Italy, the penultimate destination

I’m ready to begin being myself again – to resume the task of applying myself to the world in the most practical, efficient and exciting way possible, and that requires me to be in a place I consider home, near the people and the vocation I feel called to. My uncle Tom wrote in a lovely travel book given me by his daughter Anna a line from Rumi – ‘let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of that which you truly love.’ That, for me, is all of you. While I have time left on my dance card in Europe, I am eagerly looking forward to returning state-side. For this and one or two other reasons (I am starting to run out of money!) I will be giving SE Asia and China a miss on this trip. I had been especially looking forward to hanging out with Annie in Xian China, but that will have to wait for another journey.

Spending my time in Sweden, I have finally begun enjoying ‘The Art of Travel’ by Alain de Botton. It is a collection of essays on various aspects of travel, told from the life perspective of a place and an artist – like Madrid with Alexander von Humbolt as a ‘guide.’ This chapter, ‘On Curiosity,’ was about the difference between traveling as a fact finder, like Humbolt traveled through South America in the early 1700s, and as a traveler/tourist, as Botton traveled Madrid in the 1990s. He lamented that there was such purpose in Humbolt’s journey – every detail, from ocean temperatures to every plant at every elevation, was new to his audience of aristocrats and scientists back home, while Botton had nothing new to discover about Madrid save his personal growth, which may or may not grace him on any particular day. He finishes the chapter with this: “But our admiration for Humbolt may not preclude our feeling a degree of sympathy for those who, even in the most fantastic cities, have occasionally been visited by a strong wish to remain in bed and take the next flight home.”

I had this sense acutely when I arrived in India. I remember laying low in my first hotel room in Delhi, chatting with Corinne, trying to figure out what I wanted to do or see in India. I felt this drive to find the movement of India itself, to be drawn towards something; that India itself would imbue me with a sense of purpose, would tell me what would be worth seeing or doing. I became more and more frantic to find that India didn’t care one whit if I came or left, seeing anything at all, aside from the hundreds of tuk-tuk drivers clambering for my attention on the street. Even after thinking for weeks about why I was traveling and how entirely justified my Indian timeline was, reading Botton’s account of wanting to stay in bed and head home was powerful and validating. I have not been finding facts or contributing in a meaningful way to society other than opening and expanding my own perspective. Of course this is no small thing, but when I am beating a hasty retreat, my purpose retreats with me.

When a new group of travelers come together on a train, in a café or hostel, one of the first bits of information shared after where you’re from and where you are going is why and or how are you doing this trip. Jokingly, someone generally says they are finding themselves and everyone laughs – ‘expensive trip to find what you bring with you all the time!’ I have not created much more identity than when I’ve been at home, though as I have relied upon the bones of myself on this journey, I have discovered much about who I am and will be.

Of course, as I mentioned earlier, I remained myself, if I was stripped down a bit by these struggles as we are all from time to time, humbled, exposed. I was cleansed a bit – the self that was left 20 lbs lighter, requiring the two weeks eating rich food and relaxing in Stockholm is me still. Well – no more bottomless thoughts before I account for my past two weeks in some more detail, and get back to telling stories of Italy (where I will be when you read this!!!).

When I made my way to C’s apartment on March 9, I was in fairly rough shape – this is to say that I spent a fair amount of my time lounging about because a walk across town was good enough for a day’s effort out of me. By the end of the first week I was feeling much more solid (pun intended – it was at a week home that I visited a clinic to have some tests done, everything came back ‘negative’ which meant cutting dairy to have more energy and fewer trips to the toilet). C had finals, so I would lie in for a few hours, poke around online (reading mostly about the ongoing Arab Spring) and reading and eating until she came home. We were living in an apartment in Kungsholmen that she let for two weeks. It had a Murphy bed, a balcony facing west and a kitchen and bathroom all to ourselves! I would prepare dinner, and after eating we would write an email or two and settle in to watch a movie before doing the whole thing again the next day. It was a lovely way to convalesce and spend some quality time. Here are some apartment photos:

The final image there is C pointing to our apartment from a bridge. We spent a fair amount of time wandering the neighborhoods of Stockholm in the early spring weather. I've got a few proto typicals, along with a shot of the 'pedigree moon' over Stockholm's City Hall.

The second to last is C and I walking on the ice between the Stockholm islands - there is open water in the deep background. Apparently people skate across the ice well into spring, holding special ice picks in each hand in case they fall in. Yikes! Next stop Italy - thanks for reading!

Bringing it back II: Rishikesh

Grant and I traveled together from Dharamsala to Rishikesh, which was for the best as we screwed up along the way – we go on the wrong train! The ease with which we accomplished this made me wonder that I had not made the same mistake several times over on the many many other trains I took. A bit of description of the train situation in India is in order here I think.

First of all, there have been a few photos of the trains that I have not found opportunity to post - here are a few:

The final two are from the same spot on a smaller platform, the second showing a group of folks trying to get into the train from the off-platform side. These photos do not quite do justice to the more hectic moments, but hopefully they can create a bit of flavor for you. Some stations in major cities have clear signs and easy to read platform maps, but most do not, and in general they are giant. The bigger ones had 6 to 12 different platforms, connected by a periodic overpass, on which different trains were steadily coming and going. Finding the right platform was sometimes tricky - stations often had announcements about where the trains would alight, or the station would have signs with train numbers and platforms lined up (this was subject to change and often did).

The cities I traveled through would service trains on major routes; trains that might have 50 or 60 cars on them, each about 80 feet long (this adds up to 1/2 to 2/3 mile long trains). The trains typically spent about 5 minutes in the stations I loaded and unloaded from. This meant that boarding the train, finding the right car of the 40-60 that would pass, took some doing. Each class of car (Sleeper, AC 3 tier, AC 2 tier, AC FC, Second Sitting, etc) was numbered (S1, S2, S3 and so on), but it was impossible to guess where on the train the cars would line up. Or where on the platform the train would stop. To be fair, at most stations, boarding was pretty straightforward - we would see a sleeper car as it slowed down, walk to the right one and be right on - sometimes the nicer stations would have light signs indicating where each car would stop.

This all meant that most of the time, with some sharp looking, lots of carefully worded questions, and a bit of luck, getting on the train was easy enough. However, if any of these factors were confounded (the train switched platforms at the last minute, the cars (or the train itself) were not clearly labeled, or if the crush of travelers made moving around difficult, getting on (or off) a train could be an extremely tricky business.

An anecdote: someone struggling to get onto a 'second sitting train' (which means no assigned seats and plenty of ticket sales) for an overnight journey - every person for himself, the last ones on stand for the 6-12 hour journey. A crush of humanity trying to push and pull their way on the train while the passengers are trying to get off the train - this traveler standing with the throng notices an 'old woman' crawling between his legs to get onto the train before others.

Having seen similar scenes, I do not doubt this for a second. The sheer size of the trains (it's asking a lot to walk 1/2 mile in 5 minutes without being on a platform carrying luggage), the chaos of the stations, and the sometimes disorganized rail system caught up with Grant and I leaving a small station near Dharamsala to get to Rishikesh and we, having heard that our train was arriving soon, boarded the next one (on time, at the right platform) without checking the train number with the single train attendant. We had to fight our way on, our car was closed for some reason, and between climbing over luggage and pushing and being pushed, the train departed before we found our bunks, which were occupied. Everyone showed their tickets, and we discovered that we were on the wrong train. Luckily, we could hang tight for about two hours and wait for our train at the next station. The couple who had our bunk kindly gave us one of theirs to sit on (people were sleeping in the aisles of this one - literally NO space), and we found our train, triple checked, without any trouble.

SO - Rishikesh, yoga capitol of the world, home of the Maharaja of Beatles fame, tourist and yuppie heaven. We arrived relatively early and toured a few ashrams before finding pretty much everything full - there was an international yoga festival going on, so not only was it packed, but hotel rates were a bit higher than normal. We finally found a spot about 5 minutes from the main road and I crashed like a ton of bricks. I was running on fumes by this point, and had Grant not been with me, I'm not sure how long it would have taken me to find a spot to sleep. He actually looked around while I held down a spot of pavement in the shade. Anyway, we settled in and checked out the town.

Rishikesh is kind of divided into four parts, two villages on two sides of the Ganges river, both connected by walking bridges (frequented by motorbikes, cows and monkeys). We enjoyed the hippie vibe, met some cool folks, at some more solid food, and relaxed for my final two days in India. I didn't do much other than that really, I was scraping the barrel emotionally and physically and was ready for my train ride home. It was relaxing, the place felt more western and less Indian than the other places I'd been, which was welcome to me at that point. I felt a bit nostalgic for India while there, but I was certainly ready to go.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I felt different when I got into the airport - it really started when I got on the train in Haridwar (Rishikesh's yogic neighbor). I joined a Canadian (Matt maybe) and he and I watched 'Science of Sleep' and some good old US sitcoms until we arrived in Delhi. A quick cab to the airport, a four hour wait from 11PM to 3AM (spent in a hallway as I had neglected to print my boarding pass (NEVER AGAIN), and I was comfortably on my way to a quick transfer in Moscow and a simple bus ride to Corinne who was waiting for me in Stockholm. PHEW! Here are a few photos of Rishikesh - the bridge, some kids playing cricket (which was EVERYWHERE), and what I think was a restaurant mascot, a fellow I saw often but never quite figured out. Their website is here. There are neighboring restaurants with matching short fat men in make-up and crazy hair. It would be like a Denny's adjacent to a competing Denny's. With this guy sitting in a chair somehow enticing people to come in and eat. What? Anyway - the last photo is one of the bridge monkeys. At one point while Grant and I (featured on the bridge) were enjoying some tea and snacks near the water, we saw a monkey climb to the top of the cables and pee, attempting to, I assumed, shower the people below. Sadly for her, the upper cables angle and the wind were not in her favor. Thanks for reading!

Bringing it back, Dharamsala style

My last few days in India were a bit hectic, partially in that I was moving at a much faster pace (a city every two or three days), partially in that I had company with me most of the time (Grant Williams, whose photography was featured in the Golden Temple entry), and partially in that I already had one foot out of the door. I'll make my way back a bit here; back to when the international situation was somewhat less desperate, and when I visited the cities of Dharamsala and Rishikesh in northern India.

Grant and I departed Amritsar with some regret, both of us having been beguiled by the openness and generosity of the place. We traveled with the Swedish Amanda and an Australian woman named Mel we met at the temple, taking two buses from Amritsar across the northern province of India to Dharamsala and Mcleodganj, the latter being the home of the Dalai Lama. Mcleodganj is where people go when they say they are going to Dharamsala – it is ‘upper Dharamsala,’ about a half hour bus ride from Dharamsala, and houses all of the tourist amenities of casual western pilgrims like ourselves who were interested as much in the spirit of the exiled Tibetan leader as the foothills of the mighty Himalayans.

We arrived in the dark, at around 8 PM, and it was cold. Grant and I both struggled to stay warm for our entire visit – he in particular because of his fancy shoes. It was about 3 or 4 degrees Celsius and wet, sometimes raining in earnest. There were a number of attractive qualities to the place aside from the cold that we discovered the next day – the air was crisp and clean, the people and atmosphere was much more relaxed (though the horns persisted on the windy mountain roads), and the food was a welcome change – they served meat! After almost six weeks of spiced vegetables and highly questionable sanitation, these were welcome changes. The village was also geographically contained, with two main roads leading up the hill, lined on both sides with shops and internet cafes. And there were Buddhist monks in red robes buying vegetables, talking on phones, walking and visiting with friends, being normal people all around.

We realized after finding shops closed that we had stumbled upon the Tibetan new year, which might have explained the civilian appearances of the monks. It also meant that the tranquility of the mountains was undercut by the periodic concussion of massive fire crackers. We spent our days wandering these streets, all three or four 'blocks' worth of them, and one day on a shopping spree of sorts, knowing that the shops would not be open again, that the goods were attractive and would benefit an exiled community, and that I would only have to carry the stuff for a few more days.

The biggest comfort of Dharamsala is the well established tourism trade. Restaurants and cafes feel almost western, and, in my humble opinion, northern Indian food was much more palatable than the Rathsanjani food I enjoyed in the desert. Basically, the northern Indians didn't seem to consider spices to be a substantial calorie component of every dish. Many places had wireless (if they lacked heat), and the streets didn't smell like they were full of Indians using the gutter as toilet (again, possibly related to the heat).

So after enjoying a day of wandering and buying things like a man with a westward mind, I woke early to take in the new year festivities at the Dalai Lama's temple. There was a lot of chanting that sounded like 'oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah' which is as good a mantra as any I've heard, and some entertainment for the monks in a sort of open air temple, the rest of us watching and feeling confused on the outside. Before I share the photos of mountainous Dharamsala and the monastic new year, I want to describe what my friend Avye would call a photo not taken, as I didn't take a photo of it.

Buddhist monks ask for alms as (I think) part of their regular practices. I passed four monks on my walk to the temple. The sun was just up, though the night air was still heavy and cold. They were standing motionless, identical, hoods over their heads, each holding an large bowl out in front of them like an offering. They were SO still, so statuesque that I found myself too intimidated to even venture a photograph, much less get close enough to make a contribution. I'm sure they were the same cheerful, cell phone using monks that were bargaining for vegetables on the street the day before, but standing in the first light, they were untouchable and sublime.

On to the photos! Thanks for reading!

(This final image is of the entertainment - so far as I could tell, the two standing monks were having a sort of argument, stooge style, and would try to one up the other. They seemed to be working from a script, and occasionally got laughs. The monks bending over were serving rice and snacks and tea to the monks sitting down)

Reflections on India

Hello. It is March 14th; it has been a while since I posted and I apologize for that. I have been working at being a pile, and harder at enjoying pile time. I have been eating, sleeping, relaxing, and eating some more, with Corinne ably helping me along. I’ve had almost a week outside of India during which I’ve allowed time to pass without much reflection. In fact, even without having slept, stepping onto the Aeroflot plane in Delhi at 5AM put much of India’s challenges out of my mind. As I have mentioned, I have many mixed thoughts about my experience and my decision to leave when I did. I spent six weeks traveling Western and Northen India and saw an amount of the country equivalent to a road trip from LA to Seattle. The clarity will have to come with the telling – no easy answers or lessons drawn quite yet. I will do my best to keep these reflections to two or so posts.

I was told a number of times that visiting India will change me, often with the same thousand yard stare, or the same sense of unspeakability. I was attracted to this country that cannot be captured in words or pictures – something I had to see and feel for myself. I was also well warned before I left, three weeks at least before you can expect to feel settled, that I should expect to feel like I am sticking it out at least for a while – that the richness of India will not reveal itself before a person puts in their time. This I felt prepare for as well – I had three weeks, I had traveled in ‘difficult’ countries, and done so alone and sometimes at some personal hardship. I felt seasoned by Morocco and Egypt, by my previous mistakes and misjudgments. Frankly I felt seasoned by my life – I knew I had persevered through unique psychological and physical hardships unimaginable to a lot of people my age. When forewarned about difficulties, and even when attempting to endure them myself, I would tell myself that I can do anything for a few months, a few weeks, a day. It’s very possible that this attitude contributed to my struggle more than comforted it, but I also credit it for keeping me chugging along when I felt like quitting. So what was so gd hard for me about India?

I considered India relentless (sometimes thinking of it trying to spit me out!) and wished it would ‘back-off’ now and then, that I could find a day or two of respite. This is a silly notion – India was just being India – Delhi was being Delhi, etc. It could no less be it than I could be me. At the same time, what it was proved extremely taxing on me.

I would imagine someone from an Indian culture might visit the west and experience a sort of reverse image – the pounding isolation of western cultures, where one can walk down street after street and walk into shop after shop without interacting with anyone, without anyone approaching to say hello, ask about your relationships or employment or homeland, or invite you into their shop for a tea. Of course for me, these were the items that would pile up - not being able to walk ten feet without being approached, to have strangers asking me about my 'wife' or how much money I made, all talking within about 5 inches of my face. As I have mentioned in previous posts, there are a litany of small annoyances or difficulties that had rapidly piled up for me, so that I could go from a comfortable train ride to being ready to scream or cry in the face of a particularly persistent tuk-tuk driver in a matter of minutes. My patience would wear down more and more quickly, rather than adjusting to the various little struggles that would threaten to overwhelm me. I employed half a dozen evasive maneuvers in attempts to outwit my temper – many more tried and talked about with other travelers: you can respond to a ‘hello’ or ‘what country do you belong’ so long as you don’t break stride; try to bargain with drivers and walk away if it’s not going well; lock luggage on a train but don’t worry about it; book trains, hotels, tours in advance; check the seal on water bottles; and never eat food off the street, or food that includes fresh vegetable, or meat, or (in my case) dairy, anything offered to me on a train, in a shop, or anywhere outside of an established restaurant. I found it extremely difficult to strike a balance between being open to the culture and staying healthy, and I believe this is what ultimately did me in.

I thought of myself as being ‘sick’ for well over half of my time in India (it can be argued that it was that thought that hurt me the most). I was taking antibiotics and/or antiparasitics for most of the time as well. I did not trust my body to handle the Indian bugs I got – of course taking the drugs was a mixed solution, as every course left me less able to handle the bugs, and the antiparasitics left me tired and neaseaus. Making my way from town to town – even trying to rest in towns – became much more difficult to handle when all I wanted was to surrender and leave. Be at HOME.

Perhaps I could have left earlier, considered it prudent and not a retreat. It was difficult to determine how much was manageable for me – I had spent months of my life ably handling difficult circumstances, and I considered it a virtue to bear those struggles – particularly in India where nearly everyone around me was getting by with less. I am used to living comfortably in a society that spends much more than I do. In India, I was uncomfortable while spending considerably more than almost everyone I interacted with. Yes, I could have paid more for fancier hotels (or gone to a more affluent region of the country – apparently there are golf courses in India, and opulent apartments), I could have paid for western meals, taken first class trains, but how would this be different than going home? India means temples, desert forts, Indian food, squat toilets, cold showers, dirty trains, dirty streets, noisy streets, INSANE streets, and smiling, staring, or indifferent Indians. How much of this may I leave before I am no longer there?

I set out from home with the hopes of challenging myself – and as I discussed in my Morocco entries, success there and here. My friend Ellie wrote a book about a year of her life in Uruguay, about vulnerability and brokenness. For a while in India I felt like I had met my match in this country – that the struggles, compounded by my frail immune system, overmatched me. India was winning and I needed to leave. I COULD make it for a few more weeks, another friendly travel buddy was just on the horizon, my belly would be better after this round of drugs – the north would be better, the east would be better, a different hotel would be better. Finally, after having one or two close calls with consciousness, discovering I had dropped 20 lbs, and after feeling alright and still thinking about leaving, I did so. And for a while I felt like I was giving in. I had not risen to the challenge.

Perhaps India was only a more extreme version of what I experience all the time – that the world around us is primarily a reflection of ourselves, masked or unmasked, desired or not, it is all us. That India exposed my inability to function at all. Wherever I go, there I am. This was my fear.

Of course, another more palatable option is that perhaps it is inadvisable for a person with a compromised immune system to travel in India; of course I got sick, of course I left early. And shit, early? I was there for six weeks. I saw quite a lot. On a last leg of my trip I spent some time chatting with a Californian nurse in Dharamsala – we talked ‘shop’ for a while, and I told her about my experiences and fears about my health. Her expression of concern and amazement that I was even there drove home what Corinne and so many of you had expressed to me so often these last six weeks – it is no small thing to have done what I’ve done. As Jhumpa Lahiri (an Indian American author) writes in “The Third and Final Continent,” ‘As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.’

Leaving India feels like the start of my journey home. I will be spending comfortable time with Corinne, with little to focus on other than gaining weight back and reading and wandering Stockholm. I spend 13 days in Italy with my mother, another two weeks traveling with Corinne, then I go home, undoubtedly changed. I am anxious to share stories and photos with all of you (some yet to be taken! the journey is not over yet!). Thanks for reading!

Golden Temple Photos, courtesy of Grant

Hello team! I'm attaching a number of photos from Grant's camera in the Golden Temple. He and I were wandering around together and he was much more brave about asking people for photos. And they were always happy to oblige! Of course each has a story that I hope to catch up on shortly.

In other news I head back to Stockholm today! Well, I train to Delhi at 4, get to the airport at midnight, and fly at 5 AM. Yay! I am eager to go, and a little sad that I am leaving. I have a great deal of other thoughts that I hope to have out on an entry soon. Suffice it to say I gave it a lot of thought, and this is what I came to. I am very excited to see Corinne, even though she will be busy with finals. She has planned 'pile time' - as in time when I am expected to be a pile of food-eating movie-watching nap-taking that gives me recoup time and her study time. Sounds about perfect to me. This time two-days-from-now, I'll be drinking tap water and breathing the air. Thanks for reading!

PS - a big hello to my Ohio cousin Fiona!

PPS - Happy Women's day! Huzzah for equality!

The Golden Temple!

Feb 28 (posted March 4/5)

Hey team! So the Golden Temple – I have to confess that my knowledge of Seikism is quite limited – while it seems like a wonderful religion, they (thankfully) do not prosthelatize (sp?), which I always found to be a good sign. The Golden Temple is the main pilgrimage sight for Seiks, and in accordance with the welcoming nature of Seiks, we are all pilgrims while we visited. This meant that we have access to the massive volunteer apparatus that provides everything from rooms to meals to clean bathrooms. They do not turn anyone away, and everything is ‘donations appreciated.’ They feel up to 150,000 meals per day on a busy day, and house I don’t know how many people. There are people sleeping outside on mats, given blankets by the Temple volunteers. And nearly to a person, people smile, greet me, and invite me to a museum, a meal, a cup of chai, or a tour of this or that aspect of the Golden Temple complex. Imagine the Vatican putting up and feeding every.single.visitor, regardless of professed faith or ability to pay. Almost entirely run by volunteers! It’s crazy!

What I’ve been able to pick up regarding Seikism is that there are some 35 principle folks, a dozen or so who are gurus (without the aid of Wikipedia I am somewhat crippled).

I’ll try to describe a trip through the dining area, as that requires less of my spiritual esotericism. Whenever in the Golden Temple area, everyone must be barefooted and coveredheaded. I wore my fishing hat which made me considerably more of a spectacle than I am already (white, tall), but I lacked the alternative turban or scarf and didn’t pony up for a little orange bandana (smelled funny). ANYWAY – entering the Golden Temple area, we walk on a marble walkway facing the enclosure around the ‘nectar pond’ and the Golden Temple itself, which seems to float in the middle of it. The dormatories are across a street from the temple area, so we walk barefoot across the street and about halfway down the walk to the enclosure. There is a garden on the left and the dining area on the right. After passing the dishwashing station, we hang a left into the food building. There are spigots along the walkway for people to wash up a bit. There are giant chai dispensers (similar to the industrial milk dispensers) serving all you can drink chai 24 hours a day. Passing those, we are handed metal plates, metal bowls, and a metal spoon by smiling volunteers (four for each item, each regularly employed by the steady stream of folks walking in. We are then guided into the eating area, a large cafeteria with long canvas runners laid out for sitting. We take a seat (again, it is a steady stream of people sitting, maybe 20-30 per minute). After anywhere from 5 seconds to a minute, someone comes around with a metal bucket and ladle and spoons us up some daal (lentil soup-ish, Indian staple), mixed vegetables, rice, rice with vegetables, rice sweetened with coconut, and once even some spiced pumpkin. Somewhere in there someone comes by with a basket of chapattis (like wheat tortillas). He tosses two into our communion hands – the Seiks would hold the bread to their heads before tearing off a piece with which to eat. Through the next 15 minutes or so, we work at our food, the servers coming around slopping more onto plates if we want it. Suddenly (in my case as a slow eater with an upset stomach most of the time), I am one of the only people left in my row – a point made by the water splasher who pours a steady stream down the line in front of the canvases. He is followed by the squeegee man who wipes the floor (marble of course). Then the process begins again.

When we finish, we walk out another door, down a set of stair to near the dishwashing area. Our spoons are collected by one of two folks with large bowls and we hand our plates to one of two men who pass them back to be cleared and washed. Everyone is smiling. This is notable about being in the Golden Temple – people are smiling most of the time. There are greeters at almost every door, folks running the bathrooms, facilitating temple walks, and giving out certain information to uninitiated tourists. Every post is well staffed by volunteers, sometimes with triple redundancy. They do not turn anyone away for food or blankets. Ever. Again, imagine that at the Vatican.

The Indians I have encountered (and at this point there have been quite a few) have been welcoming and curious, if lacking in the social niceties that keep our western streets humming along smoothly. An Indian will think nothing of asking after marriage status, employment, salary, or of asking to listen to the music you are listening to, to tapping you on the shoulder while you are listening to said music, almost rhythmically, every few minutes when something occurs to them. Of course this also means that they are not at all shy about introducing themselves, asking for your photo, or offering to guide you around wherever you might want to go. In the rest of India that I saw (mostly Rajasthan, which is quite touristy), there was often a slightly sinister element to these invitations – they without fail led to a shop; taxi drivers led on detours to shops, people on the street wanting to say hello or to practice English would bring you to a shop. Whenever I am approached by someone I am suspicious – en guard! But not in the Golden Temple – people would invite me to see the museum, or to see their favorite guru shrine, or a particularly nice view of the Golden Temple for that time of day. Much more often however they just wanted to welcome me, to say hello. Yes, I said – hello!

The Golden Temple itself is through a gate, across a foot-washing pool of sorts. The area opens like a magic courtyard; the enclosure is about 70 yards to a side, with wide marble walkways going around the pond. The walkways are fairly simple, everything is white marble, generally decorated with plaques commemorating so and sos contribution to the construction costs. Men would, holding metal chairs there for the purpose, lower themselves down the stairs of the pond to immerse themselves in the holy water. The area is quiet, though not overly solemn – there are kids running around, music playing, and several times a day prayers are called. The Golden Temple itself is accessed via a footbridge of sorts leading from the walkway to the temple – I’m sure there are some great aerial shots of this online. The temple is gilded with a great deal of gold, 500 kg or so I think, and has a dull glow in the white marble and generally cloudy skies. Pilgrims walk around the pond clockwise, according to a solar calendar that I did not hear enough about to make sense of (Wikipedia!).

These were not what struck me so solidly about the temple area. One episode stands out to me in particular. It was mid-afternoon, I wasn’t feeling great and was having a sit under the covered area of the walkway. These kids walked up to me, teenagers, and told me to stand up. A bit put off, I looked at the for a moment before standing up. I then asked them essentially what the hell the deal was. One boy said something in Punjab a few times, then finally another one said, ‘the prayers are being called, it is better to stand.’ The others, rather than snickering at my ignorance (as I expected and somewhat deserved, everyone else was suddenly standing), shook his hand and clapped him on the back for his command of English and the situation, and they walked away. Perhaps the difference isn’t stark enough to show, but to me it was a world apart from curiosity and derision I’d experienced in similar situations.

The dorms were similar – everyone friendly, mobs of people sleeping outside in the courtyard of the dorm building, on the walkway to the temple, all over. Dorms full – and everyone possible given a blanket, a mat, and as much food as they can eat. Pretty fabulous.

The final shot here is of a guy taking a break. The general attitude of the Temple area was very relaxed but still reverent - it was a cool combination.

Here are a few photos of the general Temple area. I was less forthright in the dining area, but Grant (who is an amateur photographer) did take a number of fantastic photos. You can see them here (seriously worth checking out, whenever he gets around to posting them ...). Thanks for reading!

The Taj!

Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay, there have been two monumental travel days (18 and 22 hours), and a lack of reliable connectivity. I am writing from Amritsar, India, home to the Golden Temple and an incredible community of pilgrim Seiks. I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Seik religion, only what I’m seeing here, at their most holy sight. I can say that one of the Holy fellows from the past was a guy who fought in a great battle, was beheaded and continued fighting, carrying his head in his left hand. Pretty bad-ass. I’ll describe a bit more of the Golden Temple after I comment on another monument, the ‘tear drop on the cheek of eternity,’ the Taj Mahal.

The short version of the story is that a wealthy guy about 400 years ago lost his third (and favorite) wife to the childbirth of their 13th child. He was heartbroken and had the Taj built. It is mostly white marble, which gives it a sort of mood-ring aspect in that it captures the colors of the sky at the time. The marble is inlaid with lots of semi-precious stones that capture a different kind of light. Guides would shine a light against the stone to make it glow. The Arabic script around the gateway is slightly bigger at the top to create the illusion that it is the same size all the way up. The inside of the mausoleum (which is what the Taj is) is an astoundingly ornate funerary stand, with carved marble fencing around it. Unfortunately no photos were allowed inside, though I’m sure some must be floating around online. The town of Agra was nothing to write home about, so to speak, and the Taj itself, while set in a peaceful garden all to itself, the atmosphere is more touristy than anything else I’ve seen – it was the first place I’ve been where tourists outnumbered Indians.

My health continues to be a sort of struggle – I weighed myself at the train station, and as much as that scale can be trusted I weigh 69kg, which is a bit of a drop for me. Mom, I’m looking forward to some tasty Italian food to bulk me up again! I’m feeling better in general and seeing doctors when I feel the need (it is easy when it costs about 1 dollar to go). While generally getting well sorted out, my health has been more of a concern than I anticipated, taking up considerable energy. I have struggled to balance sight seeing with staying healthy and making more opportunities to eat. I wrote a chunk of this while Grant and Amanda were seeing the border closing which is supposed to be quite a spectacle. I'm not sure I will stay in India until my mom visits in April - I might keep my flight to Stockholm on the 9th to do my recoup (eat-fest) there, so I'll be 100% for mumsies. I want to leave for the right reasons, not jet out of here because I am scared of something, or because I'm uncomfortable (though those are both factors). I have a hard time being dictated to by my body. At the same time, I think I've done pretty well, considering especially that I'm on a trip I wouldn't have considered possible a few years ago. I'm not quite decided and will keep you posted.

In the meantime here's the unrivaled Taj Mahal. I'm sure there are better photos of this floating around, maybe in the room you're in right now, though I humbly submit these. It was kind of a shitty day for me (if you know what I mean). ALSO - I want to wish the warmest of birthdays to my best fellow Joshua whose birthday is today, March 3rd, and to my favorite old man, whose birthday is tomorrow! All my best! Take care all, I look forward to when we can sit down together. Next stop, the Golden Temple! Thanks for reading!