider was too big to hide safly. In a quick forceful movemnent I lifted the dresser pushing it hard against the wall. I felt the spider's body crush. We were safe.

2 Weeks

With about two weeks left in our trip, we have the rest of our time mapped out. We will be taking a bus to Manali tomorrow night. There we will hopefully be able to do some of the outdoor activities it has to offer. After Manali we will head to Rishikesh, yoga capital of the world. I would like to get in a multi day trek (hike) at one of these places. We are right at the cusp of trekking season and depending on snow levels and weather some of the higher elevation hikes may not be advisable.

We will head back to Delhi for a day or two of shopping and last minute sightseeing before coming home.

Dharamsala (McCleod Ganj)

In order to save time Gretchen and I flew from Goa to Delhi. The 3 hour flight saved us a good 2-3 days of overland travel to get to the capital. It was awsome. The flight went beautifully. After landing we had the pleasure of taking the 80 rupee airport express undergraound train to New Delhi train station and Pahargang where we were to meet a friend of Gretchen's who also is in India. We were saved from the hassle of taxi drivers. The train stops running at 11 so this was our first opportunity to use it.

We met up with Melady and Teddy as shceduled at 2 in the afternoon and were on a bus north at 540 the same day. The 14 hour bus ride was harmless enough. I didn't sleep a wink but managed to read most of the time. We made it to Dharamsala around 7 has some tea and caught a bus to McCleod Gang a few miles away.

Dharamsala roughly translated is the "City of Peace, like Jerusalem. But I think Dharamsala has had better luck at keeping its namesake than the Israeli holy city. McCleod Ganj is in the state of Himachal Pradesh in the northern reaches of India. The ethnic make-up here is different than Darjeeling in the east. Being the center of the exiled Tibetan government, there are many Tibetens. But to replace the Nepalese Ghorkas of the east are the Kashmirees and Himachalese. These people, to my understanding are of Persian decent. They are of Muslim and Hindu faith. Many are proud to trace their ancestory back to Alexander the great who pushed his way through this area in the 4th century bc. I find myself staring at the many green and grey eyes I meet with. Stunning. Many men could physically pass as europeans. 

It is nice to be in the mountains again. It feels like Minnesota September. Warm comfortable days, cool blanket nights. Warmer than I expected. But we are only at 4000 feet give or take a football field. We're lucky to be here while the rhododendrons are blooming. The blood red flowers speckle the green slopes. The abundant and prevailing tree here is a larch. Himalayan Larch? Better known as a tamarack back home (one of my favorite trees). Teddy a tree expert pointed this out. The larches here are much larger, much much larger, here. And unlike back home are not growing in wet or swampy areas. On a hike the other day we enjoyed a photo shoot using a blanket of petals as a back drop.

I prefer the food in the mountains over the lowlands. Mmm! The wonderful world of dumplings and noodles prevails here. Locally these dumplings are called momos, and are a staple for the Tibetans. They can be similar to a Chinese bun or a the Polish pierogi. Most often steamed, momos can also be ordered fried. Dozens of women sell them on the street here accompanied with a very spicy dried chilli sauce- I'd prefer hoisin. Generally they are stuffed with a spiced boiled potato mixture or cabbage and onion concoction. A small plate of 4 momos can be had for 10 rupees- about 20 cents.

There is also a thick flat noodled soup readily available here. It is called Thupka. It is not exotic or special and probably has, like the momo, a million names around the world. But is simple filling and delicious. And unlike the Indian foods of the south, is not soaked in grease. Belly warming broth is perfect for chill mountain nights.

Meat is also readily available here. In many forms. Goat. Sheep. Chicken. Cow. I saw something resembling a sqab hanging in a restaurant window. Yesterday I tried a sausage sold by a street vendor. I don't know it's animal origin but the bulk of the filling was liver and nothing much more than salt. The finger sized sausages were sauteed in a wok like pan and dipped in the same chilli sauce as momos. Liver is something I've grown to enjoy. A favorite of mine in Thailand was chicken liver satay. But it is something I never eat back home, except for liverwurst years ago.

I've never seen such an obvious concentration of NGOs and non profits and humanitarian organizations than here in McCleod Ganj. Posters and flyers are taped everywhere on the streets of the small town. Volunteer work of all kinds is available. I showed up to help locals with conversational English yesterday after reading a poster but no one was around. Think it was because it was Sunday. The people here speak much better English. I don't know if there is any correlation but there was a lot of American aid coming here as Tibetans fled  Red China's persecution. I've noticed 5 gallon steel containers now used as flower pots that were originally held vegetable oil supplied by the USA.

After the Dalai Lama, Richard Gere is of great celebrity here. I've seen his picture proudly displayed at many a shop and restaurant. He, like many of the Hollywood set, have been very outspoken about the atrocities that still take place in Tibet. Free Tibet. Free Palastine. Free Quebec. Free Texas. Free Ghorkaland.

The teenagers and twenty somethings here are very hip. They would fit right in walking down a street in Greenwich Village or Uptown Minneapolis. The fashion is very hip-hop influenced. Colorful sneakers- Adidas, Puma, and Nike knock-offs. Witty t-shirts with cool design graphics. Sunglasses. Designer glasses. Tight jeans. Skinny jeans. Jeans dragging off butts.

Cheeky monkey

Took a break from the computer to get a drink of water. Felt some sprinkles. Looked up at a couple monkeys.

Cut and Paste

Backwards. A few of these posts are backwards. Since they are posted newest on top. And I have posted them seperatly.

I love to hug. Friends, family, and strangers alike. The embrace is surrender of body. It is humble. It is a sign of equality between two persons. I tend to hold hugs too long. I am often blind to the discomfort and anxiety caused by human contact  for some people. We should hug more. And more often. I can't wait to give my ma a hug. Force hug out of my nieces and nephews who bend to parental demand. Hugs are great.

When I hugged Amma, or should I say Amma hugged me she said, as I heard it- MELATONIN- in a husky hot lip to ear whisper. Hmm? I thought to myself- well then... I guesse we can leave now. I didn't have a rush of mothergy encapsulate my body. No visions of Krishna. The experience reminded me of the time a Catholic priest came on tour to St. Andrew's in Brainerd when I was about 12. He preached the gifts of tounges and the laying on of hands to recieve the Holy Spirit- very eccentric performances for our conservative church. He led the congregation in a cacophony of tongue twisting. Somehow he got the self-conscience and quiet Catholics to hand themselves over to God and be part of something beyond them.

After the spirit led tongue speak we all lined up to recieve the Holy Spirit through the priest's outstretched hand on head. Just like on TV. Old ladies and children alike fell down caught by hands waiting to break the gravity. Some people were allowed to croppie flop for a second or two. Waiting in line I wanted it. I wanted it so bad. I wanted the rush. The Holy Spirit high. When it was my turn, I closed my eyes and waited. Felt the priest's hand on my forehead... and waited. After a minute or so I was guided backwards with stiff arms. I understood the demand- lie down.

Gretchen and I decided to spend one night at Amitrapuri, Amma's ashram in Kerala. It is a large campus with many multi storied living quarters. We stayed on the top floor of one on the 16th floor. There is also a temple/ashram headquarters with bookstores, internet, and management offices. This looked like an average South Indian temple painted blue and pink and a million other colors. On the top of the temple was a statue of Anjuna and his chariot pulled by 5 horses.

There was a huge worship area the size of a convention center with a stage up front where musicians sat Indian style. Amma had an elevated platform to sit on. Above her was a giant portrait of herself. Everywhere around the ashram were portraits of Amma. Everywhere.

At the night worlship there was a lot of singing. Amma would spontaneously throw her hands in the air. There were a few middle aged men hippy dancing on the side of the sitting area. It reminded me of a mega church without the preaching. The mix of people was about 50-50 Indian-Western. A lot of Americans. Californians. Some families. A lot of young women. People chose to live at the ashram for months- if not years. Everything you needed was there. If you didn't like the Indian meal slopped out twice a day from industrial sized pots there was a variety of Western food available for purchase. The coffee and bakery items were a treat.

Amma

I stomach churns with disgust when people worship people. This doesn't mean we can't have heros, mentors, or a person we look up to for inspiration or guidence- this is necessary for most of us. But to catagorize another person on a higher plane of existence because of their ability in sport, art, politics or supposed divinity exposes the most pitiful submissive weakness of men and women. It is a debasement of one's self.

I had an opportunity to hug Sri Mata Amritanandamayi Devi (Amma) several years ago while I was in Madurai in southern India. I opted out. Amma's spiel is hugging. She is also known as the Hugging Mother. She performs a darshon, which in my understanding could be said to be a blessing, by hugging individuals. Often times these darshons are marathon sessions hours long with thousands waiting in line for a hug and a whisper. Amma also whispers a word or phrase to her devotee. The word or phrase can then be used as a personal mantra- I think.

Hampi

We departed Kochi around 5pm and took the overnight sleeper to Bengalore.  From Bengalore we headed north another 7 hours and arrived in Hubli around 2pm the next day.

One stop snack shop...a well oiled machine.

Hanging out at the Hubli station.  Passing the time with yet another photo shoot :)

Our train in Hubli was delayed an hour...or so...we departed around 5pm and arrived in Hospet three hours later, where we then took an auto rickshaw 30 min. to Hampi.  We made it to our final destination, Hampi, at 9pm. Yeah!!  Considering it was dark when we drove into town the scenery was quite a welcome surprise in the morning!!

We decided to explore Hampi on bike.  These are actually not our bikes...these are much cooler and hip looking models.  Mine was a dusty mauve color called "ladybird" or something of that variety.  I think Steve's was bright blue...very similar to the Hercules model that he rode around on before...maybe some of you are familiar?!

One of the many temple ruins we explored our first day in Hampi.

The Queen's bath house.  One of my personal favorites.

Admiring a carving on the ceiling.  The Flower of Life...another favorite...this sacred symbol can be found in temples, art and manuscripts in many cultures all over the world.

The stairs leading to the monkey temple.

The white flowers on the Frangipani tree are collected and made into garlands that can be bought on the street and  left at temples by devotees or worn by women in their hair.  Their fragrance is divine. mmmm... 

A view from the monkey temple.

Tour de temples.  Of course you can't tell by the photo, but it is about 105 degrees out...dry heat though :) Yes, I am wearing black knit. I can't explain why.

I am pushing 5 '1" tall. Just a little perspective.

The gnarly trunk of a frangipani tree.  Wikepedia says...Plumeria (common name frangipani) flowers are most fragrant at night in order to lure sphinx moths to pollinate them. The flowers have no nectar, and simply dupe their pollinators. The moths inadvertently pollinate them by transferring pollen from flower to flower in their fruitless search for nectar.

We decided to cross the river and spend one night on the other side, which is supposedly less crowded.  We made this decision much to the dismay of our guest house owner..who tried to convince us it would be a bad idea and not worth the effort.

 Beautiful brilliant green rice paddies.  This is the view from our guest house on the "other side" of the river.  I'm convinced the owner of our first guest house has actually never been to the "other side" of the river...but I'm glad that he was looking out for our best interests. hmmm...

Kochi

The impressive tree that Steve wrote about earlier...also known as a "rain tree"...a local man told me while I took photos on an early morning bike ride around Kochi.  Of course, the photo does not capture the beauty of this ancient being.

The church which once housed the bones of Vasco de Gama.

A street stall before opening for the day.

More early morning photos taken from the street. Apparently this was a good morning for interesting window and door shots.

Loved all of the yellow and blue!

Kerala: The Backwaters

Coir, rope made from coconut fibers.

Three generations...two demonstrate how the rope is made.  One supports.

The guide for our tour spins the wheel.

An outbuilding at the coco nut plantation.

The meat of the coconut bakes in the sun.  Over time the meat drys and  leaves an oily residue on top...coconut oil!  One of the many uses for coconuts.

One of the two boatmen, guide us through the narrow backwaters.

Hampi

Hampi is an absolute must see when on a visit to India. It was not the easiest place to get to, but well worth the hassle. From Kochi Gretch and I took three trains a bus, a rickshaw and ferry to the final destination. Total transit time- 26 hours. Total miles traveled- 367 miles.

The landscape is the real kicker in Hampi. Boulders litter the landscape in all shapes and sizes. Color- sand. There piles of boulders. Lone boulders. Boulders balancing on boulders balancing on boulders that leave you wondering how all these arrangments of boulders is possible. All these boulders were surrounded in the brightest green fields of rice. Brown and green, that was about it. 

And to add to this wonderful landscape were the ruins of a kingdom long ago prosperous. I am a little short of words right now and cant even begin to describe.

Gretch and I spent three days in Hampi. And if we didn't have to catch a plane up to Delhi on the 22nd we easlily could have spent a week or two exploring the area. The two full days we did have to explore we rented bikes and visited the many ruins. The temperature was in the low 100's, topping out at 105 on the last day we were there. But it was a dry heat and we found it more comfortable than the humid 90's of Kerala.

One day at the heat peak of 130 in the afternoon Gretch, Melonie (a French woman) and I climbed the 500+ steps to the top of a pile of boulders 1000 feet high (guessing). Topping the peak was a temple dedicated to the half man half monkey god and son of Siva (pronounced Sheeva= cheeba= marijuana) Hanuman. Legend has it the monkey god was born there.

The climb was a heatstroker. Sweat evaporates instantly in the dry heat. Salty white stains tie died my black shirt. Black shirt in sun = idiot. There were no charras (hashish) smoking sadhus (holy men) on the top as the Lonely Planet had said. Don't worry we had our fair share of that experience in Varanasi.

The climb up to the temple was a marathon "Up-Down". An up down is something Gretch invented at the first  train station we had to go to. We usually get a few rounds of up-downs in at every station we visit. It is a simple form of walking excersice (&^%$#%^ !!!!! how do you spell ecxersise???). There is always an elevated walking path at the station going over the tracks. So we simply walk up and own the stairs leading to the different platforms. At large stations with many platforms we really get a good work out up-downing with our packs on. The excersise is also a practice of observation in the dirtier northern stations where you have to keep an eye out for things you dont want to step in- like feces of all origins. Huh, I guess that is everywhere in northern India.

We stayed on the 16th floor when we spent  a night at the Amma Ashram a week ago. I opted out on that session of up-downs. Gretchen humped out 3 reps.

Kochi

Kochi has a colonial flair. Vasco de Gama made it here a few years after Columbus reached "India". The Portugese did thier raping and pilliging for a couple hundred years. And then the Dutch came. Followed by the Brittish. And now here we are here- the western tourists in independent India.

There are basilicas here. Kochi has a major Christian influence. Our guesthouse manager Jerry pointed out the Basilica de Santa Cruz to us as we walked to his place and said we could visit it if we were Christians. I thought Jesus loved everyone- I responed to Jerry. He smiled awkwardly. 

The Christians here in Kochi seem to be a colonial remnant (Catholic) opposed to the Christians represented by our friend Johnson who is of Syrian Orthodox roots. It can be complicated at first and easy to group them all together. The Syrian Orthodox Indian church denounces the Catholics and like wise. Kind of like Catholics and Lutherans back home. Ahh, love can be very complicated in the hands of men.

Standing over the tomb of Vasco de Gama (which is now empty as his remains were shipped back to Lisbon 14 years after his initial burrial) my overwhelming  sense is that the world would be very different if it wasn't for this man. Not in a good or bad way, just different. He was a major player in the history scene. What ever happened to Portugal? I'm just guessing, but I think it was eaten up by the Habpsburgs? Spanish-Dutch?

100 gsti points for a brief explanation for Portugal's demise in world domination.

Kochi Trees

There are beautiful massive trees here in Kochi. For an idea of their structure put your inner forearms, wrists, and elbows together and keep this line perpendicular to the ground. Now shape your hands as if you were holding a fifteen pound bowling ball. This is a basic idea. The hugeness of these trees is hard to fathom. For this take a Mack dielsel semi truck (minus the trailor and stand it on its nose. This is the trunk. The canopy, if left unobstructed, covers an area the size of  an average Best Buy.

The trees reminds me of the black locust that grew in my parent's back yard when I was a child. The leaf structure is very similar and Gretchen and I both could thought the tree would produce a pea like pod at some time during the year. But unlike the tree in the back yard that sprouted fast and had a fairly short life of 30 years, these Kochi trees are hundreds and hundreds of years old. Which brings me to ask if they were planted.

10 gretchenstevetakeindia points to the person who can name this tree.

Communist Kerala

Kerala has been a democratically elected communist state of India for over fifty years. Images of Che Grueverra, hammers and sickles, flashes of red (and Muslim green), Hindu dieties, and Jesus Joseph and Mary are impossible to miss. Ahh, the paradox of India. I constantly ask myself- where does all this devotion to God fit into a communist state?

As a proud American, I guesse the red threat must have been on a different plane here during those cold years. Bigger fish to fry in the orient. Or Delhi had everything in control.

sandals

I was in need of some new sandals. I picked up a pair at a Goodwill in New York before the trip but they had exhausted their usefulness. They were pretty shoddy to start. The kind a Chinese man would delegate for use only at the public bath. I was becoming weary of a blow out. A sandal blow out can be the cause of much heartache. Had a sandal blowout a few years back. Stepped on a escalator that wasn't moving and busted up my big toe. Nursed an infection for a month. Lost the nail.

I get very sentimental tword articles of clothing that have served me. But the yellow sandals with paper thin heals had to go. Thought of framing back home to well up thoughts of this trip in the future. Let go.

When I saw my new sandals I new they were the ones. Bought them second hand at Amma's for 20 rupees. Love them. It's like walking on marshmallows. Gretchen says they are hideous and I walk like a duck.

Shoes are obsolete here. You need a good pair of sandals.

Varanasi, Bodhgaya and Darjeeling

Our options at the Tiger Hill viewing station...we opted for the General Lounge.

Trying to stay warm  as the sun rises :)  

A view of the Himalayas from Tiger Hill at dawn.

Enjoying the colors at sunrise.

Standing under the Bodhi tree in Bodhgaya

The majestic Himalayas

The view from our hotel room in Darjeeling

A view of Varanasi from across the Ganges

One of many boatmen in Varanasi

A photo taken while enjoying an early morning chai on the streets of Varanasi.

Tandoori cooking. mmmm...chapati a staple food.

Darjeeling-Varkala

Two and a half days on a train. From the Himalayas in the north to the southern most metropolis of Thiruvananthapuram in "God's Own Country"- the state of Kerala. We rode in the highest class birth- 2 tier AC Sleeper. And the AC was a blessing. After Kolkata the heat was on. Sneaking off to the corridor between train cars and out of the airconditioning the heat was a fat man's sweaty bare chested bear hug, and he doesnt let go.  He is putting me in a head lock right now. From numb fingered typing in Darjeeling to my sweaty thighs on a plastic lawn chair typing here in Varkala. I'll take it all with a smile. And a belly full of fish curry. 

So I mentioned looking at this trip as outside the convention of vacation. Well, I'm a lier. Gretch and I are now on our vacation. We've been laying on the beach for hours daily since we got here 4 days ago. With the Germans, the Russians, The Swedish, and all the other privledged people representing the Western world. God bless Us! And he did- through the teachings and preachings an evangelizings of our train birth mate on our two and half day train ride- Johnson- first name Johnson. 

Johnson had a great big Orthadox beard. Like a black man fronting a ZZ-Top cover band. His speech was monotone, never straying from a neutral emotive state. Although he did smile from time to time. When we entered our birth I first took him as a Mohomadan. I was realeaved that he wasn't. He soon introduced himself as a pastor. I asked if he was of the Syrian Orthadox faith (which has been alive in Kerala since the deciple Thomas landed here around AD 50- soon to be martyred in Chennai). He smiled and said at one time yes he was but now he was more of the evangelical flair. Fair enough I added. Johnson was nice enough to share much of his food with us. We arrived on the train ill prepared but knowledgeable to the vast supply of anything and everything available between staitions and on the train. 

Our train arrived in Thiruvananthapuram around 1130 pm. The plan was to get a hotel and head off to Varkala (an hour bus ride) in the morning. There were dozens of hotels around the train station. The train station and surrounding area of Thiruvananthapuram were very pleasant. It was night and day compared to the slums and decay of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar in the north. But nobody wanted to give us a room. After a dozen hotel refusals, it was around 1 n the morning and we said screw it. We stayed in the trainstaion and took the first bus to the beach at 6 in the morning. AHHHHH! Got to go, I hear the waves crashing. Need a dip. 

Tortise and the Hare

She is the tortoise and I am the hare.

Gorkhaland

Darjeeling is in the northern reaches of West Bengal. Balanced 7000 feet high upon a ridge on a Himalayan mountain side. It is tucked between Nepal, Bhutan, Sikkim (India) and the plains of West Bengal to the south. Originally Darjeeling was a mountain retreat for the Brittish Raj stationed in sweltering Kolkata. It is still a retreat, but now more for honeymooning Bengalis.

The culture is completely different to the rest of India. The ethnic majority are Gorkhas, who originated in Nepal. The attitude of these people is much more relaxed, I think due to their Buddist faith. There is striking female power of equlity here. A friendlness devoid of curiosity- just friendliness. People smile. They laugh and joke. They want independence. I am not quite sure from India as a whole or just controll and rule from West Bengal and Kolkata. Yesterday there was a parade of thousands shouting, Gorkhaland, Gorkhaland, We Want Gorkhaland!". The Gorkhas have a oriental look to them, as do the many Tibetan refugees living here in Darjeeling.

It is cold here, like early April in Minnesota. There is no heat anywhere, so once we get out of the heat of a cozy bed, the chill sets in. I am having a hard time typing with numb fingers and am quite frustrated continually fixing the mistakes of fingers without the dexterity I amused to.

Irony

Isn't it ironic? So much of the conversation between fellow travellers here and even the things I choose to write about center on what appears to be the negative. Diarrhea, the lack of comfort in transportation, the feeling of being a zoo animal, and the overall backwardness and paradox which is India are the most popular gripes. Yet I have chosen to come back here for a third time. Why?

The best answer I can give is this: after India everywhere else is quite dull. This doesnt mean I dont have an appretciation for beauty. There is nothing more heart stirring for me than a sunset at the farm. And obviously there is still much of the world I have yet to see, but I am pretty confident this also goes for these places. Although after reading Barbara Kingsolver's amazing The Poisonwood Bible  I know have an interest in the Congo. 

To understand why? You must understand that travelling to India is not a vacation. If this were the plan I would be very dissolutioned and reasonably upset. And I've seen this in many westerners here. Of course there are a couple of places to go for a classic beach vacation here, Goa or the beaches of Kerela, but even these places bring the burdens which say, Cancun or Thailand, are a million miles removed from.

Call me a sadist. This may be true. I like to call it endurance. A meditation on tolerance and patience. The mental and physical stanima required for India ranks up there with my experiences with long distance running and biking. Riding out a bad acid trip. Constant self reassurance is the key to survival. The knowledge that "This will end". This is my mantra- "This will end. This will end. This will end." This same coping mechanism has brought me out of the dentist's chair and through numerous drillings as well as multiple stomach ailments here. I suppose this is a character trait that many cannot sympathize with. Like a pig, I guess I choose to lie in the shit sometimes. And I can understand why many of you would lable this as irrational. Am I glorifying the negative? Sure. But I like to take a more nhililist approach to it and say I am glorifying everything, or not. Good and bad, or the lack or its reality. Hmm.

We need to live in discomfort to know comfort. Be sad to be happy, or better- content. This sermon is not new. I need to physically remove myself to the bombardment of hypercomofort pitched to me back home. And I am not above it. I enjoy the comforts of home. But in this way I can appreciate and live a life more centered on gratittude when I do come home. To constantly compare here and home is impossible to get out of my head. Everything I see creates a value judgement. Everything. Every hour of the day. And it is usually a 50-50 throw up to who wins, India or home.


This brings up another imortant idea floating in my head. The idea of self identity. My removal from the US really concentrates my own sense of identity here in India. Right now that is aligned with the Chippewa Valley. The kicker to this all is upon my arrival home this concentration becomes so dilluted. Maybe this is why I travel. It is easier to be ambiguous or feel graceful without a true feeling of home in a foriegn land.


And to make a decicion to embark on this journey with a partner of the romantic variety in yet the early days, where foundation and keystone are still setting in their mortar. What will come of this non-vacation? In our grandest hopes skills of problem solving, patience, tolerance and trust. Gretchen and I can only rely on each other. There is no room for trust here outside of us. Of course those of you who Know Gretch will know she will not agree with this last statement. But with these conflicting ideas of ours comes the debates needed for a strengthening of listening skills. We have our spats. But we are also learning to come full circle when the blood boils and back to a certain degree of rationality to hear ech other out. Learning. Learning. Learning. The book is never written. And a lot of days the cramp in my hands is as painful as those dentists' drills.

The ancient temples of Khajuraho