Luke's Home Stretch

Happy Birthday II + "I Vant to Be Alone"

2010-07-24T00:45:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday II

The Watermelon Dance that I had been dreading turned out to be great. It turned out that Nancy Stark Smith, a pivotal figure in Contact Improvisation, and my friend Natasha from Ekaterinburg, did an unannounced performance outside the dining hall just before Varya and I did the Watermelon Dance. Out side the dining hall there are two sets of tubs, marked, one on each side marked "Wash" and two on each side marked "Rinse." There are also towels marked "Dry." Nancy and Natasha both have very long hair. They replaced the water in the tubs (which is usually disgusting), and then chatter while they washed their hair. It was very relaxed and then very funny. Then the audience was told to go into the room next to the dining hall where they found me, Varya, six watermelons, and lots of kids who couldn't resist the chance to roll watermelons around on the floor. Varya and I tried valiantly for art, but the kids won, and we had a great time rolling around the floor with the watermelons. Then we all went back to the dining hall and ate lunch and watermelon. Varya, I and others all chipped in so we had a lot of watermelon, but it all disappeared rapidly. Russians love watermelon although so far I haven't had a Russian watermelon nearly as good as an American one.

Then I took a birthday nap. At supper I was warned that there would be more attention paid at the evening jam, so I braced myself. The jam was structured by a structure Nancy devised called the "Undersoore" so there was no talking. It happened that I ended up looking into a Russian woman's eyes for about an hour. Then suddenly a bunch of people appeared and they picked me up and floated me threw the air. Because I was spaced out from the looking, and well-oxygenated because we had been breathing together, I began releasing energy immediately through laughter. They laid me down and sprinkled me with water. After the Underscore, I was given a cake which I had to cut. I cut it brilliantly so there were lots and lots of pieces. It disappeared instantaneously. Then, I really couldn't take anymore, so I went to bed.

"I Vant to Be Alone"

One of the things I have discovered on this trip is that I have less resiliency than I used to and I need to be alone a lot more. I think I need one day alone in bed and one day alone out in the street, for everyday I spend traveling with somebody. This seems excessive to me but I think it is the fact. I am going to try to organize my future travels accordingly. I used to feel guilty about spending a day alone in a hotel room by myself when I was traveling, but I now see it is essential. I get over-stimulated so easily.

That's why I loved stopping in Brighton on my way from Coventry to Russia. I have been there twice before. Both times I arrived sick and took to bed in Caroline's parents' house. This time I wasn't sick but I was tired. I only had a day so I couldn't spend the whole day in bed, but I slept in. Then Caroline and I took a walk through Brighton. I love Brighton. First, it has so many literary allusions from Jane Austen through Charles Dickens and Graham Greene and beyond. It is such an elegant, tacky seaside town. Now that the West Pier has burned down it is less tacky than before, but it is resisting efforts to rehabilitate it completely. We went to my favorite thrift store, run by Banardo's, and we had a great South England breakfast at a local cafe, and walked by the merry-go-round and the Regency Sea Front and I felt restored.

Then we overnighted in Moscow for one night. I had no time alone, but I love Moscow because I have had a lot of time alone here and because it is a very Russian version of Los Angeles.

That's it for now.

Happy Birthday to Me

2010-07-22T01:10:00.000-07:00

I am having a very happy Birthday in the woods outside of Moscow. I am about to do a birthday performance involving watermelons with a Russian woman whose birthday is also today. And then we are providing watermelon for everyone here. It is hot and a little sticky and I am looking forward more to eating the watermelon than performing with it. The exigencies of art.

I am having a very good time. There was a long period when Internet access was difficult, but here we have Wi-Fi if I huddle with my computer close to the administrator's office so I am blogging again. I will try to remember the highlights but not in chronological order.

I am now at the 5th Moscow Contact Improvisation and Performance Festival. The festival seems to develop mood swings, but a teacher gave the image of being on a surfboard and when you are at a low space between the waves, you need to "turn elegantly." So I am practicing turning elegantly. I am wearing my birthday suit, not naked but red pants Jose made for me in Argentina and a blue shirt I bought in New Delhi. I think I will look elegant against the green of the watermelon.

My birthday started last night at midnight when I continued the tradition I started last year of being in the sauna at midnight. Russians in the sauna are at their best, more relaxed and playful than usual and more willing to experiment with English. Also, everyone is naked, and the ages last night ranged from about 12 to 71 (after midnight) and it was beautiful as well as fun.

After the watermelon performance, I am conducting my second "Unannounced Performance Lab" of the festival, where I encourage people to do performance in unexpected places at unexpected times. Tomorrow we will gather material from these experiences and then do a short performance in front of an audience and then talk about how (and if) the experiences are different.

I also have done two workshops which could be loosely called teaching English through movement games. These were difficult. I hadn't anticipated how hard it is to work with children through a translator. I need to work on my Russian. Nevertheless, we got it together both with the 4-8 year olds and with the 8-14 year olds. I also now have a small group of English-speaking children I talk to from time to time.

As for the rest of the time, I have been taking it easy. I have danced a little at a couple of jams, participated in one performance lab, watched some performances, done some unannounced performances, slept a lot, wrote a little, and spent time with friends old and new. In the next blog, my intention is to write about my need to be along and how I manage it when I travel.

My unannounced performances have been observational. I spend time (from 10 to 25 minutes so far) picking something to observe, so far bushes and trees, and then I set the timer and observe it from a standing position for the same amount of time. As a performance, I am not sure though I have had good feedback from people who have happened to see a part of one. As a practice, it is great. It is audio-visual meditation and I hope to continue the practice when I am back in Los Angeles.

Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday, dear Lukie,
Happy birthday to me.

Coventry II

2010-06-28T08:29:00.000-07:00

In real life I am in Ekaterinburg in Russia, but in my blog I am still in Coventry because I haven't been able to get a Internet connection to my computer to work. In an effort to catch up I am retyping the blog on to the Internet from my computer.

I have a rule that if I am going to take electronic equipment with me I have to have bought it at least two months before I leave. It is not a rule I keep. On this trip, I bought a camcorder just before I left. I didn't really unpack it until I got here. I read the manual on the plane. Then since I needed to download the software CD's that came with the camera, I needed an external CD for my small travel computer. And the salesman who sold me the camera, said I needed an external hard drive to store the videos that I take while I travel which I believed. So I have one computer, one external hard drive, one external disk drive, one camcorder, two still cameras and three telephones for various countries, plus appropriate chargers and connecting cables. I need a better plan.

I found the camcorder easy to use and now have recorded six repetitions of our twenty minute score as well as a little bit of rehearsals. Now I need to get them off of the camera onto my hard drive so I can record some more. I manage to hook up the external drives to my computer, but something went wrong when I installed the software so I need to deal with that. Oh, well. Next time I will do everything perfectly.

Caroline and I took a brief walk around central Coventry and I was impressed by the interior space of the new cathedral so on Sunday when I had some time to myself, I went to Eucharist in the Cathedral. I was peaceably enjoying the service in a quiet Anglican way until after Communion they had a station set up for healing. Since I was instrumental in having lay people do healing after the Eucharist at my church, I went to the station for the laying on of hands and I began to get emotional, but I breathed and calmed down. Then they started the closing hymn and it was “How Great Thou Art.” This was the last hymn that my grandmother heard before she emigrated from Sweden at the age of 18 in the late 19^th century, and perhaps the last hymn I heard her play on the guitar before her stroke (I was quite young and there are two possibilities). Because of the association with my grandmother the hymn always had special significance for my family. I started singing and the tears welled up in my eyes and I had to stop singing. This happened again, and then on the third time I began sobbing silently with my eyes closed. When I opened my eyes, the procession of the clergy out of the church was passing my pew and everyone in front of me had turned around to watch them, but instead they were watching me. The woman next to me was very sweet and said that crying was what churches were for.

After the service, they were playing the bells in the cathedral tower. I think they have a peal of 12 bells and they were doing different peals with a different number of bells. I love the sound of cascading bells. It was wonderful to sit in the shell of the ruined cathedral and listen to them.

In the afternoon I napped, got up late, hurriedly washed dishes and then walked to the Uni to meet Caroline. I was supposed to be there at 4:30, but didn't get there until 4:45. Then we went and had pizza at the Pizza Express between the Uni and the Cathedral. We each had a glass of wine. I felt like such a grown up. It was very elegant pizza.

Then I went back to the Cathedral and heard Monteverdi's Vespero della Beata Virgine 1610 performed by the Saint Michael Sings, Girl Choristers of Coventry Cathedral, Monteverdi Plainchant Consort, and two orchestras, QuintEssential (old instruments) and ESO String Consort, a regional orchestra. There was also organ continuo from time to time and six soloists of which I especially liked the tenors, Simon Wall, the tall one, and Matthew Long, the cherubic one.

On the previous Saturday, Caroline and I and four students had the final showing of our piece. We did the piece three times, once in front of an audience, once for ourselves during which we had a chance to be silly, and one more time in front of a different audience. This went very well. I enjoyed the performances and then we had a feedback session and I talked briefly about my 42 years of improvising, and how, when I was young, I and my fellow improvisers would talk about what it would be like to improvise when we were old, and now I am old and still improvising. I talked about how moving I find working with the video that was made at an college that no longer exists and working with students who are just starting out on their careers. What a great cycle it is.

Dartington College

2010-06-28T08:21:00.001-07:00

Please read the following blog, Coventry I, first.

This weekend Caroline and I are driving to Dartington College in Devon to join Barbara for the closing festivities of the school. It has functioned as an center for the arts for over 50 years, and as is now being reorganized by the Trustees, so this is the end of the school as it has been, but it will continue under a different arrangement. Our piece will be performed twice. Caroline who has taught there for a long time, will also be performing in a couple of other pieces.

Caroline and I rented a car. Caroline worked through a central agency and that was a nightmare requiring 24 hours of phone calls, but when we got to the local rental agency worked out, and the staff were very friendly. The young man behind the counter, wearing one of those ill-fitting suits that young men who stand behind counters are required to wear, was very funny and helpful. They gave us an old driving map of England that turned out to be very useful. The drive down to Devon from Warwickshire was tantalizing. British motorways are so constructed that it is impossible to see anything outside of the motorway except in brief flashes where the terrain has made it impossible to keep the outside world completely hidden. There was also a nice elevated stretch where the motorway passes through Bristol between the port and the city where one had some views. Once we left the motorway the view was also obstructed by the tall hedges Devon is famous for but I did not mind that so much because the hedges were very local whereas the windbreakers along the motorway were planted with generic, motorway trees that gave me no sense of where I was.

I stayed in Totnes with Barbara Bridger, one of the three collaborators, and her husband Clive, in their house, “The Old Vicarage.” “The Old Vicarage” is their official postal address and Barbara is worried that when she sends her writings off to publishers that they will return them without reading because they think they will be about knitting or kindly spiritual advice. They are shortly moving to another house called “The Dairy” – not much of an improvement. Totnes is a beautiful ancient town built on the side of a hill. It is on the sight of an ancient castle and abbey. The exterior of the castle is intact and serves as a landmark. Not much of the abbey remains except for parts of the principal church. The high street runs past the church from the top of the hill to the bottom. The high street is about a five minute walk from Barbara's house so I walked their every morning to carve out some personal time for myself during the weekend. Totnes was a magnet for hippies and there are still tell-tale signs of a town with a hippy past that has evolved into a middle-class artistic retreat and tourist center. There is an Oxfam used bookstore there and I bought a small book, the memoirs of a woman who grew up in Cairo with recipes included – one of my favorite kinds of book. I am looking forward to visiting the Oxfam bookshop in Coventry and finding another little book as I have finished the first one.

This morning I walked to the High Street, bought some playing cards for Chloe, stopped in at the church, admired the stone screen and the graveyard and saw maybe my first squint in real life. Then walked down High Street, couldn't find the silicone film for my face, had a coffee and meat pie. Stopped into a cheese shop and bought some fresh goat cheese for breakfast. Then came home. Went with Barbara to Dartington to see Caroline perform, first singing and then moving in a long piece where she moved with another woman and played with melting ice. The band was good and I liked the songs. Helen, Barbara's daughter, played the mbela. Then I saw a very good video that was shown against these screens that had cutouts of the scene. It was great. The Ice Book, I believe. I think I have the web site. After that I walked to Barbara's, she is making dinner. After dinner, we are going back and seeing a theater piece.

The weekend was very intense. It would have been even if we hadn't been performing. Caroline was a student here twenty-odd years ago and both Caroline and Barbara taught here, each for about 20 years. The two of them were always being caught up in conversations with former students and teachers so it was hard to walk with them for more than 2 minutes before they stopped or were stopped by someone and began talking. Also, since this was the closing festival of Dartington College of Arts, they combined the annual weekend where students showed their work with the Dartington Festival at which teachers showed their work. Since this was a historic occasion, there were more people here than had ever been or for either festival, or probably for both festivals combined.

Dartington College is on the site of a former country manor, formerly owned by the kings of England, Richard II's name comes to mind (I heard a history of the place from the Head Gardener who gave a tour but already everything is a little hazy). The site is located at the top of the tidewater stretch of the River Dart as well as at the last ford of the river before the sea. Therefore it was been inhabited since early times and the church is located on a pre-Christian site. There is a beautiful medieval Great Hall and courtyard with a Saxon entrance arch and barn closing one end. It was owned by one family from the 16 century through the middle of the 18^th century but they ran out of money and moved away and by the early 20^th century, Dartington was identified as a ruin on some maps. Then an Englishman went to America to learn modern farming, met and married the fifth richest woman in the world, and brought her back to England where they looked for a place to practice modern farming. They found Dartington and bought it shortly after the First World War and spent $4,000,000 pounds (at current currency value, much, much more than that) restoring the place, establishing a colony of artists to help restore and decorate. Gropius did some work here and there are beautiful banners in the Great Hall that were made at a local weaving facility the owners established. When the owners died, they left the estate in the hands of a trust with the provision that there had to be an educational instituion on the land.

Our performances went well although Caroline and Barbara wished more people had seen them. I thought the audience size was just about right. Unfortunately, the Festival was chaotic and it was difficult to keep track of what was going on and where things were going to be. Also, they had recently renumbered all the studios, so the old students didn't know what the new numbers referred to. We were gioded bu Barbara sp we saw m,aoinly good work.

The theater work I saw was very physical, non-narrative, quite funny. I saw one dance piece which used ordinary actions like holding one's breath as its basic vocabulary. At the end they poured lines of water and salt across the length of the floor for tears and there was a long saying good-bye. The piece broke into two halves, with the first half more interesting for me.

I avoided the closing ritual and my instincts were good. Everyone hated it. The final event was an outdoor concert in the Tiltyard a field about half football size surrounded on three sides by grassy terraces that form a wonderful amphitheater. There was an African drumming ensemble, a Japanese taiko group and a gamelan. The African drumming didn't carry very well, but the Japanese drumming and the gamelan were wonderful. Barbara, Clive, Caroline and I were sitting facing the principal flower garden, a beautiful yellow and blue planting along an old wall. Behind that we could see the Great Hall. And below us the Tiltyard was filled with people in colorful clothes and children running around and dancing to the music. To our right, the view opened up to the beautiful hills of Devon.

And now Caroline and I are on the road driving through Devon on our way back to Coventry. It is a beautiful morning and the hills are very green with the fields marked off by the high hedgerows I noticed on our way in. The computer is in my lap. I am a little irritable and depressed which often happens when I have been around a lot of people and in intense situations. Caroline is crying and apologizing for being sad. We are driving through Riverford Organic Farm, one of the first organic farms in England. And now we are back on the motorway. It has been a wonderful weekend.

Coventry I

2010-06-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in the living room of a small apartment in Coventry, England, looking out on a small lawn and garden. There is one purple foxglove, a hand full of yellow poppies, a couple of white, daisy-like flowers, and something that might be a stunted princess bush. I will have to investigate. This is the beginning of a seven week trip, the first one I have ever taken that is devoted entirely to dance.

The apartment is about a 20 minute walk from the University of Coventry which is where the “Summer Dancing” festival is taking place. Coventry is an industrial city in the Midlands of England. It is where Lady Godiva lived and it was heavily bombed during the Second World War. Every day on my walk to the “Uni” as it is called here, I pass a statue commemorating the inventor of the bicycle. It was also a famous site for mystery plays during the Middle Ages, but only fragments of the texts have survived.

I am here with Caroline Waters, one of my collaborators, who is an Artist-in-Residence at the festival and we are working on a piece that uses video taken during a 23-hour performance of Erik Satie's “Vexations,” a piano score which can be played one time through in under two minutes, but asks for 840 repetitions. The 20 minute video was made by Barbara Bridger, a playwright, writing teacher, dramaturge, videographer, and colleague and friend of Caroline at Dartington for many years. Caroline and I doing research here on using this video as a starting point for an improvisational structure that can be performed in different sites with different numbers of people. The first performance was with just Caroline and me at Dartington College this last weekend. I will write about that in my next blog.

During the piece, the video of the Satie performance is projected on the wall, and the performers do ordinary actions on the stage in front of the images. In the studio, we worked on selecting which movements to use. We have a list of eight, walking, sitting, lying, standing, crawling, rolling, leaning and hugging. All of the actions that we are using occur in the film. We arrange them in an order and then we perform the actions in that order and when we come to the end of a sequence, we begin again at the beginning. When Caroline and I perform it alone, we talk from time to time, but with the students, we are probably not going to include text. Tuesday we did a sharing here where we did three successive performances in three different spaces. A very funky domed area at the top of the building, a beautiful white room with windows and a piano, and the studio where we have been working. We are now working on adding objects that are seen in the film such as back packs, pillows and coffee cups.

One of the main questions that came up in the discussion after the sharing was what is the point of the video in relation to the performance as a whole. I came up with three different foci that can be used both in watching and performing the piece.

A focus on watching, performance. When are the performers viewers (since from time to time we watch the video)? When are we performers? Is there a viewing space and a performing space? How separate are they? How integrated? Are the performers ever audience?

A focus on mood. What creates mood? How do actions create mood? How responsible are you individually for a mood?

A focus on form. “Vexations” is a piece with 840 repetitions. How many repetitions does this piece have? What is a repetition? What is the role of repetition in [your] life?

Yesterday, Caroline and I found time for a walk around central Coventry. Because of the bombing, Coventry is one of those places, much more common than I used to think, where everything has been restored. Dartington is another. Most of China is another. I find the center of Coventry moving. There is a range of buildings from the medieval period through the 18^th and 19^th century that are very nice. The post-war architecture isn't always up to the mark, but the overall impression, once one leaves the heavily trafficked streets, is peaceful and, too me, comforting. We had tea, well, coffee, at a very nice cafe/bar/bistro in a quiet side street at the end of our journey.

At the beginning, we paid homage to the statue of Lady Godiva. Lady Godiva and Peeping Tom are ever present in Coventry, in images and place names, and Coventry probably has more nude performances than any other place in the world since so many performers here want to reference the good lady.

Then we moved on to the cathedral which surpassed my expectations. The original cathedral (actually the second since it had been almost completely rebuilt in the 14^th and 15^th centuries) was bombed and the ruins have been left as they were. The walls are complete all around up to about twenty or thirty feet and in some places, such as the west end of the church where the altar is they go much higher. As you enter, at the east end, the walls are quite high and there are bits of glass left in some of the tracery that I found moving. The interior area is large and open to the sky and retains its sense of a sacred space. There will be a performance here Sunday afternoon and I am looking forward to it. Starting tomorrow, Caroline is taking a three-day intensive workshop and I will come back and explore the cathedral more, including the new cathedral which stands beside the ruins. There is also a church very near the cathedral that is intact and I hop to visit that too.

Then we went home and cooked. That has been one of the great things here. We have our own apartment and markets nearby so we are cooking our own meals. It's been fun for me figuring out what is and isn't in the markets and working with a minimal but serviceable kitchen.

On to Dartington next.

Taking a Break

2009-09-12T03:16:00.000-07:00

I am taking a break in Santo Domingo de Calzado. If you know something about the Camino de Santiago you will know that this is the place where they keep two chickens in the cathedral to commemorate a miracle that happened here in the middle ages. It involves a hanged man and a roast chicken both coming to life again. Despite the oddity of the chicken coop, the cathedral is very nice. I am spending an extra night here because after 9 days of walking, I suddenly developed a blister on my right little toe. I struggled with it for a couple of days but yesterday I decided, and other pilgrims strongly agreed, that I needed to rest for a day. Dennis is walking on ahead. I am not sure where and when we will meet up. If all else fails, we have a date on October 4th in front of the cathedral in Santiago. Other than the toe, I am feeling fine. I had a couple of days when I felt as if I had no stamina, but in spite of the toe, yesterday I felt fine. I hooked up with a great woman from Australia whose husband died recently, and we walked and talked and cracked jokes and she cried and told stories about her husband whom she called ¨my lovely boy.¨ It was just what I needed right then. I do best when I am helping other people and she helped me more than I think she realizes. She has also gone on. One never knows on the camino, if one has seen another pilgrim for the last time or if they will show up again, but I am trailing behind the first people I met.
I left my journal behind at an ATM yesterday. I had made notes of things I had left out of my previous blogs that I wanted to write about. Somethings I remember. In the story about the woman from the Czech Republic, I forgot to mention that she speaks only Czech, Russian and German so we communicated in my minimal German and very minimal Russian. However, with the help of a great deal of mime, we managed. I am turning into a linguist. People can understand my French without much problem, which is nice. I have moments when Spanish flows out of my mouth, but most of the time people cannot understand anything I am trying to say. I can understand people speaking Spanish some of the time, but there is a wide variety of accents here and often I don´t have a clue.
Before I go any further, I want to say a word or two about Olkhon Island in Lake Baikal in Russia. It is a great place. If you are ever wandering up from Beijing through Mongolia, do stop. It is a very calm and beautiful place. Caroline and I stayed in a Russian bread and breakfast because the international place was full and I felt very lucky. Most of the time, we were the only non-Russians, but there was always someone who could speak English and translate for the owner. Most often it was the man who looked after the small church nearby. He lived there with his wife, baby and goat and was very helpful. The church had four bells and he rang them frequently during the day. The church was on a bluff overlooking the lake. Amazing. Olkhon Island is a center of shamanism and I had my own healing experience there. When I arrived the ankle I had sprained in the Altai mountains was quite painful. We stopped off at the contact we had on the island and I talked about sprain and Kolya, who is a masseur, whipped out a small battery-run machine and gave me a treatment. He gave me four more in the following days and in the morning, Caroline treated me with Polish snake venom salve and massage. It worked and although the ankle still doesn´t like going downhill very much, it is fine. Then I had a headache for four days and on the last night, Vika, our contact, gave me a treatment for that and I haven´t had trouble with headaches since. Well, once after a glass of red wine.
The experience of the camino is indescribable. That is why there are so many books about it. Everyone tries to get it right. I am thinking of a book to be called ¨Conquering Christianity: Walking Beyond Belief.¨ The camino I think is both pre- and post-Christian. Most of the Christian artefacts seem to be pasted onto the essence of the walk. There are some churches and monuments that to seem to be of the nature of the camino, the octagonal church at Eunate, for example, and odd corners of the churches. There are prehistoric settlements at most of the stops along the way so people have been walking for a long time wondering what in the world they were doing. I also don´t have a clue but I think it has something to do with going beyond belief, beyond faith, beyond disbelief. At the very end, after Santiago at the end of the earth (Finistere) at the edge of the ocean, you are supposed to burn the clothes you wore on the way. I think the earlier pilgrims who did this thought they were burning the sins of their past, but I think it is about revealing the naked present.
Well, so much for my trying to make sense of all this. I enjoy walking. The landscape keeps changing and keeps being beautiful. The people I meet are great. The food is interesting and often good. Yesterday for the midday meal I had calf cheek cooked in red wine. Quite good. Today I saw a sign outside a restaurant that offered salt-cod.
This is day twelve. I think I have walked about 240 kilometers which is about 20 a day. Not enough to reach Santiago in the time I have but I will catch up by taking a bus or taxi, or else I will chuck it altogether and find a beach in Portugal. Stay tuned.

On the Camino

2009-09-04T20:57:00.000-07:00

I am about to begin my 5th day of walking on the Camino de Santiago. I have walked 45 miles so far. I have only about 350 miles to go. This is a very strange experience. We get up about 6 in the morning, walk until about 3 or 4 in the afternoon, find a hostel to stay in, do laundry, walk about the town, have an evening meal, go to sleep about 10 and then in the morning get up and do it all over again. We have met some very nice people so far. One keeps meeting and remeeting them. It is always a pleasure.

I have only 9 minutes left before my money runs out on this machine so I will tell one Camino story and then hopefuly catch up with the rest and with Russia later.

On the second day of walking, I happened upon a young man speaking Russian to a woman just a little younger than me. So I stopped. He was from Oregon and had spent four years working in Kazakhstan and his Russian was good. She had walked from the Czech Republic and is on her way to Santiago de Compostela. She is protesting against the low pension given to older people in the Czech Republic. She gets about $400 a month. She speaks only Russian, German and Czech. I walked with her off and on. Her hip was bothering her. Eventually we came to Zubiri and there were no more beds. So we walked on with her to Larrosoana accompanied by two young Japanese men. One of them is a photographer and the other a magazine editor and they are hoping to do a picture book of the Camino. There were no beds in Larrosoana. I went into the hostel and tried to convince them to give her a bed but to no avail. We walked out and the Japanese photographer who had heard the story and did have a bed, gave her his bed. He and his friend slept outside. We met an Australian couple and shared a taxi to Huarte where there was a very nice hostel and we had a good night and a delicious pilgrim meal. I had a delicious tomato salad with very good onions. The city is known for them.

O.K. Time to pack.

The Turning Point

2009-08-29T05:22:00.000-07:00

I haven't finished my Russian blogs yet. They are maturing as drafts at the moment. However, while it is still fresh, I want to write about the last week in which I have been making the transition from Russia to Spain. I didn't think about this part of the trip very clearly and there have been a couple of minor bugs and it has turned out to be a little more expensive than it would have been if I had done a little planning. Nevertheless, I am having a good time and this transition time has been a time for much needed rest and recuperation despite all the travel.

I am now in Arnhem in the Netherlands. Tomorrow I get on the train for a 12-hour trip to Bayonne, France. After Russia, where I was on trains for a total of 80 hours, 12 hours is nothing at all. I do have to change three times but they are easy changes and I will welcome the chance to walk a little. For some reason, my sprained ankle doesn't like train or airplane travel very much. At the moment I am recovering from an all-night excursion to Amsterdam. My friend Tibor with whom I am staying in Arnhem insisted that I see Amsterdam so we caught the train at 10:30 P.M. and arrived in Amsterdam about midnight. We went from bar to bar and other disreptutable gay venues with little excursions to see the redlight district, the Queen's Palace and other notable sights. The first train back was at 6 in the morning so I was up all night. As my friend Angela said in Moscow when she caught me running from place to place at the Contact Festival, "Act your age." It was fun though and I don't seem to have any ill-effects despite being caught in two thunderstorms.

It is strange being in The Netherlands. I had looked forward to seeing Tibor whom I had met in Hungary about four years ago, but I hadn't thought about the fact that he was in Holland. Holland turns out to be pretty much like it was in the stories I read as a child. The houses have pyramidal fronts. People ride bicycles. There are a lot of canals. There is a lot of cheese but none in red wax coverings. So far I haven't seen a windmill but maybe I will tomorrow on the train. I go from here to Rotterdam and from Rotterdam to Paris where I change for Bayonne.

Arnhem is a smallish big city with great parks, impressive churches and a large, pedestrian only shopping district where Tibor lives. I'm very annoyed I don't know Dutch. At the moment, I want to learn every language in the world. I am happy to be going to Spain where I at least have a clue about the language although I don't speak it very well. I'm thinking of studying Russian when I get back. Something stuck after 50 years since I last studied it and I think I might have a chance of upgrading a little.

This transition period started in Moscow where I arrived very tired. I had intended to look up friends but instead checked into a strange hotel that used to serve people who worked at the Khazatstan Embassy. No one spoke Russian except a security guard. They didn't even speak German which is usually the fall-back language in Russia. It was a huge cavernous place with about five people staying in it. They did have a great breakfast buffet that came with the room but there were never more than five people eating and usually it was only me and someone else. There was kasha (Russian for breakfast porridge which comes in astounding variety), omelets (which were really an egg custard which was a great idea because it kept warm better than omelets), cold meats, cheese, hot sausages, raw cucumbers, tomatoes, dill, parsley, a range of breads, a toaster, great sweet cakes, and several different stuffed blinis. One of the hot sausages was perhaps the best sausage I have ever had, succulent, porky and earthy.

The hotel was within walking distance of central Moscow but there were also good metro connections. I walked a lot trying to absorb Moscow which I like. I took a walk laid out in the Lonely Planet to a street with a lot of old churches. Very nice. I went to a nesting doll museum. I had weird Uzbek soup and a great Uzbek pilav in a restaurant (I never realized before that "plov" is the same word as "pilaf." I kept thinking I should look up friends but I was too tired and had been in constant contact with people for a month and a half and for a solitary person, that is a lot.

Then on to London, this time in a shabby but cheap hotel near Victoria Station. The room was the smallest hotel room I have ever stayed in, but it was adequate. I tried to see my friend Janet but again we were frustrated. This is the third time we have been in the same city or state and still couldn't meet. We are hoping to get together when I get back to London in October.

In London I took a walk in the Rough Guide to Walks in Southeastern England, a book I recommend. The walk followed the Regent Canal into the docklands with a stop at the Ragged School Musem, a museum about charitable work in the East End in the 19th century. A great place. It functions as a afterschool place for local children as well as a museum. I recommend this too. It's a small treat, but a treat. In the morning I had been to see the Tower of London which I had never seen before despite having been going to London off and on since 1976. I went early, avoided the crowds, saw the two chapels and the Royal Jewels and was happy to be able to cross that off my list. In the late afternoon, I queued for an intellectual play at the National Theaters but realized there was no way I was going to last through the play so went to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince which almost did me in as well. I think, by and large, that the movies are better than the books but unfortunately they are so compressed that you have to have read the books to follow them.
O.K. I had an easy flight from London to Amsterdam and an easy train ride from Amsterdam to Arnhem. I will be sorry to leave Tibor and Holland which I like (but now that I'm old I seem to like everything--somehow that seems annoying). Tomorrow on to France and then on the 1st of September I start walking.

The Trans-Siberian Train

2009-08-26T04:33:00.000-07:00

I had two trips on Trans-Siberian Trains (definitely not expresses), one going east and one west, but I am combining them together in one blog and will write about my week at Lake Baikal later.
Before that, there are a couple of items I left out of the previous email. The first is my experience in a Russian banya (or sauna to use the Finnish word). There was a banya at the camp in the Altai Mountains and I was accorded teacher's privileges so I could use it free. The sauna room itself is pretty much like a sauna in the United States (although the ones I was in were heated by a wood stove), but there is always an anteroom with steaming hot water in which one can take bucket showers (or wash ones clothes). This room also has cold water for dousing oneself, but at the Festival, the river was right out the front door so one could also dip in the river. Before the anteroom, there is a changing room and then there is usually a relaxation room with a tea pot of some sort and benches and frequently a table where one can drink, eat and hang out before going back to the sauna.
The distinctive part of the sauna experience is the "steaming" with birch branches. This is usually translated as "beating" or "thrashing" in English but that's not very descriptive of the actual process. They heat the sauna quite hot, then one lies down on theomach and they take out the branches which have been soaking in hot water. They hold them up to the top of the sauna to collect hot air and then wave them gently over the body releasing great amounts of heat. Then they press the branches into the body starting at the shoulders and working down to the feet. After that they begin rythmically slapping with the branches gently at first and then with greater force. It takes about five or ten mintues and then you turn over and they do the front. Then you make your way to the river and take a dip. In Altai, there was a full moon so the dip in the river was the most amazing part. I was steamed twice, both times by very accomplished "steamers." I am not crazy about saunas, but the "steaming" and the river were great.

After Altai, Caroline and I went on the bus to Novosibirsk and then waited for our evening train in a most luxurious apartment with Internet, really hot showers, delicious food and great company. Then on to the train.

We left the apartment on Russian time and thus didn't have a chance to shop properly so we didn't have quite enough food but in the morning. One can get off at the longer stops and buy food, but the first stops were in the middle of the night and the platforms were deserted. Also the stops varied in quality as to what was offered. I slept through the best stop. Caroline says she tried to wake me but I wouldn't budge. Fortunately, in the morning we found the restaurant car and had a most pleasant breakfast all by ourselves with a most solicitous waiter. Ham and eggs, coffee, Russian sweet bread, lots of really good butter and peace. It was great. We tried to do this on the way back but because the trains run on Moscow time the timing wasn't right so we had to have lunch instead which wasn't quite as good as breakfast.

The compartments on the train hold four. Two uppers and two lowers. Caroline preferred the uppers because there was more privacy, but I preferred the lower bunks, because I couldn't negotiate the climb in the middle of the night. On the way to Irktusk, we had two very pleasant women in the compartment with us. The way back was more difficult. For some reason, Caroline and I were in separate cars and she was with three women who warmed up to her very slowly. I was in a compartment alone with an older woman who had more memory problems than me and spoke only Russian. With the help of mime and a phrase book, we managed. She wasn't too impressed with an British woman and an American, but there was an Australian couple next door and she was impressed by them. She had seen kangaroos on television and decided that Australia was the country.
Time becomes very strange on these long train rides. It takes 30 hours to get from Novosibirsk to Irkutsk, the jumping off point for Lake Baikal. The trains run on Moscow time which doesn't help and the landscape changes hardly at all for the whole trip. Lots of large fields and lots of birch and pine forest. I slept a lot and I ate a lot, but there never seemed to be a particular reason to do either of them at any specific time. The train rattled, the wheels clicked and then suddenly one was at one's destination.
The ride back from Irkutsk to Yakaterinburg was 50 hours but it didn't seem any different from the first trip. We did manage food better. Caroline and I with the help of our friend Ivan stopeed at a supermarket before we got on the train. Supermarkets in Russia have much more space devoted to delicacies than do American stores -- lots of sausages and prepared meats, salad and fish, lots of cheese, lots of baked goods and lots of beer, vodka and other forms of alcohol. I bought some roast pork and a liver sausage and Caroline had cheese. I also bought some good whole wheat bread and by the time we headed for the train we had several bags of food. By the time we got off, it was almost all gone. I was quite amazed. Caroline spent most of her time with me and the old lady. At one stop, they had crayfish. That was fun. Neither of us had ever eaten crayfish before and Caroline found them quite revolting to look at and touch, but once I had opened them up so she could get at the meat without touching anything disgusting, she found them quite tasty. I have good pictures but I have had trouble connecting my computer via wi-fi and now it is stored in London because I decided not to carry it on the pilgrim trail.
At Yakaterinburg, named after Catherine the Great, we stayed with the woman who has the company that Caroline is laying the piece on. We stayed one night at her apartment and then one night at the amazing apartment that she found for Caroline to stay in for the month she will be there. It belongs to a ballerina in the local ballet company and is all black fringe and acres of gauzy curtains. I found it quite depressing but its location is great and it has all the things an apartment needs so it is really a good deal.
I went to the first class that Caroline did with the company. I am so impressed with the Russian dancers who are interested in experimental work. Very committed, very creative, very inspirational.
The afternoon before I flew to Moscow, we went with Natasha (the company director) to her dacha in the country. It was a collective dacha from the Communist era. Several dachas in a compound each with its own amazingly extensive garden. We munched on carrots freshly pulled from the ground while we made food which included potatoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, dill, and parsley all freshly picked. Natasha grilled pork and chicken and I made my mother's version of fried green tomatoes (not like the ones in the movie). I flour them and then fry them until they are brown and soft and then add a little milk or cream to make a sauce. They were a big hit. When I wasn't cooking I was running around the backyard with Natasha's two girls, five and two and a half. We didn't have a common language but we stuck out our tongues and made noises and chased each other all around, ending with games of train and "A tisket a tasket" in Russian. This was great fun and made my miss my grandchildren a lot.
O.K. One more Russian blog to go: Lake Baikal

The First Siberian Contact Improvisation Festival

2009-08-24T23:51:00.001-07:00

I am back in Moscow on my way to London on my way to Spain. It has been a wonderful, exhausting, trying, inspirational, confusing, and mind-twisting (among other things) trip.
In the last episode we were leaving Moscow on our way to Novosibirsk the capital of Siberia. Before this I thought of Siberia as being in the far north, but actually it is most of Russia east of the Ural Mountains and goes down to the southern border. The flight to Novosibirsk was uneventful and we were met by Masha, one of the organizers. We then spent a lot of time in a post office because Caroline's and Otto's registration turned out to be incorrect. Don't ask but if you ever come to Russia and stay in one place more than three days, you will have to register. Check you registration immediately! If the dates are incorrect it turns out to be an unpleasant, time-consuming hassle. I spent a lot of time copying forms using cyrillic characters, but all to no avail. What we had to do couldn't be done there. Eventually we were brought to a pleasant spot by a river where we got on a bus for the eight hour drive into the Altai mountains. By this time it was 7:30 at night so the interesting part of the journey happened in the night. We arrived at the camp where the festival was held as the sun was coming up so we had no idea where we were. The camp was pleasant enough, up to the usual summer Bible camp standards of my youth. It was beside the Katun river, a cold, beautiful, fast-moving and noisy affair. The first day was spent getting organized. It turned out to be rainier than expected so by the next day, the first day of classes, everything had been reorganized and the schedule had changed. There were only three of us who didn't speak Russian and they kept forgetting to translate important details so the first days were confusing and sometimes frustrating. However, everything sorted itself out.

I wasn't teaching but I did two laboratories. The first was an ongoing "unannounced performance" lab which was basically a practical investigation of performance theory leading to an "announced 'unannounced performance' performance" which went very well. The participants were eager and asked very interesting questions and did very interesting work. At the end of the festival I did a second lab on sound and movement. The first part was a basic sound production warm-up leaving to movement and in the second part we went outside and did some work with movement and language using a combination of Simone Forti's and my own techniques.

I was very happy with the work the participants and I did together and I have made some connections which I hope prove to be ungoing.

There was a two-day break in the festival and Caroline and I joined a trek to seven glacial lakes higher in the mountains. This turned out to be grueling. Food was disorganized so all we had for breakfast was what we could get at an understocked little store. Then we road on a bus for an hour or so to a place where we transferred to a monster of an army-surplus four-wheel drive truck. It followed a barely existant trail for two hours while we bounced around inside on very uncomfortable seats. The windows barely existed so we couldn't see where we were going. Eventually five us wedged ourselves together on a long backwards facing seat and lay down on each other and so stayed in place and actually slept for awhile. On the way back, the others insisted that Caroline and I sit up front with the drive. We saw then that the road was two more or less parallel ruts through the woods. The truck was too big for the bridges so it forded the many streams. It seemed as if there was more water than road.

Finally we came to the starting point. Caroline got on a horse and I hiked. The way up was muddy but the rise in elevation was not too bad. I took it slow and made it. At the top there was a camp with a kitchen where they cooked over a wood fire. We had delicious soup and a macaroni and ground beef dish that tasted delicious after our ordeal. Then it was time to walk around the lakes just as a thunder-storm started. I donned my parka and headed out in pouring rain. The lakes are basically set in a stony swamp so the whole walk was on very slippery rocks. The lakes however, were beautiful and when the group climbed up to the top of a waterfall, I stayed put and had an hour and a half by myself alone in the Altai Mountains.

The Altai Mountains are not high but they are home to an indigenous people and they are many legends surrounding them and they are seen as a mysterious and powerful place. There is an eerie weirdness about them that grows on one. The wind blew, the trees groaned, the waterfall sang and I was very happy.

On the hike down, I was very tired and began to fall a lot. A husband and wife from St. Petersburg who spoke English adopted me and one walked ahead and the other followed and I made it to the bottom in one piece although I did have some spectacular falls. On one, before they took pity on me I bruised my right side so that even now it is a colorful sight.

The spell check isn't working, and I have to catch a plain to London so this is it.

Next time, Lake Baikal, Irkutsk and the Trans-Siberian Train (definitely not an express).

My 70th Birthday

2009-07-25T21:12:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,
I turned 70 at this Contact Festival and it was a wonderful day. It started in the sauna at midnight. Then all the next day people kept whispering "Happy Birthday" in my ear and in the evening there was a teacher's gathering and we had a small party for me and for Paula from Argentina and people sang us birthday songs in Russian, Hebrew, German, Finnish, Spanish, Czech, Catalan, Ukrainian and some other languages I can't remember now. We were in a grove of pine trees just as I was on my first birthday party.

We are in a beautiful setting not far from a river and the woods are full of raspberries and small wild strawberries. Delicious.

The festival has been very good for me. I have gained confidence as a teacher and as a performer. The people here who are interested in the kind of work I do have been very supportive and I have made new friends. I have really enjoyed teaching and organizing student performances and yesterday I had a spontaneous performance outside with two students that was very sweet.

Caroline and I fly to Siberia tomorrow for another festival. We are not sure if we will be able to get on the Internet there or not. If we can, I will right more. Here, I have been very busy and now I have start packing to catch the bus to Moscow.

Moscow

2009-07-17T21:16:00.000-07:00

Dear friends,
I am in Moscow and having a wonderful time. As usual, I am having technological problems, so I haven't blogged yet. I have been here for a week and two days.
I feel at home in Moscow. It feels somewhat like Los Angeles. It is big. The streets are wide. Most of the buildings are low. However, many of the buildings here are painted a beautiful yellow and were built in the 18th or 19th century. The subway is amazing. It is very cheap and incredibly efficient. I have never waited for more than 3 minutes for a train.
I have seen the Kremlin, Red Square, St. Basil's Cathedral, assorted other churches, and the family home of the Romanov tsars. The Kremlin was not what I expected. From growing up in the 1950's with the Iron Curtain, I thought the Kremlin would be massive, concrete and oppressive and the soldiers would march out onto Red Square and control everyone. In fact, there is not an entrance onto Red Square. The Kremlin floats in the air surrounded and supported by a red, brick wall and has many trees, open spaces, and beautiful churches. It does not look like a serious place from which to run a totalitarian government.
The light here is amazing. It starts to get light about 4 in the morning and is light until about 10:30 at night. Also, in the evening, the twilight lingers and lingers, not as in Los Angeles, where the desert night comes on quickly and efficiently. My childhood had long lingering evenings in the summer and I feel very safe as the day very slowly disappears.
Also Russians eat the same foods as Swedes pretty much, so I have had herring, rye bread and so on, and my stomach is very happy.
I have been busy with the Contact Improvisation and Performance Festival. If you are curious about Contact Improvisation, go to www.contactimprov.com and read all about it. I am here more for the performance part, not having done much contact for the last 5 years or so, but it is amazing to dance and perform with the other teachers who are very skilled and very creative. I am teaching voice production and the use of texts in performance. Tonight the teachers perform a great theater in Moscow and then we go to the forest for the festival itself.
There are 8 of us living in a small 3 room + kitchen + 1 bathroom apartment. It is like my hippie days when I lived in collectives. I need to escape from time to time and be by myself, but I like having people around. I get up the earliest and sit in the kitchen and then others get up and wander in. I like it.
I am not sure if there is an Internet connection in the forest or not. If not I will next write from Moscow on the 26th or 27th or from the capital of Siberia a little later.

On the Road Again

2009-07-07T09:56:00.000-07:00

I am getting ready for another long trip. This time I will be going to Russia and Spain with a short amount of time in London and the Netherlands in between.

I am going to Russia to take part in two improvisation festivals. I will be teaching at the first one which takes place outside of Moscow. Then my friend Caroline Waters and I will fly to Novosibirsk, the capital of Siberia, and travel south to the Altai Mountains where Mongolia, China, and Kazakhstan all come together at the Russian border. We will participate in a second, more laid back, festival in the mountains and then will take the Transiberian Express to Lake Baikal (30 hours!) where we will unwind for a week. Then back on the train to Yakatineberg, principally known as the place where the Tsar's family were executed. Caroline will work on a project there and I will hang out for a few days and then I will go back to Moscow, fly to London, see friends, go to Arnhem in Holland, see another friend, and then south to St. Jean Pierre-de-Port in France where I will meet my friend Dennis Miles and we will walk on the pilgrim trail up across the Pyrenees and across the top of Spain to Santiago de Compestela. We hope to do this in about a month. I have 36 walking days at my disposal before I return to London and then Los Angeles.

Yesterday, the Fourth of July, Dennis and I walked about 7 miles west to Hollywood, up into the hills to Mulholland Drive and then back to Griffith Park Observatory (not a great picture, but you get the idea) to watch fireworks. This was a backpack test for me. I am wondering whether I will take my small netbook computer with me when I walk across Spain. The backpack with computer and everything I think I need in Spain weighs about 12 pounds. I walked with it to Dennis' house, about a mile, and decided to take out the computer for this test run. Without the computer (which weighs under 3 pounds), I was fine and with some training in Russia, I think I can do 12 pounds. We will see. We plan to walk about 16 miles a day. I can do without the computer, but what that means is that when I get home, I will transcribe the journal into the computer, a painful task. I just finished transcribing my last summer's journal.

People say to me, "A computer! On a pilgrimage?" People have been writing on pilgrimages since pilgrimages began. The number of journals written about the Santiago pilgrimage alone is staggering. If I prefer to write on a computer rather than a pen, I don't think St. James will mind. Pilgrims sometimes carry stones with them which they deposit at a cross along the way as an emblem of the sins they are expiating by their act of faith. My computer will be my stone although I will carry my sins back home with me. There is a story about the Ganges. A dip in the Ganges washes away all of your sins, but sins are like crows. They just wait until you get out of the river and dry yourself off and then they hop right back on again.

As Dennis and I were walking up Beechwood Canyon yesterday, we met a 19-year-old Brazilian who is spending a year traveling around the United States after his graduation from high school. He is a very mature young man and great fun to talk to as we wandered through Griffiith Park. He wants to make films so we talked a lot about Hollywood and movies in general. His favorite director is Bergman. My first Bergman film was Wild Strawberries which I probably saw in 1959 when I was twenty. It is strange when the currently young take up the passions of my youth. I felt the same way when my son as a young teenager became interested in the Beatles. It's my music. Find your own. And yet, it is also very nice to have a common topic that bridges the age difference. The young Brazilian was complaining that he couldn't find Fred Zinneman movies in Brazil. Does anyone else still know who Fred Zinneman was?

My son says my blogs can be no longer than 800 words or he won't read them, and I am at the limit. The next time I write, I will be writing from Moscow.

Luke

January Performances

2009-01-09T10:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends,

January has been very intense. My daughter-in-law is seriously ill with ulcerative colitis so I have been up there helping my son with the children. While the circumstance is horrible, I have enjoyed being with the girls very much.
I already had three performances scheduled for this month so life is complicated. One is tonight so that is very short notice and another is Monday, which isn't much better. Anyway, here they are:

Friday, January 9, 2009, Los Angeles Dance Improvisation Festival

Electric Lodge
1416 Electric Avenue
Venice, CA, 90291
8:30 PM
Friday night is a pay what-you-can night.

I will be in two student pieces, one organized by Caroline Waters, and the other by Kirsti Simpson. They will be very different and the quality of the performers is high. There will also be duets between Caroline and Jones Walsh and also Kirsti and Simone Forti.

Monday, January 12, 2009, Anatomy Riot

Open Space
209 S. Garey Street, 90012, 2nd floor
Los Angeles, CA
8:00 PM. The cost is $10.00.

I will be performing an improvisation with Caroline Waters. We have collaborated for several years in venues ranging from Laguna Beach to Budapest and Posnan, Poland. The piece is called "Et. cetera, et. cetera." Anatomy Riot is curated this month by Arianne MacBean and will present several works in progress.

Then. Friday and Saturday, January 30 and 31, 2009

Highways Performance Space
1651 18th Street
Santa Monica, CA 90404
8:30 PM, $20, $15 for seniors, students.

This is another group, works-in-progress show, but the work is more developed than that at Anatomy Riot. I will be doing a solo set to music by Shostokovich and with text from Pilgrim's Progress.

I hope your New Year is going well.

Luke

Happy Holidays 2008

2008-12-23T08:53:00.001-08:00

The above picture is from Poland when I was there in February 2007. It has been decades since I have had a wintry Christmas, but childhood memories from Southwestern New York State have not yet faded and despite the lack of snow in Los Angeles, Christmas and snow are synonymous for me.
This has been a year. The election. The economy. While there is always the possibility of an apocalyptic end, I suspect human beings will continue to muddle along for a while yet. While things are bad now. I am not sure that the early 21st century is even in the running for the 10 worst eras on the planet. So this is my cheerful holiday message. It has been a lot worse. It might not get a lot better soon. I'm currently reading Barbara Ehrenreich's Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy and my advice is put on some music and dance. If you can't get out of bed and dance, dance in bed, in your memories and dreams if nowhere else. My New Year's resolution is to dance more. Not post-modern art dance, but turn-the-music-up-and-boogie dance.

Osbey and I aren't doing much for Christmas this year. We did put up our artificial tree. The tree at the left is the little tree Ben Teller and I put up in India in New Delhi in 2006 when we were staying with our friend Veronica. The Indian middle-class tends to do Christmas and all the ex-pats do so it was easy to find a tree and ornaments. I might be going up to San Carlos again after Christmas so I am not sure what Osbey and I are doing about our annual little holiday get together. I've made another resolution and that is to spend all future winter holidays and birthdays abroad. As I get older, I find the emotions brought up by these festivities almost too intense to bear. Therefore, I intend to run away.

No holiday greeting from a grandfather is complete without pictures of the grandchildren, so here they are, Kyla on the left of the picture and Chloe on the right. I'm pretty happy when I can forget that I am by nature and heritage a gloomy Swede. I hope that you are pretty happy too.

Terry/Luke

Home/Farewell to Ladakh

2008-08-22T09:27:00.000-07:00

I arrived home about 2 p.m. Los Angeles time last Wednesday afternoon. I was a little wobbly after ten weeks away, thirty hours of traveling and a thirteen hour time shift. In spite of that, I am all in one piece, at least as healthy as when I left, and very pleased with my travels. It was a wonderful trip. Although many things did not go as planned, I always landed on my feet and had many wonderful surprises.
The trip had five parts. The first two, studying Hindi in Nolunna and then in Mussoorie, I have covered. The third, Ladakh, has only one installment left to go. Yet to come is my car ride through the Spiti and Kinnaur Valleys, and my last few days in Delhi.
This was a great trip. Except for Delhi, I was in parts of India I had never seen before. Some of them, because of constant clouds and rain, I haven't seen very well yet. I have clothes still airing on the back porch because the damp invaded them. They have a weird smell that even laundering doesn't entirely remove. I'm hoping the Los Angeles sun will do the trick.
So Ladakh. It is an amazing place. First of all, the altitude alone makes it an interesting place to visit and the walking, hiking, trekking, climbing possibilities are inexhaustible. However, I am more of a sedentary traveler -- except for my overnight, I mostly stayed in Leh, the capital, except for a few excursions with other travelers I met. For the last couple of days, I was supposed to go to the Nubra Valley which is a day's ride over a very high pass away from Leh. Unfortunately, one of the people I was to travel with became sick so the trip was canceled. Instead, a hired a car by myself and took a ride west along the Indus valley to see some monasteries. The road is reasonably good and the landscape gradually changes, the valley becoming narrower and the mountains more variegated. It had rained a little the previous two days down in the valley, so there was beautiful, fresh snow up on the mountain tops. The first morning we stopped at Likir monastery. Unfortunately, it is one of those gompas that has melded into a large, mysterious gompa of which I have no recollection of the individual parts except for a painting on the side of a window in the library showing the ascent of man. He starts as an apelike creature crawling on the ground beside a gray elephant. As the man and his companion elephant ascend a mountain, the man becomes more and more civilized eventually adopting monk's clothing and the elephant becomes whiter and whiter until only his back heels are gray. Then the elephant is all white and ascends a pathway in the air and the monk flies circles around him finally ascending so high the elephant is left behind.
Shortly after noon, we arrived at the guest house in Alchi which was filled with the usual complement of French tourists. After a good Indian vegetarian lunch, I wandered over to the monastery. Unlike most, it is built on the plain, not on the side of a mountain. It consists of a series of buildings and stupas that border the Indus river. The apricots were ripe and in one courtyard, people were pitting an enormous pile of them. The apricots were laid out to dry, and the pits were saved to be turned into oil.
The Alchi monastery is very old and the prayer halls are dark and it took awhile before my eyes adjusted, but eventually I began to see and I turned off my flashlight and the images seemed to float in the semi-dark. In one the halls there is a small window through which you can see the head of a very large Buddha seemingly detached from any corporeal support. There is much sculpture at Alchi, but the walls of each room are covered with murals -- mandalas, Buddhas, bodhisatvas, demonic looking guardians, processions, enormous panels of 1,000 Buddhas, and purely (I think) decorative elements. While the tour guards exhaustively turned the buildings into art museums, I tried to escape them and find myself alone in some dark corner. Some of the paintings are about 1,000 years old, painted long before artificial light so the painters knew that some of them would be scarcely seen. Viewing seems to have low on their list of priorities, creation and existence being much more important.
After the monastery I walked in the fields surrounding the village. I am beginning to think I would like to live around farm animals. I have never cared much for house pets but I like being around working animals. I also love to look at crops growing in the field. And the sound of running water. Although Ladakh is very dry, there is usually a stream of snow melt running within earshot. If I ever move from where I live now, a will look for a place with farm animals, gardens and the sound of water.
The next day we went to Lamayuru which has a spectacular setting in a heavily eroded canyon. I do not remember the interior very well, but there was a stupa surrounded by prayer wheels and I followed an old woman around, turning the prayer wheels after she did. I liked that.
Then finally, we came to Basgo which I almost didn't visit. It is not one of the more commonly visited monasteries. There is a lot of climbing involved, but it is worth the effort. The paintings have been recently restored and they are very well done. With my taste for ephemeral art, I am not usually in favor of restoration, but these prayer halls were well done and it was nice to be able to see the images clearly. In the last hall, an elderly monk was sitting chanting by a huge prayer wheel. He kept insisting that I turn the wheel, but it was very heavy and hard work. I would give it a turn or two and then stop and then he would gesture to me to keep turning it, which I did until he stopped chanting and left.
Then it was back to Leh and my wonderful guest house run by a gracious Ladakhi family who gave me a shoulder bag with "Om" embroidered on it as a going away present.

My Beautiful Trekette

2008-08-04T22:08:00.000-07:00

I am safely back from my hike a little way's up the northern flank of the Zanskar Range which is just north of the Great Himalayas. I had a driver/guide and we drove for about an hour and a half over a very bad road until we could go no farther. Then he walked with me for about two hours or so up along a stream to a village called Rumtuk. It has somewhere between 10 and 20 houses. It's hard to tell because they are all sort of intertwined with one another. They are usually two or three stories high with room for cattle on the ground floor and a prayer room on the roof. I had arranged a home stay at a house in the village. We arrived about noon and I was completely wiped out. I'm not sure how high we hiked from the valley. It was a gradual but steady climb. It was high enough for me to detect a change in altitude. I had a headache most of the night. I slept for a little and then had rice and vegetables for lunch. Then the driver went back to the car because there was a threat of rain and he was worried about where the car was parked. I slept again and when I woke up I discovered the only door was chained from the outside so tightly I couldn't open it. I went up to the roof and discovered a place where I could put a ladder I found there and climb down. I wanted to walk in the village and the fields. The village's fields are quite extensive. Each field is about the size of one to three average American front yards. The fields are often but not always surrounded by stone walls. The ground is full of stones and they have to put them somewhere. The cattle are tethered in the paths between the fields grazing on the grass and weeds that grow there. A woman and a boy about two or three came to move their calf. The boy found me quite exotic and smiled shyly. Then he put on a great show of helping his mother reposition the cow, shouting at it and trying to slap it on the rump although he hit his mother more often than the cow. The setting was beautiful. The valley here divided into several smaller valleys or gorges. It is a major trekking stop and there is a large campground just below the village. A few trekkers wandered up the only street to an old palace but not many. The valley walls were mainly a soft sediment which had large flows of scree down the sides or a more solid composite stone which eroded into jagged shapes and crests. My Israeli friend Talma said they looked like baby's teeth. Maybe a baby dragon. They looked sharp and ferocious to me. They are a dark grayish-brown with large patches of a reddish lichen brightening them up.
About four one of the two daughters, both in their twenties, came in and started cooking. She had turnips and was slicing the greens and cutting up the turnips. She also had a small plate of already-chopped onion and a green that could have been scallion tops or something else. The family had a bottled gas stove on which they boiled water for tea and a metal-covered mud stove for cooking almost everything else. The other daughter came in and kneaded dough for noodles. It was the same dough as in the other Ladakhi meal I had, but this time instead of bow ties they made a rope and twisted off small pieces, roughly cube shaped. These were put in the broth with the turnips. I think there was some turmeric in the broth, but it was very lightly spiced. The turnip flavor came through bright and strong. It was simple but tasty. Afterwards, we had a small hard white candy that seemed to be made from fermented milk. It had a very grainy texture and was only very slightly sweet. I was not crazy about it, but one of the daughters ate a lot.
The family that was there was a mother and father, a grandfather, and the two daughters. Other people, including a couple of pony men drifted in and out. The older daughter and the mother then took turns churning butter. It is a long process, taking at least two or three hours, but they took frequent breaks. They used a large metal kettle to hold the milk. There was a vertical churn which was supported by two pieces of wood with a hole in the center which were fastened by rope to one of the support poles of the kitchen. These kept the churn vertical. They they wrapped a piece of leather around the churn several times and pulled it back and forth. It made a very satisfying sound. During one of the breaks, the small boy who helped move the cow wandered in during one of their breaks and started to try to churn. Nobody paid him much attention. He couldn't manage the supports so the churn stood at an angle, but he did a credible job of making it turn. Then the mother gave him something to drink. Fruit juice perhaps.
I sat there until about eight o'clock, listening to Ladakhi, and watching people wander in and out. Between six and seven, there was Ladakhi news on the radio and they had two small transistor radios but they took a lot of shaking and moving around the kitchen from spot to spot to make them work.
The bed was comfortable. There was a thick comforter, and I slept well.
In the morning, I had a fried egg and chapattis for breakfast. The chapattis were just like in the plains but they didn't toast them in front of an open fire after they were baked on the griddle.
Then I walked back down. For the first hour I was by myself. I had a little trouble finding the path. I started out on the pony track and then realized my mistake. I had noticed the day before that a while before the village the ponies went down to the stream bed which required the pony man to do a lot of jumping across the stream. I didn't want to do that so I went back and found the people path. It was a great walk. On the way up, I was working too hard to really take in the scenery, but on the way down, I knew where I was going and and the leisure to stop and look around. The valley constantly varied, now wider, now narrower, now mostly rock, now mostly scree. The dust from the scree causes lung problems and whenever the wind blows the locals usually cover their noses and mouths with a scarf. They also do this when working around the open fire in the kitchen because the smoke also causes lung problems.
After an hour, I started meeting trekkers who seemed a little startled to see me walking alone. Many of the guides stopped me and told me my driver was waiting for me. Apparently he had told many of them to look out for me.
I feel that I am a very fortunate person. Even if it was only a two hour hike, I was very happy to be walking among the mountains at the top of the world all by myself.
My trip to the Nubra valley was delayed because Talma had a bad headache and it seemed a bad idea to head out across the highest motorable pass in the world. We go tomorrow so I leave Ladakh on the 9th instead of the 8th. Ladakh is a beautiful place and I have met a lot of great people here, both local and foreign. At my guest house there have been a lot of French people so I have spoken a little French which was fun. One of the French women works here in the summer for a travel agency working with French tourists. She knows a little Hindi, or as they say here, Urdu. So I have spoken that a little with her and with the guest house staff who come from Manali on the other side of the mountains.
I might not blog again until I reach Delhi on the 16th, but I might get a chance to report on the Nubra Valley before I head down the hill.

Last Days in Leh

2008-07-30T06:06:00.000-07:00

I am nearing the end of my time in Ladakh. Tomorrow I will take a walk to a village and spend the night and then return. The following day I spend two days in the Nubra Valley, a part of Ladakh northeast of Leh reached by a very high pass. Then on the 8th I start my way down to the plains through the Spiti and Kinnaur Valleys.

After the acupuncture treatment I wrote about in my last blog, my left leg was sore. It is better today. I rested a day, then had a fairly strenuous day of clambering around the palace. Now I have rested for two days and am ready to take my three or four hour walk to the village

A few days ago, I joined a French family who is staying at the same guest house as I am and we went to Phyang Monastery where they are having their annual festival. It was very hot and crowded and there were a lot of other tourists there. We stayed a couple of hours. In better conditions, I would have stayed longer. I liked the dancing. It is very simple and very repetitious, but the costumes and masks are great, and given more time and less distraction from the audience, I could have entered into the spirit of it. As we left other tourists were leaving and more local people were arriving so maybe it is better in the afternoon. The music consists of Tibetan trumpets (they sounded like reed instruments) and lots of cymbals and some drums. It was amplified and did begin to get in the blood.

The French family is three-generational and very sympathetic. I even spoke a little French which was fun if terrifying. I am calmer about speaking Hindi although my Hindi is worse than my French.

After the dancing, I came home, took a long nap and then read. I am reading five books right now. All more or less about Ladakh. I have almost finished Andrew Harvey's Journey to Ladakh, which is a description of a trip of spiritual discovery he took to Ladakh in the early eighties. It frequently makes me crazy, but there are good things in it.

Helena Norborg-Hodge's Ancient Futures: Learning from Ladakh also makes me crazy. She arrived in Ladakh when tourism first opened in the 70's and she has done a lot of good work here including founding the Women's Alliance of Ladakh. However, she has a simplistic view of the separation of East and West and somewhat distorts Ladakhi history to make her point. While the difference in scale is enormous, Ladkh has been a trading crossroads throughout its history and has never been the unified, almost Utopian society she depicts. Nevertheless, she has good things to say and her account is an interesting of one traveler's response to Ladakh and of what the rest of us might learn from this area.

Then I am reading two books about travelling in the Central Asian mountains. One is about "The Great Game," the competition between Russia and Great Britain for control of Central Asia and India. At the end, Russia got Central Asia and Britain kept India. The game involved Russian and British spies, often in native dress, wandering around the mountains, surveying and investigating the local economy and looking for a route between Central Asia and India that an army could cross. The only possible route, it turns out, is the one between Pakistan and Afghanistan, which is still a source of contention, although with different parties in play. The other book concerns trans-Himalyan trade routes centering on Ladakh. Ladakh has never been as isolated as we sometimes think. There has always been local trade between Tibet and the plains, and the long-distance trade routes connected Ladakh with St. Petersburg, Shanghai and Teheran.

I've been purifying my own water since I came to Ladakh and have been congratulating myself on my success. I have not been sick. Now I discover I have been drinking "government water" which has had some sort of treatment, the locals are unclear as to exactly what it is, but it is what everyone drinks, although my landlord filters it again. I am not stopping my purification treatments. Somehow drinking "government water" does not inspire me with a lot of confidence.

The longer I am in Ladakh the more time I spend just sitting looking at the garden, at the mountains, at the women yesterday who were stripping leaves from a leafy plant. They then spread the leaves on the roof outside my door, drying them for use in the winter.

Two nights ago, my landlord called me into his kitchen and fed me butter tea and "local food." The local food was a mutton stew with potatoes, spinach, and whole-wheat noodles that looked like and were about half the size of bow ties. It was very tasty. Half-way through he poured a white liquid in it which I think was thinned, partially fermented yogurt. He said "delicious" as he poured, and it was.

I waited in line for half an hour at the ATM. Locals, probably working for hotels, take five cards at a time into the booth. I understood this by listening to two men speak Hindi. I was very proud of myself, though between Hindi, French and English, I am barely able to speak or understand at all.

I hope to blog one more time before I leave Leh. Then for a week, I will be in fairly remote mountains and I don't know if there will be Internet access or not. I will try to blog briefly from my friends' apartment in Delhi.

Three-day Sightseeing Bachanalia

2008-07-28T03:52:00.000-07:00

More or less, by accident, I have gone far over my sightseeing quota.

Saturday morning I was going to climb up to the palace, have a leisurely look around and call it quits for the day, but I my way I passed the Lala Cafe. There is a poster on the door of my guesthouse advertising walks of the old town starting from the Lala Cafe but I could never find the Cafe. Suddenly, there it was so I went in and a walk was about to start in a half an hour so I waited. The walk is conducted by LOTI, Leh Old Town Initiative, which is a local non-profit dedicated to the preservation and renovation of Old Town in Leh. Old town is built on the hill below the palace and has been crumbling into ruin since owners were leaving their houses and living elsewhere. LOTI will renovate their houses for them on a fifty-fifty cost basis but leaving the owners with full title to their property. Many owners have taken them up on this. LOTI tries to keep the exterior as it was while making the interiors inhabitable. They also have renovated other buildings such as an early traders' mosque. They are also installing covered drains throughout the old town. The drains are just channels in the middle of the sidewalk, and LOTI has deepened and cleaned them and covered them with a metal grill which in addition to improving drainage makes walking safer.

The walk is great. Their is a a lot of clambering and climbing up steep hillsides on only the faintest of paths, but I got to see the insides of many buildings I never would have seen and I learned a lot about Old Town's past, present and possible future. The towns are built on the hillsides to preserve as much arable land as possible. The chapels, and other religious edifices are beginning to blur but I took a lot of pictures until my camera broke and I hope they will jog my memory.

Yes, my camera broke. It suddenly stopped responding to any commands, and no troubleshooting has helped. So even though my landlord offered to loan me his camera I decided to go cameraless for at least two days. On Sunday, I joined an Israeli couple I met and their Israeli Chinese Medicine Doctor for a tour of Shey Palace and Hemis and Thiksey Gompas. It was my first ride outside of Leh and the landscape is stunning. The mountains seem taller than in the city and they go on, range after range. I believe Shey Palace has not been an official residence since the mid-nineteenth century when the Dogras, I believe, invaded Leh and deposed the king and moved him to Stok. Before that the king divided his town between Shey and Leh. I remember little of Shey Palace except the climb to the roof and my first panoramic view of the Indus Valley. Up until this time I had been impervious to the landscape of Leh. I thought it was beautiful, but it didn't get under my skin. That morning, the green fields along the river, the bare ground beyond and the variegated mountains worked together to lift my spirits and make me happy to be alive. Hemis is perhaps the most famous of the monasteries in Ladakh. It has a spectacular setting in a deep canyon with steep walls splotched with red from lichens. As we approached it we passed some women sitting by the road spinning thread and selling very small socks that wouldn't even fit the smallest of us. They were friendly and the children were charming and we went on our way. The monastery is many-storied and it was the first place I saw Tantric paintings of a demonic looking male being holding a female being across his hips in an intercourse position. It turns out these are usually in rooms where the guardians of the temple are kept but they can turn up anywhere. There was a set in a room that was basically a library. Here Talma suggested that we mediate for 15 minutes which was a great idea. I was beginning to flag and sitting for 15 minutes cleared my mind and gave me enthusiasm for the rest.

If Hemis is the most famous monastery, Thiksey is the most photographed. It is right and pours down the hill like a small Portola. In Thiksey there is a great room where the guardians are kept. It is small and dark and all the images are veiled and it looks very ancient, very elementary.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted but I signed on for another palace and two more monasteries the next day. The palace is at Stok where the king and his family are now resident. There is a great museum which includes the state rooms. It is not as spectacular as the museum at Hemis monastery, which is the best museum I have been in in India, but being laid out in the palace rooms, it is very interesting and some of the objects, especially the jewelry are very beautiful.

Then there were two more monasteries to go. Up until now we had been southeast of Leh, now we headed west on the Srinigar road. We saw Spitok and Phiyang. The sounds and images that are most present now are from Phiyang were a group of monks were in the middle of a seven day prayer sequence with drumming and small boy monks blowing trumpets from time to time. The wall paintings here were dark and hard to see but worth looking at with the sound of the chanting in the background.

Then back to Leh, where the Israeli doctor gave me an acupuncture treatment for pains I have been having in the hip area. He has a great beside manner. He has been traveling for months finding clinics to volunteer in where ever we go. He was at the monastery school at Spitok for a month so the head of the school invited us in for tea and we met some of his patients in the monastery. Yesterday, he didn't go with us into monastery but stayed at the cafe which is by a small dispensary and he helped treat a monk who had sprained his ankle playing football and another patient and then he went out and treated our driver.

Tomorrow I am taking it easy. All I have on my schedule is the Women's Association where they show a film on Ladakh in the afternoon and the Ecological Center which has information on Ladakh and a shop with articles from local craftspeople.

First Days in Ladakh

2008-07-25T06:33:00.000-07:00

Ladakh is one of those places everyone tells you that you are going to love, so I came here with a bit of a chip on my shoulder, but it has quickly fallen off. Ladakh is beautiful, Ladakh is interesting, Ladakh is seductive and it is comfortable. However, it is hard not to feel at least a little guilty about being here as one of the tourists who is rapidly changing Ladakh.
Leh is in a valley surrounded by mountains that don't look all that tall because the valley floor is already at 12,000 feet. But behind the first circle, one can see the tall Himalayas and they indeed to look tall. The valley is a desert with an ancient system of irrigation that keeps parts of it green. The rest of it looks rather like the bleaker parts of Nevada, except there are people here and the incredible mountains.
The first day here, I slept most of the day adjusting to the altitude.
The second day, I saw one stupa. I took what was supposed to be a short walk and extended it to see a stupa from either the 11th or 15th century. It is in ruins although the it has been surrounded by a modern retaining wall. I resisted clambering up the crumbling stairs and passageways in the upper part because I was alone and I didn't fancy spending the night with a broken leg there. It seemed like a haven for all sorts of creepy-crawly things.
Today, I saw two gompas as the Buddhist monasteries are called here. I was tempted to see a third, but decided that might be stretching it in my present condition. Tomorrow, I might be ready to see three of something. Or maybe not. My rule as a tourist is always to avoid seeing one thing a day. Today, I avoided seeing the palace. I walked up there to see a cultural performance that the owner of my guest house dances and sings in. The performance is just outside the palace so I am saving it for another day.
The palace is amazing it is 7 or 9 stories tall, attached to the palace. It was built about 30 years before the big monastery in Lhasa whose name is at my fingertips, but I can't produce. It climbs up the hill in the same fashion. I have a good view of it from my room at the guest house, but the side from the town is even better. I'll write more about the palace once I have seen it.
I saw my second gompa by accident. I was climbing up the rather steep hill to the palace when I heard drumming coming from the gompa and decided to take off my shoes and sit in the doorway and rest while I listened to the monk chanting. Eventually a young boy came up and sold me a Rs 20 ticket so I felt free to stay and wander around. The main room of this gompa is large, high and unadorned except for paintings of the thousand Buddhas on the walls, and a large gold statute in the center. Tibetan Buddhism is too complicated for me. There is an endless procession of Buddhas and other beings. I am not going to worry about it. I wasn't sure I was going to like gompas, but after seeing two, I think I do. I just don't want anyone to explain them to me right now. When I get home I might do some reading, but now I just want to sit and look and take the occasional picture.
The sky is very blue here. The clouds are very white. The sound of water is everywhere from the small channels of water running down from the snow melt to provide drinking water, washing water, and irrigation water. Yesterday morning, my landlord was watering his garden. He broke down the wall of the irrigation channel so that some of the water flowed into his garden and then by taking away a pile of dirt here and putting a pile of dirt here, he guided the water through channels in the garden until it was all water. I had read about this, but it was amazing to see. It is very simple and very effective.
It is not all ancient. I heard a power saw yesterday, something I never heard in India although I saw men sawing huge beams by resting them at 45 degree angles against a sawhorse and then slowing sawing down the middle from the top, a process that takes days. There is a lot of money now in Leh from all us tourists and and an amazing amount of building going on. I wonder where the sustainability point is. There is no longer any East and West. We are all now having to make the same choices about what we need, what we want and sustainability. My landlord is very concerned about his twin daughters and the other children in Ladakh. He teaches elementary school and he is afraid the culture might be lost in a generation.
I am more optimistic. There will be changes, but I suspect Ladakh is a place like Bali that will be able to sustain its culture while still entertaining hordes of tourists. However, Bali is geographically better situated to handle the onslaught.
Enough politics. Today for lunch I asked the men from Manali to make me dal, vegetables and rice. It was delicious. I had been missing that simple meal. In the evenings I have been having chicken biranyi which is really chicken fried rice. It is very sustaining and very good with whole cardamom pods in it -- o.k., it's not exactly chicken fried rice.

Luke in the Big City

2008-07-24T04:59:00.000-07:00

After an uneventful ride down the mountain and a very noisy train ride filled with returning vacationers, Anna and I arrived in Delhi. It was hot and muggy, the scene at the train station was as chaotic as usual, but once the hotel man picked us up and we were driving the short distance to the hotel, I became very happy. I love big cities. I love Delhi.

This is spite of the fact that when I arrived at my friend's apartment where I was staying until I left for Ladakh, the houseboy had had a family emergency and I had to wait on a very hot stairwell until my friends arrived. Once they arrived, I went to sleep as quickly as possible only to be awakened in what felt like the middle of the night to be told we were going to a party. I dutifully got up, made myself as presentable as I could and went off to a gay party where I remet some of the people I had met a year and a half ago on my earlier trip. They are activists of various sorts, very bright, very well-educated, very energetic and very inspirational. They give me some hope for the future of India.

I had two days in Delhi. The first day I just got some business done and then we had a great meal at my friend's house. The second day I did some shopping, had a great massage from my friend's masseur and a talk with the houseboy about being gay in India if you don't belong to the upper middle class (and even there it is not easy).

Then I had a nap and headed out for the airport to meet my friend Caroline so we could go to Ladakh together. Unfortunately, she had failed to get a visa so was turned back at the airport. Fortunately, a Swiss Air representative found me and I got to talk to Caroline by phone. Then I made my way to the domestic airport and waited for my 5 a.m. flight. I was a bit of a wreck, but the flight is spectacular. My window faced the rising sun so my pictures didn't turn out well, but the mountains are very close, very clear and very big.

I was met at the airport and taken to a very nice guest house. I have a room apartment with a great view of Leh palace. But the Ladakh story will have to wait for the next blog.

P.S. This is the report on the great Kashmiri dinner I had in Mussoorie at my friend Anna's friend Vikram's parents' house. There was awide range of dishes. My favorite were potato balls which I think were steamed and then deep-fried so they had a crispy exterior and soft interior. They are a very sophisticated version of French fries. Anna and I had been eating simply for five weeks and this was a great change. The food was great, the house was beautiful and filled with amazing objects, and the hosts were very cordial and charming.

Studying Hindi at Landour Language School

2008-07-14T23:14:00.001-07:00

Although I regret not being able to finish the Hindi course at Nolunna, I am grateful that I had the chance to study two weeks at Landour School. Landour is a town contingent to Mussoorie which during the Raj was a hill station where government employees could avoid the summer heat. Landour attached itself to Mussoorie and was one of the two hill stations in India that attracted Americans. The Americans were usually missionaries so there are many churches here.

I am staying at Ivy Banks from which the school is a very steep walk up the hill. After a little not so subtle coaching from Anna and myself, we have abolished international food in the evening and have very tasty Indian food at both lunch and dinner. The other day I saw fresh ferns in the market and bought them and the cook (who is also the manager) prepared them very well. Last night we had potatoes which a very thin bean mixed in. They seemed even thinner than Chinese long beans. I didn't detect much flavor but their crisp texture was a good contrast to the potatoes. Last night we had taro leaves wrapped around dal flour dough and steamed and then fried with spices. That was very good too.

I like the teaching here। I have two teachers। One is Mr. Datt. He is the director of the school and is very soft-spoken. He often uses philosophical examples to illustrate grammar points, which I like. The other teacher is Mr. Rai. His unfortunate duty is to drill me on verb tenses. I know the grammar but I cannot make the correct words come out of my mouth. My most common mistake is saying "मैं है Main hai," instead of "मैं हूँ Main huun." This means "I " and you learn it on the first day of Hindi, but I still cannot make the verb agree with the subject when I am speaking. Both of the teachers are just a little younger than me and we get on very well. Although the majority of students here are of college age there are a number of us who are over forty and there is one other, who like me, is almost 70. Those people who are hit by the India bug are hit hard. Everyone here has an interesting story about why they are studying Hindi. Many people are going to work in India, but others, like me, just want to know a little more about India.

Landour is beautiful, even though it is very wet. It has rained, at least a little, every day I have been here and some days it pours. This morning while I was washing my clothes after my shower, I looked down and there was what I thought was a leech on my leg. It didn't look like the leeches that attached to me at Nolunna, being browner, longer and with small horns like a slug, but I thought it was a different bread. I ran to Anna's room, collected her, and we went down to the kitchen for salt. We went outside and the staff gathered around and Anna applied the salt. The creature fell off and Anil, the manager/cook, announced that it wasn't a leech, and indeed there was no blood. After a leech falls off there is a lot of blood because they contain an anti-coagulant. So it was a slug after all. I didn't know slugs crawled on to people. I got one leech sitting in the garden at Nolunna studying, and the other when I went hiking in the mountains. I thought I had covered myself well the second time, but the leech found a way in. It had fallen off before I discovered it, but my leg and pant leg were all bloody. The fortunate thing is that flies and mosquitoes don't seem to like me as much as they do others.

I started to talk about the beauty of Landour and became distracted by leeches. There are tall deodar pines (I thinks that what they are) and some of the paths wander among the steep, green forests. The clouds come and go. One is supposed to be able to see the Himalayas from here, but so far all I have seen in the distance is clouds. Once or twice it has been clear toward the plains and I have seen Dehra Dun and, in the distance, the Ganges flowing out from Hardiwar. In the other direction, one is supposed to be able to see the Yamuna, but it has never been clear enough when I have been looking over there.

It is very quiet and clean up here. I will probably come back some time and spend longer here and polish my Hindi. I am not sure if I will ever speak it well, but I am approaching a reading capability in the language.

In three days, I leave for Delhi, and then go to Ladakh. Tonight my friend Anna and I are going to a friend of hers house for dinner with his parents. I am looking forward to it. In Delhi, I am staying with friends at there apartment. The break from hotel and guest house living will be welcome.

Nolunna - Part 2

2008-07-14T23:00:00.000-07:00

I have reread my posts about Nolunna and I am not satisfied. It was a very intense experience which I am finding it hard to describe. Since the Hindi instruction was truncated just as I was beginning to get the hang of simple communication, it is going to take me some time to see what I have salvaged from the Hindi experience. Whatever that turns out to be, the human experience makes the time I spent there memorable and valuable.

As I have said before, the Ganges Valley at Nolunna is very narrow. The buildings are built close to the road and form a wall on one side as the ground is dropping down to the river. On the other side the mountain rises very steeply. Nolunna is in a curve of the river so from the property, I could not see either up or down the river. In one of the dictionaries that I was using I came across the word "inspissated" which means "concentrated" as in "concentrated mango juice." The experience at Nolunna was very inspissated. First of all there is Yogendra, my teacher. He lives in Australia most of the year, but usually comes to India in December/January and July/August and teaches here. He has owned the property on the Ganges for at least ten years, I think, and has become a figure in the life of the villages surrounding him. He also has much more responsibility for his employees than an employer has in the United States. It is a semi-familial relationship. Also, since Nolunna is shut up for much of the year, there is always maintenance work to do on the buildings and property. In addition to this, he has family responsibilities in his family village outside of Delhi which he takes care of when he is in India. Anna, the other student, and I, became interested in and concerned about many of these responsibilities so there was always something to talk about at mealtime.

Then there was the staff. Devindra, his brother Budri, and his niece and nephew Rajma and Hansmukh, all came from the same village a two hours walk on the other side of the river. Anil, who served as a teaching assistant and gave us conversation lessons, was also the main contact with Uttarkashi which was our contact with the outside world. Devindra was in charge of the staff and was the chief cook. He made amazing vegetables. Nothing was fancy. He fried them in a little oil, added a few simple spices and steamed them. They were amazing. While we were there, Budri built an outside clay stove in an open sided hut that faced the river. The first time it was used we had khari (from which the word "curry" comes). Khari is made of lentil flour and yogurt with a few spices and vegetables added. It takes a long time to cook and we all took turns stirring. With it, Devindra made thick chapattis by hand, without rolling them out. They were great. It was wonderful to sit at the table facing the Ganges and eat delicious food. While the food was being prepared, Devindra played the harmonium and sang Garwahli songs accompanied by Anil on a drum.

There were frequently Garwahli song fests either before or after supper, with Rajma sometimes singing, and everyone joining in on percussion.

One evening out by the clay stove we had jackfruit for which I have not yet acquired a taste. It is in season now and it is in all the markets, big, green and prickly.

Rajma was the only woman there. She is about 14 and she started high school while we were there so there was an expedition to Rishikesh to buy her a school uniform and books. Yogendra bought her brother shoes. Her brother, Hansmukh, can neither hear nor speak, but he has a very expressive face and has a repertory of idiosyncratic signs with which he communicates very well. He would often come and talk when Anna and I were sitting out on the veranda in front of her rooms. All of the staff would pass by from time to time, and the others would speak to us in Hindi which was very helpful.

Well, I'm still unsatisfied with this blog. The remoteness, the vitality, the strong sense of village life, the power of the Ganges, all of this is left out. One afternoon, Anil gave me my conversation lesson while we sat next to the Ganges. He said, in simple Hindi, that at the source, Gomukh, the Ganges is a baby, when it skips by us at Nolunna it is a child, at Rishikesh it enters puberty and reaches adulthood at Hardiwar, as it crosses the plains it matures until it reaches old age at Calcutta and finally dies into the ocean. It is a sense of powerful, childlike beginnings that I am left with when I think of Nolunna.

Studying Hindi at Nolunna

2008-07-06T02:36:00.000-07:00

As you know, I came to India to study Hindi for five weeks at a place called Nolunna above Uttarkashi which is about two-thirds of the way from Rishikesh to Gangotri near the mouth of the Ganges. As you also know, my stay there was truncated, but I had a great time and now I am going to tell you about it.

A couple of years ago my friend Ben Teller found this place called Himalaya Hindi House on the Internet. It seemed too remote for him, but to me it seemed perfect. It is located on the banks of the Upper Ganges and is taught by Yogendra Yadev, who teaches at the Australian National University in Canberra. He owns this property called Nolunna. Unfortunately, this is probably the last year he will teach there as his program is now accredited through ANU and he will teach in a more accessible location that can accommodate more students. I feel very fortunate to have been there.

The drive up was long and winding. Anna, the other student, became ill the night before we left Rishikesh to head up the mountains, but she bravely decided to come with us. We started a little before 11 in the morning and arrived at Nolunna just after 6 p.m. having traveled a little more than 90 miles or not quite 15 miles an hour. Because the monsoons are here, landslides are frequent in the mountains. We had to take a detour to go around one, and two days after we arrived there was a bad one just down the road from us in which the driver of a vehicle was badly injured. Coming down the mountain, we passed a bus that he slipped off the round in a bad patch and plunged into the river with only two survivors.

Although we were very tired by the time we reached Nolunna, I knew at once I had come to the right place. The buildings are about 200 feet from the river and the roar is constantly in our ears. The grounds are filled with a great garden filled with flowers, vegetables and fruit trees. Nolunna is small, sandwiched between the river and the road. The road is the only way up to the mouth of the Ganges so as I sat at the dining table I could see the tops of the heads of saddhus going up and down the road. The far side of the river is a hill that goes straight up for a few hundred feet. It is covered with ferns and low bushes and tall conifers that only have branches at the top. The river is not wide here but very fast and when it is not raining, it is a cloudy grey as it comes from a glacier. When it rains, the river turns a muddy brown. I can see the river from the veranda of my room. The valley we are in is so steep it doesn't get much direct sun, so I spend most of the day an the veranda, studying Hindi and swatting flies.

The first three days it rained almost constantly and clothes were taking two days to dry but after that we had only intermittent rain and some days when it was actually sunny for an hour or two.

I quickly settled into a schedule. I woke about 5, meditated for half an hour and then tea arrived at 6. After tea, I usually took a walk unless the rain was too bad. Mostly we walked the road because the one time I walked the path in the hills, I got a leech. We kept waiting for dry weather dry weather so we could walk the hills, but it never came. I had already had another leech find me when I was studying in the garden. Both times I didn't find the leech until it was full and fell off. The first time it fell into my sandal and I thought it was a big bug, but Anna recognized it immediately being an experienced mountain woman who has lived in Colorado for 20 years although she grew up in England. Leeches are painless and carry no diseases but they are repulsive and messy. After they fall off the wound bleeds for quite a while.

By the time I came back from my walk and the hot water had arrived in a bucket. I washed myself and then my clothes, and then we had breakfast at 7:45. Breakfast was either a whole wheat version of cream of wheat or semolina with hot milk and tea. I usually had a banana with my second bowl. Then I had an hour class from 8:30 to 9:30 and two half-hour sessions, one at 11:00 and another at 12:00. In between I did my homework and then we had lunch at 12:30. Lunch was rice, roti, dal and a vegetable. Most of the garden vegetables weren't ready but the green beans were delicious. We also had ferns and tree mushrooms gathered from the forest. Both were great. We frequently had ferns, but the mushrooms were harder to find and there never seemed to be enough of them.

At 1:00 it was nap time. Then after my nap it was more study until 3:45 when I had an hour conversation practice with Anil, one of the staff. By this time I was usually tired and I loafed until supper and 6:45. We hung out together and Devindra, the head of staff and main cook, sometimes played the harmonium and sang Garwalhi songs accompanied by Anil on a drum. The only woman on the staff, a girl of 14 sometimes also sang. Then about 8 I headed down to my room and was asleep before 9.

I really liked the routine and sleeping with the sound of the river in my ears. At night, beneath the roar, I could hear a low, thundering sounds which was made by rocks pounding against each other as they were carried along in the stream.

I promised my son to keep each blog to about 800 words so I will stop here, but I have more to say about Nolunna.

Sudden Changes

2008-07-06T01:03:00.000-07:00

I believe this was posted without any content. Here is the real thing.

Last Tuesday evening, my Hindi teacher, Yogendra Yadev, heard that his brother in Delhi was very seriously ill and he needed to be with him. 14 hours later, Anna, my fellow student, Yogendra and I were heading down the mountain toward the plains. Everyone was in shock and I had no idea what I was going to do with the next two weeks. When we heard the news, Anna and I decided we would go with Yogendra as far as Rishikesh, at the foot of the mountains, stay in a comfortable hotel, and decide what to do. Anna was hoping to stay with friends in Mussoorie but had to hear from them if they could accommodate her. I had no idea what I was going to do.

Yogendra dropped Anna and I off at the Hotel the Great Ganga in the mid-afternoon and proceeded on to Delhi. We heard from Yogendra later in the day and by then he had heard that the doctors had ascertained that his brother has cancer in both lungs and in one the tumor was fast-growing and already so large that it has collapsed his lung on that side. Anna and I took hot showers, appreciated the dryness of our air-conditioned rooms and had very tasty paranthas (fried bread) stuffed with fresh cheese. Then we had a walk through Rishikesh. Once you escape the usual hurlyburly of an India city, Rishikesh is a very pleasant town on the Ganges with pleasant tree-shaded walks along the river and holy men of every description everywhere. After the mountains, Rishikesh, which is at the foot of the hills, seemed very warm and the moist-heat drained me so we retreated to our air-conditioning.

By the next morning by head had cleared somewhat and I decided to go with Anna to Mussoorie. She arranged with her friend who manages a hotel there for me to stay in it. The Padmini Nivas Hotel was built in 1840 by an English colonel and then went into the hands of a maharajah of a small independent state and now is a heritage hotel with animal heads glumly down at us from high on the walls of the public rooms. The public rooms are in a pleasant state of decrepitude but the hotel rooms are very comfortable. Mine had an enclosed veranda with a basket swing from which I had brief glimpses of the lights of Dehra Doon between the clouds.

After I settled in, Anna took me to the language school and I had an interview with Mr. Datt, the Head of the school. He is very charming and fit me in to an already busy schedule. I will have one hour with him and one hour with someone else if that can be arranged. I will know my class times Monday morning. The school is in old stone buildings next to an old stone church which is being remodeled to hold more class rooms.

Then she took me to Ivy Banks Cottage a short way down the hill from the school. This is important because the hill is very steep and my sea-level lungs are not up to them yet. They could fit me in and I have a very clean, dry, large bedroom, a bathroom with hot water from a geyser (pronounced "geezer"), and a small but light and airy sitting room that looks out on a garden which should look out on a great view if the clouds ever lift. I have three meals a day for $17.50 a day. After four meals, I think the food will be good. Lunches are great. They are simple India food: some variety of beans or lentils ("dal"), a vegetable, rice and rotis (also called chapattis, plain whole-wheat flat bread baked on a griddle and then toasted in front of an open flame). The evening meal seems to be international and will probably be more of an adventure. Last night we had momos (Tibetan steamed, stuffed won tons), a spicy noodle dish with cabbage, and a tasty chicken soup made with cilantro and canned chicken (much better than it sounds). The Korean students at the next table asked (in Hindi) what the noodles were called, and the waiter said "chow mein." We all laughed. They weren't quite out vision of chow mein. I have to work on breakfast. Today I had an omelet and porridge. The porridge was good and the omelet so-so. I will have to see if they do anything Indian in the morning.

Today is Sunday and I have been in Mussoorie for two days. I am getting used to the altitude and I am looking forward to classes on Sunday. I realize this blog plunged right into the middle of things, but I am back in civilization and have easy access to Internet (if a half-mile hike down a steep hill and then back up can be called easy). My next blog will describe my experience at Nolunna studying Hindi.

Luke

Another Short Blog

2008-06-27T21:30:00.000-07:00

Dear friends,

I had two blogs written out in my journal and then I left the journal back in Nolunna. Next weekend, if I get into town again, I will plan on spending time on the Internet and give you a full report.

I am very happy here. Nolunna is a great place for me to study Hindi. It is situated between the Ganges and the road up to the mouth of the Ganges. The Ganges is narrow here but it is dropping rapidly with great force and the sound of the river is constantly in my ears. The principal sound is the rush of water but underneath that, if you listen carefully, in the booming of rocks hitting against each other.

The monsoon has arrived here and the first few days were very damp and gloomy, but ever since we have had at least a little bit of sun everyday, although it has continued to rain from time to time.

I have two hours of instruction a day plus an hour of conversation. All the staff are helpful so I have a lot of chances to try Hindi outside the scheduled times. Nolunna is like a small village of about 10 people. The number varies from time to time. The food is great. It is very simple. We have a grain porridge of some sort for breakfast. For lunch we have rice, flat bread, dal (different kinds each day -- either lentil-like or bean-like), and a vegetable. Supper is the same as lunch except we have no rice and usually have a sweet pudding of either semolina or rice. In addition to the usual vegetables we have had delicious ferns and mushrooms.

My fellow student is now waiting for me, but I might get a chance to write more later today. If not, next weekend if there are no landslides or other blockages of the road.

Luke

Safe in India

2008-06-12T09:16:00.000-07:00

I'm here. The last two or three days before I left, I couldn't imagine why I wanted to do this, but now I remember. In spite of the heat and humidity I am happy. I had my haircut today by my favorite barber in the whole world and he remembered me. I had my shoes shined by my favorite shoeshiner in the whole world (my shoes hadn't been shined since he last did it in January 2007) and I'm not sure if he remembered me. He was training his son at the same time he was shining my shoes and he was a little distracted, but he still did a great job.
I flew from Los Angeles to Newark. At Newark, the plane was 15 hours late in departing due to a storm in the Atlantic. They put us up in a hotel but by the time that was arranged I only managed four hours of sleep. Fortunately, the plane was not that full and I had three seats to myself so I could stretch out. I slept intermittently, read Vanity Fair, and studied Hindi.
Why Vanity Fair? Because Jos Sedley, Amelia's brother, and Dobbin, Amelia's second husband, both spend time in India and the Empire spreads its shadow over the book. I first read Vanity Fair in college when I was about 20 and wasn't much interested in India or Empire. Now I am amazed how the Empire colors 19th century English fiction. I've also recently read Wilkie Collins, The Moonstone and Dickens, Edwin Drood.
I've been working on a blog for months about "going native," and this reading is part of that project. Perhaps something I might have something interesting to say about it, but right now I am struggling with sleep deprivation, heat and humidity. I am now going up to my air-conditioned room and perhaps by the next time you hear from me I will be cooler and better rested.
All I really want to say tonight is I'm here, I'm happy, and already it has been worth the trip.

Home

2007-02-20T11:23:00.000-08:00

After 90 days of travel, I arrived home safely in Los Angeles yesterday shortly after 6 p.m. I have had an amazing three months, but I am ready to be home. It's an 11 hour flight from London to LA and I was very impatient. I was also exhausted. I got up at 7 a.m. London time and didn't go to sleep until about 4 p.m. London time with only a short nap on the plane. I didn't sleep well last night so I am still tired, but other than that I feel great. I am happy to be home and happy to have been away.

The last three weeks in the U.K. and Poland were as amazing as the time in India. I have hinted already about Poland and hope to get that account out today. However, Brighton and Oxford and my 24 hours in London were also good. More later.

That's it for now. I'm home. I'm well (except for a little residual cough and congestion). I'll be in touch again soon.

Poland

2007-02-08T01:47:00.000-08:00

I am in Poland. For the last four days I have been rehearsing in very cold spaces. The consequence is that my cough which had almost disappeared has come back. However, it has been an amazing experience. Both performances went very well. This is my second time to perform in Eastern Europe and I like it a lot. The audiences are very warm and interested in experimental work. I hope to get back to Eastern Europe again.

As I say, I am feeling a little under the weather. We are supposed to meet a Polish friend of Caroline with whom I performed and after that the videographer who documented the performances. Now they are telling me that the taxi is about to arrive for the first part of this. More when I am back in Britain.

Last Evening in India

2007-01-31T06:19:00.000-08:00

It's my last evening in India. My body is ready to leave. I am tired. However, I leave with regrets. I have had a wonderful time here, a very different time from what I expected. I expected to travel much more and didn't expect to get so involved in Indian life, either in Delhi or in Varanasi.

New Friends in Delhi

In Delhi, through my new friend Veronica, I met a wonderful group of people involved in women's rights, AIDS and gay issues. I also met a group of gay men (the two groups had quite a bit of overlap). Last Sunday, I attended a meeting that takes place every Sunday in South Delhi of English speaking gay men. I had been there for the first time a month before. I am very impressed with this group. It is organized by four or five men. They have a very relaxed style and quietly make sure that everyone is included. Both times I have been there, there have been new people and the group makes sure they are welcomed and included in the conversation. There is also a Hindi group that meets else where. It is hard to be gay in India and groups like this are very encouraging to me. I look forward to going to this group again on my next trip.

New Friends in Varanasi

On our last day in Delhi, Pauline and I got up early and, along with his father, walked Sidharath to his first day of school. We dropped by his house later on our way to the airport to drop off some prints of pictures I had taken. He proudly showed us his copy book with English sentences he had written. He had also asked the teacher to help him spell our names. When he saw the pictures which were of him, his father, Pauline and myself, he said he would put up the pictures of Pauline and myself on the wall and say good morning to us every morning.

In addition, to Pauline, Siharath and his father, I made other friends in Varanasi. I made it a habit to eat breakfast and supper at the guest house to continue my study of tourists in India. I met many interesting people there and made a couple of friends, including my two friends from Calgary and an Indian who lives in Pune. People who travel in India (and many of the people I had talked to had been to India more than once and some many times) are a breed apart. Most cannot articulate why India attracts them so. I think it is partly because India is so complex and inaccessible while also being intensely immediate and just when you are totally at sea, India opens up for a moment and the present is filled with joy.

Postmodern Folk Dance

Somebody has to do something about the presentation of folk dance. I saw two evenings of a Pan-Indian Folk Dance Festival in Delhi. It is choreographed for a proscenium staged, costumed like a Bollywood film, performed with very grating fixed smiles, and presented with almost no context at all. I am sure somewhere someone is addressing folk dance from a postmodern perspective, but they haven't reached Delhi yet. First of all, I would like to see "folk" more carefully defined -- we saw dances from tribal areas, religious village dances, dances that seemed more like street theater -- but all homogenized so that it was hard to differentiate one dance from another. I would like to see the dances contextualized -- which includes attention to performance venue. Most of the dances I saw fitted very awkardly on to a stage. I would like to see less "spectacle," which would include rethinking costuming. Finally, for now, I would like the question of duration examined. All of the dances were allotted about 15 minutes even though the original performance times varied enormously. When I get back I'm going to do a little poking around and see who is doing what in the world of folk dance performance.

Tour Guide

My friend Robert arrived in Delhi two nights ago, and I have spent two days showing him Delhi and since, it is his first time in India, giving him tips on traveling here. We had a great time. I finally got to Humayan's tomb where I have been trying to go since I arrived in India. Yesterday was Muharam, a muslim holiday, and we were in Old Delhi for the procession which consisted of tottery tall structures of bamboo and tinsel mounted on trucks and carts. These were proceeded by drummers and the carts would stop while men or boys reenacted moments from an ancient battle by fighting with sticks, swords or maces while the crowd cheered. I though this was an occasion of mourning, but yesterday everyone was having a very good time.

We also went to a mosque, a Sufi shrine, two Hindu temples and a Sikh guruwarda. One of the hard things for me and many travelers is getting used to visiting religious sites so I gave Robert a crash course yesterday.

I had a great time. I love showing off my knowledge and it was also a chance for me to think about what I liked best about Delhi and how to introduce it to someone in just two days.

O.K. The next time I write I will be in the U.K. or Poland.

Four Wonderful Days

2007-01-24T08:21:00.000-08:00

It didn't start so well. Last Friday, after I came home from Hindi class I didn't feel good and then about 4, my fever rose suddenly and I had chills. I took aspirin which calmed things down and three hours later the fever went away. The same thing had happened 10 days earlier so I was worried. Saturday morning, I was on my way to a hospital in South Varanasi to have tests run but my Hindi professor convinced me to go to a local hospital which was much cheaper. It was cheap. It cost 20 cents for the entire visit, and the doctor cured my cough and cold which has been lingering for ever. However, I don't think he understood about the fevers. His English wasn't great. Also the visit was chaotic. The room was packed with other patients, each with a slip of paper like mine which they were thrusting at the doctor as he examined me. And there was a previous patient who was deaf and didn't understand that his visit was over so various people kept shouting at him that he should go. Anyway, later, after talking to several people I decided to go Monday morning to the hospital I had originally wanted to go to. And as I wasn't feeling well, I canceled my future Hindi lessons.

I had met this French woman named Pauline and she seemed to be having a great time in Varanasi so now that I had free time I decided to "hire" her as a tour guide. So we met on Sunday at 10 in the morning. She started to introduce me to her guide but I couldn't see him and then I realized that she was talking about the small, 7-year boy who was standing there. His name was Sidarath and he turned out to be a very good guide. First he took us to the Nepali temple which I hadn't seen and which is very nice. Then Pauline had seem some young men working out and wanted to go back there. We ended up in a different place. It was a small enclosed open-air area above the ghats, with a small soft earth room at the far end. The young men welcomed us and wanted Pauline to take their picture. She wouldn't but they insisted so I finally got out my camera and started taking pictures. I felt strange because they were naked except for very small loin cloths, but they were very happy to see themselves in my digital camera and have been pestering me ever since for prints so I am having prints made which will be ready tomorrow.

Monday, Pauline took a boat with me down to Asi Ghat from where I would take a bicycle rickshaw to the Hospital. Sidarath was with us but we both felt uncomfortable about taking him with us without his father's knowledge. As he was getting off the boat, the boatman started teasing him and then twisted his arm. We stopped him, but Sidarath was crying. He had said earlier that the boatman was a bad man who hit him, but we had already hired the boat. So we got off the boat and comforted him and told the boatman not to tease our friend. Sidarath stayed behind and we started up the river to Asi Ghat. Soon we noticed on the ghats along the river, running his heart out to keep up with us. We stopped the boat, and he came aboard. When we got to Asi Ghat, I showed Pauline one of my favorite book shops and I bought a couple more books. Then I headed for my hospital and Pauline and Sidarath went back to Main Ghat where we started.

I had my tests and then went to the restaurant where Pauline and I had lunch and she was there. I asked her if she had thought of doing anything about Sidarath who is a very intelligent, self-reliant, ethical and sweet young man beneath his street bravado. She said he had talked to his father who could afford to send Sidarath to school. The father works at the Golden Temple helping pilgrims do their pujas. They pay him what they want. Sometimes he makes quite a bit of money and sometimes he doesn't. Basically he is quite poor, his brother having cheated him out of his share of the inheritance from their father. She had already talked to the principal of the school and for 3,000 rupees (about 75 U.S. dollars) Sidarath could go to school until the end of the year. I have talked to the father and have been to the school with Pauline twice and we think everything is o.k. so today we went with Sidarath and the father to the school, gave the money to the father who gave it to the principal, and tomorrow Sidarath starts school. His father has been teaching him and he is very smart, but the school will also give him one-on-one tutoring to help him catch up. He has been to the tailor and been measured for his uniform. Tomorrow, Pauline and I are going to walk him to school for the first time and then we leave Varanasi. It is a strange feeling to have taken a young boy under our joint wing. I have no idea how it will turn out, but we can keep in school for 3,000 rupees a year (there is no proration for a half a year) so we will as long as he is willing to go. We are both going to try to come back to Varanasi next winter and check up on him.

The first day we went to his school together, it was Saraswati's festival day. Saraswati is the goddess of the mind, learning, books and education so no business was being done. The next thing I know, Sidarath and his father have walked us to this narrow lane and we are buying puja items, putting all our pens, cell phones, cameras, water, and I don't know what else into a locker and leaving our bags with the puja item seller and then we were being patted down by a series of policemen and then we were inside the Golden Temple where most foreigners don't get to go, Sidarath guiding us around. He was a very knoweldgeable, helpful, but insistent guide and he tried to keep us to a Hindu pace, concentrating on the various puja points in front of the shrines. Pauline and I kept trying to look around us and he kept saying, "Come." We threw our milk mixed with Ganga water and our flowers on the central lingam, the embelm of Shiva, then they put some of the flowers, sopping with milk and water back on our necks, took our puja items, touched them to the lingam and said prayers over them and gave them back. The area around the lingam was very crowded and we kept being jostled because we were so slow and ignorant and Sidarath kept saying "come," and Pauline kept looking at me with a puzzled look and I kept saying, "I have no idea what's going on." The priest smeared sandalwood paste on our foreheads as well as come colored powder, and then Sidarath gave us a tug and led us down very confusing aisles and we then we were in front of another shrine. I can't remember the order but we did puja in front of the Sun God (where we had colored string tied around our wrist), the Well of Knoweldge and Nandi, Shiva's bull. We also did some sort of reverence to the mother god. At the last shrine, either Nandi or the Well of Knowledge, the brahmin asked us if we wanted a small 200 rupee puja, a big 500 rupee puja, or the whole works for 700 rupees. We settled for the small puja and he asked us our names, our parents names, whether they were alive or dead and the names of our brothers and sisters. Then he made us put our heads on the shrine and we had to repeat a lot of Sanskrit. Pauline got the giggles in the middle of it, but I managed to keep a straight face. It wasn't that we didn't take it seriously but trying to keep up with his Sanskrit made us laugh. We got more dots on our head, then we looked at the mosque that was built on the site of the original temple, and then we were out on the streets again collecting our stuff with a bag full of blessed puja items. Sidarath's father met us and told us we could not throw the flowers away but we could feed them to a cow or throw them in the Ganga. Now they were beautiful and we should wear them for a while, something I felt uncomfortable about. He left us and Sidarath was leading us back to our hotel when I cow suddenly appeared and started eating the marigolds from around my neck. I quickly took them off and fed the lot to her. Pauline didn't have marigolds, only red flowers which the cow wouldn't eat. I had some of the red flowers too, and I said I was going to throw them in the Ganga before going to the hotel. So when we got to the ghats, and Sidarath and said good by, we went down to the Ganga and threw our flowers in and they floated away.

It was now dark and as we passed the burning ghats, Pauline asked me if I wanted to stop and look. She had asked me earlier if I had spent time there and I said, "No, I felt shy, but that I also felt drawn there." She had been going for half an hour a day and meditating. So we stopped and stayed there for over half an hour. I went back and forth between thinking about the people burning and what their lives might have been like, watching the scene from an aesthetic point of view -- it was beautiful at night, and being amazed at the technical skill of the cremation workers as the handled the fires ensuring that the bodies were well burnt. I was also aware that I was a tourist among other tourists and what a powerful moment this was in each of our travels. I have talked to travelers who have avoided it completely, but for many it is one of the major factors that make Varanasi such a compelling place.

What else. I went to Sarnath with a Dutch friend. When I first went 9 years ago, I didn't like the place very much. The excavations made no sense, the stupa looked ugly to me, and I didn't have enough time in the museum which is small and wonderful. This time, the excavations still made no sense, but the red bricks and the patterns the ruins made were beautiful. The park they are in is green, spacious and quiet, a relief from most of the rest of India, including Varanasi. The main stupa still looks ugly to me, but now it is a very attractive ugliness and the detailing of the remaining carvings is wonderful. And this time I had time to enjoy the museum.

Today I got the results of the tests and nothing seems to be wrong with me. I will have to wait and see if the fevers persist. If they do I will have it checked out in Los Angeles, but will try to avoid doctors for the rest of the trip.

I know I have left things out, a wonderful lunch on a rooftop overlooking a silk workshop, a trip to Ramanagar Fort and Palace, the placing of the Saraswati images in the Ganges, and on and on.

I am having a very good time. I am sad to leave Varanasi and looking forward to Delhi.

Luke

Back to the Mela

2007-01-18T04:41:00.000-08:00

This is just a short note on a wonderful day. My Hindi professor, his wife and three other students hired a car and driver and went to Allahabad to the Ardh Mela. This was an entirely different experience from my earlier one. We headed out early in the morning and arrived at the check point where we had to leave the car and joined thousands of people walking to the Ganges. Large groups of people were traveling together with bundles containing dry clothes and provisions for their rituals. We walked past the saddhus' pavilions that I had visited on my earlier trip, down to the river's edge at the sangam where the Yamuna joins the Ganges and the Saraswati (?), a mythical river. We milled around for awhile trying to find a boat but the police were not letting the boats land for some reason and we finally found a space where we could get to the Ganges, my professor and his wife and two of the students took dips, while another student and I guarded the baggage. After the dips, everyone dried back and we walked back to the car, went to a restaurant in Allahabad and had beans, the restaurant's specialty, and then came back to Varanasi.

Those are the bare facts. There was something, however, about walking this distance with all these pilgrims, most in a festive mood, that was amazing. Almost all of the women wore brightly colored saris and ours was not the only stream. Moving streams of color were coming down the slope to the mela site as far as one could see in the distance. Then at the river bank, people gathered in small groups like ours and prepared to enter the river. The women took off their sweaters and other outer garments but kept their saris on. The men stripped to their underpants, sometimes wrapping a short cloth around their waist, sometimes not. Then they all head to the river, said short prayers, took a short dip, came back, dried off, changed clothes modestly, and headed back. There was something about thousands and thousands of people doing this simple act together and yet separately that was very moving. Very small children, very old people, and everyone in between, all bathing in the Ganges. If I hadn't been so sick this trip I would have joined them. Maybe next time.

We traveled to and from Allahabad on the Grand Trunk Road which I always like. There are turning it into a four-lane divided highway. Where it goes through towns, they just demolish the buildings far enough back to let the highway pass and then brick in the openings. It makes for some oddly shaped buildings and some very strange rooms.

I was up at 4 this morning and it is now six-thirty. The above words seem inadequate. I had a wonderful day.

Social Whirl

2007-01-15T01:43:00.000-08:00

It has been a long time between blogs. I keep being promised wireless access and then it doesn't materialize. At my new hotel, we worked for two hours and couldn't get my computer to recognize the wireless signal. Using the hotel's computers is relatively expensive and I have been looking for a cheaper place. This is traveler's madness because expensive isn't that expensive, but I have found a place between my hotel and my Hindi class that is convenient, relatively spacious and cheap. It also seems to have Internet access all day long. My hotel is darked out between about 10 a.m. and 3 p.m because the City power is off and their generator only supplies a few essential lights. No power to outlets and no hot water. I will be in Varanasi for almost two more weeks and I am beginning to have a routine so I hope to blog more regularly from now on. Promises, promises.

My New Hotel

Except for my complaints above, I like my new place very much. Admittedly, there are almost 100 steps between the walk along the river and my room at the top of the hotel and there is only one entrance so I must climb the 100 steps every time I come home to my room, but once I get there, it is worth it. I have a spectacular view of the Ganges. I am just down river from the main cremation ghat and at night, I can see the fires, and in the daytime, the smoke. Cremations take place 24 hours a day. My room is simple but quite comfortable. The monkeys make a lot of noise, and last night, there was amplified chanting all night long because of the New Year's festival, and the temple bells start ringing at 5 in the morning and there are the usual dog choruses in the middle of the night, but earplugs and familiarity take care of all the sounds and I sleep as well if not better here than I have anyplace in India. Although there is a lot of activity along the river bank (the ghats), the hotel is a walk from most tourist amenities, so I usually eat breakfast and the evening meal at the hotel. The restaurant is quite reasonable and the other tourists are interesting and therefore . . .

The Social Whirl

In Delhi, I was on the edge of the tourist circuit but here I am right in the middle of it. Even before Ben left, I started meeting people and now have made several friends. My place is not home to many long stay travelers, so the friendships are short, but my days are full. Even before I moved here, I met a young Swedish musician at Asi Ghat. We have plans to get together when he gets back from the mela at Allahabad. Then at my new hotel (Scindia Guest House), I met a French psychologist. She practices the eye movement thing that I can't remember the name of and is studying Somatic Experiencing (SE) which I am doing with Shel Rasch. She (the French psychologist -- names do not stick in my head anymore) and I have hung out together several times and will do so again. She is also at the mela but will be back soon. If my energy picks up, I might go back to the mela for a day or two, but right now, although I am feeling better than I have since I arrived in India, my full strength has not come back. However, after a couple more days of stair climbing therapy, I will be strong as the buffalo that are everywhere on the ghats. There is a herd of them on the steps of the burning ghat that I have to thread my way through on the way home. Ben T. told me to get a flashlight and for once I listened to him and it is invaluable for avoiding cow flops on dark nights. Not only is there no electricity between 10 and 3, it is also prone to going out at other times and some of the ghats are very dark after the sun has gone down.

I have also started interviewing tourists as part of my "Tourist Project." I am terrible at it. My respect for anthropologists has gone up enormously. My first subjects were an Australian couple in their early fifties who have just started out on a year-long circuit of Asia. Three months in India is their first stage. I met them after they had just completed their first two weeks. They have traveled for five week periods several times before, and they say until that time period is up they don't think the enormity of what they are attempting will settle in.

One thing I am interested in is how people think of themselves. They definitely don't think of themselves as tourists, but they didn't come up with another word. I am going to abandon this question or come at it in a different way. Most people don't like to think of themselves as tourists, but most have not come up with an alternative.

The Australian couple, I do remember their names -- Jan and Keith, are very friendly and quite easy going. They have been married thirty years and although they occasionally annoy each other, they seem to have figured this one out. I am in awe of them. I don't think I could stay away from my roots for that long. Three months is pushing it. I am doing fine so far -- better than I expected, but I know I will be glad to see the clean, wide, traffic free (compared to India) streets of Los Angeles again.

I have also been hanging out with a Canadian couple from Calgary, Paul and Tara. She says she is not a tourist but a sociologist. He didn't respond. They spent time in Dubai and Oman before India. They loved Oman. "A real treasure," they say. They had expected to be met by an Indian friend but there was a family misfortune and at the last minute, they were left to arrange their own time in India. They are doing very well. They are about to leave Varanasi for Rishikesh to chill out in the cool air while practicing yoga.

And then more Australians, and then some Norwegians, and who knows who is next. I talk all day long it seems. But now that I have Hindi classes and homework, I will have to be disciplined. However, the nights are long if I don't hang out over the dinner table.

Makar Sankranti

Yesterday, was the Hindu New Year's, Makar Sankranti. It was celebrated by bathing in the Ganges and flying kites. I was out on the ghats by 6:00 a.m. (sunrise is about 6:45) and both activities had already begun. By sunrise, the sky was filled with kites. There were so many of them that one had to be careful as one walked not to get tangled up. Some of them were being flown by very small children who didn't quite have the hang of it yet. The kites are made of plastic and are small, about 1 foot square with a very small, stubby tail. They can go very high. They launch the kites by repeatedly giving short, strong tugs on the string until the kites are high enough to catch a current. They are very skillful. In a few days there is to be a professional kite flying tournament. I don't know where. Accurate information is hard to find.

All day long yesterday, there were crowds on the ghats, sitting, eating snacks and bathing. Mostly men but quite a few women too. At one point, I was sitting watching some boys fly kites when I was suddenly surrounded by a Punjabi family, at least ten or twelve people. They were all talking to me at once in a mixture of languages. It was fun, but I soon moved on.

Also yesterday, a saddhu was being initiated on the ghat below our hotel. That's what I think was happening. The hotel manager said, "Oh, those tourists are doing puja down there." I would never of thought of them as tourists, but I guess they didn't come from Varanasi. There was a saddhu dressonly in a short saffron wrap around his waste. He sat on a platform in front of a row of religious pictures all of which were garlanded with marigolds. Beside him there were two men in the Indian version of Western clothes, Brahmins, I presume, chanting. They were motion for him to do things like dipping water into the fire in front of him. It went on for hours. They were all very friendly and they gave me prasad (half of a sweet obviously bought from a sweet shop) at one point.

Varanasi

I am having a great time in Varanasi. At one point I decided I was crazy for staying here so long but I was wrong. I can just stand on my balcony watching people walk by for hours. Something new and interesting is always happening. Because of New Year's there are a lot of pilgrims here. Long strings of them walk up and down the ghats. And I liked my first Hindi lesson very much. A window into Indian life seemed to open a sliver. I am in the old city and behind the ghats are endless winding lanes closed to all but pedestrians, bicycles, cows and, unfortunately, motorcycles. One of the great thing about the lanes is no one hassles me. On the ghats, I am always being asked if I want a boat, postcards, grass, to see a silk shop, to contribute to the excavation of a temple, etc., etc., etc. In the lanes, I can poke along at my own speed. On the ghats, it is dangerous to stop, although if I go north (down river), it is better than up river toward the main ghat.

It is nap time. Back to the ghats and the 100 steps.

Moonlight on the Ganges

2007-01-07T06:02:00.000-08:00

I haven't see moonlight on the Ganges yet, but the moon was over the Ganges when we arrived in Varanasi and we walked almost to the Ganges, but not quite. It was late and we were tired. We arrived from Allahabad on the Sarnath Express, a train which expanded my understanding of "express." The Sarnath Express is a very gracious train stopping at every town and village and sometimes in between, apparently to say hello to the cows for there was no one else around. It took it three hours to cover 90 miles so it's average was a civilized thirty-miles-an-hour. It also was two hours behind schedule. There was no food on the train and no food at the stations. On most trains, you are beseiged by foodsellers at the stops, but not on the dignified Saranath Express.

The moon was lovely, a large, orange gibbous moon only two or three days past full. Tonight I did go to the Ganges, but I left before the moon arrived. I arrived just after sunset and as the dusk deepened, a boat in the middle of the river set out one floating fire after another so that eventually, there was a long line of fire floating down stream. When I first arrived, boys were still flying kites, a favorite wintertime sport in Varanasi. As I walked away, I got tangled up in one of the kite strings. The boy was very gracious about it. The river was beautiful, lined with with temples and palaces. People were just hanging out, eating peanuts from the roasted peanut sellers and talking. The buildings collected the all the voices and sent them out over the water. It was a beautiful sound. Then on the shore someone started ringing a bell repeatedly and two men started clapping what looked and sounded like pot lids together, and a drum started beating. Each percussionist had their own sense of the beat and they stuck to it. Then a priest began blessing the Ganges with a peacock fan, then with incense, then with fire in a beautiful tiered lamp holder. Finally, prasad, blessed food was handed out, the beat for a moment grew stronger and more focused, everyone stood up and it was over.

The from a nearby temple I heard chanting, at first just a two-note chant, and then something more like a song. It was amplified and I moved away a little and when it stopped, I realized another priest in a small shrine was chanting. It was beautiful. It was dark now. A few lights shone along the curve of the river, and a few more around me from the shrines, the peanut sellers and the occasional, harsh streetlight.

Varanasi is a beautiful city along the river. Away from the river, it is crowded, noisy and dusty like all Indian cities. Near the river, the lanes tend to be so narrow that only bicycles, motorcycles, cows and goats can navigate them and the traffic is less. We are staying for the moment just a short walk from the river. I am negotiating for Hindi classes down the river in the heart of the old city. If it works out, I will move closer to the school although it is only an alleged 10 rupee ride away. Varanasi is cheaper than Delhi. The bottled water here is 10 rupees instead of 12. It also has a lot of book shops which makes it an expensive city for me. I made arrangements today to have some books shipped home. It was Sunday and the book shipper was closed except for dusting and cleaning. I will bring my stack to him tomorrow or the next day.

It's getting close to supper time. I'm not sure what Ben is doing and if I am eating alone I need to find a restaurant before I get too hungry.

More Catching Up

2007-01-04T23:39:00.000-08:00

It is already the 5th of January and I am in Allahabad a couple of hundred miles east of Delhi. I have been sick again. In fact, Ben complains that I have been sick ever since he arrived and unfortunately, it's true. I was recovering from my stomach thing and then I developed a cough. At first it didn't seem serious, but by the time I arrived in Allahabad, the cough was deeper and I had a fever. So I saw another Indian doctor, my third. He gave me antibiotics and some palliatives (i.e., Tylenol, cough syrup, etc.), and I am feeling better, but the first full day in Allahabad I slept all day and yesterday I was very spaced out. I feel better today, but I am staying close to town while Ben explores the mela. My blood pressure is also high which is unusual so I am taking blood pressure medicine. I will check all this out with a doctor in Varanasi where I am staying for two weeks.

This trip has turned out completely different than I had planned. Instead of traveling all over I am mainly staying in Delhi and Varanasi with (so far) excursions to Mathura and Allahabad. We are in Allahabad because of the Ardh Mela which is half of a Kumbh Mela. The Kumbh Mela happens every 12 years in Allahabad. It is a large religious gathering at a propitious time to bathe in the confluence of the Ganges and the Yamuna rivers, which are real, and the Saraswati river (mythical). I went last night for the first time last night. It is a very, very large county fair laid out on the sands of the Ganges. It is a huge tent city with metal plates laid out for roads. I was interested in staying in a tent, but Ben thought it would be noisy, dusty and buggy (which it would have been even though we were looking at extra-deluxe tents). I wanted emmerse myself in the experience. The hotel is 6 miles from the site and it takes about 1/2 hour or more in a bicycle rickshaw. Anyway, it's just as well. The doctor is across the street and the chemist (pharmacy) is down the road (King's & Co. dating from the colonial era) and I am well away from the dust.

My cold got worse because on New Year's Eve I was at a great party and spent too much time on the roof watching my hosts shoot off fireworks. I also danced more than I have in ages. I would dance for a while, then I would get a coughing fit, and I would stop and then I would start dancing again. It wasn't very smart but it was a lot of fun. There was a lot of disco music alternating with Bollywood songs. Everybody was dancing to YMCA but only Ben and I seemed to know the proper arm movements or maybe they were spelling out the words in Hindi.

Then the next day we were to fly to Allahabad but at the airport our flight was canceled due to fog. We were put on a flight to Varanasi which arrived 2 hours late. We had arranged for a car and driver to take us the 100 miles or so to Allahabad. The driver was late, even later than the plane, so that was stressful and then we started out on the Grand Truck Road which I love but is a narrow, two-lane highway which carries all the truck traffic of Northern India from the Pakistan border to Calcutta and so is very crowded, especially at night. We had the foresight to have the driver stop at a roadside dabha where we had a very good meal -- rice, a delicious dal (lentils -- split moong beans, I think), a mutton curry and an eggplant dish with a lot of ginger. It was one of the better meals we have had in India. The driver was apologetic about it, but it was fine.

Then we hit the road. It was crowded but we made relatively good speed until we were not far from Allahabad and then were were trucks parked first in our lane, and then on the shoulder on the other side of the road and then in the other lane itself. We came to a stop. The driver had a co-pilot who got out of the car and walked forward. After a lot of talking, some cars were extricated from the mess, trucks moved slowly to the side and traffic began moving in the opposite direction and then, after what seemed like all the trucks in India had passed, we began to move. It turns out that because of the mela, heavy trucks had been stopped from entering Allahabad at night so they just parked wherever there was room. The last time I was on the Grand Truck Road going in the opposite direction from Varanasi to Bodh Gaya where the Buddha became enlightened there was an even worse traffic jam on the state border between Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. It was at the customs check. I read in the paper today that they are finally eliminating interstate taxes over the next four years and replacing them with VAT. For the tourist it means that hotels, restaurants and some other services will be more expensive. India is still cheap, but it is rapidly catching up to the rest of the world, especially in the tourist sector. You can still travel cheaply, but at a much comfortable level than you could travel for the same money a few years back.

So after New Year's Eve and the long car ride, my lungs were trashed. I am getting better, but as the doctor reminded me, I'm old and I don't heal as rapidly as I used to.

I had fun at the mela. I followed Ben around and major gurus and saddhus have their own camps into which one can walk and listen to them singing, drumming and chanting or just sitting around pit fires smoking dope. There is a lot of the latter going on. I am going back again this afternoon and try to find the river (it's a long ways away from the camp entry), and maybe even take a boat ride. The boatmen were on strike on the first day but I think they were working again. The government was restricting them to one landing site and they didn't like it. Their is a lot in the press also about the low water level and the high bacteria count. Now the government is trying to shut down the tanneries upstream for 10 days, but many of the tannery owners are Muslim and don't want to lose money for "some saints," and the government isn't offering compensation. Communal tensions have been high in this area because of protests organized by a Muslim party against the hanging of Sadam Hussain. The protesters allegedly stoned a temple and trouble ensued. In Allahabad, the protesters tried to close some shops that didn't want to close and there were tussles but not in my part of town.

A couple of things I have been meaning to write about but haven't so far.

Toilet seats -- the toilet seats on Western-style toilets are made of thin, hard plastic and the contacts between the seat and the porcelain are made of very hard slippery plastic as well. If you align the contacts on the porcelain, sooner or later the seat will take a sudden lurch to the right or the left. After awhile the pressure applied to the hinges is too much for them, and one or the other of them breaks and the seat becomes even more unstable. I guess nonslip supports for the seat are too expensive. At any rate, in all the Western-style bathrooms all over India people are lurching, some to the left and some to the right.

Prescriptions -- In India, the doctor's prescriptions serves the same purpose as a chart does in the United States. It is a large sheet of paper on which he lists all the prescriptions and makes little circles to indicate how many pills you need to take a day. For liquids, he makes an equal sign for each dose. You take this to the pharmacy and they fill it and give it back to you. You are expected to take the prescription to the doctor the next time you visit because he makes no other record of your case. The slips of paper are treated by the doctor and the pharmacist with reverence and you are expected to do the same.

O.K. Signing out now. I hope to have more time in Varanasi to catch up on the back log.

Catching Up

2006-12-30T06:30:00.000-08:00

I've been out of town for three days. Ben and I went to Mathura and Vindraban, Krishna's home towns. He was born in Mathura and he gamboled with the gopis in Vindraban. (I am sure I have the spelling of Vindraban wrong, but Ben's napping and he has all the travel information in his bedroom--yes, we are back in Delhi at Veronica's and we have the luxury of sleeping in two separate rooms. We manage in the same room but our schedules are so different that it is hard.)

I have two drafts waiting to be finalized -- mostly about Christmas in India, and a lot of stuff in the journal that I haven't even started as a draft blog yet, but it's been six days so I thought it was time for an update.

Some of you know I lost my cell phone. I now have a new cell phone, a small Nokia, and the same phone number. I had to file a police report, but fortunately Veronica's downstairs neighbor had business with the police and the constable comes to visit her since she is a long-time resident, so the neighbor, a friend of hers who had also lost her phone, Veronica who had to register her new housekeeper and myself all had coffee with the constable and did our business. It was especially helpful that someone else had lost her phone and could help me write the English letter that was eventually turned into a Hindi police report.

So we are back from our first excursion in India. We arranged a car and driver through the driver, Amerjit, that Veronica uses. The driver we had is Amerjit's younger brother, Amkhan. His English was limited but he knew his way around Mathura and Vindriban. At first we tried to tell him where we wanted to go, but when we gave up and let him drive where he wanted, things turned out much better. The temples, mostly to Krishna and Radha, are pretty much a blur now, but the ghats, the steps down to the river along the Yamuna river in both Mathura and Vrindiban (I think I'm getting closer to the spelling) were great. There were colorful boats to take you to the sacred sites (we declined), people worshipping here and there and, in Vrindiban, a steady stream of pilgrims doing a prescribed pilgrimage around Vrindiban.

We were repeatedly warned about the monkeys stealing cameras and glasses, but Ben put his glasses on briefly because he had lost track of me and a speedy monkey grabbed his glasses and retreated to a rough. A boy said he would get the glasses back for 200 rupees and he offered the monkey food, and the monkey dropped the glasses down and took the food. Amazing little transaction.

I'm still not up to snuff. Now it's my lungs, so I didn't have a lot of energy, so I never knew exactly where we were, what temple we were in, or why we were there, but I had a great time. We stopped frequently for tea, and outside a major Krishna temple in Vrindiban Ben made me drink a sweetened hot milk drink for medicinal and restorative purposes. It was delicious and it came in this unfired clay cup which I had to throw down and break afterwards. It had something to do with Krishna. In Mathura, they wouldn't let me into the major Krishan temple because I had forgotten I had a travel clock in my pocket and no electronic devices were allowed so I went shopping again. (I could have gone back to the cloak room and deposited it, but shopping seemed more attractive. I went to a government shop run by the state of Utra Pradesh, and bought a pinkish-brown sleeveless wool jacket made from homespun cloth from the Gandhi Ashram. Our friend Gautham, the gay political activist I will write about later, has a tailor who redoes his clothes so they show off his figure better. I am going to take the jacket to his tailor. Gautham is 26 and I am 67, but I have some vanity left and the jacket can do with some taking-in here and there.

The jacket is part of my plan to dress (above the waist) like a lower-middle-class Indian man. I have already bought to men's shawls and I am going to buy two more and some scarves. Ben reminded me that I used to wear shawls around the house when we lived together 30 years ago. So I am finally coming out of the closet as a shawl-wearer. I have aready worn my red one to the movies and my brown one to dinner in the hotel in Mathura. Ben made a face when I did it, but he walked around Vrindiban today with these ostentatious forehead markings he got in a temple from a very chatty priest, so he got even. I have pictures of Ben but not of the shawls yet.

I just bought a round-trip ticket to Poland on the internet. That was fun. It made me feel very international.

Ben and I are ordering home delivery pizza. That should be interesting.

We have an invitation to a New Year's Party tomorrow evening and then on New Year's Day we are going to Allahabad for the Ardh Mela.

I hope to go to bed early tonight and get up early and catch up on blogging tomorrow.

Luke

,

Sacred Space

2006-12-24T08:30:00.000-08:00

The experiences are piling up and I am haven't been writing much since my friend, Ben Teller, arrived. I have been taking some pictures, but I haven't yet figured out how to transfer them from my computer to the blog. I'm still working on getting wi-fi, but it is not simple. I need a permanent address in India. Since this is India, there is a way around this but I haven't figured it out yet. Also, the data cards aren't available right now. They are due any minute, but so far they haven't arrived. I am still without my own wireless. We are traveling less than I thought we would, so I might do without a data card this trip. I need an official reason for being here. Perhaps by my next trip, I will have figured one out.

Sacred Space

Without getting too spooky about it, I think all India is sacred space. I also think Los Angeles is a sacred space. All space is sacred. In this context by "sacred," I mean a sense that one is in the presence of the invisible, unknowable other. On the one hand, I am an unrepentant materialist and do not believe in an unknowable other. On the other hand, I frequently feel as if I am in its presence. So there is the greater sacred space, and then there are the spaces that people have set aside and identified in one way or another as sacred.

So far I have visited a mosque, four Hindu temples, a Jain temple, a Sikh gurudwara and two Christian churches. I like visiting temples and other sacred spaces in India. I usually feel welcomed and at worst ignored. I have yet to have a hostile experience. Currently, my favorite Hindu temple is the Keralan temple dedicated to Ayappa. When Vishnu was churning the ocean (one of the many times he has saved the world), he took the form of an attractive woman. Shiva fell in love with him and they had a son called Ayappa. The temple is in a two-month festival during which they have cultural programs and pilgrims leave from the temple for the main temple in Kerala. Before they go they bore a hole in a coconut, empty out the milk, replace it with ghee (purified butter), and close it with a stopper carved from coconut. When they get to the temple in the south, they will pour the ghee over the image. During their pilgrimage period they are governed by a vow which restricts the food their eat, and their behavior, including vow to chastity. When they return home they break a coconut on the threshold of their home and they are released from their vow. So far we have been there twice. The first time we heard children singing religious songs, and the second time we heard drumming. At the drumming concert we were adopted by a teenage boy and his friends and after the concert, we followed them to the temple kitchen and had prasad (in this case, free food given to temple attendees). It was excellent, a potato curry and unleavened bread. They boys wanted to know who was the god of the United States. I told them we had many gods, even Hindu ones. He said there were 44,000 Hindu gods. I told the boys that all the Hindu gods hadn't immigrated yet, but they were on their way. They walked with us to the main road, very impressed that Ben lives in Hollywood, and bargained a three-wheeler for us, the best rate we have had so far.

All of the sacred spaces here share one thing in common, even the Christian churches. They are a gathering place where before, after or instead of worshiping one hangs out with family and friends. The main mosque as a very large courtyard and there are always people, strolling and sitting. In the temples, they will sit and eat prasad (in this case food which they have purchased at or outside the temple or brought from home and offered to the god). It is sort of like a sacred picnic.

I like the Sikh gurudwaras because there is always music. The tenth Sikh guru said that after him the sacred book would be the guru. Now, musicians sing verses from the book near the book all day long. Each hour, different musicians arrive. There is always a singer, but the accompaniment varies. At a gurudwara, one of the events of a visit is sitting near the book and listening to the chanting. As you leave, you are given a small round of sweet, semolina-based prasad in your hand. It is not exactly like Christian-communion but it is a communal eating of sacred food in a sacred space.

Snake Charmers.

Last Sunday, Ben and I went to the India Habitat Center for a concert of snake charmers. This was put on by a wildlife protection organization that is working with snake charmers, training them to do educational work about snakes with school children, wild life experts and others. This is to keep them from removing snakes from the wild and using them as a means to make money. Traditionally, the snake charmers play a reed instrument I think is called something like "pungi," but was called something else here in Delhi. The instrument has a gourd attached to the pipe about halfway down and then another pipe extends below the gourd. The gourd chamber enables to the player, with the help of circular breathing to create a sustained sound like a bagpipe. In fact, a pungi sounds very much like the melody pipe of a bagpipe and on some songs, some of the players played a single note drone, while the others played the melody in unison and it sounded very much like a bagpipe. The snake charmers dress in shades of yellow, orange and orange-red with one or two in black or white. They were very energetic performers accompanied by variable pitch drums (which sound something like African talking drums). The concert was outside and was very exciting.

33 Years of Traveling History.

Unfortunately, after the concert we had a taxi driver who did not take instruction very well and at the end of the ride he went left instead of going straight ahead. Ben and I had different ideas on how to handle this. I prevailed and after we stopped, I talked the driver out of the ten rupee tip he wanted. I thought I did well and my feelings were hurt when I found out Ben was angry with not only the driver but me as well. I quickly lost any semblance of rationality but had the good sense to tell Ben I had to get away and eat by myself. I didn't handle it very skillfully, but we did avoid screaming at each other on the street as we have in the past. We talked it over the next morning and I think we are going to be o.k. on this trip. Most of the time we have a great time together, but after knowing each other for 35 years and traveling together for 33, we can push each other's buttons. However, I am most impressed about how much we care for each other. I couldn't see this when I was younger, but I can now, and that trumps the times when I find Ben to be the most annoying person on the planet.

A Great Party

I arrived in India with an introduction to Veronica Magar from my upstairs neighbor and long-time friend, Tim Wright. Veronica is a public health consultant specializing in women's rights and other sexual rights issues, including issues associated with AIDS. She has just returned from Croatia and graciously agreed to meet her and accompany her to a party that afternoon. She lives in Nizamuddin West which is centrally located and right in the middle of a lot of tombs and other monuments. The party was near by and was attended by other people working in a variety of areas under the umbrella of sexual rights -- women's issues, gay issue's, AIDS, and so on. They were mostly young, very bright, very charming, very engaged and Ben and I had a great time. There were so many interesting people to talk to and they were so open, that it was overwhelming, and I didn't take the advantage of it that I would have liked but I talked to many people about many interesting things. I also met a woman visiting from Brighton who runs a bisexual group there and so I will attend her meeting when I am in the U.K. because I will be staying in Brighton for part of the time.

The party was outside on a balcony underneath trees. The sky was blue, cheeti -- a kind of small crow were flying overhead, the food was good, there were children underfoot and I felt very privileged to see a part of India I would never have seen except for my friend Tim and his old, my new, friend Veronica.

The Wild Goose Chase

Last Saturday night, Ben and I decided to find a gay discussion group. For a variety of reasons, we hadn't phoned the group but trusted the information from the Internet. Fortunately, we had my favorite three-wheeler driver driving us who has helped us before. He took us to the address we had in South Delhi for the NAZ office where the meeting was to be held, but unfortunately, the NAZ office had moved. After talking to the current resident of the space with the help of the three-wheeler driver, he gave us the number of the current office. We called that on my cell phone and headed over there. There a woman showed up and said that the meeting was not there but somewhere else and that it was over now. During the process, we called Veronica a couple of times, but the whole experience remained mysterious. There should be a meeting tonight, but it is cancelled because of Christmas. If we are still in Delhi next Saturday, we will go to the meeting then.

The Best Meal Yet

Chronology is failing me, but I have to write about our meal at Gulati restaurant. After the wild goose chase, we were very hungry. I found a restaurant close by in a market. When the three-wheeler driver learned we were hungry, he suggested we go to a place nearby which turned out to be where I wanted to go, and when I told him the name of the restaurant he smiled and said it was good. He was born in the area and knew it well. We had shrimp grilled in the tandoori oven that were sweet, succulent, and well-spiced. We also had a lamb biryani, basically a pilaf, that was delicious. It was the best rice I have had so far in India. Finally, we had a paneer dish that had green peppers in it -- an unusual ingredient in India -- that was the best of all. For dessert, Ben had more paneer, this time cooked in a sugar syrup that was terrific. Not nearly as sweet as it usually is. And I had firni, a pudding made from rice flour and flavored with a lot of saffron that was also great. We were very happy with the meal.

Street Cries

All the time I am writing this in Veronica's apartment, there are street vendors and handymen going up and down crying their wares or services. I cannot identify the various cries, but I saw the fruit seller from the window this morning and ran out and bought bananas. The cries are great background music, supplemented by the call to prayer from a nearby mosque several times a day. Now that we are staying in a neighborhood, I don't want to leave Delhi, but soon we must.

Happy Holidays

2006-12-24T08:22:00.000-08:00

Today, Christmas Eve, Veronica's landlady had us downstairs for Christmas cake and then she came upstairs to see the small artificial tree that Ben and I bought and decorated with very Indian ornaments. I am skipping midnight mass because I have a small cold and the churches are very cold. Tomorrow I am baking Swedish Christmas bread and going to Khan Market to pick up my Indian business cards.

A very Happy Holiday Season to Everyone.

Luke

In the Interim

2006-12-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

Tuesday we moved to our new friend Veronica's apartment. She is a good friend of my good friend Tim and she has graciously opened her place to us. It is very comfortable and centrally located. It is now Friday and it took me a while to get access to her wi-fi, but now I can go on the Internet without leaving the house and finding an Internet. I also have my new laptop working more or less. I have down loaded my pictures but I need to figure out how to get them from the computer to here. I'll work on that tomorrow. I also have the draft of a new blog almost ready to go and now I can write directly on the computer, there should be more soon. This is just to let you know I am well and happy. And we are having such a good time in Delhi, we might never leave.

P.S. The Poland trip is on again. I will be going to Poland for a week right after I arrive in England from India for a series of improvised performances with my friends Caroline and Raisa.It

Temples, Churches, Gurudwaras

2006-12-18T05:48:00.000-08:00

The experiences are piling up and I am haven't been writing much since my friend, Ben Teller, arrived. I have been taking some pictures, but I haven't yet figured out how to transfer them from my computer to the blog. I'm still working on getting wi fi, but it is not simple. I need a permanent address in India. Since this is India, there is a way around this but I haven't figured it out yet. Also, the data cards aren't available right now. They are due any minute, but so far they haven't arrived. I am still without my own wireless. We are traveling less than I thought we would, so I might do without a data card this trip. I need an official reason for being here. Perhaps by my next trip, I will have figured one out.

Sacred Space

Without getting too spooky about it, I think all India is sacred space. I also think Los Angeles is a sacred space. All space is sacred. In this context by "sacred," I mean a sense that one is in the presence of the invisible, unknowable other. On the one hand, I am an unrepentant materialist and do not believe in an unknowable other. On the other hand, I frequently feel as if I am in its presence. So there is the greater sacred space, and then there are the spaces that people have set aside and identified in one way or another as sacred.

Before I get to the sacred space itinerary, I have a couple of reports to make. One is a great party Ben and I went to Sunday afternoon, and the other is about the difficulties of traveling with some one. Let's take the last one first.

So far I have visited a mosque, a Hindu temple, a Jain temple, a Sikh gurudwara and two Christian churches. Tonight Ben and I are probably going to add at least one Hindu temple to the list. There is a Hanuman temple near the hotel -- Hanuman is the monkey god who helped rescue Sita, Rama's wife, when she was kidnapped by the demon and carried to Sri Lanka. This is the story told in the Ramayana. We might also go to a Shiva temple that is a short metro ride away in Old Delhi. I like visiting temples and other sacred spaces in India. I usually feel welcomed and at worst ignored. I have yet to have a hostile experience. The Hindu temple we visited is dedicated to Ayappa. When Vishnu was churning the ocean (one of the many times he has saved the world), he took the form of an attractive woman. Shiva fell in love with him and they had a son called Ayappa.Thirty-three years of traveling together and we are still working it out.

After the party, Ben and I went to the India Habitat Center for a concert of snake charmers. This was put on by a wildlife protection organization that is working with snake charmers, training them to do educational work about snakes with school children, wild life experts and others. This is to keep them from removing snakes from the wild and using them as a means to make money. Traditionally, the snake charmers play a reed instrument I think is called something like "pungi," but was called something else here in Delhi. The instrument has a gourd attached to the pipe about halfway down and then another pipe extends below the gourd. The gourd chamber enables to the player, with the help of circular breathing to create a sustained sound like a bagpipe. In fact, a pungi sounds very much like the melody pipe of a bagpipe and on some songs, some of the players played a single note drone, while the others played the melody in unison and it sounded very much like a bagpipe. The snake charmers dress in shades of yellow, orange and orange-red with one or two in black or white. They were very energetic performers accompanied by variable pitch drums (which sound something like African talking drums). The concert was outside and was very exciting. Unfortunately, afterwards we had a taxi driver who did not take instruction very well and at the end of the ride he went left instead of going straight ahead. Ben and I different ideas on how to handle this. I prevailed and after we stopped, I talked the driver out of the ten rupee tip he wanted. I thought I did well and my feelings were hurt when I found out Ben was angry with not only the driver but me as well. I quickly lost any semblance of rationality but had the good sense to tell Ben I had to get away and eat by myself. I didn't handle it very skillfully, but we did avoid screaming at each other on the street as we have in the past. We talked it over the next morning and I think we are going to be o.k. on this trip. Most of the time we have a great time together, but after knowing each other for 35 years and travelling together for 33, we can push each other's buttons. However, I am most impressed about how much we care for each other. I couldn't see this when I was younger, but I can now, and that trumps the times when I find Ben to be the most annoying person on the planet.

A Great Party

I arrived in India with an introduction to Veronica Magar from my upstairs neighbor and long-time friend, Tim Wright. Veronica is a public health consultant specializing in women's rights and other sexual rights issues, including issues associated with AIDS. She has just returned from Croatia and graciously agreed to meet her and accompany her to a party that afternoon. She lives in Nizamuddin West which is centrally located and right in the middle of a lot of tombs and other monuments. The party was near by and was attended by other people working in a variety of areas under the umbrella of sexual rights -- women's issues, gay issue's, AIDS, and so on. They were mostly young, very bright, very charming, very engaged and Ben and I had a great time. There were so many interesting people to talk to and they were so open, that it was overwhelming, and I didn't take the advantage of it that I would have liked but I talked to many people about many interesting things. I also met a woman visiting from Brighton who runs a bisexual group there and so I will attend her meeting when I am in the U.K. because I will be staying in Brighton for part of the time. The party was outside on a balcony underneath trees. The sky was blue, cheeti -- a kind of small crow were flying overhead, the food was good, there were children underfoot and I felt very privileged to see a part of India I would never have seen except for my friend Tim and his old, my new, friend Veronica.

The Wild Goose Chase

Saturday night, Ben and I decided to find a gay discussion group. For a variety of reasons, we hadn't phoned the group but trusted the information from the Internet. Fortunately, we had my favorite three-wheeler driver driving us who has helped us before. He took us to the address we had in South Delhi for the NAZ office where the meeting was to be held, but unfortunately, the NAZ office had moved. After talking to the current resident of the space with the help of the three-wheeler driver, he gave us the number of the current office. We called that on my cell phone and headed over there. There a woman showed up and said that the meeting was not there but somewhere else and that it was over now. [Make all this sound as complicated as it really was -- phone calls to Veronica, etc.]

The Best Meal Yet

Chronology is failing me, but I have to write about our meal at . After the wild goose chase, we were very hungry. I found a restaurant close by in a market. When the three-wheeler driver learned we were hungry, he suggested we go to a place nearby which turned out to be where I wanted to go, and when I told him the name of the restaurant he smiled and said it was good. He was born in the area and knew it well. We had shrimp grilled in the tandoori oven that were sweet, succulent, and well-spiced. We also had a lamb birranyi, basically a pilaf, that was delicious. It was the best rice I have had so far in India. Finally, we had a paneer dish that had green peppers in it -- an unusual ingredient in India -- that was the best of all. For dessert, Ben had more paneer, this time cooked in a sugar syrup that was terrific. Not nearly as sweet as it usually is. And I had firni, a pudding made from rice flour and flavored with a lot of saffron that was also great. We were very happy with the meal.

Travel Companion

2006-12-14T21:09:00.000-08:00

My friend Ben Teller and I have now had two full days of being together in Delhi. We have been travelling together since 1973, most notable in Indonesia (1973), Europe (1976) and China (2001). By and large we are good travel companions. We have a similar level of curiosity but are interests are somewhat different. Ben is very interested in language and is learning Hindi. I am more interested in high culture and monuments. We spend time apart and then take the other to see any treasures we have discovered. This afternoon we are exploring Old Delhi together. We had one exploratory walk through the stationery and sari markets on his first day here, but are going to spend more time up there today.

It has been interesting adjusting to Ben's presence. In the past, we have had spectacular fights -- a famous one in Hong Kong Bay where we shouted at each other from passing Star Ferries, and a particularly terrible one the day after 9/11 in a hotel lobby in Dali, China. However, growing old helps. We are more solicitous of each other now and are both fairly comfortable in India. I am hoping to get through the month without screaming at him in some crowded venue.

My writing has suffered a little bit since he arrived, but I hope to get back into the groove. I get up earlier than he does so I hope to do my writing in the morning, as I am doing now. We have had two full days. The first day there was some organizing, figuring out how to fit into a fairly small hotel room. A larger one was available but we chose quiet over space. Then we had to get Ben's cell phone operational in India. Cell phones have made traveling so much easier. In the past I have had to search for telephone booths which are not always easy to find and which don't always work well. Now I can call concert venues, etc., any time I want. I have made reservatinos for a hotel in Varanasi. Cell phones also eliminate those annoying moments when you are looking for each other and are very close, but still can't find each other. I am very fond of my cell phone. Indians are just getting use to them. They can't seem to understand the concept of turning them off during a concert even though there are repeated pleas at the beginning of every event. They not only ring, but people answer and talk. People tend to talk more during concerts here anyway. It takes some getting use to. They also will sing along from time to time.

After the organizing, we took the short walk I mentioned in Old Delhi, had a snack and went to an interesting lecture on the survival of Urdu in Delhi. Urdu and Hindi are basically the same language, but they use different scripts and Urdu has more Persian words and Hindi more Sanskrit. What is Urdu and what is Hindi is a highly charged question. The lecture had long examples in Urdu, some recorded, some filmed and some read by an actor whom I had seen before at the Urdu epic evening. He's very good and some sense of what he is saying comes across through his facial expressions and body language. At the end, a professor recited something from the 19th century which had the audience in stitches and was very entertaining to watch.

Yesterday, we went to a doctor in Khan Market in an upscale area of South Delhi. The doctor was about my age. I introduced Ben as Dr. Teller and they traded credentials (Ben is a retired psychiatrist). The doctor was very affable and reassuring. He thinks I am recovering but my chronic irritable bowel syndrome is slowing the process. I see him again tomorrow. The first visit cost $10.00 and the second will probably cost less. He has given my some probiotics to take to restore my stomach bacteria after the antibiotics and taken my off of my antimalaria pill for a while to make sure my stomach upset is not due to that pill. It is not malaria season in Delhi and I have not seen a mosquito yet so that's o.k. Then we had lunch in Khan market, not a successful meal, but I was getting hungry and cranky so we didn't have a lot of time to make a choice.

Then I took Ben to Lodi gardens, my favorite spot in Delhi. Then it was back to the hotel for a nap and a concert in the evening. It was a three-parter which is not my favorite. They outlast my attention span and they save the best until last, but it was interesting. The first part was supposed to be bhajans, Hindu devotional songs, but the singer was ill so she was replaced by an 11-year old girl who sang two short bhajans. She was nervous at first, but came around. It was her first public appearance and she was very charming. Then there was a sitar player who was a middle-aged man beginning his performing career. I think he has a ways to go, but the audience was very encouraging. (The evening was put on my an organization that encourages performers who are starting their careers.) Finally, there was a vocalist who was my favorite, but by then Ben was over it and I was fading fast. So we eventually beat a retreat and looked for a restaurant in Paharganj. The first restaurant we were looking for seems no longer to exist and it took us a while to find the second, but I retained my good humor and we had a good meal in different surroundings than the more upscale restaurants we have been eating in near our hotel.

This morning I walked up to Paharganj again. It was such a pleasure. I am part of India and, inpite of the intense vehicular traffic, India walks. A young Indian saw Ben and I turning down a taxi and he said to us "eleven," which took us awhile to understand, but it turns out that he meant that two legs look like an eleven, so "eleven" is a synonym for walking. I am at my new favorite Internet cafe which is in the basement of a hotel and has a pool room attached. The bathrooms aren't as good as the one at my old favorite, but the room is even more spacious even though I can't see the street. It is also cheaper by about 30 cents an hour.

So I have been rambling on. Where's the local color? Where's the incisive comment on contemporary Indian life? Today at some point I going to look at one thing very carefully and tell you about it. And now I am very sleepy. I think I am going to head back to the hotel and take a short nap before we head out for the day.

Evidence

2006-12-12T20:31:00.000-08:00

There is a new dance zine in LA called "Itch" published by Meg Wolfe and Rae (I can't remember your last name Rae, sorry). For the next issue they soliciting contributions on the topic of "evidence." I hope to submit something from India, and in the meantime, I am using the concept of "evidence" as a way to filter my experiences here. For the moment, I am thinking of evidence as proof that something happened. Evidence can be documentary, but in a court, testimony to one's personal experiences is also accepted. My testimony, including this blog is evidence.

Joy

I continue to experience these brief moments of joy. This morning as I left my hotel, I started skipping, much to the astonishment of the Indian businessmen passing by. I toned down my external behavior, but I still get a thrill when I leave my hotel and there is India before me -- and it's a rather unprepossessing bit of India -- a busy road, a decaying colonnade, dirty pavement, cars and motorcycles parked willy-nilly about and it still makes me happy.

Company

I went to the airport last night in the middle of the night to pick up my friend Ben Teller. We will be travelling together for a month. Being the person that I am, I am ambivalent about this, but the account comes out in the black. It was such a pleasure last night to tuck myself in bed while someone else moved around the room, asking questions, getting organized, while I slowly went to sleep.

I resent that I can no longer poke around when and where I will, but I am looking forward to showing Ben my Delhi, as patchy as it still is. And to be fair, I get up about 7 a.m. and he gets up about noon, so I have five hours to myself everyday. Already, I've had breakfast, explored Paharganj a little, and found this large Internet place in the basement of a hotel. It has cockroaches and the walls are in terrible condition but there is space and the street cries come down the stairs.

I arrived at the airport early and the plane was a little late so I had a lot of time to watch people arriving in India -- the group tourists, the businessmen, the people meeting family, the people resolutely doing it on their own and then the waiters, the quarreling couples, the hotel staff with their name boards, people with astonishing amounts of luggage on trolleys waiting for the rest of their party. And as they slowly trickle out of immigration and customs, the people slowly reading each sign as if they had never seen their own name before and might not recognize it when they saw it, the lone woman walking back and forth, up and down the line, "Where is my name? I don't see my name." The relief when she finally does. The variety of greetings, hand shakes, hugs, touching heads, touching feet, and all this taking place in a very large, somewhat shabby room with the bright yellow official airport signs giving everyone a sickly yellow cast. And then, the bottle neck at the one narrow exit door, the battle to get through the taxi lines, and then we are at the pickup point, and I call our driver on my cell phone and he comes and we are speeding through the dark, smoky Delhi night.

Kathak

Kathak is one of the classical dance forms of India. Last night, the dancer said there is record of kathak being danced on the banks of the Ganges in the 3rd or 4th century B.C.E. I don't think it looked much like what I have seen in Delhi. For one thing, the kathak costume is basically Mughal, brought in by the Islamic invaders -- A long shirt jacket that flares at the bottom -- for women this can become a dress but for both men and women it usually ends below the knees, and for both men and women tight-fitting trousers. Ankle bells are worn -- these I think are Hindu. What seems to distinguish this dance -- and I am basing my observations on the evidence of two performances -- is a rhythmic interplay between the dancer and musicians. The dancer lays out the rhythmic pattern using syllables relating to drum strokes. The musicians then repeat this while the dancer dances. The first kathak concert I saw began with a lecture demonstration in which the guru laid out various rhythmic lines and then danced them. He was amazing. He looked somewhat like Gloria Swanson in "Sunset Boulevard," the same strong face, dramatic eyes and over-the-top gestures. But, although he was only a couple of years younger then me, he danced with vigor, clarity and grace. The second part of the evening presented his choreography danced by four of his students. They were all dancers with long biographies and much experience, but they didn't match his clarity and skill. Kathak emphasizes rhythmic clarity, expressed by the feet, precision of movement and ending in postures that are a small, dramatic tableau. Again, this is the evidence of two performances. On the second evening, the dancer was introduced as a prima donna, and indeed she is. She has been dancing for thirty years and the audience obviously knew and loved her. Her speciality was speed and clarity. I didn't like her as well as the man from the earlier performance and she had wonderful showwomanship and was a riveting performer.

In between, I saw a dance performance from Kerala in the south in a wonderful small performing space near my hotel. It was where I saw the Urdu epic poetry. The audience for the dance performance was very small so I got to talk to the people who organize the space. It is a non-profit group that survives by renting out their space when they are not using it. They put on about two dance or music performances a month and several lectures. They pay the dancers and musicians but not the lecturers. I will go back there and would like to perform there at some time in the future.

Now I am going to look at some more state emporia I discovered on the ride to the airport and then collect Ben for lunch.

Local Color

2006-12-11T00:16:00.000-08:00

Just before I left for India, I saw a listing in the UCLA Extension catalog for a travel writing course. Among other things, it promised to teach you how to introduce "local color" into your writing. I have a bit of a problem with "local color. Edward Said in "Orientalism" and all the writers who have followed him have taught us to be suspicious of exoticising the other, visiting countries and essentially seeing a series of postcards that our own culture has prepared us to see. On the other hand, I am in India and much of it is new and different to me like the two young men squatting down on their feet and washing the marble floor of the hotel lobby with damp cloths. In California, long-handled mops are used, or, if my mother were washing the floors, it would be on her hands and knees, not squatting down on two feet, with one hand for balance and one for the mop rag. And now one of them is throwing out the water into the alley from a green plastic pail.

I am in my favorite internet place. It's not my favorite because it is faster or more reliable than any place else, although it is faster than some, but because it's in a hotel lobby and not some small, cramped, noisy hot room with too many computers in it. Also there is a toilet right here. At the moment this is not a major consideration, but you never know. Mostly, I like the space and air and view out on to the alley. It's around the corner from my first hotel. I haven't been back here since I have been sick (in case I never said, it was food poisoning), and I am enjoying it. It is village life right in the middle of New Delhi. Connaught Circle, less than a mile away, is very urban. Here there are cows, goats, horse carts, street shrines, and as I wrote earlier, food being prepared everywhere. It is such a pleasure to be back here in spite of some misgivings. There are touts and beggars, and it is here where I had the unfortunate shoe shine incident. Another young boy addressed me to day for a shoe shine and I saw the "covers" ready in his hand. By the way, I now have my own shoe shine person around the corner from my new hotel. He charges 10 rupees and although the shoes look a little oily, they do shine. I also have a motor rickshaw dispatcher. I have his cell phone number. I have a favorite stand to buy water from. A barber shop. My favorite place for a South India breakfast -- I have shifted from idli to upma. I never ate upma in the South so I can compare it and it is cream of wheat with almonds and a few spices thrown in. I think sick people should eat a lot of cream of wheat. And the spices are mostly sweet spices like cardamom. And then I have a cup of South Indian coffee and I am ready for the day, practically a native.

I became distracted from my local color lecture. You get the idea. Approach the other with open eyes, and don't make it quaint, evil or exploitable. I just have to keep stretching the frame and including more and more.

Last night I thought I was going to a recital of songs from Hindi films, and then I thought it was Bengali films, and when I got there it was a recitiation of excerpts from Bengali plays. Since I had spent the previous evening at a theater event in Urdu, I passed on the Bengali. Inside I went to a play that promised to be bilingual, and it was but the English did not translate the Hindi or even refer to it. There were English bits and much longer Hindi bits. Nevertheless, it was engaged. The play was very earnest and I'm glad I didn't understand the Hindi if it was like the English. They had created the piece in a group process so I found the evening interesting watching an Indian theater company that was obviously using the same techniques I have been using in improvising all my adult life.
I have also created set pieces from improvisation using social issues as content. Their was very didatic and there were long sections where two actors looked like they were having a conversation, but in the English bits, they were more like interwoven monologues, although each actor eventually influenced the other. It was all about intolerance, communal violence and terrorism, so every once in a while everyone would pick up sticks, bang the sticks together and shout as loud as they could. Then every one would calm down and there would be another scene. People laughed from time to time so I think the Hindi was funnier than the English text.

The play was at the India Habitat Center which is an amazing place in South Delhi. It is three large office towers connected by bridges at the top with a theater and auditorium complex in the fourth corner. The towers seem to be principally occupied by NGO's so I am not sure where all the money comes from, but it is very well done. The architecture is some of the best contemporary architecture I have seen in New Delhi, although there are a couple of other new towers that I like a lot. The events are free, although the play had this Indian system where I had to go to one counter and pick up an invitation that I presented at another counter before they let me in. I have encountered this system before. Once in Calcutta there was a great fuss about finding someone with the correct keys and digging around in an office for an extra invitation before they let me in at the door. There were plenty of seats so crowd control wasn't the issue. It was protocol. I couldn't enter without an invitation in my hand.

I am well, but I still tire easily. My two things to do today are to buy "Trains at a Glance" at the railway station and go to a dance recital by a dancer from Kerala. I have done the first and the auditorium for the second is a five minutes walk from my hotel so that's no problem. I also decided that I would write for a long time this afternoon. So much has happened and I haven't been getting it down. I haven't written much in longhand. I have put off using my computer. I need to download some programs before I can use it and I have avoided finding a place with Internet access. Now I find I could have done it all along at my hotel. The computer expert is coming by tonight and he will set me up after the dance concert. I have suspected for a while that the hotel had Internet access but I was shy about finding out, and also, I think, self-protective. I needed some alone time to just vegetate while I healed. However, now I will be able to write on my laptop in my hotel room, download my pictures and with some luck, add pictures to the posts. I haven't taken a lot of pictures but I have a few illustrations I have taken along the way.

Yesterday, my two things to do were first having lunch at Karim's. Karim's is a restaurant near the big mosque that is in all the guide books. Karim's is better than I expected, i.e., not touristy at all. I actually like touristy places, but I have been eating in a lot of them in Connaught Place. Karim's is just local people eating local food. They were mostly men, but there were some women -- some with their heads covered, and some bare-headed. I have bought a new book of Old Delhi walks. I was thinking of trying it out after lunch, but I promptly got lost and decided I had my quota of things for the day, so I found a bicycle rickshaw and was bounced to the Metro station. Although I consider myself well, my stomach is a little tender and these bouncy rides aren't very comfortable. I didn't know stomachs could hurt when bounced before. I had ordering anxiety in Karim"s but did o.k. I thought I had wimped out by ordering my chicken in spinach puree (chicken saag) and naan, but the man across from had the same thing except it wasn't chicken saag, but some red-sauced chicken. And he ate about six naan to my two. The men next to me (it's family seating), had a whole fried fish with this very thin bread. When Ben gets here, I want to try that. And everyone (except my table mate and me) had ground meat kabobs. I want some of those too.

Last night for supper, it was spaghetti with meat sauce. The sauce was very heavily flavored with black pepper and tasted very Indian. It was another case where I thought I wimped out, but the choice was good. It was very tasty and I think not too hard on my poor stomach. I try to be careful, but I like fat. I like spices. I'm in India. Get used to it, stomach. The restaurant was in Connaught Circle, but although a lot of tourists eat there it is a hang-out for the Indian middle class. Actually, there aren't really any tourist restaurants in Connaught Place (which I sometimes call a circle). It's the menu I think I'm thinking of. All of these middle class places have a lot of Western food on them, but often, like the spaghetti, in India permutations.

I have a whole list of topics I haven't covered. When I was sick, I spent a day writing down my favorite movies. This turned into a little memoir of my movie going life. When I have my laptop up and running, I hope to post this on my other blog. When I created this one, I had some trouble and created a blog and then couldn't find it. It's now nestled up against this one so I am going to use it for short stories, poems, etc. I wrote a short story while I was sick and I hope this will find it's way to this other blog. I will let you know where it is once I start posting to it.

O.K. Let's do, the Crafts Museum, Anglican churches, and three-wheelers, and then call it quits for today.

The Crafts Musem. This is a great place. Free, I think this is because it is also a market of craft goods, but the collection is very good. There is tribal and folk art from around India, although principally from the north. There are styles and types of things that I haven't seen before. I intend to go back when Ben gets here and maybe again by myself. The best part is the fabric reference collection, which is case after case of saris and other types of cloth, extended full length, but laid over each other so only about a foot of the width of the cloth is exposed. It is a vast room filled with color. Among other things, it exposes the amazing variation of India. How can there possibly be so many different ways to make a sari? And they all fall into identifiable schools and they all look Indian. I want to buy some cloth, but the variety makes it perplexing. I am flirting with the idea of having some shirts made out of khadi silk. Khadi is the homespun, hand woven cloth that Gandhi made the center piece of his vision of an India that would turn its back on the modern world. I am not sure he had silk khadi in mind. When I think of Gandhi, I think of white or unbleached cotton cloth, but nowadays, khadi comes in wool and silk as well as cotton, and in a wide-variety of cotton. There were even synthetic blends in the kahdi store. Progress is hard to escape.

Anglican Churches. I have seen two, St. James Church which is in the old Civil Lines north of the Old Delhi, and the Anglican Cathedral which is in the center of New Delhi. St. James is the older of the two. It was built as the fulfillment of a vow by Colonel James Skinner, a swash-buckling, Anglo-Indian mercenary who eventually served the British. It's a large church in white and yellow, like a big version of one of the chuches Wren built in London after the Great Fire of 1666. It doesn't have the great louvres and other ventilation systems that churches farther south in India have, so it looks more European than India. It was beseiged during the Great Uprising of 1857 and suffered much damaged but that has long since been repaired. It is where I left my notebook, the loss of which added to my anxiety during my illness, but when I was well enough to return, the notebook was given back to me with many smiles on both sides. The cathredal, which is not to far from a metro station, I found very hard to find. I was very close but I kept just missing it, and it turned out when I was almost there, I would ask a question of someone and they would head me off in exactly the wrong direction. Eventually, three policemen took me under their wing and walked with me part of the way until they felt sure that even an ignorant foreigner wouldn't be able to miss it, and they were right. I was also the victim of some bad mapping and the early hour. The few motor rickshaws that were around were all full. And I saw only one bicycle rickshaw, and the driver was having his morning bath and I didn't feel like interrupting and they often have no English at all. The cathedral, when I found it is very large with a basilican floor plan. Very grand. The prayer book is in contemporary English, but is still very Victorian compared to the American prayer book. We called ourselves terrible things from time to time. They were polite to me but not friendly, except for the Bishop who happened to be officiating and who beamed at me and touched my hand when he gave me communion. We sang familiar English hymns with gusto and a couple of lugubrious ones which even the Indians couldn't work up much enthusiasm for.

A motorrickshaw driver last night gently chided me for not speaking Hindi. This after I had told him I had sat through a play in Hindi. He's write. I'm now wondering if I can find a Hindi tutor or class in Varanasi and spend my last two weeks there learning Hindi and then take a class at UCLA when I get back.

Motor rickshaws or three-wheelers. They are my basic means of transportation. In Delhi, they are green and yellow although other places they are other colors. They have a motorcycle engine. When I was here eight years ago, most of them were started by means of a long lever which the driver pulled up rapidly, usually several times. Now, most of them start with a key, but a few have the older system. They are very handy. Last night, on the way home from the play, a wedding had spilled out into a major street, leaving only a lane for cars to thread there way through -- that's one lane for both directions so the traffic was piling up fast. As soon as my driver saw it, he made a quick (terrifying) U-turn and we took another route. The taxis and other cars were not as adept and the rapidly building traffic jam was awesome. They will also use the opposing lanes when necessary. I am not a fan of this maneuver. They wait until the very last minute to slip back into the correct lane finding a chink in a wall of vehicles that looks impenetrable to me. Delhi traffic is not for the faint-hearted, neither as a passenger nor as a pedestrian. I choose not even to contemplate what it must be like for the driver. As I said above, I have my own motor rickshaw dispatcher. This is a mixed blessing. I thought we had a payment system worked out that was only a little above what the Lonely Planet charges are for similar distances. Then last night when I asked what the charges were to the new venue where I hadn't been before, it was "What you will, You are my guest." I hate that. So I paid him want I had paid for the other destination which was not that far away. In India, when I think I know what is going on, I know I am mistaken.

My friend Ben comes late tomorrow night. That marks the end of my first stretch in India and the beginning of the second.

I Did This. I Did That.

2006-12-08T21:30:00.000-08:00

I've been in India two weeks. It seems as if I have accomplished little, but this is the trial run. I am preparing for future trips to India. On the other hand, I have a place where I buy bottled water, a shop that deals with my cell phone, a barber and a motor rickshaw driver, as well as a most helpful hotel. That's quite a list of accomplishments. I do not yet have a favorite bookstore nor a CD shop.

I'm hiding out from India right now in this Internet Cafe. The sign out front says it's a cafe, but aside from a Coca-Cola cooler and a very dubious looking water cooler, there is nothing to justify that title. "Cafe" is now apparently a necessary modifier of "Internet" in India.

The reason I'm hiding out is I overdid it yesterday. I walked too much and ate lunch too late. I had a plan for less walking, but I didn't follow it. So I'm am going to sit here and write for a while. Then I will eat lunch and take a nap and head out in the late afternoon. I might go to Safardung's tomb. I'm going to another concert tonight and that tomb (the last big Mughal tomb in Delhi) is near the concert hall.

So, my plan for this blog is to write on a variety of topics, all the stuff I've done and haven't written about yet.

THE GANDHI/NEHRU SITES

Yesterday, I visited Nehru's house, Indira Gandhi's house and Birla House, where Gandhi was assassinated. I did them in that order and enjoyed Nehru's house very much. It's a huge mansion set in an enormous garden. Several of the rooms are kept in their condition at Nehru's time. The entry hall is subdued art decco with cubist paintings on the wall. The rest of the house is devoted to a museum consisting of a lot of rooms with photographs, newspaper clippings and descriptive text. It's well done and then at the end there is a room made to look like the room in which Nehru declared the Independence of India. There is a figure of him that moves when he talks and figures of several other important figures sitting watching him. At the end of his speech. They applaud. It's old fashioned, sweet and moving. I brought my camera, but I had recharged it the night before and I forgot to reinsert the battery. There was one picture I regret missing. I was standing on the balcony and the large green lawn was dotted with school children wearing bright red sweaters. It was a great sight. It looked like one of those tourist pictures they publish in small features at the back of travel magazines. Human interest and lots of color. Well, I missed it.

Then I walked over to Indira Gandhi's house. It's in a typical New Delhi one story bungalow. The most interesting aspect to me was the three rooms that were maintained as they were when she lived there, a study, a dining room and a drawing room. 60's design, very tasteful. I know less about Indira Gandhi and the museum part was less interesting to me (and I was beginning to fade). Her son, Ravi Gandhi, lived in the back of the house. There was a gruesome exhibit of the clothes he was wearing when he was assassinated (by bomb). There was not much left. As you left the house, you passed the front walkway which is covered in waving glass except for a square of plain glass which marks the spot where she was gunned by by Sikh extremists.

At this point, I should have taken a three-wheeler over to Gandhi Smitri where Gandhi was assassinated, but I walked. It wasn't far, and the traffic wasn't bad but I should have let myself be driven. I was getting to tired, but I didn't like the Gandhi sight. The room where he lived at the end of his life is moving, as his the assassination sight, but the rest of the huge house is filled with a historical exhibit on the ground floor (and by this time I had seen all the photographs I could digest in one day) and a noisy art exhibit on the second floor. All of the sculptures made sound. I fled. Again, I should have taken a vehicle, but I walked because I was trying to find a bookstore I had been in eight years ago. I was directed to Khan Market which was not the right place, but I was glad to be there. I had lunch in a hip establishment surrounded by young, fashionable Delhi women and older, Sikh businessmen.

I poked around the market a little. It's in all the guidebooks. I has boutiques and restaurants fitted in between the usual Indian market chaos. Then I walked to Lodi Gardens, not far away, still trying without success to find the bookstore.

RECREATING LODI GARDENS

When I was in India for first time, eight years ago, Lodi Gardens was one of my favorite places. It is a large green area with several old tombs and mosques from the Lodi period in Delhi. My son and I were staying at the Taj Mahal hotel up the road and we discovered the gardens by ourselves. To get to it from the hotel, we passed this small shopping area with a bookstore and a tandoori chicken restaurant. We stood outside the restaurant for a long time before we were brave enough to go it. It was out first restaurant outside a hotel in India. The chicken was great and next door there was a great bookstore and then down the roads, the gardens. We were only in Delhi for two nights, and we were on a busy schedule but we went back to the gardens at least twice. It was a magical experience. Yesterday, I tried to rediscover the magic. The Gardens are still great. Middle-class Indian women go jogging there. The gardens are very well maintained. But something was missing. For one thing, I know know more about the tombs. The first time, they just loomed up out of the January mist. Except for the biggest, Sikander's tomb, you can walk in them, climb over them, get very close. But now I know history. History is good, but it can cramp the imagination. And, I am no longer seeing India for the first time. And I was overtired. I did have a good time watching some black and white birds with yellow beaks and legs who were on the ground nearby. They were very belligerent, always fighting. They were engage each other making a lot of noise, then one or both of them would rise up in the air about a foot and they would disengage, only to start all over again in different pairings.

So, Lodi Gardens is still my favorite place in Delhi, but I'm eight years older, my son's not with me and I had too much of the Nehru's earlier in the day (Indira Gandhi was Nehru's daughter -- Sonia is his granddaughter-in-law).

THE JAMA MASJID (THE FRIDAY MOSQUE, THE LARGEST MOSQUE IN DELHI)

Two days ago, I finally went to the Jama Masjid. It is the first mosque I have ever visited that was not attached to another sight and I was a little shy. I'm now over that. The mosque is basically a wall with a covered space in front of it, and then in front of that a very large open space where the people who cannot fit under the roof of the mosque prayer. I was not there at prayer time and everywhere in the open space and in the arcade around it, people were hanging out. Families, groups of men, groups of teenagers, and occasionally a solitary women. Most of the women and bare heads, some wore scarves, and a very few were in full, black burqahs. It was very relaxed. The same thing happens at Hindu temples. People worship, then they hang out. I didn't expect it at a mosque. It made me feel good about being there. Then I climbed the minaret. All the guidebooks warn single women about undue attention on the dark squares. They do not warn elderly gentlemen like me about the women in the dark. The men seemed to sidle past me without any problem, but the women's hands were all over me, and I me all over. I was trying to take up as little space as possible, but they insisted on turning me into a sex object or a handrail, I wasn't sure which. I suppose I'm flattering myself. It must have been a handrail.

WILLIAM DALRYMPLE

Last Tuesday night, I went to hear William Dalrymple. He has written the most accessible, enjoyable book about Delhi, The City of Djinns. He most recently wrote The Last Mughal, about the emperor who was deposed after the 1857 Uprising and who died in exile in Burma. (The deposed Burmese king was exiled to India by the British.) Dalrymple is an excellent speaker, very engaging. He has lived in Delhi part of the year for the last 20 years and is a Delhi institution. The room was packed to overflowing and they set up TV's in the lobby. I arrived early and had a good seat. The theme of his books about India seem to be in the loss of culture caused by Independence and Partition. I don't think it would state that baldly, but his works seem to me to be a long (and frequently very funny) lament for a lost age. His introducer objected at the end of the lecture and said that although things had changed all was not lost. And the lecture itself seemed an example of that. The evening set me to wondering if I have an overarching theme. I have begun to think that I do, that I am principally concerned with the process of being a tourist. What happens to me as I travel. What expectations do I bring with me? How do they color what I see? Can I avoid exoticizing India. What does it mean when I get irritated with one more tout on the street trying to get me to go to one more emporium? What is the point of it all?

I can now see after two weeks that I am entering a new phase. During the first week, I was by turns, excited and confused. Everything was very hard work. Now I am lest confused (although some of the work is still hard), but I am becoming homesick. I miss the familiar. I eat at only two or three restaurants because I want to feel as if I am at home. I take the same routes. This will change as I have been here longer and my friend Ben Teller arrives in a few days. Then I will definitely be more adventurous, at least about food.

THE END

For now.

Ganesha Welcomes Me

2006-12-04T02:31:00.000-08:00

I apologize for the delay between posts. Last Thursday I came down with a very unpleasant case of food poisoning. High fever, weakness, abdominal pain, and eventually water stools (I can't spell the D word). At first I thought it would pass, but after an unpleasant Friday night, I had a doctor come to the hotel. He diagnosed food poisoning. I am much better now, but not perfect. However, I can finally make it to the cybernet cafe which is two blocks from the hotel. The hotel has no internet access. I have a windowless room because when I moved in I couldn't sleep and wanted complete quiet. It is quiet and I sleep well but it is surreal to spend 48 hours alone in a foreign country without any contact with the outside world. However, I finally turned on the TV and began watching movies. My favorites: the first Seabiscuit movie, Moonstruck and Seven Years in Tibet. Seeing Brad Pitt suffer made me realize I wasn't too bad off.

Saturday night, I had a dream. I was in the secured area of an airport about to sit on a bench when an elderly Indian gentleman (about my age actually), brushed me aside, stood on the bench facing me, took off his clothes and did this wobbly, Indian dance beckoning me too him. I turned to a security guard and he said, "Oh him, we kick him out but he always finds a way back in."

As I was waking up, I decided the man was Ganesha welcoming me to India and I was being resistant. So I am trying to let go. In spite of everything, I still feel joy whenever I leave the hotel and step out on the street.

Now if my strength holds, I am going to go shopping. I am looking for a statue of Ganesha to place by doorway. Ganesha is the god of beginnings and commonly sits by doorways. I also want one of the beautiful shawls older men wear here. There is a string of state emporiums across the street from here, and I'm visiting them one at a time pricing things.

I had another blog almost ready to go when I got sick. I hope to send it out tomorrow.

Will of Iron, Nerves of Steel

2006-11-30T03:13:00.000-08:00

I have now been in India two weeks. The following blog was written a week ago. Much has happened since then. I was getting sick when I wrote this. My health and spirits are much better now.

I have been here a week today. There have been great moments -- my first bite of idli, the South Indian steamed rice cake. I dipped the idli in the vegetable curry that comes with it and the moment it hit my mouth I had a great rush of energy and my body tingled all over. For a moment, I was perfectly happy. Then I had the luggage tangle, but the taste of idli helped kept me going. Also when I first hit the streets in the morning, I am happy. At the National Museum there is a Haruppan (Indian culture contemporary with Mesopotamia) dancing girl that is amazing. The tiny school children in their blue uniforms. They are so small. Yesterday, a guide at a stepwell broke off a branch of a neem tree for me. Villages use small neem branches to brush their teeth. I have always wanted to try it. And the stepwell, one hundred steps going down, down down between the arched sidewalls. An amazing visual. Pictures eventually. Oh, and Monday night I went to a great two-part concert, sitar in the first half and a vocalist in the second. The vocalist had an amazing voice, very open, resonant, deep.

Unfortunately Monday was not great. I couldn't find a hotel to move to. I went to Old Delhi, the Tibetan Colony, a couple of other places and finally, bit the bullet and started going from hotel to hotel in Connaught Place. I found one that turned out to be very good. At first I thought it was outside my budget, but I worked it out. It's o.k. And they are very helpful. They helped me get a Indian Chip in my cell phone. I couldn't have done it alone. It took three trips, two of which someone at the hotel did for me. That Monday, I also had an unfortunate encounter with a young man who wanted me to buy him a shoe shine box. It's a long complicated story involving a shoe shine by someone else (a magnificent job -- he redyed my shoes which needed it mixing colors to match the shoes), and inserts which the boy slipped in. I paid for the shoe shine but thought about the insoles which the boy called covers. I didn't know what he was talking about and just wanted to give him 20 rupees to get rid of him. The shoe shine guy wanted to take out the insoles and give them back to the boy, but in my panic I thought he was going to hold my shoes for ransom. The boy finally accepted the 20 rupees, but I might have ripped him off. How much are insoles in India.

I don't tell these stories to put India down. They really are a sign of my own ignorance and part of the process of arriving in India. I'm much better about recognizing scams in the making. I don't talk to anyone who calls me "father" or "uncle" for example. I keep a smile on my face.

Tuesday, was a recuperation day. I ate and slept. Shortly a general food article will be coming up. I'm going to spare you a meal by meal account, except last night I discovered this great, cheap fast food place called Khana where for less than $2.00 you get an endless South India thali that is quite good.

Wednesday, I finally started to see Delhi. I went to the National Museum and saw the dancing girl and got a refresher course in Indian art and history. Then I walked home -- not far -- by way of the step well.

Walking in New Delhi is not a good idea. It's o.k. in the older parts of town. The streets are narrow and crowded and the cars can't work up much speed. But walking across several lanes of traffic that are going at a rapid clip and constantly changing lanes is hard work. When there are traffic lights, they help some, but motorcycles don't think traffic lights apply to them and people stop late and start early so even at traffic lights you have to keep your wits about you. And where there are no traffic lights, I wait for a reasonable break and head across the street. You have to have a path and stick to it. The drivers see you and factor you into their complex calculations. If you falter, make a sudden change or stop, the whole system breaks down. No matter how close the vehicles are coming to you, you have to keep going, exercising you nerves of steel and will of iron. Drivers operate on very small margins here and the cars come very close, but, my mantra is, "They don't want to hit me. They see you. Keep going. Keep going." And so far, I end up on the other side of the street.

I now know that even for small distances, auto rickshaws are often a necessity and I have made my peace with them. I pay more than the locals but I get where I want to go.

Then I got sick. I had four days when I didn't leave my hotel room. A doctor came and visited my twice for a total of less than $20.00. The high, persistent fever was the worst, but analgesics made it bearable. Fortunately, my cell phone was working and I was in touch with friends back home. Now things are picking up. I have had a good couple of days. No calamities. I am settling down.

I like it here. Delhi in the winter is wonderful. Except for the smog, the weather is excellent. There is always something happening and there are other tourists like me wandering around and we help each other out from time to time. And Indians help me out. Last night a guy helped me get an autorickshaw to a concert and back.I have a lot more to tell. Good stories. I got to hear William Dalrymple speak, for example. More on that later. It's lunch time. I'm going to try Cafe 101 where yesterday, I had a wonderful minestrone soup.

Monsters and Luggage

2006-11-26T07:01:00.000-08:00

Jet lag is fading fast. Last night I slept from 10 p.m. until 4 a.m. Which wasn't bad for the second night. 4 a.m. is already the morning and is not scary. It's waking up at 3 a.m. that is to be avoided. That's when the mommy, daddy and other assorted monsters are at their strongest and hiding under the blanket doesn't work very well when you are alone and far away from home without a two-and-a-half-year-old voice whispering in your ear, "It's o.k., grandpa. The monsters won't find us here. We are safe now." And if I act especially afraid, the voice will say, "It's o.k. The monsters aren't real. They are just pretend." That's the hard part, remembering they are just pretend.

What a day. I got a call yesterday that my luggage had finally arrived in India, but it was in customs and I had to come out to the airport, passport in hand, to retrieve it. I asked when, and they said the office opened at 8:00 and I could go at anytime after that, but that I should call first. I arranged for a car and driver from the hotel and was ready at eight. I called the airline office as I was told to do and there was no answer. There was no answer until nine. They asked me when I was coming and I said as soon as the car arrived and they said that would be fine. On top of this, the hotel had no record of my request for a car and a new request had to be made. They didn't ask for a car until nine. The car arrived and there was a lot of talk in Hindi in which the word "parking" figured prominently. This was suspicious, but waiting time was included in the price, and it seemed to be o.k. About 10:30, I left for the airport. Soon after we started the driver pulled over the to the side, almost completely blocking a side street. He got out and I sat that while cars honked at me and inched they way by. He returned with cigarettes. I considered protesting, but decided the traffic was more life-threatening than second-hand smoke, and if he needed cigarettes to cope with the traffic, he could have them.

When I got to the airport, there was a lot of anxiety about parking. I was taken in charge by a young man, who told the driver where to park and took me to the airlines office. (It's another story, but the young man was eventually turned over to the police by someone from the airlines office.) The receptionist at the airline office said I had to wait for half an hour because a flight was just in and there was no staff to assist me. So I waited for almost an hour. Finally, someone arrives. She proceeds to fill out a very long form. Two long forms had already been filled out when the luggage didn't show up, but we needed another one. Then we went to the Pass Office, the staff person telling me that, of course, I should have arrived after one. I said no one told me. She said well, no. The person I talked to probably didn't know, but she implied that of course, I should have known. The officer at the Pass Office reached for one of the dreaded books of Indian bureaucracyand proceeded to write in it referring to my passport and to the other documentation from time to time. Finally he filled out a pass which allowed me into the luggage storage area. We took the pass into another room where a woman in a sari slowly read it and then signed it. Finally, we arrived in an enormous room filled with lost bags. It gave me the shudders. Another man reached for another book and wrote for awhile. Then he called for another man who retrieved the bag which was directly behind the man who had written in the book. I was given the bag and the staff person and I proceeded to another desk with two men and two books. Finally we went to the customs officer. He sent us to the x-ray machine. Then we went back to the customs officer. The zippers had been wired together in two places. It took him twenty minutes to undo the wires. It was as if he had never seen wires before. Then he rummaged through the bag for a couple of minutes, didn't find anything that I hadn't declared, and then shrugged and told me to close the bag up. He and the staff person went to a desk and she came back and said I was lucky. He wasn't going to charge me anything for opening the bag. I think he was embarrassed because he took so long to get it opened.

After presenting one last slip to one last man, we went back to find my driver. He was nowhere to be found. We had to call the hotel who contacted him on his cell phone and he finally showed up. The ride back was as life-threatening as the ride out but he had his cigarettes and I didn't care.

I had given up on my two projects for the day, but after a long nap, I decided I had to get out a bit. I wandered down to Connaught Place, the large circular colonial shopping center and then was suddenly overwhelmed. I couldn't move. If another tout showed up I was going make a scene. Then I heard this woman speaking English with a European accent. I turned and she was shooing a tout away with one hand and gesturing with the other to the Japanese man she was talking to. She was happy and full of energy. She said to the Japanese man, "Well, I'm just going to hop into a bicycle rickshaw and go get something to eat." I though if she, a woman traveling alone, can handle India, so can I. So I found a bicycle rickshaw, bargained the driver down from 25 rupees to 20, and had a swift, terrifying ride to my hotel. I gave him 25 rupees and he gave me a great smile. I went into the restaurant and the woman I had seen before walked in. As I was leaving, I walked over and thanked her. She is my hero. She saved my day.

Now, back to the hotel and to bed. And monsters stay away. My granddaughter Chloe says you are just pretend.

Getting Out of Town

2006-11-24T02:32:00.000-08:00

It wasn't pretty. After planning for this trip for eight years, the last few days were chaotic. The important thing is that I am now in New Delhi as the Bollywood music and honking horns coming in through the door of the Internet Cafe remind me. Actually, this is my second day here. I tried to write yesterday, but even a nap did not cancel out the evil effects of 22 hours in transit from Los Angeles to here. And even today, I am either still jet-lagged or coming down with a cold.

Yesterday, after coping with the fact that my luggage ended up somewhere other than where it was supposed to, I took a prepaid taxi to my hotel in Parahaganj. The Delhi airport is in the country, so as we started down the road (excellent even by U.S. standards), the first images are rural ones -- a solitary man walking across a field, people waiting for a bus at random spots along roadside, an oxcart carrying a load of women in saris, another solitary walking down the road. The solitary men are striking because in the city, there are so many people that even if someone is walking alone, he or she does not stand out. Then the traffic becomes more and more congested until a mile or so from the hotel it more or less stops. The hotel is near the New Delhi train station and there is a permanent traffic jam at its entrance.

I will move from Parahaganj soon. The air quality here is especially bad. Delhi seems to have worked on auto pollution. The air does not smell of raw exhaust as it used to. Here the bothersome pollution comes from dust -- once in town the quality of the roads is not as good and there are a lot of unpaved spots. What the cars and other vehicles don't lift into the air, feet and the ever-present sweepers do. Then there are the cooking fires. There are a lot of small restaurants and all have open fronts with the cooking done right next to the street. There are also a lot of carts that use bottled gas to cook with. And then there are the people cooking on the pavement, often with small charcoal fires. It smells great, but there is always smoke in the air. Finally, right by the hotel there are artisans carving wood and stone and doing other crafts that put particles into the air. A lot of people have coughs. My throat has been raw and my eyes have been watering since I arrived -- I might be cold (just before I left I spent a lot of time with my coughing granddaughter hiding under a blanket from the mommy and daddy monsters--not too smart for someone about to travel, but a lot of fun), but I am also blaming it on the air.

Except for the air, I love the area. It's a great introduction to India. There are two streets lined with hotels and once you leave them and enter the alleys, most traces of us tourists disappear. Cows wander, people work and stand around. In India, whenever anyone is working there are always extra people standing around. At the hotel, I will give a request to the person who looks to me like they are in charge, and he will reply and then turn to someone else who will do something and then a third person steps in and they all speak Hindi for a while and sometimes even a fourth person arrives before what ever is supposed to happen happens.

I haven't done any serious sightseeing. Yesterday, after I checked into the hotel, I went out and ate at one of the open-front restaurants and then napped and in the evening walked to Connaught Circle, a large colonial-era shopping and business development, and then found Kwality. When I was in Calcutta eight years ago, the Kwality there was my refuge when India overwhelmed me, so last night, I sought refuge again. According to the menu, Kwality was founded in the late forties to provide "rich Americans" and other travelers with ice cream and other sweets. Now its menu is very large with both Indian and international standards and caters to middle-class Indians and tourists. The food isn't exciting but it is good and I like the atmosphere. The restaurant in Delhi is a relic of the fifties with elaborate mirrors, botanical prints, pastel fabric wall covering and Hollywood moderne molded ceilings. Lana Turner would feel at home. Once you enter, the staff feels obliged to seat you immediately, so you might sit in two different places before the seating they think appropriate for you is open. I don't understand the system. I just meekly move from place to place until a waiter comes to take my order and then I know I've finally arrived.

I had minced chicken kabobs and naan and soda water with lime juice, nimbu pani, I think. It's my favorite. I asked for mine salty, but it came sweet. The Sikh man across from me had ordered one too and I think he got mine because he made a face when he tasted it, but neither of us complained to the waiter.

For breakfast this morning I had a small defeat and ordered room service. I had seen a place last night that served idli sambar, a delicious south India breakfast of ground rice and lentils shaped and steamed into a large, snowy ball served with spicy condiments. Another favorite, but I couldn't face the street without food (a real dilema, so I order a banana lassi, but got two bananas on a tray instead. I also had an omelet and delicious milk coffee with cardamom. The tea I had at the open-front restaurant was also great and today I had another very good tea. I had lunch at a tourist restaurant nearby, filled with Indian tourists (I'm trying out one of all the eating options around here). I had chicken in a mustard green puree which was good, but the best was again the tea which was made with steamed milk and flavored with cardamom. It didn't quite match the tea from the day before, but it came close.

I thought I was going to write sociology, but instead I am writing about food. Tomorrow I have to go to the airport and retrieve my suitcase which was misdirected. Then I will do my two tasks. When I travel by myself, I give myself two tasks a day to keep me focused and moving. Today I figured out how to use the subway. The subway has only been open for a year or so and I was not the only first-timer. I have a card that is good for a year. When I run out of rupees on it, I buy more. Then when I am ready to leave, I can turn it in and get my 100 rupee deposit back. There are a little more than 40 rupees to the dollar so I have about $2.50 waiting for me when I get ready to leave. My second task today was to figure out how to get my pictures from my camera to my laptop. I succeeded, but then forgot my notebook in the camera store and got lost. The store was in Connaught Circle which is, of course, circular, and very confusing. I had almost given up hope when a persistant tout of about 12 years old steered me to a tourist office, and there, next door was my camera shop. I went into the tourist office so the tout could get his reward, talked briefly to the staff, then left and retrieved my notebook.

Tomorrow my two tasks (getting my suitcase doesn't count) are to find a calendar of what's going on in Delhi and start to explore Old Delhi. Now, I am going to find something soothing to eat and go to bed early and try to cure my jet lag, pollution cough, cold or whatever it is.

Welcome

2006-11-12T16:32:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Luke's Home Stretch. I've switched from sending emails which was getting cumbersome to blogging.

Why Home Stretch? At 67, that's where I am and at this age, I'm still stretching the limits of home. In my Swedish Baptist childhood, I used to sing "This World Is Not my Home." Now I find this world is my home, but it's a very big one and there are a lot of unexplored rooms.

On November 22nd, I'm setting off to explore one of them. I will be in India until February 1st, and then I will be in England for three weeks. I arrive back in Los Angeles on February 19, 2007. In the meantime, I will be in San Carlos from November 15 through 18 visiting my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter.

I'm on my way. I'll be in touch soon.