Dave the Nomad

The past few weeks of lightning speed travel has been a seemingly fast forwarded version of my trip. The looming end to my world trip often finds me preoccupied with thoughts of home and returning to a semi-permanent lifestyle. I’m currently on a 44-hour long ferry from Shanghai to Japan collecting my thoughts on China as we skim along the clear blue sea.

China’s large cities are minor variations of each other. Beijing is like Shanghai, but not, and Shanghai is like Hong Kong, but not quite, and so on. The yuan profits of the ‘made in China’ export army are thrown around with excess in these Special Economic Zones, eerily cosmopolitan places capable of being in any developed country. Thankfully, the back-street charm of these cities still came alive with a walk down unknown and untidy streets to ad-hoc markets and awe-struck stares.

Only in China have I felt like the tourist attraction. I decided to climb Tai Shan, the holiest mountain in Taoism en route from Shanghai to Beijing. Oddly, this beautiful mountain town is hidden from most foreigners itineraries. As I climbed on clean cut stairs through manicured hillsides, engraved rocks, and graceful slopes, I felt like there was something missing….it was my fellow foreign traveler. As I neared the top of almost 7000 steps and the respective mountaintop, I was fully aware of my status as the token foreigner, the throngs of coordinated hats, flags, and families pulsed past me as I took a photo. A timid group of teenagers approached me and asked for a photograph, ten minutes later I entertained my final consecutive request for a photo and continued hiking around the enclave of mountain-top temples. Later, outside Tiannamen Square I was again posing with babies, and sheepish elderly couples. The switch of roles was a great perspective change; flattering in its scarcity and overwhelming in overzealous repetition.

As with many reminiscent thoughts, my opinion of Beijing finds the good moments washing away the lurid memories of head-ache inducing pollution, pungent wafts of stinky tofu, and incessant traffic. I had a great time abandoning my map and meandering through the maze of corridors of the Forbidden City connecting the many gardens and palaces. I spent the next day strolling through the Summer Palace; the Chinese version of the Palace of Versailles. The larger than life complex is beautifully set on a hillside with moats, ponds, and an impressively large mucky green lake. Yet, something was odd about all of these spectacles, an aura of fake Disneyland oozed from everything. The word ‘reconstruction’ has a different meaning in China; preservation and precision are extra credit options if time allows once the concrete is poured and the paint is un-lovingly applied.

Based on my experiences with skyscrapers and cookie cutter history China, I was looking for something a bit more down to earth and unscathed by modernism. I stumbled upon an advertisement for a “Secret Great Wall Tour,” and decided however cliche, it would be my best chance at seeing a portion of the Great Wall unsaved from nature’s revenge. Early the next morning, I piled into a small minivan with a handful of other like-minded people, sweated through a stop-start dance out of the city, and halted in a small village in Heibi province to pick-up an old lady. A few miles down the road we were unceremoniously ushered out of our vehicle and told to start following our guide. After a half hour of hiking through brush land covered hills, a dilapidated, yet grandiose, wall stood before us. For the next three hours we hiked to our hearts content along the unpreserved, untouched, and wildly overgrown wall. Happily tired, our guide brought us down a different path back into town and ushered us into a small restaurant for a local all-vegetarian lunch spread.

Although there is a plethora of different lifestyles in China including Muslims and vegetarians, there remains a phrase I knew I would have to test, “if it moves, it is eaten.” Small roadside squatters sold anything from toads, frogs, eels, and odd fish, to ornate skin-designed peaches and the delicious Peking duck. My only experiences with odd eats so far on this trip was a small assortment of fried bugs, and a whole tarantula in Phom Phenh. The surprisingly tasty, albeit extra crunchy, arachnid left me open to trying more. The night food market in Beijing, infamous for bizarre eats, was to be the true proving grounds. The menu follows:

After a night of apologizing to my stomach with no real adverse side effects I found myself returning to Shanghai to catch my ferry, happy to leave, and excited to return. I only tasted a sliver of this massive country, and encountered a small sub-section of its population. My coastal, mainly big city, tour of China was a good experience, but I find myself longing to return to the far reaches of this modern empire, to the ancient relics and hidden valleys. For now, I will continue to sway across the water on our ferry.

Many people have heard of Angkor Wat, but what they don’t realize is this is just one religious building in a massive complex of ancient ruins, dwarfing places like Pompei or the Taj Mahal. As I had mentioned, I met up with Pat and Mary in Siem Reap, and we caught up on life and travels over a few beers. They planned to get up early to watch sunrise over Angkor Wat. I passed, and decided to sleep. I bought a three day pass to the ruins, and used every minute of it.

On the first day, I rented a bicycle for a few dollars and headed off in the general direction of the temples. After about 10 km of small road biking I somehow entered the park on a back road. Unfortunately, this doesn’t help as they check your ticket before entering each temple. I backtracked to the entrance gate, and met a group of people who ran into the same problem as me. We biked back to the temples, and made Angkor Wat our first stop.

Angkor Wat is a phenomenal structure. Before you can see the Wat you stare at the impressively large moat surrounding the symmetrical complex. Although I expected the towers to be twice as high, the place is still very impressive with inner layer after inner layer of intricate carvings and vast Bas reliefs. We went back to our bikes and set off for the Royal Center of Angkor after a solid haggling by the 10-year-old business gauntlet.

The scorching heat was tolerable, but it left us guzzling water, and wanting to get back on the bikes just to get some moving air. We wanted to see as many of the different temples as possible without getting overdose, which we commonly referred to as “templed-out.” We had just visited the Bayon which is distinct from the other ones thanks to its several meter high faces staring in the cardinal directions.

We wanted to visit Ta Prohm next, but made a very impromptu stop at a newer looking temple with a large Buddha statue. The monks told us it was only 20 years old. Off to the side we noticed a family sitting on a small stone balcony getting absolutely soaked by a monk as he chanted and threw bowl after bowl of water on them. A few of the younger monks were happy to entertain our questions about wha was happening. He explained the ritual was part of the Cambodian New Year. Once a year families come to the temple to be blessed for good luck in the coming year.

Then they asked us if we wanted to do it. After several hours of sweaty biking, the decision was simple, and 15 minutes later it was our turn to be soaked. We gave our cameras to the monks, and proceeded to get soaked by the eldest monk. It was refreshing, and hard to keep a straight face as the monk paparazzi took more pictures than I had the whole day. It was a great experience, and a refreshing change from the tourism machine in which we were immersed.

The following day, I decided to get a tuk-tuk with Sheri to see the other temples, including Ta Prohm which was the backdrop of Lara Croft Tombraider. The bizarre and exotic roots climbing through and around the ruins were absolutely stunning. Besides this highlight, I was starting to get templed out. After convening with the other we decided to visit two temples much farther away on the third day. One of these was created entirely by women, and is believed to be the origin of Khmer culture. The other is carved into the banks of a small stream with a waterfall.

The first temple we visited was sadly, packed with tourist buses, and hard to find a quiet place to stare at the beautiful carvings. They said women built it because there’s no way a man could give such attention to detail to each piece. A bit jilted by the temple, we had higher hopes for the waterfall temple.

The waterfall temple had a much more promising start, as there were only a few tuk-tuks in the parking lot. We hiked for about 20 minutes up the hillside and found ourselves at a small stream with some carvings and linga carved into the surrounding stone. The trickle of water was disappointing, and there were no building to be found. Thankfully, the waterfall was perfect. We promptly jumped in the water to cool off and relax. Although it was the dry season, there was enough water to give you a good back massage, butterflies flickered around the sun spots on the rocks, and small fish swam around the trash free pools. It was a good end to the temple sight-seeing. I was happy to find a few things off the beaten path here, and it really helped make this a great experience.

Pokhara, hub of the Annapurna circuit trail, home to picturesque views and Tibetan refugees, is the last destination my Dad and I will share in our world travels. In the early 70s Pokhara wasn’t a hot tourist destination, there was hardly a speck of the tourism hub it has become. While talking with my Dad before leaving he told me about one particular day he was walking around a nearby field and happened to hear a waterfall in the distance. To his surprise he found the hole where the river vanished underground. He couldn’t tell how deep it was to the bottom, but said it was something he wished he could have investigated in more depth.

I’ve been in Pokhara for several days, and after detoxing from the Kathmandu pollution, I was ready to take on some adventurous hiking. I was holding out for the clouds to dissipate in order to have a great view of the Annapurna Himalaya Range at sunrise. Today was my last day in town, so I decided I would finally go even if I didn’t have a good view. I casually mentioned I was walking up to the World Peace Pagoda to watch sunrise to a young women, An, I met the night before. She asked if she could join me as they advise women against walking there alone due to theft problems. I told An I was going to take the boat across the lake at 6 am, not knowing if she would be up for an early morning start.

I arrived at the boat terminal a few minutes late to find An sitting on the steps waiting for me. We hired a canoe to take us to the trailhead, and were silently paddled across the tranquil lake. The hike to the pagoda was harder than I expected, considering I was just trekking at high altitude for nearly two weeks. We walked around the peace pagoda in true peace as we were too early for the young hawkers, but sadly only a tiny glimpse of the mountain peaks was visible. I told An I wanted to see the waterfalls my Dad had described on the other side of the hill, and she said she would join me for the exploring. As I had come to find out, the waterfalls have become a major attraction, named after a Mrs. Devis who fell down them in the 1960s bathing just upstream of them. We also found out there was a cave across the street you could enter to see behind the falls.

An and I decided to check out the cave first, and then walk over to the falls. We were ushered down a corridor lined with shopkeepers selling us a wide variety of Tibetan handicrafts and other assorted souvenirs. The cave entrance was a manicured concrete descent into the limestone below, but the ticket salesman said there was no power now for lights. It happened that both of us had flashlights with us. After a few moments of staring at our flashlights in disbelief, we were allowed to enter. A wedding procession started to come down as we entered, at which point I guess they had enough business to warrant firing up the generator and our flashlights weren’t needed by the time we were in the cave.

There are two parts to the cave, the first being a stalagmite in the shape of Shiva where pictures were not allowed, and the second part the steps down behind Devis Falls, where we were free to carouse. As we went into the cave we were told to go under a sign that said, “Cow Shadow,” politely we started winding into a small spiraling walkway until reaching the center where an attendant sat with a small box. He explained to us that this lignam was a place worshipers gave offerings of milk, and now we could do the same for 10 Rs…. except the new technicolor advanced version of this involved buying a small marble which the attendant dropped down a tube. This would cause the multi-colored lights in the ceiling to light up, and more importantly spout milk out of the udders of a plastic cow about 4 feet in height. Content with the ridiculous proposition, we made a high-tech milk offering, but no milk came out with the 5 second light and sound show. The attendant dropped a few more marbles with no luck, grabbed a small wire crawled under the cow and started clearing the udders until milk came out and he was shouting, “See! See! Milk Offering! Milk! Milk!” As respectfully as possible we left the winding “cow shadow” to get on with the cave tour.

Unsurprising, the Shiva Stalagmite was less spectacular, and we quickly took off for the bottom of the falls. The cave was simple, but the crevice where the falls peaked out with a beam of sunlight was spectacular. I found it ironic that after so many miles of traveling, I was looking at the same falls as my Dad from about the most opposite side possible. I waded out in the calf deep shallows and looked up as high as possible at the falls. After sitting and enjoying the cool cave temperatures and calm pools, my curiosity got the better of me, and we decided to check out an unlit part of the cave.

As we were marveling at the reappearance of the river below us, several pools of water were being scoped out by some locals. They were spotting a fish and loudly whispering back and forth. We saw some more people up another section with flashlights and decided to check it out. The two men we had just seen came by us and asked if we wanted to explore the cave, and we said, “Yes, but how far does it go?” They told us it was about 1.5 km and “outside new exit, no inside return.” They also had a backpack filled with candles and flashlights and quickly upgraded our lights as we started to climb through the cave.

As we continued, they kept spotting fish with their lights, the older guy constantly was running ahead of us and shouting to his friend. They were fascinated with the fish, some of which were easily 3 to 4 feet in length. It took some prodding but we eventually found out they come here to catch fish for food. We laughed and kept walking until we started to hear the bats.

After a few more minutes of walking we could see the cave entrance, and the massive bat colony which was occupying the heightened alcove of the cave. Noticing the guano covered floor I consciously kept my head down until we got to clear ground before looking up. There were so many bats flying around, they had made their own air current…which sadly kept wafting the acrid smell of the guano to my nose. We finally pressed through the colony and into the open air which was surrounded by high unstable cliffs. We took the moment while actually looking face to face to make introductions and ask them a few questions.

The older man, Bukun, has lived in the Tibetan Settlement near the falls since 1962. He doesn’t even speak Nepali well, and relied on Golinda to translate. Golinda is a Pokhara native who owns a nearby shop, and had a good command of English. He told us he was happy to show us the cave since he knows it, and didn’t want us to explore on our own and possibly be lost without any light. I asked Golinda how they went fishing, he responded by reaching into his ever trusty bag and pulling out a sickle. He told us they sit by the edge and wait for them to get close enough, or try to corner them. Certainly a different style of fishing, but apparently effective enough to keep them coming back to the cave every week or so.

Content with our trusty guides, we started to hike out of the river overflow. They, like the tourists at the cave entrance don’t go inside the caves during the monsoon season, which has spectacularly carved the loose soil and limestone around us. As we hiked out, An slipped off the steep trail. Golinda grabbed her wrist as she fell, and I turned around in time to help pull her up as she had no footing below her. We slowed down our pace for the rest of the climb up and emerged at the far end of the Tibetan Settlement.

The Tibetan Settlement here is vastly different from when my Dad visited it, instead of being fenced off from the Nepali population with nothing to do, they had a functional school, housing, and were allowed to interact with others while trading handicrafts. After a brief stop at Golinda’s shop for some refreshments, Bukun insisted we come see his home. He pointed to the H#60 above his doorway as we were ushered into the living room. An felt compelled to buy some things in return for their hospitality and saving her at the cliff’s edge, so some handicrafts were bought and we sat in Bukun’s living room with his son. Bukun’s son, Prabhu was timid at first, but we bonded over the football on TV and his Michael Jordan jersey. Once he became comfortable with our presence he showed us his sketches, football clippings, athletic certificates, sports magazines, and American pop lyrics. After looking at school certificates for ten minutes he started playing Enrique Inglesias’ Greatest Hits for us. Prabhu and his sister Dawa were great athletes and two of the smartest children in school; Bukun had a proud smile on his face. We were happy to visit Bukun’s family, but knew it was time to depart from H#60.

Our final stop was the top of Devis Falls. Nowadays it would be hard to stumble upon the falls as there is an admission gate, gardens, and wishing well. I wandered down the concrete path and marveled at the waterfall as it disappeared below us. My natural reaction was to lean over the side of the railing as far as I could; much like when I was 4 years old at the zoo again, desperately wanting to see more, …. except this time I knew what was at the bottom.

An and I went back to town and sat on the edge of the lake to watch sunset over a once again calm and peaceful lake. Watching men set fishing nets and tourists landing after paragliding, I was sad to see such a place tainted with concrete and gasping tourists. I suddenly started thinking of all the attractions I have seen on my trip and started to wonder what they looked like before we made them into the monstrosities they have become… I relaxed and realized how beautiful this place still was. I was still in disbelief of the adventure we had today, but with some fear of my own adventure in the cave being exploited in future years I hope others will caution themselves to keep similar small adventures small and off the pages of guidebooks and tourist maps. Today would not have been such a perfect day without the genuine help of the underground fishermen.

PS Ive been able to finally upload some videos from my trip. Check more of them out on the Photos/ Video tab!

Gokyo

Its only when I start to write this I realize I’ve been traveling for exactly six months. The last 7 days have involved hiking from Lukla, Nepal through a lush mountain valley, acclimating in Namche Bazaar nestled by snow capped mountains, staring down 8000 meter peaks, spinning countless prayer wheels along the trail, and hiking through high country past yaks, glaciers, lakes, and the thin air. We awoke a little before 5 am, our goal this morning was the literal high point of the trip, Gokyo Ri.

We gathered in the common area of the lodge, I had donned all of my clothing for the ensuing adventure: 2 shirts, 1 heavy wool sweater, 1 North Face Fleece, 1 shell jacket, 2 pairs of tights, 2 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of wool socks, 2 pairs of gloves, 2 hats, and a scarf.

Guided by headlamps we exited into the outdoors, I tried to guess the temperature outside, based on it being cold enough in the common area to freeze a partially filled cup of water last night… 10 F. The night sky was bejeweled with 5 times as many stars as I have ever seen. After a few moments I turned off my head lamp and walked by starlight. The lake ice and its deep mysterious wanes, cracks, and shuddering, a meld of deep diggery doo and electric drums sounds from a keyboard, was a great soundtrack to the dark trudge we had started.

We quickly crossed a small stream that runs parallel to the glacier and began our real ascent up Gokyo Ri. Slowly, the stars began to fade, as if they were being erased from the sky. A few minutes later Sam stumbled in front of me and sat down from the dizziness. After a few moments, I left Sam and continued as I would normally trudge by to stay warm. Ten minutes later, I was at the front of the group with Ram, and Sam had fallen way behind. Concerned, we signaled with our headlamps and shouting, and after a few brief moments of no response saw a flashlight and heard, “I’m fine, don’t come down….take a picture for me.”

The terrain was surprisingly relentless and steep, whereas yesterday it seemed docile and gentle in perspective. We kept moving up the mountain, and I stayed with Ram until the sky had turned blue and we were well past halfway up. The trail started to clear and the doops and wanes of the whale-song ice had faded as the wind started to pick up. After impatiently being quiet, I asked Ram if this was almost the top, as I could see the glacier behind Gokyo and the mighty Everest billowing clouds against the rising sun. We walked just a bit farther before Ram responded. He stopped, laughed, and pointed to a cairn with quivering flags now in view high above us. By now, we were far ahead and Ram allowed me to go in front of him now that the end was in sight. The trail had become rocky and was marked by dozens of small rock cairns which were at times hard to follow.

I took a quick break to look to my right, Everest had not only come well into view, but finally risen to the occasion as if to assert itself above all others, clearing all doubts. Until now, Everest has been present, but smaller peaks much closer to us have masked its greatness, and made it appear slightly lower due to how far away it actually was from us. Finally, Everest is irrefutable. I looked back down at the old glacier below me crusted on top with boulders and rocks. It reminded me of the lovely brown and grey slushy mixed wonderland of Cleveland winter I have avoided this year. There were small glimmering glimpses of ice proudly reflecting the new day’s sun, but for the most part it was a dull roaring chunk of history.

My final push was not too extreme, but I was ecstatic to make it to the top. It was surreal; it was a string I managed to pull from years of my imagination and place in reality. I let out a shout of accomplishment, I looked back, raised my pole in triumph, and no one was in sight, no sound was made. Silence. Complete Silence. I finally remembered to start breathing again, and in my light-headedness it was as if the wind was waiting for me to make a sound as the chattering of the prayer flags and whistling gusts slowly started up again. I sat huddled from the wind just staring at Everest. That’s it. That’s it! That’s the highest point in the entire world… I was sad Sam couldn’t join us for this view.

I’m not sure what to make of that moment. Hiding from the wind, I reached into my brain trying to gather some beautiful parallel to life or my travels thus far. I don’t feel like it was a turning point in my life, nor that I’ve learned something, nor that I’ve accomplished something extraordinary. At first you might think it has been a waste without such thoughts. I relaxed, I stopped thinking, I stared off into the distance, and just breathed, content with life. Content with not needing more than life.

Sam and I experienced our first train ride heading to Udaipur. We booked seats in the sleeper class, which is essentially composed of several units in a car, each unit has eight beds. Six of the beds are facing each other three stacked on each side, and then across the aisle are two more beds stacked on top of each other. The whole car is open to the sights and smells of everyone around you, and the only solace from the heat are one foot diameter fans sandwiched to every free section of the ceiling. The windows open and allow you to reach out into the fresh air several inches before the bars stop you. We both left the experience happy with the community vibe on the train, and ecstatic it was only warm outside, and not sweltering.

To the James Bond connoisseur, Udaipur is known as the backdrop for Octopussy. For the lay person, it is a city who is surrounded by artificial lakes made by the Maharajas of past years, which have delicately placed palaces in the middle. The shores are buttressed by the buildings during the rainy season, and during bad droughts bone dry. We managed to be visiting during the wetter half of the year, and the shores were only starting to recede. The town is small, relaxed, and a timid version of the cities we have visited so far. People are happy to just converse with you, and store clerks will wait for you to show a semblance of interest before heckling you to come over.

Sam and I have been tromping around cities, and we thought it would be a good idea to do a little hiking before trekking in Nepal. Surrounding the lake and city are the Aravalli hills, and on the highest peak several kilometers away sits the Monsoon Palace. We thought it would be a good jumping off point for a day hike. Originally we had great visions of climbing to the top and watching sunrise over the city, but were struck down by the wisdom of a sleeping person at 5 am. The palace is about 8 kilometers from the city center, so we took a rickshaw to the gate of the wildlife sanctuary and hiked the rest of the way. On the ride over, the rickshaw driver tried to convince us we would be attacked by tigers, and we should just take his rickshaw the whole way. After a simple check with the park ranger, we assuredly walked into the park on our own.

The hike to the top was nice, but entirely on paved road. We wandered around the bare interior, and watched several langurs (monkeys with really long tails) sun bathe on the edge of the palace before heading off for more interesting terrain. The ridge opposite the monsoon palace was untouched, and looked like a relatively easy climb up with a good path along the ridge line. To our surprise we spent the first half hour dodging thorny trees and cacti, and moving brush aside enough to find a solid foothold. There were some rocks near the top we climbed through, and at one point Sam shouts from below me, “Hey Dave watch out for that hornet’s nest right above your head.” After a few moments of slowly looking for the nest, I was relieved to find it abandoned. On the other side, we were met by rolling grassland. We enjoyed a well-deserved lunch on the peak, and hiked the ridge line before again descending the steeper slope back to the road below. We hiked another 3 kilometers to the outer edge of the city, and caught a rickshaw back to our hotel.

Rajasthan is well-known for its miniature paintings. These paintings originate under the Islamic realm, the figures are set at certain poses which are not realistic, but rather like those found in Byzantine icons, and are literally very small paintings with extreme detail. Sultans would have an entire workshop of artists commissioned to make large intricate pieces depicting sometimes hundreds of people topped with gold inlay. After reading a book by Orhan Pamuk My Name is Red, I was interested in this style of painting. We visited the museum in the palace, and after viewing several hundred pieces I could relate my education from the book with the art itself.

Sam and I were wandering through the streets, and decided to check out a small shop solely based on the shopkeeper’s witty comments. As we entered he said in passing, I also have some miniature paintings. By this time, I had visited several places, but was unimpressed by the either poor workmanship or large scale production. I asked him if he had any he made. Ram, the owner, smiled, and quietly walked past us to the far corner of the shop. After a minute or two of fumbling with a hidden door he pulled out a large paper portfolio, faded by the years.

I asked to see his horses, as this is generally the way to compare an artist’s workmanship, and more specifically its face. Ram smiled again, and slowly started showing us his early work. He would meticulously look at a piece and sigh, or exclaim how this one was such a good piece back then. He stopped, looked up and asked us if we would have some chai. For the next half hour, we were simply people. He telling us his story, and we admiring his pieces and seeing how his style grew with age. We became acquainted with him as an artist, and he was happy to share his work knowingly we weren’t interested in any of these particular pieces.

Ram was the third generation in his family to be in charge of their school. Young boys were taught a small task, and when they became better, they would advance to a new task. After mastering each part, he would sketch the design, and each person would do their part of coloring, shading, or applying gold inlay to create the final piece. Ram explained to us how certain styles and figures came and went out with the years. Nowadays the triad of horse, elephant, and camel in caravan is popular, and customers do not care as much about detail and fine craftsmanship.

Both Sam and I picked out a couple pieces to bring home, he was as happy with our purchases as we were, and the glimmer in his eye seemed to say, “Thanks.” After making our purchases, I ask Ram for one favor. I asked him to draw a horse for me without picking up his pen. He laughed and said, “I’ve never been asked to do this before.” We watched as he contemplated his approach, and drew the outline. Afterward, he said, “I know the great masters could do this in a heartbeat, and could start from any point on the horse, each time it would be perfect. Perfect…but this is the first time I’ve ever been asked to do this.” As we were leaving, Ram told us he was losing the shop. He couldn’t afford it anymore, he said he was an artist, not a salesman. He gave us his cell number so we could contact him when we returned with wives.

The drive into Rajasthan was relatively flat and mundane, the countryside more arid and relentless, and horses or cattle pulling carts slowly being replaced by camels. The most interesting sites on the road were the trapezoidal spires puffing smoke as they fired bricks. Each spire had a mini community of make-shift huts bustling with people carrying materials or moving bricks around it. Plots of land were cut away like mini-quarries, and the walls made of neatly arranged bricks ready for moving. This work camp environment seemed oppressive from my fleeting glimpses, but hopeful as at least they had a job, and not forced to send their children to beg in the streets.

Bricks in progress

We arrived fairly late again, and decided to find some street food and call it a night. We stumbled upon some fried chicken, and after a misunderstanding on half and whole chicken walked away with a whole chicken each instead of a half chicken each. Five minutes of engorging ourselves in complete silence we managed to talk to each other like humans again. The next morning we weren’t feeling too great, but not bad enough to stop the tourist bug.

Our first stop in Jaipur was actually outside the city, and is referred to as the Amber Fort. True to its name, this impressive fort seems to be an extension of the hill will large ramparts, moats, and towers. This is the middle of three forts, and by far the most charismatic. If you aren’t willing to climb to the top, you can opt to ride in a jeep or on an elephant. After wandering around the beautiful courtyards, temples, and painted gateways, we were happy to have visited the Agra Fort first, comparatively, it was boring and less exotic. This is a must-see, and if I had to pick only one place to visit in this city, this would be it.

Courtyard outside the Amber Fort

Jaipur is known as the Pink City, as the Old City buildings and walls are colored an orangish color which supposedly turns pink at sunset. I didn’t quite see the connection, but it is certainly a nice change from Agra, each shop has a designated store front and keeps some of the traveling salesman sedentary. There are tons of shops in the Old Town neatly divided into bazaars. Each bazaar specializes in a particular trade, so you could see the iron and metal works, electronics, jewelry, cloth dying, sari shop, etc in between trying to see a few of the city’s 5000 temples.

Three of the temples stood out to me, each which a different glimpse at life. The first temple we visited they were kind enough to let us climb on the roof and check out the ever-moving life around the traffic circle below. The colors of flowers for temple devotionals framed in the chaotic movement below, and if you blurred your vision for a few seconds it almost seemed to have a semblance of order. In the heart of the traffic stood one cow eating its cud, daring a snail to walk faster. The air was filled with the sounds of horns blaring and people bartering, but slightly distant. For that small amount of time wandering around the walls, I was able to take in the city below without seeing it from two feet away. Truly a unique perspective into the city.

We happened along a second temple as we walked through the city. It was virtually empty on the lower level. We took off our shoes, mumbled a quiet namaste, and ascended the steps to the higher courtyard. Again, it was empty except for two boys. The older holding a spool of string walking backwards. The younger of the two was holding a kite, and had pinned himself diagonally from his brother, waiting for his queue to thrust the kite to the wind. The courtyard wasn’t perched on a hill, but enclosed by relatively high walls. It was an interesting place to see two children flying a kite. As we entered the courtyard, we heard giggling hellos from behind a veiled screen on the second floor. I said, “hello.” The response was a jumbled response of five or six questions all said in a loud whisper, none discernible from the other until they were all hushed. There were no faces to make out, but the contrast in light told me where they were sitting. I went to the main altar, looked around, and upon returning to the courtyard, a man, presumably the father had joined his sons in the courtyard, and was about to school them in the art of kite flying. He too was walking backwards until pinned into a far corner of the courtyard, and flew the kite to the top of the courtyard before hectically running about with the twirling wind trying to keep it afloat. It was a cool experience, isolated from the city, but characteristic of the region.

I didn’t realize kite flying was as popular as it was here until we were ascending the hill to the final temple. This one is endearingly referred to as the “Monkey Palace,” by the rickshaw drivers. It is perched on a hill on the east side of the city, and is a popular place to join the troupes of monkeys that converge here at dusk to watch the sunset over the city. The sky to the immediate south of the temple was filled with a smattering of kites, and the trees appeared to have new leaves made of kites. The walk up the hill is steep, but filled with beggars of peanuts. The monkeys are fed here daily, and know exactly what a bag of peanuts looks like. They will usually wait patiently on the side for you, or walk alongside you at a safe distance. Some of them would follow you, and if you turned around to try and catch them in the act they would sit down, look away, and find some other menial task to occupy their time.

I decided to give all my peanuts to the small monkeys, but this was a futile task. The larger monkeys would run them down before they could shell them or climb high enough to avoid them. At one point I was completely duped, as I was trying to give one a peanut and another came up behind me and stole the whole bag. I wasn’t very happy, but couldn’t help but commend their teamwork. After finishing the climb, we visited the temple, had yellow dots put on our head and red and yellow strings tied around our wrists. We of course were prompted to make a small donation to the Sun God in turn. The views over the city were incredible, and well worth the hike up. I watched the kites flying in the air, and tried to find their respective master on the adjacent rooftops below. Sometimes they appeared to be rogue kites under no control, and I appreciated watching them as they danced around until one of them found the fate of being cut and drifting to the ground. I saw a fallen kite in the corner of the temple courtyard, and started approaching it. Immediately a monkey saw me and perceived it to be of value. His response was to promptly pick it up, eat a few pieces of it, and then vanish over the wall with the remaining morsels.

Dave Pines asked me to drive in to Sohna with some of his students to get some supplies and metalwork completed. The metalwork was for some remounting of the solar panels, and Dave handed the project over to me so his team could finish the rain-water harvesting project. This was my first experience dealing with the local builders contracted to do the masonry work, and our translators. The most frustrating part of the whole trip was dealing with the input of the villagers and translators. Sometimes they wouldn’t do things, or decided their way, which would work just as well, was the best way. Our translators only compounded the effect as they were all too happy to include their input and at times exclude us from the discussions with the villagers. No action was done in harm, but it certainly made things more difficult. After finishing our petty arguments we headed to the village to get the work completed.

Sohna is about 40 minutes from Abheypur, and the only place we could have more technical work completed, like welding. We arrived at the metal shop with our pieces to be worked on, and were immediately put on hold as the power was out. The power came on for a brief amount of time, and they did a little work. Again, the power went out, this time for at least an hour, so the friendly villagers carted us off to a nearby temple/hot spring. The shopkeeper proudly showed us around buying us snacks and drinks along the way. We took our shoes and socks off and entered the temple. It was more of a bathing house with a main compound in the middle separated into two baths, one for men, and one for women. Everyone was enthralled with seeing us, and happily said hello and showed us around. At one of the food stands I asked where the trash can was to throw away my plate. He smiled, took it from me, and from behind his counter threw it into the street gutter. Our 30 minutes of metalwork costs us a few hundred rupees, five hours of unreliable power, and some sight-seeing.

We returned with the pieces, and after some talking I realized we had a huge communication breakdown. The parts were all wrong. I managed to talk with the head construction worker, and with a moment alone on the roof I drew pictures and we both mimed what we thought should be done for it to work, where the wind would come from, and what parts we needed. I decided to just make sure I knew what they were doing and it would work with the hope being they would take ownership over it. We needed to return to have slots made on the braces, as the holes didn’t line up. I labeled everything, and poked some holes in some pages of a book for the holes on the solar panel frame to bring along for reference. This time the head construction worker came with me to the shop, and he quickly understood why I poked the holes for each one, so we could make sure they lined up. He smiled, and we both talked around the translator as he tried to ask questions which we both answered him in different languages. This continued as we chose some piping, hosing, and hardware before driving back to the school. Happily, we returned, and the work was completed.

The tools available here are primitive, like scratching out calculations on the roof of a building arguing over angles and lengths, or using a piece of re-bar and hammer to make a hole in brick. Although I could think of a half dozen solutions to a plumbing issue, the real answer was the one the villagers could replace on their own if it broke. Not the one that would work the best, but decommission a whole system until a new part could be bought from the US. The filtration system had a network of PVC pipes to connect, and when asked how we could make holes, they started a fire. The best way for them to make a hole is to heat a metal pipe of the necessary diameter, and melt a hole in the plastic. So a cow-patty fire was quickly made with the help of some dry grass and a lit cigarette.

The engineer in me is continually impressed by the “make it work” solutions. It is in these types of moments I see the willingness and drive within people. There is no money to be thrown at a problem, just ingenuity, innovation, and experience.

My flight from Istanbul was uneventful. It was nighttime, and futile to try and look at the Middle East below me. I instead delved into several of the on-board movies to choose from, and next thing I knew we were landing. I arrived around 4 am local time, as such, customs was a breeze and I got a pre-paid taxi and headed off to an a pre-arranged guesthouse to sleep for a bit before being taken out to the village the next day.

The taxi ride was a great introduction to driving in India. We dodged through traffic, blockades, cows, and bicycles. It was a very foggy morning, and shadowed figures would emerge from the side of the road only to vanish as quickly as they appeared. The occasional speed bump slowed us down, and it was only after five minutes of swerving I was confident they indeed drove on the left side of the street. The cab driver had no idea where to bring me, and was annoyed I wouldn’t let him drop me off at a well known four star hotel. After asking directions about 6 or7 times we agreed to have a local show us in return for a lift. I arrived at a guarded guest house, where they whisked my bags away and said goodnight.

After a hearty breakfast, a cab was arranged to bring me to the small village of Abheypur. This sounds like an easy task, but it took them almost two hours to figure it out. The ride was a cacophony of action, unlike the side of a typical American / European road, the action is multi-leveled. To start, take the number of lanes marked on the pavement, and double it, that is the approximate number of lanes of traffic there actually is, and rules on passing are as simple as don’t get hit. Immediately off the main flow is the make-shift parking lot of auto rickshaws, mopeds, motorcycles, and the occasional cow. The next section consistently has groups of men huddled around completely some type of action, hammering out a dent, moving bricks, and avoiding the direct sunlight as needed. Lastly, there is the ring of garbage, and heaps of random materials unneeded and allowed to amass with the random scavenging dog, cow, and or pig sifting it as a hopeful past-time. It is only then you get to the action of the street vendor selling food in front of a store, the moving of people, and what you typically would see driving around. For the first half of the trip, it was this type of sensory overload that filled my vision and with time fields slowly replacing shops. In time we were back to the same protocol of stopping at each intersection to see which way it was to the village. After a half hour of driving around a rural area doing this, we were in a small village of sorts backed up by an extra muddy street. As I looked at the car in front of me, I saw it was filled with Caucasian people; a rarity since arriving. I deduced we were close, and we followed the other car for another ten minutes and arrived at the schoolyard in Abheypur.

The village is sparse, and definitely a place in need of this help. The street is at times filled with a watery concoction, and the open drainage ways thick with film. Cow patties are strewn around drying, and eventually stacked neatly to be used as fuel. Buffalo are tied up inside courtyards, or along the edge of the street, and the pace of life is sluggish. The village is divided more or less into sections, with farmers holding better land, and an area named as the “Potter’s Village,” where more impoverished villagers lived. The village is built at the base of some hills overlooking a vast plain of fields. This area is referred to as the bread belt of India, with the main crops being wheat and mustard. The hills above the village are grazed by goats and cows, and offer a great view of the surrounding countryside. Peacocks run wild around the area, and would invade the schoolyard when possible. In the mornings, the monkeys would come over to scope out the action, and if possible steal some villager’s food.

Dave Pines, the Profesor in charge of the University of Hartford EWB Chapter introduced me to the team, and showed me what the team has completed on past projects. This includes a solar powered well, storage tanks, and a pipeline with more storage tanks to a nearby section of the village, and the current project creating a rain water harvesting and filtration system. In addition to the engineering project, a group from the art school had joined them to paint a mural to help teach the girls about sharing, respecting water, cleanliness, and using dustbins. After hanging out with the team for the afternoon, helping as much as I could, and playing with the kids after school who insisted on having just “one photo” taken of them, we piled into the mini-bus and van to head to a local school boarding school, Pathways, where we were graciously being hosted.

Pathways World School is an international school located about an hour from Abheypur. They recently prided themselves on having six students selected as guests to the US Presidential Inauguration of Barack Obama. The school was a complete change from the village, immaculate expansive campus, with cafeteria, and homey dorm rooms. It was comforting, and relaxing. At the same point it was bizarre. Although I was in India, I was back in the company of Americans; many of whom have never traveled outside of the US before, and I had flashbacks of being back in the US. It was an odd feeling, but not an unpleasant one, everyone has been welcoming and inclusive, and I’m glad they have allowed me to join them.

After visiting snow capped Cappadocia, I was ready for a change. Although beautiful, I’ve been craving a warmer climate since being in Turkey, so I decided to visit Antalya. Antalya is the supposed gateway city to the Turkish Riviera. I took an overnight bus there, and watched the sun rise over the occasional rugged hillside. As Antalya came into view, snowy mountains graced themselves over the beachside city. I did some scoping through the guide book before coming here, and decided it would be really cool to visit the eternal flame at Olympus. Unlike the JFK monument in Arlington Cemetery, USA, this is a naturally occurring phenomenon.

I check into my hotel, and after shooting out a quick e-mail set out for the small town of Chirali, which is the closest village to the eternal flames, which are referred to as Chimera, Yanartas, and more colloquially, “fire rocks.” I took a mini-bus as directed to the drop-off to Chirali, but after several minutes of sitting around with a Russian couple, realized the bus wasn’t coming to drive us the 11 km. So we started to half-happily walk down the hillside to Chirali. After 3-4 km, a truck driver offered us a ride in the back of his truck to the village, where we could walk the rest of the way. The truck was filled with orange crates, which we arranged into a nice seating arrangement after several minutes of precarious planning.

Smiling at us, the driver let us off at the crossroads indicating it was the village of Chirali, and I left the Russian couple heading for a hotel, and walked the expected 3 kilometers to the Chimera. The walk was refreshingly rural with smells of freshly turned fields, mandarins, oranges, sandalwood, and fire. I was happy to be simply hiking with no salesmen offering me tea in their carpet shop, or a shoe shine, and the hills buttressed against the coast were a welcoming and warm change.

The last kilometer of the hike was inside the park, and a large change of scenery from the farmlands into rain freshened pine forests. The pathway was well manicured with large stone steps cut and piled onto the hillside, which meant you had to watch where you placed your feet every time. After a countdown of distance marked by local rocks I arrived at a small outcropping devoid of foliage, and surely enough on fire.

It took me several minutes of just staring to completely comprehend what was happening, but it was definitely a surreal moment. Yes, I understand the physical science behind it, but part of me was simply regretting not having friends, marshmallows, graham crackers, and Hershey’s chocolate bars. The small area doesn’t have just one flame, but several openings where gas seeps up, and continually combusts. I was the only person visiting the sight and was happy to have the alone time. Once I was satiated with visiting the ruins, envisioning ancient stories of Chimera being captured below the ground here, doomed to spend eternity breathing flames to the surface to guide ancient sailors and feed local folklore, I started my trek back to Chirali.

The hike was uneventful back to this small farming and tourist city nestled in a large park, and I crossed the eventfully large river back to the main road out of the remote area. A few locals drinking beers helped flag down a car to drive me back to the bus “station” 8 kms away, and more importantly all uphill. I waited by the side of the road until sure enough the mini-bus arrived from around the bend, and welcomed me back inside. Happy with my day-trip I promptly passed out and occasionally woke up on the 1.5 hour bus ride back to Antalya.

The next morning I wandered around the city, mostly out of curiosity and was offered an arrangement of opportunities from trying tea, buying leather coats, playing backgammon, and taking a 3 hour boat tour. The tourist driven city was more or less in steady state boredom. There was always a half-hearted attempt to try to get you to buy something, but the shop keepers were content to smile and be friendly. I left the following night back to Ankara to pick up my India visa, and immediately head to Istanbul to catch a flight to India. Once I’m in India, I plan to meet up with my first planned EWB project in Abheyour, Haryana, India. The team will be building a rain water harvesting and filtration system for a local primary girl’s school.

Sadly, this means I am agreeing to not travel overland as my father did to India. I am very envious of what my Dad was able to do, but realize the safety risks. When my father made this trek, they went overland from Turkey through Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan before reaching India. It will probably be a couple weeks before I post again, as I am unsure of internet availability in rural India.

As I mentioned in one of my earlier posts, Brad and I were duped by some shoe polishers pretending to drop their brushes in hopes of shining your shoes for a price. After thinking it might be a ploy, Brad and I watched the plot unfold several times before confirming it was indeed a scam. They were pretty happy people about the whole ordeal, so we decided we would play a trick on them.

We decided next time this happened we would pick up the brush and run the opposite way until we reached the next corner. About a day later, not expecting it, and completely unready a shoe brush was dropped at our feet. I shockingly picked it up, tagging Brad on the shoulder as I ran by him. He quickly caught on and we ran around a corner. As we peeked around the corner we watched a portly man in his mid thrities drop his polishing tools and sprint after us. We waved the brush around the corner and started laughing. He knew he had been had, and played along well. His friend across the street was bent in half laughing at him, and ashamed he returned to his stuff after giving us some high five. We realized we would have to repeat this, and get it on film.

Since, the weather was not the best for shining shoes the following days, our vigilance proved unfruitful as most people didnt want their shoes shined in the rain.

After a slow breakfast, and attempt at fixing Venecia’s camera, we decided that since a lot of places would be closed and the weather was miraculously nice it was the perfect set-up for shoe polishers to be out and about. We had been scouting our street from before for sometime as it clearly was a prime target area, not directly by tourist attractions, but between several, and only a block or two from some hotels.

We walked by, camera ready, pretending to not pay attention to their ploys as oblivious as possible. The first pass was useless as the timing was all wrong. Feigning lost, we turned around, and he took the bait. He dropped the brush, we pulled the camera out and ran the other way. Ironically, this was an area Brad and I thought would be perfect as their was a small corner to hide around. We all ran there laughing hysterically, waiting for him to chase us down. One minute, two minutes. We realized he got him too good. He had no idea where we were.

Brad and I had wanted to make two videos, one stealing it, and then later quietly taking it, pretending we had no idea he dropped the brush, and when he approached us pretend to shine his shoes and use his ploys on him. Since, he didnt run after us, we returned to him. Again, camera ready, and Brad instead of giving the shoe brush back right away, starts shining his shoes, telling him about his bad knee, and sick sister at home. Asking for money. Our guy was laughing, and shamefully was a good sport about the whole deal. His friends refused to take a picture with him, but were almost crying from laughing so much.

It was the best birthday present I could’ve received, and a great way to spend my last few hours in Istanbul before heading off. I’ll let you know when I post the videos.

Until then here are some pictures: