7.1.2004
"YOU TWO ARE ONE MOON...
in my city for the first time" (from a poem by Yassin, our driver to the Kalumargh fort on the edge of the desert in Rajastan)
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29 June :: Haridwar :: Big Ben Restaurant :: Breakfast
It's nice to be sitting inside, the luxury of air conditioning and quiet. Muffled beeps come in softly, in contrast with the harshness of how everything(heat, noise, touts) comes at you on the street.
Bicycle rickshaws here. Interesting to catalog in passing each city's unique transport. It would make a good picture table book. How do these skinny men carry these loads? In this heat?
Thinking about Jodpur, fondly of Narayan Singh, and his hospitality and open heart and policy of treating his guests like family. Even fondly of his talking too much: monologues about friendship, "they must be welded. Do you know where that term comes from? Welded -- two things become one", about his career as an aeronautical engineer, his award for fastest long-haul flight from Jodpur to Madras. He showed us the photo of India's first Prime Minister, Neru, shaking his hand at the ceremony.
Narayan's genuine interest in us was in striking contrast to the treatment we receive in general here. Erik summed it up nicely by saying if we fell asleep on the street, we'd likely be eaten alive.
+ + + + +
Stepping into the Ganges with Erik felt important. We were surrounded by tens of thousands of Hindu pilgrims, there to wash away the equivalent of their sins. I felt dizzy getting in, and clear-minded and open-hearted. Afterwards we stood on the ghat (steps) to watch the priests perform the daily Ganga Aarti ritual at sunset. The fire ceremony was accompanied by chanting and leaf boats carrying flowers, candles, and incense as offerings to the river goddess. Against my will it felt like a magical place.
The spot is called HARI-KI-PAIRI, the footstep of God, where the god Vishnu left his footprint in stone. This is also a highly auspicious location because it is purportedly the precise spot where the Ganges leaves the mountains and enters the plains.
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The dream of being forsaken
The dream of diving (unharmed) with sharks
The dream of a dry pool full of kittens
The dream of cleaning shit
The dream of the painted letter to Debbie in Antarctica
(format stolen from Jonathan Safran Foer)
+ + + + +
30 June :: Rishikesh :: Coffee Shop overlooking the Ganges and the Laxman Jhula Footbridge
The two young Indian men sitting next to me at the coffee shop are twisting Rubix cubes. Brings us back to 1982. Yesterday Erik saw a sadhu (renunciate monk) with a miniature one tied to the top of his walking stick.
The sounds here are typical of India: Temple bells ringing, the drone of priests chanting, the constant loud beeping of traffic.
+ + + + +
India, more than any other country we've visited seems to have resisted becoming westernized through and through. It will be interesting to come back in 20 years to see how they've incorporated the technology of the West and if the culture inevitably invades as well.
+ + + + +
I should be flattered, but I find it annoying (I'm grateful I'm not famous) that people often stop me on the street wanting to take a photo of their family with a Western (white) person. And I find it even more annoying that even MORE people (dozens a day) stop me to shake my hand and ask me my name and where I'm from. They're probably just being welcoming (and aren't I a bitch), but my privacy and personal space feels invaded. Like when I was lying down on the train, and a girl entered my cabin and took my hand (then asked my name and started the typical script). I suppose a great deal of my aversion is that 3/4 of these well-wishers then ask for money or for you to eat at their restaurant or buy silk in THEIR emporium or give them chocolate or one school pen. I'm looking forward to Paris, where nobody knows your name.
in my city for the first time" (from a poem by Yassin, our driver to the Kalumargh fort on the edge of the desert in Rajastan)
+ + + + +
29 June :: Haridwar :: Big Ben Restaurant :: Breakfast
It's nice to be sitting inside, the luxury of air conditioning and quiet. Muffled beeps come in softly, in contrast with the harshness of how everything(heat, noise, touts) comes at you on the street.
Bicycle rickshaws here. Interesting to catalog in passing each city's unique transport. It would make a good picture table book. How do these skinny men carry these loads? In this heat?
Thinking about Jodpur, fondly of Narayan Singh, and his hospitality and open heart and policy of treating his guests like family. Even fondly of his talking too much: monologues about friendship, "they must be welded. Do you know where that term comes from? Welded -- two things become one", about his career as an aeronautical engineer, his award for fastest long-haul flight from Jodpur to Madras. He showed us the photo of India's first Prime Minister, Neru, shaking his hand at the ceremony.
Narayan's genuine interest in us was in striking contrast to the treatment we receive in general here. Erik summed it up nicely by saying if we fell asleep on the street, we'd likely be eaten alive.
+ + + + +
Stepping into the Ganges with Erik felt important. We were surrounded by tens of thousands of Hindu pilgrims, there to wash away the equivalent of their sins. I felt dizzy getting in, and clear-minded and open-hearted. Afterwards we stood on the ghat (steps) to watch the priests perform the daily Ganga Aarti ritual at sunset. The fire ceremony was accompanied by chanting and leaf boats carrying flowers, candles, and incense as offerings to the river goddess. Against my will it felt like a magical place.
The spot is called HARI-KI-PAIRI, the footstep of God, where the god Vishnu left his footprint in stone. This is also a highly auspicious location because it is purportedly the precise spot where the Ganges leaves the mountains and enters the plains.
+ + + + +
The dream of being forsaken
The dream of diving (unharmed) with sharks
The dream of a dry pool full of kittens
The dream of cleaning shit
The dream of the painted letter to Debbie in Antarctica
(format stolen from Jonathan Safran Foer)
+ + + + +
30 June :: Rishikesh :: Coffee Shop overlooking the Ganges and the Laxman Jhula Footbridge
The two young Indian men sitting next to me at the coffee shop are twisting Rubix cubes. Brings us back to 1982. Yesterday Erik saw a sadhu (renunciate monk) with a miniature one tied to the top of his walking stick.
The sounds here are typical of India: Temple bells ringing, the drone of priests chanting, the constant loud beeping of traffic.
+ + + + +
India, more than any other country we've visited seems to have resisted becoming westernized through and through. It will be interesting to come back in 20 years to see how they've incorporated the technology of the West and if the culture inevitably invades as well.
+ + + + +
I should be flattered, but I find it annoying (I'm grateful I'm not famous) that people often stop me on the street wanting to take a photo of their family with a Western (white) person. And I find it even more annoying that even MORE people (dozens a day) stop me to shake my hand and ask me my name and where I'm from. They're probably just being welcoming (and aren't I a bitch), but my privacy and personal space feels invaded. Like when I was lying down on the train, and a girl entered my cabin and took my hand (then asked my name and started the typical script). I suppose a great deal of my aversion is that 3/4 of these well-wishers then ask for money or for you to eat at their restaurant or buy silk in THEIR emporium or give them chocolate or one school pen. I'm looking forward to Paris, where nobody knows your name.
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