Holy, Hot, & Here...

So I'm talking to this guy in one of India's great trains covering enormous distances for a penny's price. I find some of his questions a bit intrusive, but hey...it's just him and me chattin' as I look out the door to sounds of an Indian night with glimpses of shadows crossing my viewpath now and again.

Some of our convo was innocent--probably all of it to him--but when he started asking, "How much money do you make in one month?", I really hesitated, cuz if there's one thing I've learned in my lengthy period of SEA, it's that people judge you based on the most silly and superficial things (ie. white=ATM..."where's your button?"). So I told him what I made in S. Korea and he said--to my relief--that's not much for your country, is it? I didn't correct him on the place of employment and offerred, "no, not much at all." He asked on and on, and more questions about why I'm not married, where I was headed and why...you know the usual. I was happy when he turned away, but came to realize that all of our "private conversation" at that moment, became a public anouncement to the entire train car I was in.

I overheard every 5th word (in understandable English) was something I had said, and he left nothing out, quick to explain how little I made in comparison to the rest of my countrymen, and on and on...I was a bit shocked, though I don't know why I didn't expect it.

Then the moment of pure laughter hit me full on as he turned from his audience of 30ish towards me with a great smile and said, "actually, they all want to know if you wash your clothes, or just wear them once and throw them away." I'm still laughin!

I looked down at my apparel and realized I had kinda let things go...ahhh, yeah, really let things go. Though, to my defense, I always wear the same "warrior shirt", which is my lucky, travel shirt that's quite dirty and thus, no worry about sleepin' in bus/train stations, steppin' in who knows what, etc. I told him, "no, I don't just wear them once and throw them away...I'm not MAD!" I tried to explain this concept of a ritual shirt I put on b4 I embark on a journey, but pulled back mid-swing realizing the futility of my argument...the fact was, I was beyond recognition...I was filthy!

Varanasi was a place as special as anyone could and has described it. Every morning people from the town and those from far, far away come to dip into the holiest of rivers, La Ganga--Ganges as it's known to the west--starting at 5am when the sun is just waking up and on till 7am when it's a bit too hot to be out there. Daily ablutions, cleansing away all sin and unholy is a daily event that no matter how many times you see it, doesn't fail to exhalt you to the spiritual level embodied in the act.

I rented a boat with a Chilean guy I met along the way and we snapped a load of shots, none of which give the setting its proper loft. The peace of being rowed on mama ganga instead of some outrigger blowin' smoke was refreshing at 5am.



There are 2 ghats (steps down to Ganga) where photo-taking is prohibited due to the spirituality of the burning of the bodies. This is what Varanasi is known for, I suppose.

A few facts: People will fly their loved ones to this holy city just to have them burned in this holiest of cities. The body must be burned within 6 hours of declared death. 5 types of people are not allowed to be burned: Holy people (priests, sadhus, etc.), children, pregnant women, lepers (considered a holy sign from God), and people having been bitten by cobras (which is considered a holy creature, thanks to Shiva). Only the lowest caste can burn the bodies; this class called "The Untouchables" and once the body has been burned, a bit of the ashes are cast into the river. For those aforementioned, unable to be burned, a "casket" (really a raft made of banana trees) is constructed and the body is put atop, and the casket is sent down the Ganga. It takes no less than 150kg (~330lbs) of hardwood (special from a forest far away) to burn one body...no less than, right? Each kilo costs around $2-4US (depending on you ask) and thus makes for quite the cremation cost. There's an eerie building right by the main burning ghat, full of old people just waiting to die. Remember, it's a real privilege to die in Varanasi.

The colors of Varanasi, ignited by the radiant sun were what really stain my memory.

From there, I made way to Agra which is known for the world's most perfect man-made monument, The Taj Mahal. According to skeptical legend, Shah Jahan dedicated this massive marble monument to his beloved wife, Mahal. I checked it from behind and from inside...both render great eye-candies.

The monument is truly breathtaking--as is the cost of entrance--and one can pass several hours easily strolling around. The clouds came out on the day I chose, and due to current, unpredictable rain patterns, I chose not to risk the next day. My pics show a fraction of its grandeur.

While in Agra, the temp topped 109F, though weather professionals--who?--said the "realfeel" was closer to 115F; it felt no less than that 2 me on my rented, rusted bicycle. Though this was the hottest of all days, it's been no less than 100F the entire week in Varanasi and Agra, w/ "realfeel"s bein' 2 stupid 2 cite. My clothes have finally been cleansed w/ the holiest of water (aka. Ganga) of their sweat-stains, thanks 2 the comment by train car S3, and I'm finally chillin' in the foothills of the Himalayas; in the town of retreats, Rishikesh.

Photo Pholder: Check out a new pic site from Picasa since the crappy Yahoo Photos is shutting down in the fall...ahh, don't know what's gonna happen to all those photos; kinda sad, considering I erased many of them, thinking I'd have eternal copies online. I've only one album currently, but the format is soooo much better than that of YP; check it--India.

Muzic: The most recent of The Decemberists, "The Crane Wife" has a bloody depressing intro, but quickly moves into all sorts of arrangements, which at times seem a bit non-cohesive. It's still good quality music none-the-less, and certain tracks can't find there way out me skull.

Reads: Rushdie ceases NOT to amaze me with "Midnight's Children"...still! I don't know if there's a better book to read while travelling thru India. He interposes an amazing amusement portrayed thru his deft capacity with the English language between a rich, familial story and Indian history told in a very interesting fashion. It's substantial, it's worth anyone's time...again, I plug this great Indian Author...get anything of his!

Initiating India...

Calcutta, City of Crows:

The door to the plane has opened and the stair-ramp has been pulled up. I step out to a dead frog the size of a squashed grapefruit, which describes the frog as well...just laying there on the stairway platform. There are only a number of ways it could've got there; I'm thinking..."Magnolia".

So many other things I saw that first day in Kolkata (Calcutta) on my way from the airport to my hotel. It started with 2 taxi drivers price gouging eachother to get my fare--you're not EVER likely 2C this happen in Asia, then it was cows window shopping on the sidewalk, a woman picking up "fresh" (read, wet n' malodorous) cow feces with her bare hands and, in an artistic fashion, slopping it upon a tree where there were some 50 other dollops--her way of getting closer to God I guess cuz in India, the cow really is Holy. However, the urine baking stink and infinite beggars didn't slap me as hard as I thought they would.

Kata is known 4 being one the poorest places in India; and the fact does not escape anyone's first-hand perception. The city of 13-16 million is encumbered with countless hungry and homeless people, and it is extremely filthy with smells that'll take away any hungry the heat might spare you.

I took this 4 da crows...just

happened to be a pisser in there

It's been so long since I've looked at a dog and felt as sad and sorry for a creature of this planet than when I've seen the mutts languidly lying, listlessly limbless...wow, they are seriously strugglin'. Of course, Mother Theresa, of Calcutta, has probably brought Kata to more attention than anyone or anything else and in deed, there were heaps of Japanese and Korean volunteers staying in my guesthouse that were volunteering for the new mother. According to several "street dwellers" she's a right bitch.

She kinda looks it

I was suprised to find myself a bit nervous about tasting the street food and drink of Kolkata; surprised not because I thought the city would be cleaner, rather because I've been on the road for so long and I've taken many "risks" regarding street eats with no probs. However, after seeing enough people drinking chai--Indian tea with condensed milk--from unwashed cups of street vendors. My buddy Andy comments, "Indians aren't really into the whole soap thing." So I took the plunge and really went for it soaking up chai with random roti and dahl in a less-than-populated backstreet alleyway that one most surely wouldn't make their initial encounter; I'd had enough of observing. I finished and jumped up with as much zest as the Hot-as-Hades Heat allowed me, hoping the hot wouldn't find my nether side.

For me, Kolkata--linked with the aforementioned ravenous creature due to its unexpected multitudiness crow population, unexpected 2 me anyway--was a great intro to the massive sub-continent that will occupy my mind, spirit, and every cc of patience and peacefulness I've ever accumulated.

I met some really good peeps while in Paragon Hotel of Sudder St. and one of those, Yuhe (Jap) wanted to go the same direction as I. However, he didn't have a ticket so he thought he'd get one at the station. When we arrived, he went to the tik counter and I had agreed to meet him at a designated place. I waited too long and ended up rushing off to platform 22, which the big neon sign-board said held my train. I throw my bag up to my allocated seat/bunk number with people's unapproving nods and disdainful glances--nothing new 2 me--and nobody mentioned that there was no room. I double checked the list on the car of the train and saw my name wasn't there, but surely it was a third world goof. Meanwhile, Yuhe is nowhere to be seen and I think, he's either goofed on the platform or didn't get a ticket. I take my time and indulge in a mango I'd bought earlier, and it finally hits me that maybe I'M in the wrong train/platform and not Yuhe. I throw my mango peel, jump up and while shoving my ticket in strangers faces, ask shamelessly if this is the right train, etc. In fact, it's going to South India, NOT the north...holy hell! I jump back in, grab my over-weighted pack and thrust myself out the door, running like a maniac to platform 9 which seems 2B on the other side of India.

I'm flippin' and floppin' and makin' hell-a-racket in my sandals with everyone's gaze for, let's call it 250 meters; but keep in mind my maniacal sprint is thru the maze of a billion Indians side-stepping me. Go ahead, picture this silly scene: me with a 60lb. turtle shell on my back, another 20lbs. in my black bag in front (from turtle to teletubby instantly), ticket scrunched in hand yelling "Where's platform 10, platform 10!???!" I must've looked like a str8 shooter boy, but in the end I didn't give a holy shit dollop on a tree's trunk; I had made it. Yuhe's lookin' at me with big Jap eyes--as big as they can get; sooo unPC :P --sayin' "sorry, sorry, I couldn't find you."

A beautiful Brazilian girl was sitting right beside my numbered seat--go figure the ONE time an attractive female is sitting next to me is the time that I'm sweating profusely with sticky mango fingers and hair-gone-wild--yet we started up a great chat about all sorts of things that made us both smile and nod at "first considerations" until we were called to get up and vacate the make-shift beds of others. Good night and goodbye sort of thing as she was getting off 6 hours b4 me.

Muzic: I'm lovin' the trio of girls from Brooklyn called Au Revoir Simone that me home-spatch Mark tapped me into. The link is to their myspace page and there are several songs that sample their melodic musing that draws your ears to these girls' gorgeous gills..."let the sun shine...to show us that tomorrow is eventual."--from "The Lucky One".

Reads: Finished a very entertaining "Scar Tissue" autobio by Anthony Kiedis. I didn't enter such dark portals involving drugs as he did, but it was really great to see how he defied so many odds to come out of the scene alive and continues to make great music. A great many memories of mine have RHCP in the background; surely you'll agree mac and Z with our college pad parties on 11th St.

After that, I pushed through a classic that many of you have told me to pick up; "The Alchemist", of Paulo Cohelo which I've already read, but had the op 2 read it again. So I bulled thru it in an hour and a half b4 I left. I did pick up other things that I hadn't the first time, but I have to say--prob 2 the disappointment of many that begged me to read it--that it was a bit too heavy on the human drama, and I also felt it simplified too much...but that's just my opinion. I have to agree with Julian's assessment; PC is trying to be a contemporary Herman Hesse...suerte che!

Victoria Mounument

I arrived to one of the most ancient cities, and the holiest, in India...it's aura is nothing short of astral and transcending. Pics and anecdotes 2 come l8r.

For now...if ya want to acquaint yourself with a fascinating storyteller whose anecdotes regard the current country I'm in and the people, I think you'd do yourself a favour if you picked up "Midnight's Children" by Salmon Rushdie. I've just started it and though the first 25 pages were a bit slow getting into, he's an amazing author. You won't regret getting this book and I'm not even to page 50 yet. If it's accolytes you want, this book won the booker of the bookers awards in 1993; if your rebelious, he's had books banned in many countriesAnd whatever you do, don't call this my attempt at forming a "book club"!

Languid in Laos

"Y conocer...
que la vida, no termina
donde vos lo es...
ser asi no cuesta nada."

Reads: I've done loads of page turning, starting with "Paradise of the Blind" by Thu Huong Duong that NYC Mark lent to me some time ago...forgot about that one didn't you? This was a book about the delicate nature of Vietnam, its people, culture, and the "Communist Reform" and it's lack of clemency on the petite bourgeoisie and the utter mechanistic form that communism takes on when put into practise. Then I went from "Chasing Cezzane" by Peter Mayle that had me laughing several times out loud and "Man and Boy" by Tony Parsons which was sad with a splash of laugh on life...but definately more sad. Then I picked up a book after crossing the Mekong into Thailand called, "Mekong" by Paul Adirex (American pen name of Thai author) about the MIAs in Laos and a number of other very memorable things I learned in Laos. It's a great overview of some of the culture, the history, the legends, and the territory that I've only brushed through; however some of the dialogue reads like a teenage detective novel which has me thinking that I'll surely put it down b4 I finish it...just 2 many other great books that I'm carrying around, ie. 2 much weight. And yep, as I return to this posting I confirm I've laid it down as well as a story that many of you may have seen on the cinema screen; "The Remains of the Day" by Kazuo Ishiguro.

Photo Pholder: Lil' bit of Laos is the only folder I've put up, cuz my photo opportunities have been less than rewarding due to rain, smoke (slash n' burn), and right moments. Besides that, I really can't be bothered to take my camera out anymore. Call me jaded...I'm sick of temples, sick of caves, and sick of waterfalls--guess I'm in the wrong part of the world ;) Anyway, wander thru some temples, some faces, some rivers, and what not if ya'd like. For me, the joy is in the faces of the village children and elderly.

Music: I returned to some of my favorites of summer 2005--Atlanta, primarily Bright Eyes, Death Cab For Cutie, Matt Pond PA (kicks ass!!!) Dios Malos, The Mountain Goats, Iron and Wine, The Stars, and CYHSY's first album. Then I had some good "me" moments with some old friends, Babasonicos and their Infame album.

Film: Saw "Apocolypto" by the aussie, Mel and was super impressed with the acting; great capacity to express emotions of life. Later I saw "Little Miss Sunshine" on a bus ride thru Thailand, so couldn't really see all of it; seemed decent.

Laos was a load of loungin', lazin' and laughin''; in short it was well needed and the "right time" for me to see it. Having said that, I didn't really have any amazing moments that warrant retelling. Laos was, to me, a country where I met a load of fantastic (in the literal sense) people with even more fantastic stories. Just a few that are noteworthy:

In Vientiane I climb the stairs and see 2 blokes working on their bikes with a couple bottles of beers to assuage the sticky, unrelenting heat and I ask, "Hey guys, whatcha up2?" Briefly, they flew from their home country of Belgium to Hanoi with their bikes. They're gonna ride back home. Yeah, that's Vietnam to Belgium on bike...pretty evil task guys...best of L.

In Muang Ngoi Neua I met Rocky...this fkn guy is a character; typical English--he's got the charm to say just about anything and still, it come across as classy. He exudes true ability to tell stories like the uncle I never had and the one some of you may become (Kyle Kilness, Zach Eliopolus). Furthermore, he's just got/had balls the size of jackfruits.

He started his travel only after working in an England Shoppe when some Scot walks in and tries to sell him something; "Someone's always tryin' to sell ya something right?" Brooms, Telephone Cards, KNIVES!" But this fine chap was selling fake £100 notes; the deal was buy £1000 for just £250. So our friend Rocky shells out 250 thinking, "with this weeks wages and the extra £1000, I can nab a ticket to India." He gets that ticket and proceeds to embark on the most scandalous of all travelling accounts. He begins by selling his traveller's cheques on the black market in someone elses name--that's right his cheques in another's name--then calls AMEX to claim they were stolen. He takes his stolen money with the real TC money and commences to talk to other traveller's on the street...just anyone who will stop and listen. "Hey mate, do you use traveller's cheques? yeah?!?" So after a convincing arrangement, he took these people's traveller's cheques and cashed them himself (this was some time ago, obviously, because in Laos' black market no one asked to see his passport) then used that money to buy passports off of foreigners and sell them to a market for loads of money. He ended up with a whole hell of a lot of money; around $9000US on a month's scams.

But the thing is that the highest note up until just recently was worth only $2US, so he had 3 bags full of these tiny bills under the bed of his dorm which just happened to be turned into an opium den by the owner in exchange for not ratting on Rocky. The problem was that Rocky had a shitload of Kip (Laos currency) and no one wanted (and still doesn't want) Kip so he had to somehow get rid of all this money he had "earned". He ran into a Japanese guy who told him of getting an airline to allow an exchange of Kip for dollars by jumping several formality hoops--basically, another scam. He went to the counter, filled in as many names and passport numbres as he could remember and was told to come back in 3 days; enuf time for the money to be sent from Vientiane to Luang Prabang. His perseverance led him to behind an alley where he damn near dropped all the bags and ran, provoked by a paranoia (surely due to loads of drugs) that Interpol had finally caught up with him. In fact, it was a counting room where he got the boatload of money after which he fled the country and continued to India where money was spent and more stories conspired. He was deported from India...ahh, it just goes on.

In Pakse, while I was sick with some lil' bug I met this Dutchman who went into the jungle on a motorbike that he rented. He just drove for hours and found several little roads that went into jungle villages and he stopped and tried to mingle with the locals; he couldn't speak Laos, surely couldn't speak their dialect and of course these people couldn't speak Dutch nor English. Several days/attempts later, they finally agreed to "let" him sleep in their village. He saw the kids climb up trees and catch birds for to cook and eat. Then he saw the men head off into the village to hunt; they demanded he NOT come. He swore that these people thought he was a magician or something; "If I had told them it was going to rain tomorrow, they would've believed me with their life." The men came back and cooked up their catch, a nice meaty macaque. Of course, he couldn't be rude and refuse, so he indulged (if one could muster that) in the monkey and found himself voilently feverish, with wrenching stomach aches, etc. He swore it was malaria, but after returning, he found it was just something he ate.

In Muang Sing, I met this Frenchman Chirard, who 20 years ago hitch-hiked from San Fran to NYC and back in 6 months. He stayed with a family in Iowa and helped them on a farm. Then he did the same thing in Utah..."yikes!" I said (as I'm sure you all did), but he said it was actually a great experience...as one would say. He said it was so easy back then, and people were so friendly. "Yeah, a LOT has changed since then my friend", I told him.

Also in Muang Sing, I met this Crazy Canadian (sorry 2B redundant) Christine who has been away for a couple years following random people and doing random things. It totally fits this chick if you saw her for a minute, no more. In Laos, she was helping this band Cyclown Town follow around a local group who was performing at carnivals...so she yes...became a carny for several weeks. She had some music to share that was orchestrated by the aforementioned band, comprised of 2 Americans (accordian and violin), an Italian, a Frenchman, an Argentinian, and someone else. They made some crazy carni noise that wasn't all unbearable. She enjoyed my Clap Your Hands Say Yeah intro from the first album.

I found my way into some lovely totally chilled out villages that embodied picturesque, though the photos don't show it thanks to slash and torch.


Muang Ngoi Neau

Phonsavon: Remnants of U.S. bombing in "The Secret War"

And some unfortunate villages that soaked the havoc that heavy bombing can inflict. An amazingly interesting man in Kongkeo that told me so much of this little known (in my country) disaster that was a subsequent disaster of Vietnam. This village used so much of the scrap found for random things, like this fence made from torpedo shellings. In my photo album you also see a bird house made from a jeep's remains, and another torpedo shell made into a trough for the animals.

Finally, I met this old Akha lady who tried to sell me everything...I mean everything man. She was so cute with her wrinkly old skin, red-stained gums and no teeth, eyes that saw a thousand lifetimes, and smile that made anyone who looked at her hold nothing but affection. This was the lady who kneeled down discreetly, nudged me, and said, "hey...how much? 20,000kip, okay." I looked in her plastic sack and saw that she had picked up a rock the cheeky granny. I loved her to death and we laughed till my growin' gut ached. I bought some other stuff off of her and will only be a stain in her fractured memory, but even for that I feel a bit fortunate.

"mama" on the right"

So that's just the few I remember at this session of posting, but I know that throughout my life, random attacks of laughter will surface when these and other memories are ignited by the most irrelevant events.

The Sum: Entered Laos via 4000 Islands and left on a bus climbing a pass that had to crawl over more than 4000 pieces of coal thrown over the road by a jack-knifed rig, whose driver was grateful of my inferior 1st-aid skills; though the entire bus that waited 4 me was less than grateful with all the horn-honking and shouting to get back on the bus. And everything in between was just sippin' Beerlao on rivers and riversides, burning all sorts of local products, trying to force down the local whiskey/fire water, and baguettes...ahh, the baguettes. This is the only thing the French left in Laos that was good...that's not entirely true, but I'll leave others to correct me.

For the most part, Laos was a month where I fell into a lull of travelling. This is absolutely common and not 2B confused with "Times up!--Abort mission!!!" panic. It was the perfect country in which to relax, soak up the lovely loafin' that Laotians do, and enjoy life in its only moment, the present. I did, and I got over the lull. I'm so excited to get into India right now...the chaos, the culture, the chilly climate in the north, the constant calamity of sights to see...oh, I'm sooo over the lull!

Currently, back in Thailand getting my Indian Visa and sorting out an expesive flight; the latter of which I'm thrilled. Bangkok is so up to its throat in idiots, that I've stopped trying to understand their inability to understand...ass-clowns abound! The real pain is spending more time on the toilet than in front of world renown food...but I'll spare you any more visuals--hahaha, damage already done! Just 2 days remaning which will be me buying gear for too much money, but people pay in one way or another, I suppose.

Julian just left for the same country; Andy is sitting beside me, having just recovered from too many party favours in Laos; Ian is with 2 girls doing the work of 2 men, and I am loving that somehow 3 guys I met in the most random places--J, on the border of E. Timor/Indonesia, Andy, in Friendly's Gsthouse (Manila), and Ian, in Kalibo (Ati-Atihan)--all have come full circle to enjoy each other's banter and natural chemistry again. I really do feel I've been shambolic in telling about these characters...you'd all luv 2 hear anecdotes about our memories made--let's save that for when we all gather round a table full of sudsy beers and movin' muzic...LET'S!