6.24.2004
UDAIPUR :: RAJASTAN
A groom riding through town on a white horse -- flanked by a parade of dancing friends + family, a rolling cart with loudspeakers, children carrying elaborate lights, and women in colorful saris blowing in the wind.
+ + +
Dozens of people saying, "Hello!" "Where are you from?" then smiling and holding out their hand for a shake.
+ + +
A dusty little girl in braids following us through the market. Popping up in various locations: with a cow (hello!), with a water pump (hello!), next to sacks of vibrantly colored spices (hello!!!!)
+ + +
"Octopussy" the James Bond movie which was filmed here at the Lake Palace, plays nightly at rooftop restaurants all around the city.
+ + +
Feces full wriggling white worms --sitting on a marble shelf at the public toilet
+ + +
A "science" museum full of dusty displays circa 1974: a periodic table made from rotating wooden blocks, mind puzzles like "make a T out of these 4 wooden pieces", fun house mirrors, a life-sized plastic torso showing various layers of the female anatomy
+ + +
Indian miniature paintings made with squirrel tail brushes and mineral pigments embellished with 24 karat gold
A groom riding through town on a white horse -- flanked by a parade of dancing friends + family, a rolling cart with loudspeakers, children carrying elaborate lights, and women in colorful saris blowing in the wind.
+ + +
Dozens of people saying, "Hello!" "Where are you from?" then smiling and holding out their hand for a shake.
+ + +
A dusty little girl in braids following us through the market. Popping up in various locations: with a cow (hello!), with a water pump (hello!), next to sacks of vibrantly colored spices (hello!!!!)
+ + +
"Octopussy" the James Bond movie which was filmed here at the Lake Palace, plays nightly at rooftop restaurants all around the city.
+ + +
Feces full wriggling white worms --sitting on a marble shelf at the public toilet
+ + +
A "science" museum full of dusty displays circa 1974: a periodic table made from rotating wooden blocks, mind puzzles like "make a T out of these 4 wooden pieces", fun house mirrors, a life-sized plastic torso showing various layers of the female anatomy
+ + +
Indian miniature paintings made with squirrel tail brushes and mineral pigments embellished with 24 karat gold
6.21.2004
ARRIVAL
I knew I was in India when upon disembarking the plane I was enveloped in incense and then stood in a long line (our first of many) at immigration. The barricades were held together with clear packing tape.
The con games began immediately as well, with money-changers beckoning us with free bottles of water (and then later you realize they have a higher service charge).
The taxis here looks like a 50's or 60's teeny black rounded English cars. We climbed into ours (after getting suckered into letting a porter carry our bags, and then paying for it of course)and sat in red seats that felt like my grandmother's old couch.
The Sikh driver had a long grey beard and wore a turban. He finished toweling off the windows, gripped the white rose embossed steering wheel, and took off into the rainy night. It was pouring -- the beginning of the rainy season here -- and the wipers didn't work. At every traffic lights, he'd towel off the windshield again.
Deliriously tired, I surrendered into a dream state, watching the shanty-towns, cows, and billboards pass, listening to the non-stop horn beeping (trucks have painted "horn yes please" on the bumpers). After over an hour, we finally arrived at our hotel in Colabi, the tourist zone of Bombay.
+ + + + + +
BOLLYWOOD
(Indian Bandstand)
Erik and I got to live out our star fantasies yesterday by being extras on a film. As many of you know, Bombay (aka Bollywood) has the world's biggest film industry. If you've never seen an Indian movie, run out and rent one. They are riotous musical/love/action/any-other-genre-you-can-think-of events. Our movie, "Musafir" starring Sameera Reddy, will be no exception.
The set was designed to look like a night club in London, and the scene we were in was a "trance party" complete with topless male dance troupe and a diva singer/dancer. We (the party attendees)danced for 10 hours (in fits and starts) to the same song. I'm sure the footage from the day will be edited into about 3 minutes of the actual movie. It was very interesting to be on the inside of a major production (US $10 million). Of course, we only made 600 rupees ($12) for the day, but I guess I would have PAID to do it for the experience.
I'll try to get ahold of the movie when it comes out in November.
+ + + + +
TODAY I SAW
+ + + The Chai Walla straining hot milk and spices through a cheesecloth and serving it in small clear fluted glasses at the train station snack bar
+ + + A camel pulling a trailer through major city streets
+ + + A beautiful woman wearing gilded red silk, gold decorations painted on her face
+ + + A 2,000 year old carved temple/water tank with bats flying out of narrow spiral staircases
+ + + Al Pacino as Serpico painted on numerous rickshaw mudflaps
I knew I was in India when upon disembarking the plane I was enveloped in incense and then stood in a long line (our first of many) at immigration. The barricades were held together with clear packing tape.
The con games began immediately as well, with money-changers beckoning us with free bottles of water (and then later you realize they have a higher service charge).
The taxis here looks like a 50's or 60's teeny black rounded English cars. We climbed into ours (after getting suckered into letting a porter carry our bags, and then paying for it of course)and sat in red seats that felt like my grandmother's old couch.
The Sikh driver had a long grey beard and wore a turban. He finished toweling off the windows, gripped the white rose embossed steering wheel, and took off into the rainy night. It was pouring -- the beginning of the rainy season here -- and the wipers didn't work. At every traffic lights, he'd towel off the windshield again.
Deliriously tired, I surrendered into a dream state, watching the shanty-towns, cows, and billboards pass, listening to the non-stop horn beeping (trucks have painted "horn yes please" on the bumpers). After over an hour, we finally arrived at our hotel in Colabi, the tourist zone of Bombay.
+ + + + + +
BOLLYWOOD
(Indian Bandstand)
Erik and I got to live out our star fantasies yesterday by being extras on a film. As many of you know, Bombay (aka Bollywood) has the world's biggest film industry. If you've never seen an Indian movie, run out and rent one. They are riotous musical/love/action/any-other-genre-you-can-think-of events. Our movie, "Musafir" starring Sameera Reddy, will be no exception.
The set was designed to look like a night club in London, and the scene we were in was a "trance party" complete with topless male dance troupe and a diva singer/dancer. We (the party attendees)danced for 10 hours (in fits and starts) to the same song. I'm sure the footage from the day will be edited into about 3 minutes of the actual movie. It was very interesting to be on the inside of a major production (US $10 million). Of course, we only made 600 rupees ($12) for the day, but I guess I would have PAID to do it for the experience.
I'll try to get ahold of the movie when it comes out in November.
+ + + + +
TODAY I SAW
+ + + The Chai Walla straining hot milk and spices through a cheesecloth and serving it in small clear fluted glasses at the train station snack bar
+ + + A camel pulling a trailer through major city streets
+ + + A beautiful woman wearing gilded red silk, gold decorations painted on her face
+ + + A 2,000 year old carved temple/water tank with bats flying out of narrow spiral staircases
+ + + Al Pacino as Serpico painted on numerous rickshaw mudflaps
6.16.2004
NOSTALGIA
(from "Ignorance" by Milan Kundera)
"The Greek word for "return" is nostos. Algos means "suffering". So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return."
"Odysseus lived a real dolce vita there in Calypso's land, a life of ease, a life of delights. And yet, between the dolce vita in a foreign place and the risky return to his home, he chose the return. Rather than ardent exploration of the unknown (adventure), he chose the apotheosis of the know (return). Rather than the infinite (for adventure never intends to finish), he chose the finite (for the return is a reconciliation with the finitude of life)."
+ + + + +
3 hours and we're on a plane to Bombay. Feeling a little nervous -- leaving the what-has-become-familiar for a new culture. We'll spend about 5 weeks in India (mostly the North) and then for the REAL culture shock, Paris on the 21st of July.
Feeling really far away from home now. Just 3 months and we'll be back in the States.
(from "Ignorance" by Milan Kundera)
"The Greek word for "return" is nostos. Algos means "suffering". So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return."
"Odysseus lived a real dolce vita there in Calypso's land, a life of ease, a life of delights. And yet, between the dolce vita in a foreign place and the risky return to his home, he chose the return. Rather than ardent exploration of the unknown (adventure), he chose the apotheosis of the know (return). Rather than the infinite (for adventure never intends to finish), he chose the finite (for the return is a reconciliation with the finitude of life)."
+ + + + +
3 hours and we're on a plane to Bombay. Feeling a little nervous -- leaving the what-has-become-familiar for a new culture. We'll spend about 5 weeks in India (mostly the North) and then for the REAL culture shock, Paris on the 21st of July.
Feeling really far away from home now. Just 3 months and we'll be back in the States.
6.13.2004
A THREE-DAY TREK IN RURAL LAO
(journal excerpts)
DAY ONE :: 12:15 pm
Sing and Bye (our guides) are starting a fire to cook our lunch. Bye sprinkles spices on slabs of red meat, and uses his hands to knead in the flavor. Erik and I sit on narrow logs and wait next to the stream.
Various women and children wander up the mountain from the valley below, and stare curiously. This trail is the only access to the Hmong and Kmu villages we will visit. One woman takes her shirt off non-chalantly, pulls up her skirt, and begins to bathe in the stream next to us...
Sing has placed the meat in the split of a green branch, and secured it with vines. He places it over the fire for cooking.
DAY TWO :: 7:00 am
We spent the night in Pa Pung, a Hmong village of rice farmers, with 25 houses and 100 people.
The chief's wife (our hostess) has been up since 4am. She has not eaten yet (since her dinner of rice and water at 8pm). She has spent the morning quietly slicing roots by the light of an oil lamp (they have no electricity)and grinding them into meal for feeding the pigs. All of her tools (except two metal bowls and two pans for cooking) are handmade, from wood or stone. This house is made of bamboo, with a thatched roof and dirt floor. Greens cook over a fire in the middle of the room. Handwoven basket line the walls. We've stepped back in time.
Chickens eat dried corn near the doorway, and wander through the house avoiding the dogs. Pigs and goats look in on occasion, checking to see if their breakfast is ready.
Erik has been popular with the children -- he held a paper-airplane workshop. The digital camera has been another ice-breaker -- the kids squeal when they see photos of themselves.
2:15 PM
Just awoke from a nap in a bamboo lean-to. The family who was sitting here when we arrived vacated so we could eat our lunch in the shade. The food has been surprisingly complex and tasty: omelets, sticky rice, noodles and veggies. We've hiked about 3 hours so far today -- up mountains and through rice fields and jungles of bamboo and banana.
DAY THREE :: 7:26 am
The children are the easiest to make friends with. Excepting the old lady who rolled me a cigarette last night. I sat with her in front of the house, puffing and watching folks go by in the diminishing light.
The balloons and candy we brought were a hit, along with the electricity going on. The whole town (it seemed) crowded like moths around the solitary fluorescent light.
This village, Huay Kok, seems like a city in comparison to the last village. Our host's house has two stories, is made of wood, and has a laminate floor. Still, there is no running water, no toilets, no store...
Last night's "shower" was interesting. They've fixed some bamboo poles (spigots) into the central stream, which serves as the town shower, drinking water, and laundry. They haul water to their homes in buckets fashioned from old motor oil containers. I figured out how to rig my sarong like the other women, to bathe without being naked. It was difficult to enjoy while being stared at intently -- I was part of the evening entertainment.
Dinner was a boiled chicken, Thai style (with Ginger, Garlic, lemongrass, chilies, kafir lime, salt)and the requisite sticky rice. They butchered the chicken for the occasion, and threw every bit into the stew. Erik tried to pass off the foot to me, and as justice would have it, he ended up putting the head on his own plate. The chief's wife brought out a bottle of Lao-Lao (rice whisky) and we drank rounds of shots until the bottle was gone.
(journal excerpts)
DAY ONE :: 12:15 pm
Sing and Bye (our guides) are starting a fire to cook our lunch. Bye sprinkles spices on slabs of red meat, and uses his hands to knead in the flavor. Erik and I sit on narrow logs and wait next to the stream.
Various women and children wander up the mountain from the valley below, and stare curiously. This trail is the only access to the Hmong and Kmu villages we will visit. One woman takes her shirt off non-chalantly, pulls up her skirt, and begins to bathe in the stream next to us...
Sing has placed the meat in the split of a green branch, and secured it with vines. He places it over the fire for cooking.
DAY TWO :: 7:00 am
We spent the night in Pa Pung, a Hmong village of rice farmers, with 25 houses and 100 people.
The chief's wife (our hostess) has been up since 4am. She has not eaten yet (since her dinner of rice and water at 8pm). She has spent the morning quietly slicing roots by the light of an oil lamp (they have no electricity)and grinding them into meal for feeding the pigs. All of her tools (except two metal bowls and two pans for cooking) are handmade, from wood or stone. This house is made of bamboo, with a thatched roof and dirt floor. Greens cook over a fire in the middle of the room. Handwoven basket line the walls. We've stepped back in time.
Chickens eat dried corn near the doorway, and wander through the house avoiding the dogs. Pigs and goats look in on occasion, checking to see if their breakfast is ready.
Erik has been popular with the children -- he held a paper-airplane workshop. The digital camera has been another ice-breaker -- the kids squeal when they see photos of themselves.
2:15 PM
Just awoke from a nap in a bamboo lean-to. The family who was sitting here when we arrived vacated so we could eat our lunch in the shade. The food has been surprisingly complex and tasty: omelets, sticky rice, noodles and veggies. We've hiked about 3 hours so far today -- up mountains and through rice fields and jungles of bamboo and banana.
DAY THREE :: 7:26 am
The children are the easiest to make friends with. Excepting the old lady who rolled me a cigarette last night. I sat with her in front of the house, puffing and watching folks go by in the diminishing light.
The balloons and candy we brought were a hit, along with the electricity going on. The whole town (it seemed) crowded like moths around the solitary fluorescent light.
This village, Huay Kok, seems like a city in comparison to the last village. Our host's house has two stories, is made of wood, and has a laminate floor. Still, there is no running water, no toilets, no store...
Last night's "shower" was interesting. They've fixed some bamboo poles (spigots) into the central stream, which serves as the town shower, drinking water, and laundry. They haul water to their homes in buckets fashioned from old motor oil containers. I figured out how to rig my sarong like the other women, to bathe without being naked. It was difficult to enjoy while being stared at intently -- I was part of the evening entertainment.
Dinner was a boiled chicken, Thai style (with Ginger, Garlic, lemongrass, chilies, kafir lime, salt)and the requisite sticky rice. They butchered the chicken for the occasion, and threw every bit into the stew. Erik tried to pass off the foot to me, and as justice would have it, he ended up putting the head on his own plate. The chief's wife brought out a bottle of Lao-Lao (rice whisky) and we drank rounds of shots until the bottle was gone.
INTRIGUE
(excerpts of a letter from Erik to Ryan Wilson)
Hey Mr. Wilson!
We just got back from a three day trek through some villages in rural Lao. Tomorrow we have to go to a police station to try to convince these guys that, no, we really don't work for the C.I.A., and we're not organizing a Hmong uprising against the government. We went to this little village last night and the host family was getting us loaded on Lao-lao, a local rice whisky. After we were loosened up, these two well dressed outsiders came into the house and started a meeting/interrogation of our two local guides. The meeting got animated in a sinister seeming way, with our guides and hosts flashing us the occasional nervous smile. Everybody was trading shots of lao-lao, and I started getting flash-backs to The Dear Hunter - the part where they play a game of Russian roulette. I noticed that one guy had a gun and some handcuffs. Were they discussing our kidnapping and ransom prices? Drug enforcement agents thinking we were opium traffickers? I couldn't understand anything, but the overall mood seemed to be suspicion over our presence in the village. Our guides told us later that the guys were cops and that they had been staying in the village for a week or so to track who was going into and out of the village - a census thing it seemed. Today these guys escorted us on the five hour hike back to the road. Once at the road, one of the cops told our guide that he had never seen an American passport and wanted to check ours out. Amy had hers, but I didn't have mine. For some reason he wanted to see mine as well. When our tour organizer came to pick us up, he had to stop at two different police stations to explain some things. Amy and I got impatient while we were waiting at the second station, so we bailed and checked into a local hotel. Half an hour later, the organizer tracked us down at our hotel and said we had to go with him back to the police station to show our passports. It turns out that rebels, who had formerly been backed by the C.I.A., have been active in the area and they wanted to check us out to make sure we weren't spooks. An interesting day.
later from lao,
Erik
(excerpts of a letter from Erik to Ryan Wilson)
Hey Mr. Wilson!
We just got back from a three day trek through some villages in rural Lao. Tomorrow we have to go to a police station to try to convince these guys that, no, we really don't work for the C.I.A., and we're not organizing a Hmong uprising against the government. We went to this little village last night and the host family was getting us loaded on Lao-lao, a local rice whisky. After we were loosened up, these two well dressed outsiders came into the house and started a meeting/interrogation of our two local guides. The meeting got animated in a sinister seeming way, with our guides and hosts flashing us the occasional nervous smile. Everybody was trading shots of lao-lao, and I started getting flash-backs to The Dear Hunter - the part where they play a game of Russian roulette. I noticed that one guy had a gun and some handcuffs. Were they discussing our kidnapping and ransom prices? Drug enforcement agents thinking we were opium traffickers? I couldn't understand anything, but the overall mood seemed to be suspicion over our presence in the village. Our guides told us later that the guys were cops and that they had been staying in the village for a week or so to track who was going into and out of the village - a census thing it seemed. Today these guys escorted us on the five hour hike back to the road. Once at the road, one of the cops told our guide that he had never seen an American passport and wanted to check ours out. Amy had hers, but I didn't have mine. For some reason he wanted to see mine as well. When our tour organizer came to pick us up, he had to stop at two different police stations to explain some things. Amy and I got impatient while we were waiting at the second station, so we bailed and checked into a local hotel. Half an hour later, the organizer tracked us down at our hotel and said we had to go with him back to the police station to show our passports. It turns out that rebels, who had formerly been backed by the C.I.A., have been active in the area and they wanted to check us out to make sure we weren't spooks. An interesting day.
later from lao,
Erik
LUANG PRABANG
Herringbong brick walkways lined with terra-cotta lanterns and flowerbeds. Dilapidated French colonial mansions with chickens in yard stand side-by-side with historic temples. 32 of the original 66 built before French colonisation still stand.
The day market: a muddy street swarms with women and children buying vegetables and meat. Baskets of onion, watercress, bamboo, carrots, mint, basil, chilies. Meat and fish vendors stand watch with plastic bags on the end of long sticks -- shoeing flies from their wares. Noodles are served artfully wrapped in banana leaves, secured with a toothpick.
On the main street, women with superb posture and ruffled parasols ride around on mopeds. Tuk-tuk drivers lurk outside guest houses, ready to offer rides to the waterfall and cave.
It is in a lovely setting, encircled by mountains at the confluence of the Khan and Mekong rivers. Phousy hill is in the center of the city, topped with a golden spire and winding trails leading to hidden temples. The hill looks out over jungle to faroff limestone cliffs, shrouded in haze and mystery. All roads lead around the hill and down to the Mekong, which is the main thoroughfare to outlying villages reached by water taxi.
Herringbong brick walkways lined with terra-cotta lanterns and flowerbeds. Dilapidated French colonial mansions with chickens in yard stand side-by-side with historic temples. 32 of the original 66 built before French colonisation still stand.
The day market: a muddy street swarms with women and children buying vegetables and meat. Baskets of onion, watercress, bamboo, carrots, mint, basil, chilies. Meat and fish vendors stand watch with plastic bags on the end of long sticks -- shoeing flies from their wares. Noodles are served artfully wrapped in banana leaves, secured with a toothpick.
On the main street, women with superb posture and ruffled parasols ride around on mopeds. Tuk-tuk drivers lurk outside guest houses, ready to offer rides to the waterfall and cave.
It is in a lovely setting, encircled by mountains at the confluence of the Khan and Mekong rivers. Phousy hill is in the center of the city, topped with a golden spire and winding trails leading to hidden temples. The hill looks out over jungle to faroff limestone cliffs, shrouded in haze and mystery. All roads lead around the hill and down to the Mekong, which is the main thoroughfare to outlying villages reached by water taxi.
6.8.2004
MINI-BUS TO CHIANG KHONG
Solitary golden spire rises from emerald forest
> > >
Man in wide-brimmed hat bicycles past
> > >
Another man in green rubber boots stands with camel-colored cow
> > >
Vehicles beep and pass quickly - an incomprehensible dance where 2 lanes become 3 and then back to two without incident
> > >
Dogs recline on the pavement, aloof and seemingly unaware of the traffic speeding by their heads
> > >
8 saffron-robed monks in the back of a pick-up
+ + + + + + +
SLOW BOAT TO LUANG PRABANG (LAOS)
First day packed in (us and maybe 25 other Westerners), Viv and I on the floor in back, Erik and Lonny way up front, each half a cheek on wooden benches designed for Asian-sized behinds. We pass up their lunches, they pass back the electronic Scrabble.
We were advised to take the slow boat, and now I know why: helmeted passengers bounce past in little speedboats -- deafening mosquitoes. More than a dozen of these passengers die each year. We may be sore, but relatively safe.
The Mekong -- swirling cafe au lait -- boiling eddies and whirlpools swallow volcanic rock. On either side, jungle drips over itself and climbs up steep banks to cloud-covered mountain tops.
It rains, we unroll plastic sheeting to cover the windows. Erik and Lonny may have seats, but no plastic, and hold a pink umbrella to avoid being drenched.
6 hours later we arrive in Pakbeng with numb butts and new friends. Dozens of local boys scramble to grab our packs, hoping we'll pay them to porter up the muddy slope to the guest house 500 yards away.
We are relieved our hotel has the luxury of bathrooms in each room, and towels to boot (not to mention a restaurant with a fantastic open-air view of the Mekong at sunset).
> > > >
Second day, a larger boat, some people even have a seat to themselves.
We pass limestone cliffs > > > a cave with stairs leading to a Buddhist temple > > > Naked children wave and do flips on shore -- vying for our attention > > > Pink water buffalo sip and flap soft ears.
8 hours later, we arrive in Luang Prabang.
+ + + + + + +
SCRABBLE POETRY
(of course, Lonny won, score mercifully undocumented)
wanton
power boner
lofty lover
sledges in mire
aqua idiom
+ + + + + + +
PHYSICS CORNER (I'm obsessed)
You might remember (and I like contemplating), that in 1905 Einstein suggested that time should not be regarded as completely separate and on its own. Instead, it was combined with space, in a 4-dimensional object called space-time. Additionally, gravity, instead of being some invisible force (like magnetism) is the result of a objects following "straight" paths through a space-time curved by objects of mass. Mind blowing.
AND
If you consider quantum mechanics -- objects (particles) do not have just a single history, but all possible histories. I don't know yet what this has to do with gravity, but I know that it relates, and it's fascinating.
Solitary golden spire rises from emerald forest
> > >
Man in wide-brimmed hat bicycles past
> > >
Another man in green rubber boots stands with camel-colored cow
> > >
Vehicles beep and pass quickly - an incomprehensible dance where 2 lanes become 3 and then back to two without incident
> > >
Dogs recline on the pavement, aloof and seemingly unaware of the traffic speeding by their heads
> > >
8 saffron-robed monks in the back of a pick-up
+ + + + + + +
SLOW BOAT TO LUANG PRABANG (LAOS)
First day packed in (us and maybe 25 other Westerners), Viv and I on the floor in back, Erik and Lonny way up front, each half a cheek on wooden benches designed for Asian-sized behinds. We pass up their lunches, they pass back the electronic Scrabble.
We were advised to take the slow boat, and now I know why: helmeted passengers bounce past in little speedboats -- deafening mosquitoes. More than a dozen of these passengers die each year. We may be sore, but relatively safe.
The Mekong -- swirling cafe au lait -- boiling eddies and whirlpools swallow volcanic rock. On either side, jungle drips over itself and climbs up steep banks to cloud-covered mountain tops.
It rains, we unroll plastic sheeting to cover the windows. Erik and Lonny may have seats, but no plastic, and hold a pink umbrella to avoid being drenched.
6 hours later we arrive in Pakbeng with numb butts and new friends. Dozens of local boys scramble to grab our packs, hoping we'll pay them to porter up the muddy slope to the guest house 500 yards away.
We are relieved our hotel has the luxury of bathrooms in each room, and towels to boot (not to mention a restaurant with a fantastic open-air view of the Mekong at sunset).
> > > >
Second day, a larger boat, some people even have a seat to themselves.
We pass limestone cliffs > > > a cave with stairs leading to a Buddhist temple > > > Naked children wave and do flips on shore -- vying for our attention > > > Pink water buffalo sip and flap soft ears.
8 hours later, we arrive in Luang Prabang.
+ + + + + + +
SCRABBLE POETRY
(of course, Lonny won, score mercifully undocumented)
wanton
power boner
lofty lover
sledges in mire
aqua idiom
+ + + + + + +
PHYSICS CORNER (I'm obsessed)
You might remember (and I like contemplating), that in 1905 Einstein suggested that time should not be regarded as completely separate and on its own. Instead, it was combined with space, in a 4-dimensional object called space-time. Additionally, gravity, instead of being some invisible force (like magnetism) is the result of a objects following "straight" paths through a space-time curved by objects of mass. Mind blowing.
AND
If you consider quantum mechanics -- objects (particles) do not have just a single history, but all possible histories. I don't know yet what this has to do with gravity, but I know that it relates, and it's fascinating.
