Dave Adair Photography

Guru-shopping in Tiru, India

2012-02-13T20:51:00.001-08:00

"Not knowing is true knowing."

~ Gyalwang Drukpa

"Keep the company of those who seek the truth; run from those who have found it."

~ Vaclav Havel

I've just come from the far south of India, where I spent five weeks in the uber-spiritual guru-rich town of Tiruvannamalai, also called Tiru. I've been hearing about it from friends for years, and now that I've been I wonder what took me so long. The Indian guru-saint Ramana Maharshi spent decades there before his death in 1950, but it has been a place of pilgrimage for maybe thousands of years. The impressive Mount Arunachala rises up at the city's edge, and it's considered a manifestation of Shiva. Tiru is also ground zero for Advaita/Vedanta, or Non-Dual teachings. You could go on and on about it, and trust me, people do, but here's the short version: You think you're separate. You're not.

Over the last few years it's become a magnet for Western spiritual seekers and the gurus that want to lead them. Swing a stick and you'll hit a guru - and sometimes that seems like a good idea. Gurus are offering "satsang," (meetings or teachings) on a daily or twice-daily basis during the high season, January and February. At a glance it seems like multiple gurus are talking about Ultimate Truth and all saying different things. But the deepest truths aren't captured by words, they're only pointed to by words. Misunderstanding is bound to ensue. Between our limited minds trying to understand, multiple messages, and the fact that not all teachers are what they claim - this place seriously messes with your mind. I love it.

Love to you!

Dave

From the Lonely Planet travel guide: "There are temple towns, there are mountain towns, and there are temple-mountain towns where God appears as a phallus of fire. Welcome to Tiruvannamalai."

How beautiful is THIS kid? Wow. You could see that her Dad was a Muslim, so I guess that makes her one too. As if you could accurately classify this beautiful human so simply. Where is her Muslimness? Is there some fixed identity there? I'm thinking not.

Workers outside a train station.

Oh, the glamour of international travel! I can only imagine the envy. This is Kate at the top and Jen at the bottom trying to catch a few winks at 1 a.m. The trip had started the previous day with a 5 a.m. wake-up, two-hour drive to the train station, 12 hours on a train, then almost six hours in nasty traffic in this car to arrive in Tiru at 2:30 a.m. We found out later that there'd been a political killing that day and road closures as a means of protest.

Inside the huge and ancient Shiva temple in Tiru, these pilgrims managed to forget the sobriety of the occasion for this photo. The girl saluting cracks me up.

There are so many versions of the tikka, or dots on the head. Powders, colors, paints, felt sticky-dots. I don't know the difference. I think they're all related to the "third eye," the eye that sees truth. More on that here.

These guys were friendly and all wanted to shake my hand, which you'd never know from this photo.

I love walking through vegetable markets and taking photos. People in the south were especially keen to have their photos taken.

The same guy as in the previous photo. Nice tomatoes, dude.

She's a little young for the Mommie Dearest look, but it kinda works.

Kids hanging out at the market.

I've heard that these pots are hand-hammered, but I'm not sure. The dimple pattern looks to be from hammer blows.

An offering plate on fire is being carried through the crowd during a religious ceremony near the big temple.

The common man's SUV.

This Ganesh statue is inside the Ramanamaharshi Ashram. Ramana is considered quite a saint in India, and both Indians and Westerners flock to his ashram. Ganesh is but one of the reported 330 million Hindu gods. Don't be misled - at its heart it's not so different from Christianity. As a young kid put it to me, "God is One, but he has many faces." It's another way of expressing the inexpressible: God is everywhere, limitless, all-knowing, and beyond conception.

A street scene at night.

Lovely kid.

I love this guy's stance. He's ready for action.

A common scene along India's country roads. Chatting, bike-riding, motorbikes, carrying farm produce on your head.

The annual Pongal festival, based around the harvest, happened during our stay. On one of the four days the cows get a new paint job on their horns, and the lucky ones even get brass bells at the tips. He looks like he's wearing a jester's hat.

In south India these amazing geometric patterns are a part of everyday life, although this one is more grand because of Pongal. They are endlessly varied, and the women who create them make it seem effortless. You can see more here.

She wasn't sure about me, wisely enough. But she did let me pick her up, which is always fun.

Rumor has it that this powder is considered healthy for kids. You see it sometimes on adults, too.

Beautiful.

This little shop is next to a busy road. You can see the remains of Pongal designs in the dirt.

The Collage of Pharmacy? Maybe. I guess it could be "College." Who can say?

I took a long walk along the highway and was rewarded with a beautiful sunset.

It's so easy to make a connection with kids, whether they speak any English or not.

This graceful lovely is carrying water from the well to her house. No doubt she sees it less romantically than I do.

Doing laundry by hand in the public wash house.

Unfortunately this isn't unusual all around India, but especially in Tiru. Some blocks will be spotless while others look like this. There's no garbage system in most places, so it just gets scattered. It drives many Westerners crazy (me, for instance!), but the Indians don't usually seem to mind.

An impressive set of horns.

I thought this was a boy until I saw the ankle bracelets.

Dried chilis at the market.

What a character this guy is! He should be in a movie. His legs are so bowed they're deformed, but he still carries heavy loads to his cart. The green leaves are paan, which is a bit like chewing tobacco. More on paan here.

Devotion, in the form of lighting candles in front of a small temple.

Devotion, in the form of treating your guru like he's some kind of movie star. This is the birthday party of Mooji, the big dawg of gurus in Tiru these days. He gets treated like he's the Second Coming of Brad Pitt. Come on people - the guru can't do it for you, and treating him like a celebrity doesn't get you closer to That Which You Seek. Says the guy who doesn't really know That Which He's Talking About.

A candle-lit representation of "Om," considered the sacred sound of the universe.

I thought my milk coffee had a little extra oomph here in Tiru. This might explain it! This looks to be a small municipal dump, but there are great piles of trash maybe 50 yards outside the gates. I guess it was too far to walk.

Love.

Oh, this young woman just makes me melt. What a smile and a natural beauty. Jen was playing with her young daughter for the longest time, and she beamed throughout. (I don't even have that many teeth!)

This woman walked by as Jen was playing with the kids, which by now had turned into about six girls doing a one-hour dance recital. (What's going on with her teeth? Inexplicable.)

This man was washing banana leaves for use as plates - a common use of the leaves in south India.

Many people get their heads shaved as part of a religious pilgrimage, and some get this paste/powder on their heads. I suspect it's sandalwood, but I don't know.

At the entrance to the big Shiva temple, people pray and hold their hands to the sacred flame.

I love this guy. There are many slackers and posers in India who wear the robes for all the wrong reasons. He doesn't strike me as one of those. He is a bit of a dandy, though, so what do I know.

We heard some amazing drumming and singing as we were walking down the street, and stepped in to see this young man singing verses of the Koran. Really stunning vocals and an incredible amount of music coming from that one drum. Wow.

A Muslim vendor at the vegetable market.

A lovely smile.

These are maybe the biggest Indians I've ever seen. A group of them were unloading 100kg (220 pound) sacks of sugar from this truck. The two guys on top would hold the their foreheads together while they slid the sacks to the edge of the truck, then the guys on the ground would carry it single-handedly, barefoot, up a ramp and into a storage room.

(The End)

"I slept and dreamt that life was joy..."

2012-01-24T03:05:00.001-08:00

"I slept and dreamt that life was joy.

I awoke and saw that life was service.

I acted and behold, service was joy."

~ Rabindranath Tagore

If you read these letters regularly, you know that I just spent three weeks volunteering at the leprosy community of Anandwan in central India. I left there just three weeks ago, but the impressions and vibrations are still resonating in me. Basically, I miss my leper and non-leper friends from there, and look forward to seeing them again. I also miss the feeling that I was doing something that mattered. The experience reminded me of when I cared for my Mom over the last six months of her life. There was a simplicity and clarity of purpose with my Mom that I don't typically have in my "normal" life. (You call this normal?!) On the blog I kept during my Mom's illness, I wrote about the unexpected gifts that came along with the pain and drama of the situation. I wrote that it was "a huge, painful, beautiful, mysterious, love-filled gift." (Read the whole post here.) Volunteering with the lepers was like that. Heart-breaking. Heart-expanding. Highly recommended. (Lean towards something that breaks your heart, and let us know how it goes!)

So much love,

Dave

The photos below are all from in and around Anandwan. Next newsletter: guru-shopping in Tiruvannamalai in Tamil Nadu. Here's something to try, if it's not too much to ask: look at all these photos with the same intention that I took them. With love. See if it makes a difference.

I don't find all kids equally cute. Really. But look at these two! Especially beautiful.

One of the gardening projects in Anandwan.

Jen going for a walk with Neesha, the 10 year-old girl who's blind and severely mentally disabled.

The leprosy patient is on the left! (Laxmi and Jen.)

This poor guy has what the doctor says is cancer on one foot. It's too gruesome to show you a photo.

These girls were part of a group on a day-trip visiting Anandwan.

After the traditional boring hands-at-the-side portrait, I asked everyone to raise their hands. Much more fun!

The beautiful and helpful Sabiya, who lives in Anandwan with her husband and son. She runs a small telephone shop.

Another Laxmi, who everyone agrees is a witch. People come to her for incantations and spells, apparently.

Strangely photogenic, to me. I've posted a few photos of this blind woman.

Briana from Australia and one of the grandma leprosy patients.

The Jolly Green Giant and a cute little grandma. (Jen took this photo.)

This blind man has been trained to do the the weaving of these tables by feel.

Lovely kid. She hangs out with the blind girls, but I'm not sure what her story is. She seems to both see and hear.

There's something touching to me about blind kids posing for a photo that they'll never see.

All the photos from here on are titled "Love." Plus all the ones before it.

The crazy frenetic monster deaf child, who is so beautiful. She only looks like this when I'm taking her photo. The rest of the time she's a whirling dervish.

All of these girls are deaf.

This is Jyoti, who I wrote about before, getting henna applied to her hand and lower arm. Henna is typically applied for special occasions like weddings. This was her biggest outing, and she seemed so happy to be out of bed and in the world. We were thrilled by how much she seemed to be "coming to life" with the attention we were giving her. We got her half-sister to come visit her. I wonder how that's working out...

It looks like I lined these kids up, but they were just there. I practically ran to take their photo when I saw them. I think they're all fully-functioning children of adults who are leprosy patients or deaf or otherwise compromised. (Is that a reasonable description?)

This young woman came in from the outside to cook when the eye camp was happening.

This Muslim man was at the weekly market.

I can put this market picture here because I'm a vegetarian, mostly. Neener-neener!

An interesting Muslim guy at the market.

(The End)

Joy Not Joy: getting involved at the leprosy community

2011-12-31T00:50:00.000-08:00

"Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief.

Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.

You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it."

~ The Talmud

Caring a lot and not doing anything: pretty easy.

Caring a lot and doing a little: really, really hard.

There's an analogy here, though you might have to work for it: Years ago my Mother and I went to visit my brother's new house for the first time. As we walked along the front flower bed my Mom said, a little dramatically, "Oh! So many rose bushes - they are SO much work!" My brother Mike said, "Only if you do it."

Caring is like that. It's not that hard to care. But it's really hard to put it into action - to "do it." For myself I've seen a difference between (1) thinking about lepers from home, (2) seeing lepers as you walk past them on the street, and (3) having a leper's foot in your face at 6 in the morning. (Ah! I love the smell of antiseptic in the morning! Not so much.) We've all moved from seeing the patients here from a distance to seeing them as real people with very real needs. And therein lies the frickin' problem!

Yesterday wasn't so special, but it was indicative of what happens when you stick your toes into the water of taking action. One of the first days here I saw a blind man with an oozing wound under his arm, staining his white tank top yellow, and I thought, wow - I'm glad I'm not seeing that guy in the wound clinic. Yesterday, as luck would have it (luck, literally) I followed my wound care mentor Mousie into a room where I'd been multiple times and there he was again: relatively young, blind, stick thin, and I braced myself. (It's so not about me, but it can feel like it is at times like this.) Mousie took off the bandage, revealing a deep, open wound about the size of a large egg, with muscle exposed underneath. As she started swabbing it, he started to moan, but she kept going deeper and deeper, under his flesh towards his armpit, and the moan turned into a wail. At the end of every wail he turned it into a song, likely a spiritual "bhajan," calling out to God. His arms were shaking, his legs were shaking, and he was calling out, "Oh, Mousie! Oh, Mousie!," I guess imploring her to stop. I was holding his hand and arm, thinking that's what I would want in his place, and when Mousie finished he stopped shaking and laid down in bed, exhausted, with the rough wool blanket pulled over his head. About three minutes later as Mousie left the room the tough and not-very-friendly medications nurse came in and really yelled at him, twice, when he didn't get up fast enough to take the meds from her. I wished I'd had a blanket to crawl under at that point.

Just around the corner, where the women volunteers were giving massage and doing the hair of the leprosy patients, one of the lepers sat behind a volunteer and started giving HER a massage. Everyone in this big dorm was laughing and in good spirits, and in that moment, all was right with the world. Later we took bed-ridden Jyoti out for her third and longest wheelchair luxury cruise by far. We were all really enjoying ourselves, Jyoti got to see her father-who-rarely-visits, and we felt like maybe we're making progress with her. When we got her back to her room, we wanted to see how one of the attendants uses the floor-level cart to transport people, since we're modifying it for Jyoti's use. An older woman who's been failing lately already has a black eye and stitches near her eyebrow from a fall. The attendant, by herself, got the patient near her bed, and we watched, horrified, as she gave her a sack-of-potatoes heave-ho and dropped her, hard, on her bed. The mattress is only cotton padding, about two inches thick, and it lies on a metal frame. Her mattress happens to be wet with and smell strongly of urine. Oy.

As the four of us volunteers walked back slowly at the end of our long day, we just shook our heads about all that we'd seen and experienced that day.

But really, it's only hard if you care, and try to help.

LOVE!

Dave

OK - more portraits. And no complaining from the peanut gallery. This lovely and stately woman looks like she could be the matron of a powerful family. Instead, she lives in a women-only dorm room in a leprosy community, and she has such bad osteoporosis that when she walks her back is horizontal to the ground. I think it's my favorite photo from Anandwan.

There are broken-tile mosaic floors and walls all over Anandwan. They're cheap, easy to clean, and colorful.

A jump rope session at the deaf girl's school. That's Kate from England on the left. Blind girls are here too, and it's so sweet to see how they hang on to each other as they navigate.

Three of the deaf girls. The one on the right is a beautiful and frenetic thing. Her fingerprints are still all over my camera lens.

One of the fingerless lepers doing her job: peeling onions. Her prosthetic leg is behind the bucket. She can really fly on these onions.

This is the lovable, all-boy, unposed, 15 year-old Sandeep. He's the youngest leper I've ever seen, and he had a pretty advanced case of leprosy. He's lost the tip of each finger, and one leg below the knee from gangrene. Then he broke his good leg and needed surgery, so he's now in the hospital until he gets better. People from our group have spent a lot of time with him.

This happy gentleman definitely did not get the memo on Indians liking their photos formal and non-smiling. He pumps his arms up and down and says, "Yes, yes, OK, namaste, OK, OK."

A morning portrait of a well-fed leprosy patient.

This woman is usually quiet and doesn't show much emotion, so we don't really know what's happening for her.

One day the gents were getting their massages and everyone was happy and smiling. Sometimes that happens.

Jen nicknamed this man Popeye, which is so perfect. Craig massaged him and said his muscles are hard as a rock.

The tailor in the men's wing of the old folk's home. My sources tell me he has a nasty wound on his foot.

This woman is trying to use a tool with a thin wire to clean the kerosene stove in the dorm room. She was happy to get Jen's help.

Here's the difference between me and Jen. I took her photo, and Jen straightened her glasses and then took her picture. She was walking down the street like this.

Adorable deaf boys, with volleyball in the background and the deaf girls in the right rear.

These lovelies are all deaf. The deaf kids are so expressive it's really a joy to communicate with them, even though I didn't have much experience with it.

My favorite hyperactive deaf girl. I've got this kid's fingerprints all over my camera lens. She's adorable. And hyper!

Zohar, from Israel, is one of the coordinators on this work retreat, with her husband Nathan. They are the founders of Sangha Seva, (www.sanghaseva.org) which focuses on "meditation in action." She's in this photo with some of the blind girls.

Do you know this man? Cuz I don't! He saw me taking a photo with some of my "ladies" and just horned in on my action.

Band practice.

The riot: Jen, Laurie and I tried to find our 11 year-old friend Durga at a school. The school administrator said, "Sir, we have 3,000 students here!" When the recess bell rang about 2,000 of those kids tried to get to us to shake our hands and get autographs. It got so out of control that they made us go back in the office while they threatened the kids to cricket bats.

This little one wasn't going to get any closer than she had too.

My blind friend with the abscess under his arm getting treated by Mousie. Be glad I didn't choose a close-up shot.

That's a beautiful Grandma right there!

Gabby gets a massage from one of the old ladies, while bed-ridden Jyoti looks on.

(The End)

Volunteering at Anandwan, Forest of Joy

2011-12-24T05:31:00.000-08:00

"The good you do today, it will not last. Do good anyway.

If you give the best you have, it will never be enough. Give your best anyway."

~ made famous by Mother Teresa (edited)

"I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see.

I sought my God but my God eluded me.

I sought my brother and I found all three."

~ source unknown; the favorite quote of Baba Amte, founder of Anandwan

Steve Martin used to begin his live comedy show with "I like to start the show by doing something impossible: I'm now going to suck this piano through this straw." Today's impossible feat: I will now describe to you what it's like to volunteer at a mostly-leprosy community in central India. As I write these letters I always hope to provide some kind of full accounting of an experience, and it's never looked as hopeless as it does right now. Volunteer work of this sort has a way of stretching you, finding your edges, building great walls around your comfort zone, and then watching those walls crumble, brick by brick. The subtle-me says you can't even accurately describe the experience of sipping a cup of tea. Caring for wounds of leprosy patients? Why do I even try...

We're staying at the lovely oasis, of sorts, of Anandwan, which means Forest of Joy. It was founded by the bigger-than-life Baba Amte, a compatriot of Gandhi, who was born wealthy and had unending luxurious alternatives laid before him. As a fearless young man fighting the British for independence, he found himself fleeing from the horror of the "living corpse" of a dying leper. He was shaken to the core by his reaction, and after returning and caring for the leper's last three days on earth, he resolved to dedicate his life to the care and empowerment of India's lepers. This place is built on principles of dignity, equality, hard work, and the intrinsic value of humans, regardless of their status, wealth, or number of fingers. "Work builds, charity destroys" is a core Baba Amte principle.

There are 18 of us volunteering, including the two retreat organizers, and we're working two shifts a day, for two or three hours each. Among the many possible roles, most of us have chosen between wound care, playing with the deaf and/or blind kids, and giving massage and attention to the people in the old folks home. Inexplicably, I've chosen to start the day with dressings wounds, waking at 5:30 a.m., roughly four hours earlier than my normal get-up-ya-lazy-bastard wake-up time. In the afternoon a group of us are taking mostly old folks out on wheelchairs trips to the grave site of Baba Amte and his wife.

A continuing theme on the retreat, and our biggest struggle: what really helps? What's the "best" thing to do? How could I be most useful? The short non-answer: it's helpful that we're here, mostly for the message that the lepers and other outcasts are worthy of our time, attention, and love; AND we're doing very little that will have any kind of lasting impact. That's way too simple a summary, but there was a long discussion group on this topic last night, and it's not going to be summarized in a sentence or two. (But the retreat's happening again next December, and you're welcome to join and figure it out for yourself!)

I'm treating wounds under the direction of "Mousie," a lovely and healthy leper with permanently bent fingers, at the old folks home. Mousie doesn't speak a word of English, but that doesn't stop her from talking to me in Hindi or Marathi, the local language. At first I felt incompetent and useless, but now that I'm getting better at applying bandages, I'm only feeling useless. Mousie lives here, has for years, and will be dressing these wounds six or seven days a week until she's too old to continue. Soon enough I'll be laying on a beach somewhere complaining about the cost of airfare to some other exotic location. She doesn't need me. At the same time, she seems happy that I'm there, and we've developed a smooth work relationship. The giant burn the length of one woman's thigh is too complicated for me, so I mostly watch, but when someone comes in with a deep but clean wound that covers a quarter of the sole of their foot, she motions with her finger slightly to indicate what to do.

I'm probably at risk of objectifying some of the patients, but damn, these are some cute grandmas. One lady is about four feet tall and her foot looks about the size of the palm of my hand. There's a one-legged no-fingered two-toed lovely with an artificial leg who's full of life and has a sassy grin. I think in a parallel universe somewhere we're dating. I don't know how the relationship is going but I wish them well. The least attractive of the leper ladies, a hard fought contest to be sure, is one of my favorites. She has a snaggle-toothed grin with random missing teeth, no fingers, and she can't stop drooling for some reason - but she has such a lovely and gentle way about her. I said in the last letter that I was dealing with a mix of love and revulsion. As I thought might happen, when you get used to the wounds they seem less important, and it's easier to see the residents not as lepers who need help, but as people. It's amazing what they are able to do, but like old folks everywhere, they can use a helping hand.

If you do come next year, which I expect, (just say yes,) what I've written above may not be your first impression. There is some incredible suffering on display here. As Dr. Vikas, the son of the founder told us the other night, the mission of the organization is to close this place. Virtually no one comes here to live by choice. They've come because they've run out of choices. Lepers are still shunned by society and forced to leave their homes and villages. As he put it, "It's a social catastrophe that brings us here."

So on this Christmas Eve, you have much to be thankful for. May you recognize it. Eyes to see, a roof over your head, food, friends, your health. And fingers to join together in a "namaste," the traditional Indian greeting that means I recognize the divine in you.

Too much love, hardly any revulsion!

Dave

It's a portrait-filled newsletter, people, so get over it. I'm making up for lost time when I couldn't as freely take people pics in Europe. Are these two stunning, or is it just me?

We came for the dancing competition, but stayed for the endless speeches. Then we left before any dancing happened. This is so typical for Indian official events.

Meet Jyoti, who spends literally 23+ hours a day laying flat on her back in a women's dorm at the old folks home, because there's no other place for her. She has severe arthritis (I'm not sure what kind) that prevents her from being able to straighten her legs. Her arms are stick-thin. Jen took it upon herself to get her upright and in a wheelchair and outside for maybe the first time in six months. How is it that she's always smiling? How can that be?

In this guy's parallel universe, he's playing sax for a blues band. Here on earth he's an eye patient with cool-cat shades.

A leprosy patient sitting in the sun.

Another leprosy patient.

I like this old guy. He's all in one piece, but pretty feeble. I've tried to talk him into a wheelchair trip with no luck so far.

All the rooms are dorms, with 8 or 10 beds in each. They have almost no personal possessions, and there's no sink or toilet in the room.

She's one of my regular patients in the wound clinic. Lovely thing.

This woman is blind, sitting in the sun with her girlfriends and chatting away. The women are SO much more fun than the men, clucking and cooing and gossiping. The men mostly hang out in smaller groups or alone and don't talk much.

This is Nani Bhai, with the palm-sized feet. The end of her foot wobbles from side to side in a way it's not supposed to.

She doesn't always look so fierce.

Another heart-breaking story. This is Neesha, who was literally dropped off at Anandawan when she was about three years old. She's now about 10, blind and mute, but able to recognize the doctor's voice and ask him for chocolate. Jen and I have taken her out for walks several times. She lives in the hospital, of all places, because there's no place for her.

Where's Waldo? That's another Dave in the background, from England.

Some of the wheelchair crew at the Baba Amte grave site. One of the old women just cried and cried when she came to the grave. He's really revered by the people here. He died in 2008 and his wife only earlier this year. (Laurie is from the U.S., David from England, and Yvon is French.)

The best work job: giving the old women massage and oiling and combing their hair. Less thrilling: Nathan on the right trimming fingernails and toenails.

Jen (The Tower of Love), Neesha, and Jenny from Singapore. Notice the home-made wheelchair with a standard plastic chair as the seat.

Sorry if this is disturbing, but this sweet old guy can't close his eyes because of leprosy. A skin has formed on his left eye, and he's blind in both eyes. I gave him a little massage today and he asked me to sit on his bed next to him. He's actually really cute. (Maybe that sounds funny looking at the photo.)

Warming herself in the morning sun.

A local young man invited us to visit his village for a few hours, and six of us went along.

I didn't want this little guy to cry, but I was happy to take his picture while he did.

I think this kid was in the last newsletter. He and his sister are great fun.

This little girl loves to have her photo taken. She's a beauty.

Adorable!

The lovely Dana from Israel, one of the retreatants.

This is how metal rods are cut the old-fashioned way.

The cousin of our host in the village, standing in front of a purple door. We'd just finished a delicious meal prepared by the family.

(The End)

As I was about to ram his head into a truck...

2011-12-15T05:06:00.000-08:00

"Genuine compassion comes from seeing your own limitations: you wish to be kind and you find that you aren't kind. Then, instead of beating yourself up you see that that's what all human beings are up against and you begin to have some kind of genuine compassion for the human condition. You try to be peaceful and never raise your voice and you find out that you have a lot of rage. The dharma is about making friends with the groundlessness and discomfort of those feelings. It is not about making rules so that those emotions never arise. Compassion doesn't come from trying to clean up the whole act."

~ Pema Chodron

"Then, instead of beating yourself up... you beat the other guy up."

~ Tony Soprano (fictional TV gangster)

Oh! Let the games begin! India is having her way with me, as usual, and I'm feeling charged and alive and depressed and engaged in a way that's just hard for me to reproduce at home. (Where is home, anyway? A topic for another day.)

A few nights ago I was walking down a busy, narrow, street, kind of glowing, enjoying the dirt and noise and chaos and LIFE that surrounds you here. I could tell that I'd just arrived, cuz it's Not Normal to be these happy in Delhi, of all places. On the narrow road of Main Bazar (bizarre?) I saw someone arguing with a kid who might be 15, who was so thin he looked like he could collapse at any minute. Seriously. He had the same gaunt appearance as the flies-on-his-eyes near-corpse that I saw last year. It struck me - how can it be that this poor kid could have so much suffering in his life? Why him? Why not, for example, me, or the people reading this letter? If you think it's because you've made better decisions or that you've worked harder you are, forgive me, delusional. There but for the grace of God, go you, dude.

I had a delightful interaction with a guy who sold me a mobile phone SIM card. We had such a nice time that I walked out without paying, which I rectified later. I heard the firecrackers, brass band and wild drumming of a wedding procession, and went to watch. I try not to get too much in the middle of the action in case I get dragged onto the dance floor. (It wouldn't be the first time.) But I thought, what the hell, get up there, Davemo - the photos will be better. I stood close to the gyrating wild boyz and held my little camera over my head with both hands while I took video. A young guy stood very close to my right, and just then I felt a hand in my right pocket. I was amazed by how fast I (1) forget that I was shooting video, (2) grabbed his arm and frog-marched him to a nearby truck where I could see myself (3) ramming his head into the side of the truck. Except I only saw it in my head. I had Gandhi whispering in one ear and Tony Soprano in the other. I thought, uh, hang on there, Rambo, you think you're overreacting, maybe? He was gesturing that it was someone else, and I yelled at him and let him go. He and another guy high-tailed it and I was left wondering how it all happened so quickly, including my reaction.

I walked away from the pickpocket/assault, a little agitated and embarrassed, and passed a young-ish guy who was crouched/laying on the filthy street, rhythmically rubbing one cheek against the ground. (What was that about?) I had chai on the street and sat next to the old man with one leg who smiles and holds out his hand like he's the Pope blessing me. I said goodnight to the beautiful, filthy, four year-old beggar girl who always smiles and gives me a hug when I see her, even though I've never given her anything but attention. And I talked to the restaurant owner who said, convincingly, that every one of the beggars in this particular area are controlled by the mafia. All of them? "One hundred percent," he replied.

So ends a not-unusual day in Delhi. If that's not enough to make your head spin, I wonder what would.

I left Delhi a few days ago and took the 22-hour train ride due south, into the state of Maharashtra. There's almost no tourism here, right in the center of the country. A group of us have gathered for three weeks to do volunteer work as part of a meditation-oriented "work retreat" at a community of outcasts, mostly lepers. Today was our first day of actual service, and I took some gruesome photos during the wound clinic that I promise not to show you. The physical ailments here are a little overwhelming. Maybe more than a little. Later I was giving oil massages to old men, some of whom I'd bandaged earlier. Love and revulsion, in more or less equal parts, I'm sorry to say. Revulsion is (hopefully) a temporary reaction to the nasty wounds that I'm not used to. Love is an action, fueled by intention, and can be willfully cultivated. Please continue your good work on me, India. That's why I'm here.

So much love, (and not so much revulsion!),

Dave

These photos are all from the small town of Warora, where the outcast community of Anandwan is located. These handsome blokes are lounging at the entrance. The gnarled hands give away the existence of leprosy.

Ancient India.

This barber works in a small tin shack just off the road.

I remember my grandmother saying she used to do ironing with coals inside a big iron. Yeah, now I know what she meant.

It's the return of the Tower of Love! My friend Jen, who I traveled with for several months around India in 2006, met me here at the work retreat. She has unending, boundless enthusiasm for meet-and-greet with the locals, particularly children. Here she lines up a shot at the carom table. We'd met these guys, oh, 45 seconds prior to this shot.

Beauty.

When people pose for photos, they typically look very serious. After the serious photo, they all laugh, and then I try to take another photo. That's what happened here.

This stunning creature is only 11 years old. She and her friend, who spoke good English, escorted us for about two hours as Jen and I walked around town.

Jen, in her element. She's the only traveler I know with more energy for engaging with children than me.

I took maybe 100 photos during our walk. This kid was with his Mom. Virtually everyone wanted a photo, either of themselves or of a friend.

In the 80's, we joked that you wore sunglasses at night because it was never too dark to be cool. These beautiful women had just had cataract surgery as part of a huge annual eye camp that's currently being held in Anandwan. They're doing 1,800 cataract surgeries over eight days.

Top of Tops, or so his shirt says. I think I agree.

I love this home-made wheelchair, made from a common plastic chair and mountain bike tires. We wheeled around some old men today in funky, clunky chairs. I was wishing I had this speed demon.

(The End)

Love and Chaos, Chaos and Love

2011-12-03T13:36:00.001-08:00

"If you are really preparing for the reality of human existence, preparing for groundlessness, you are living on the razor's edge, and you must become used to the fact that things shift and change. Things are not certain and they do not last and you do not know what is going to happen. If you start to have a direct honest relationship with reality, you know you're asking for trouble because it's not always going to congratulate you, it's not going to confirm you, it's not going to be convenient. And in the process you learn how life itself pulls out the rug."

~ Pema Chodron, from this lovely article No Right, No Wrong, (slightly edited)

Two days after flying back from the climactic warmth and social chill of the tourist-centric Canary Islands, I left a very cold England to arrive this afternoon in New Delhi, India. The temperature is comfortable, and the traffic jam on the drive to my hotel gave me the chance to make eye contact and smile at other stranded motorists who probably weren't having as much fun as I was. I'm tempted to say that India is washing over me right now, but it feels more like it's coming from the inside out. What ever it is about this crazy place that touches me so deeply, is blossoming today. Was I really just in England? A couple sentences ago it says I was - but wow, I'm really here, and India is really SO Indian!

One of my favorite words of late is "authentic." One way to consider what is authentic is to look at what's not: virtually everything on television; virtually everything out of any politician's mouth; fashion magazines; most things that someone are trying to sell you and the selling process itself; and giant resorts built in what had been a desert. But leave Las Vegas out of this. Authenticity is real natural food, compared to packaged survive-nuclear-fallout quasi-food; a heartful and present conversation rather the than kiss-kiss-love-ya-babe nonsense; maybe going slower instead of faster; and being yourself rather than posing as someone you're not. Be yourself. Speak from the heart. Slow down. And don't pose.

India is authentic, in ways you sometimes wish it wasn't. It's rough, often dirty, always confusing - but it's genuine; it's the real thing. And nobody can pull a rug out from under you like India. As Pema would tell you, you have to be thankful for that.

Love!

Dave

p.s. I feel kind of guilty about the teasing I did in my last newsletter. So in the spirit of authentic politicians everywhere, if you are a Gigantic Naked German who somehow, and rather unreasonably, felt slighted by my comments, then I apologize. (Such authenticity - I feel so much better.)

Not so chaotic, really. The roads were widened last year for the Commonwealth Games, where athletes from around the Royal Globe compete against Queen Elizabeth. I've never seen them, but it doesn't sound that interesting to me. Her reaction time and endurance probably aren't that great.

More chaos, although this guy does know how to tie a load to his motorbike. There are big, wide lanes now, but no one pays much attention to staying in their lane. I can't tell why the drivers get mad sometimes and not others. The driver today gave the stink eye to a bus driver that would killed the whole family of a lesser man. The bus was just careening from one lane to another like they always do. At least it seemed that way to me.

Love! These kids aren't on the way to prison, it's a school bus. You can just see all their school bags hanging off the back. They were so excited to have me waving hello and taking their photos.

More love.

Friendly chaos. These boys were enjoying themselves while they cooked up some grub at their street stall.

Love and chaos, at the same time. An Indian wedding, with the groom on a horse. This is a short video. Crazy dancing, drumming, chandeliers on the heads of the worker bees, and loud music as they make their way down the street. I love it.

(The End)

Fuerteventura, Canary Islands

2011-12-01T11:39:00.001-08:00

The Canary Islands! Wow, what a potentially interesting place. (Missed it by that much...)

The Canaries seem ridiculously remote until you see the RyanAir map of all the places you can fly in from. And when you arrive, you're surrounded by non-local sun-worshipers: old, grey-haired, frequently gigantic, sun-worshipers. I was told that 90% of the tourists in the south of Fuerteventura island are German, and 90% of the tourists in the north are British. I was chillin' with the Germans, and they party to a different set of rules than old folks where I live. I didn't know if they were filming "Grandma's Gone Wild" or auditioning for "The Biggest Loser, Germany Edition." Since I care about you, I'm not posting any photos of the octogenarians flying their freak flag, walking down the beach with all their bits waving in the breeze. You can thank me later. The tourist development I saw didn't wreck the place - only the places where they developed. Grand soulless non-communities with no center and little apparent culture. Since I wasn't driving I didn't do much exploring other than walking. But on the hour-plus bus rides in and out of the airport I got the feeling that there is a soul to be had - just not much in the resort-centric development areas.

The islands weren't named after the birds - it was the other way around. Ancient Greeks wrote about the islands, and they were a common stop-off for the Spanish when they were crossing the pond to their American holdings. In fact, Christopher Columbus stopped there on his way to getting an American holiday named after himself. (Those Indians must have been so happy to have finally been discovered!) The islands became a major hub for the slave trade, and it also represented a milestone of sorts in slavery liberation when Pope Eugene IV in 1435 announced that newly converted Christians could not be made slaves. If they didn't accept Christianity? You're on your own, pal.

Here's European colonialism in a nutshell, from a Lonely Planet summary. Amazing:

The islanders were heavily taxed and many were sold into slavery; Maciot also recruited them for abortive raids on the remaining three independent islands. He then capped it all off by selling to Portugal his rights – inherited from his uncle – to the four islands. This move prompted a tiff with Spain, which was eventually awarded rights to the islands by Pope Eugene V. Low-key rivalry continued for years, with Portugal only recognising Spanish control of the Canaries in 1479 under the Treaty of Alcáçovas. In return, Spain agreed that Portugal could have the Azores, Cape Verde and Madeira.

Tomorrow night I'm flying to India, where my sarcastic musings will no doubt take a turn for the different. After some days in Delhi I'll be volunteering with some friends for three weeks at a leprosy community in central India. I'm ready for that, me thinks.

Love, love, love,
Dave

Why do we call food "succulent" when we wouldn't want most succulents anywhere near our mouths? Umm, this looks like a tasty morsel. You first!

A rare moment with not many people around.

I presume this was intentional.

The ocean and beaches are incredible. Fuerteventura island is very much like dry and rugged Baja California, while some of the other Canary Islands are in the Gulf Stream and are a lush green.

The island is a major destination for wind surfing and kite sailing.

I met a guy on his second day of lessons, and he was getting pretty frustrated. I gave him a pep talk, since he was learning for both of us.

Rugged mountains in the background. Clothed beachgoers in the foreground.

A dramatic sunset, with a brother and sister playing in the waves.

Two more reasons to be vegetarian, in my book.

Building blocks.

At the end of town a walkway led to a church and viewpoint.

I caught a photo of a ghost walking along the waterfront. The sky looked to be almost black to the naked eye.

Sunsets are kind of cliche for photography, but I can't help it.

The working lighthouse in Jandia.

Street lights normally give off a very photography-unfriendly green-ish light. This photo had the natural sunlight and the goofy street lights. Nice contrast, in a strange way.

You really ARE special! Just like everyone else.

From the water's edge, facing the lighthouse and town.

I included this so you could see how far south the Canary Islands are. The Google Maps link is here.

Personalized tourist photos, courtesy of the German government! How friendly is that?! These came in the mail at Brigitte's house last year, kindly noting that my speed was just over the allowable limit. Snapshot fee: 15 Euros, or about $20.

(The End)

"In this field there are no sheep."

2011-11-22T14:19:00.000-08:00

"The tourist generally hurries back home at the end of a few weeks or months, the traveler, belonging no more to one place than to the next, moves slowly, over periods of years, from one part of the earth to another." ~ Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

"Whatever. Just go travel if you want and enjoy yourself. Forget about what anyone else is doing." ~ Dave Adair

Dear people-iest people,

Why do I feel the need to tell you? I've no idea, but here goes: I'm flying tomorrow morning to one of the Canary Islands, to spend a week with my friend Brigitte, from Munich. The island is either called Fuerteventura or maybe Rosario, although Google Maps says something about La Oliva. What am I, some kind of Canary Island historian or something? Yeah, I don't think so. It's off the coast of Morocco, near Western Sahara. (So Western Sahara is a country? This is embarrassing.) My English/Australian mate Keith is waking up at 3:30 a.m. so he can give me a ride to the airport. What a saint.

When I'm back next Wednesday, I'm staying at Saint Keith's again for two nights before flying to India. I'll be there for maybe six months, and I've found a barn to store my van in while I'm gone. Adventure awaits!

Much love,

Dave

While this sign is indeed accurate, (there were in fact no sheep in the field,) it is wholly incomplete. There So Many Things that were not in this field! A HUGE number of things.

One picture? That's it?!

(The End)

Guy Fawkes, the sequel

2011-11-15T04:10:00.001-08:00

"You think [God's] not up there? You think he's not watching over this country? How else can you explain it? He tested us, but we came through. We did what we had to do. Islington. Enfield. I was there, I saw it all. Immigrants, Muslims, homosexuals, terrorists. Disease-ridden degenerates. They had to go. Strength through unity. Unity through faith. I'm a God-fearing Englishman and I'm goddamn proud of it!" ~ from the movie "V for Vendetta"

It's been a Guy Fawkes kind of week. After the chaotic and explosive celebrations in Lewes from my last post, I stumbled across the Somerset Carnival in the beautiful small city of Wells, and again the next night in Glastonbury. What they call carnival we would call a parade, where giants floats do a procession through town ostensibly to raise money for charity. The origins go back to the Guy Fawkes celebration, though it looks more like something you'd see at Disneyland. (There weren't torches or fire pits you could fall into - it wasn't even dangerous!) The floats ranged from small and cheesy to giant and cheesy.

I wondered about the masks that protesters were wearing at the Occupy Wall Street protests, and learned that they were from the movie "V for Vendetta." With visions of Guy Fawkes already dancing in my head, I watched that movie, which had Mr. Fawkes as a principal character. Two weeks ago I couldn't have told you who Guy Fawkes was, and now I'm quasi-obsessed.

What's the difference between Guy Fawkes, reviled annually for 400 years, and the revered George Washington, with his image on United States currency? George Washington won.

Love to you,
Dave

p.s. I forgot in my last posting to include a link to more photos from Guy Fawkes night in Lewes.

I'm driving down the road, minding my own business, when I see a sign for Stonehenge. Um, yeah, you betcha I'm going there, especially since it was only 10 miles away. I'd been once before, in 2004, so I just stopped briefly and took a few snaps.

I met up with my friend Bryony in the town of Wells, Somerset, in the west of England. She and I traveled for three months in England and Scotland in 2004. Wells is beautiful, and has a spectacular cathedral, which makes no sense to me considering the population is 10,000 people. I've never seen a church with so much decoration, both inside and out.

Look how modern the "scissors" supports in the center look. It must be relative new, no? Incredibly, it was added to the existing building in 1338 as a way to support the sinking foundations. It's staggering to me that they had the technology, the math, and the skill to pull that off.

This clock has worked continuously since 1390. It also tracks the lunar calendar. They don't come out and say that the original mechanism is now in London, (where it still works.) (Thanks Wikipedia. )

Some of the many elaborate carvings inside the cathedral.

Bryony is looking up at the ceiling of the Chapter House, where monks met for talks about "business," as the sign said. ("Who should we burn at the stake today?!") This room was completed in 1306.

The ceiling of the Chapter House.

A beautiful old door.

What do you call this? Well, it's one of those, and that's stained glass in the background.

This beautiful building houses the music school, just across from the cathedral.

The little fair in the center of Wells.

There are people inside this fair ride.

This is the Bishop's Palace, home of the Bishop for 800 years. Just after I took this photo I met a local couple who told me about the carnival, which we'd call a parade, that was starting in an hour.

Massive, over-the-top "carts," which we'd call floats, are limited to 100 feet long! All the large ones incorporate a massive generator to power the light bulbs that you could probably see from Las Vegas.

Everyone had a theme, even if it didn't make any sense. This man might have been Cyndi Lauper with gills. Maybe.

I'll stop guessing now.

This was the first of the floats that were a "diorama," where all the characters were frozen. That's a tough way to spend two hours, I'd think.

An English person next to me commented that lots of the floats had American themes: Old West, hillbillies, Disney, etc. I hadn't noticed, but it was true.

By now it was POURING rain. English people don't get wet in the same way I do. I've used this line 100 times since I got here: "I'm from California, and I don't even go outside when it's raining. I wait until it's over." Unfortunately, that's a true statement, but I'm trying to learn new habits. I was dripping by the time this event was over, so I guess I'm learning.

Now for an afternoon in Glastonbury, the Berkeley of England. This hill is known as Glastonbury Tor, and people have been coming here for worship for 10,000 years, apparently. It rises, naturally, almost 500 feet from the surrounding flat plains, and it's a fantastic view. There's the ruins of a church on the top. The last abbot of Glastonbury, in 1539, was dragged by horses to the top on the hill, then hung, for "uncertain reasons," then drawn and quartered. Thank goodness we no longer kill people for uncertain reasons.

The view from the Tor as I headed back down into town.

In the evening, the even larger Glastonbury Carnival begins, this time on a dry evening.

I'm still having nightmares about this guy. The entire float was wearing those creepy contacts, or maybe that's just how they look, and that's why they were on the float.

The song accompanying these gals was "Get Down On It" by Kool and the Gang. Really.

Insert your own caption here.

This was an Old West float.

This little girl kinda freaks me out, but I think I could take her. The more I look, the less I'm sure.

This float wins for the best make-up and funniest unchanging expressions.

I'll bet his jaw ached after holding this pose for a couple of hours.

Such a nice portrait, except for that whole mouth thing, which she was holding.

Ghouls.

I know that look. He spends too much time on the computer.

Strawmen? Scarecrows? Hillbillies? Pig farmers?

The most amazing float to me. Every part of this contraption was moving.

There were four amazingly life-like elephants on each side, each of which moved quite a bit, plus the guy in front is bustin' a move on a platform that spins circles with four people on it. Incredible.

(The End)

Guy Fawkes night in Lewes, England

2011-11-10T01:09:00.001-08:00

"If a man insisted always on being serious, and never allowed himself a bit of fun and relaxation, he would go mad or become unstable without knowing it." - Herodotus

On November 5th I had the good fortune to be staying with my friend Beka in Lewes, an hour south of London and close to more well-known Brighton. Lewes is Ground Zero for what has to be the most chaotic, loud, and dangerous public celebration on this normally reserved and "proper" isle. Guy Fawkes was caught in the "Gunpowder Plot" of 1605 trying to assassinate King James I. If that wasn't bad enough, the plotters were Catholic! That just won't do. Mr. Fawkes was hung, then drawn and quartered, meaning chopped into (at least) four pieces. Ewwww. The annual celebration of the failure of the plot was originally primarily anti-Catholic, and often violent, as described in this Wikipedia article. In recent times it's just a wild celebration.

What you don't see in these photos is how loud it is, primarily from a continuous barrage of powerful firecrackers - what we used to call cherry bombs or M80's. They're dropped in the street, roll around at your feet, and vibrate your body if they go off near you. There are no physical barriers between onlookers and participants, so the heat from torches brushed past my head the whole evening, and my ears were ringing from the explosives. Yeah, baby.

Love to you all,
Dave

I haven't seen so many torches since a Frankenstein movie.

Periodically celebrants carried some kind of red flare that was way too bright to look into. It turned the night red.

The famous 17 crosses, commemorating the 17 Protestant martyrs who were burned at the stake on this very street between 1555 and 1557.

Costumes are elaborate. I don't know how the themes are chose by the groups.

There are lots of children taking part.

This man looks like the Johnson side of my family.

Another view of the 17 crosses.

Here's one you won't see in the U.S.: white people with black-as-night makeup, dressed as Africans.

These metal skids are pulled around through the night to burn the used torches. New torches are handed out regularly, and the old ones are dropped on the street before they're picked up and burned by these guys.

Guy Fawkes himself. As he wheels by, some people in the crowd yell, "Burn him! BURN HIM!!" Good clean fun, I guess.

An effigy I fully support the burning of: Rupert Murdoch being strangled by Rebekah Brookes, former head of News of the World.

The procession leaves the downtown area and heads to the bonfire a mile or so away.

AT the end of the evening, there are substantial fireworks displays from each of the bonfire societies, situated around the outskirts of town.

This bonfire was just behind the house where Beka lives.

The fire was so hot it was difficult to get within 50 yards of it.

The bonfire is nearby as fireworks are going off at a distant bonfire.

(The End)

The Isle of Lewis and Harris, Scotland

2011-10-27T13:45:00.000-07:00

"For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move." – Robert Louis Stevenson

I'm going to let you in on one of my closely held travel planning secrets. You ready? Here it is: Happenstance. I go somewhere, who knows why, and then wait for something to happen. Last week's "something" was when my yatra friend Sonia said, "You need to go to Lewis and Harris." Yeah, OK. So I took the hour and a half car ferry further west into the Atlantic. This is how trips are made - by me anyway. Now that you know the secret: go forth and plan. Then go, take pictures, and share your stories.

In spite of the name(s), Lewis and Harris is one island in the Outer Hebrides, also known as the Western Isles. If you were to head due west you'd scoot around the southern tip of Greenland and eventually run into the mouth of Lake Hudson in Canada, almost as far north as Anchorage, Alaska. It feels fairly remote when you're in the wilds here, but not so much when you're in a town. There's diversity of landscapes, from rocky moonscapes covered with mossy vegetation, to steep mountains to the flat terrain in the north.

Scottish Gaelic (pronounced "gawl-ik") is widely spoken. Virtually every sign is written in big letters in Gaelic and smaller letters in English. Scots are not English, which I'm sure sounds idiotic to anyone from these parts, but I didn't fully appreciate it until spending time here. In fact, there's an active independence campaign happening right now. Several hundred years of bad blood don't just go away because you're all wearing suits and making nice-nice with each other.

I'm heading to southern England in a few days, and thinking I'll be in India by the end of November, with my van stored, somewhere, in England.

Love to you,

Dave

This is the southern tip of Harris (pronounced Hawr-iss), and the tower in the distance is the Church of St. Clemens, which you'll see later in the photos.

The obligatory stone wall. I love the colors.

This is a rare white beach of Skye, before I took the ferry. The white is from a slow-growing algae that's rich in calcium. It's been harvested for fertilizer for centuries.

A long beach on Skye. The wind was howling, as usual, and blowing the mist back over the top of the waves.

This is from the ferry as we crossed from Uig on Skye, to Tarbert on Harris.

South from Tarbert, the east coast of Harris is incredible. You might be able to count the trees on one hand, but there are thousands of lakes of all sizes.

This island doesn't get too much traffic normally, but at this time of year the south was almost deserted. I was able to cruise along at about 20 miles an hour on the windy narrow lane that is the main road. It's unlike any other landscape I've seen.

I wild camped here. Wild and stormy, of course. It looks like an abandoned fish or crab farming platform in the little bay.

I love a good portrait. And she's so sexy. I MEAN FLUFFY. That's what I meant, I swear. Eek. That was close. (Long joke punchline: "That sheep lies!")

The Church of St. Clements dates to the early 16th century. (Wikipedia here.)

This is a wall tomb in the church, dating to 1570-ish. Notice the Viking ship in the upper right.

I love a rocky coastline.

This reminds me of Big Sur in California, where I used to go camping as a teenager.

There are endless rivers and streams all over Scotland, given the rainfall. This is a bigger river than I saw most places.

This is another one of those awe and wonder moments that I can't really wrap my head around. These stones were placed upright in this location about 5,000 years ago. My mind stops at this point.

I almost never do black and white photos, but this seemed like the time. These "Callanish Stones" are a great mystery, mostly because very little besides the stones themselves survives. I can imagine why they might have been placed there - but we can't know. My guess: OK, I can't find the words... To see what the scene might have looked like moving the stones, see this amazing photo from Indonesia in 1915.

Another mind-boggler, just a few miles from the standing stones. This is a family home that is roughly 2,000 years old.

This was a common building for powerful families back then, but this is one of the best preserved. (Description and more pics here.)

You can see the double-walled construction, without mortar.

This interpretive panel at the site shows how it may have looked inside.

The beautiful landscape and village as seen from the ruin.

This is an upper area between the two walls. You can see stairs that allowed for passage between floors. I thought about going further in but decided I'd rather pass the possibility of being on national news for getting stuck.

Small islands off the coast of Lewis.

I wild camped just below these unexcavated ancient stone ruins.

The northernmost point of Lewis. What the photo doesn't portray is the vicious wind - some of the strongest wind I've ever been in. You could stand on a sheer rock face and look straight down to rocks and crashing waves - but I could barely stand upright. I stayed clear of the edge. This lighthouse was built in 1862 by relatives of Robert Louis Stevenson. No joke, this place is known, officially, as the "Butt of Lewis." I'm not being an ass. Or cracking jokes. It's true.

This is a few hundred yards away from the lighthouse.

Magical!

Peat. I couldn't figure out how peat could burn, so I did some reading. Dang - there's a lot there. In very wet places of the world, plant life grows like crazy, but because it's so water-soaked, it doesn't get enough oxygen to fully decay. So the carbon is still available as fuel. It's basically an immature coal. It's a massive carbon sink, it makes good insulation, acts as a sponge in heavy rain, and in 1929 it provided 40% of Russia's electrical energy. Oh, there's more. Read the link! And check out this amazing photo of a "bog man" who died in the 4th century B.C. - people are preserved in an almost life-like state if buried in a bog.

Scottish quilt. I was so used to gale force winds that I was a little shocked to come around the corner and see this loch so perfectly placid. May you, lovely reader, also be perfect and placid until we contact each other again...

(The End)

Fall in Scotland

2011-10-18T16:52:00.001-07:00

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." -Marcel Proust

Sorry for posting such a short note - but I can't feel my fingers. Well, I can mostly feel my fingers. It's my toes that I'm worried about. OK, fine! I'm not worried, I just like to complain. As they say in these parts: "I'm freezin' me bollocks!" I'm not entirely sure what that means, but it doesn't matter, cuz all me parts are freezing. OK, yes, I do know what it means! Geesh, tough crowd.

I'm writing from the north bit of the isle of Skye, where even the locals are complaining about the weather. What a massive wind and rain storm we had last night. I decided to wild camp next to a "loch" (Scottish for lake) in a completely unprotected area, while the radio was predicting gale force winds. Good idea, Dave! When the wind really started howling, these massive gusts turned the van into a bucking bronco, and the rain was deafening, even when it wasn't hail. With the lights off and me huddled in my sleeping bag it seemed reasonable to wonder if it was possible for the wind to turn my van over. Or if it could push the van backwards a bit so it would roll into the loch. Or if it could break out the big plastic window in the side of the van. I really had those questions, and they seemed reasonable. Sleep? Now that was unreasonable.

The forecast for the area is looking pretty bleak, but during the brief bits of bright shadow (or even sun!) it's pretty amazing. We'll see how long I last.

Love to all of you,
Dave

Fall colors at The Hermitage, near Dunkeld. There's an arched stone bridge through the mist.

All the rain makes for treacherous walking around here.

A close up of the bridge. It's an arch. And it's made of stone. I'm just sayin'.

Hey look! More stone! I thought it was interesting that someone would bother to put this pattern in an otherwise simple wall. I like it.

Balvaird Castle, built around 1500 AD. Or in Roman terms, about 1,400 years after Hadrian's Wall. (Wikipedia here.)

Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj, Indian guru: "Call it as you like. It is solid, steady, changeless, beginningless and endless, ever new, ever fresh."

The falls below the Hermitage.

I love the colors.

This was just the gate house for some private estate. They have a ton of these kind of places in Great Britain. It makes me wonder what the house looks like.

Sunshine.

I have pics like this from Sweden, and a bunch from Alaska, too.

It's raining in the distance. Scotland is loaded with these lochs.

The hills above this stream have been dusted with snow.

This is the fairy-tale, postcard-perfect Eilean Donan castle, which I have to say looks a lot more impressive in clear weather and high tide. The place was almost totally rebuilt at the beginning of the 20th century to a design that the owner saw in a dream. The site has amazing history, but the castle itself reminds me of a theme park. A beautiful, 100 year-old theme park.

If the van had been pushed over by the wind, it might have landed in this bog. This is where I camped last night.

Just 10 minutes after taking this photo, I heard on the radio that wild salmon are being threatened by parasites which are made worse by these factory farms.

Why do I tell you people these stories? The wind was so cold and blowing so hard I stuck my camera out through the gap in my door to take this photo. Does that make me a sissy? Um, yes, Dave, I believe it does.

Famous row houses in the village of Portree, on the isle of Skye.

Famous geologic structures on the far north of Skye. (Wikipedia here.)

Just further along the coast, this amazing waterfall plunges to the ocean. The sun came out for about 5 minutes.

This is a hotel. Lovely!

(The End)

Hadrian's Wall, among other things

2011-10-12T15:39:00.000-07:00

"All good trips are, like love, about being carried out of yourself and deposited in the midst of terror and wonder." - Pico Iyer, Why We Travel

Greetings fellow travelers,

I could spend my time visiting new places, but I may as well start again visiting places I've already been. I can forget a lot, I find - even some pretty amazing things. What do you know about Hadrian's Wall? If you're American, like me, you have a good excuse: it doesn't get talked about much. I don't know about the rest of the world, but dang, there's a lot that doesn't get talked about in the U.S.

Shock number one (for me): the Romans controlled the island of Great Britain for almost 400 years, beginning around 43 AD. Wow. (Caesar had sent forces there 100 years earlier, in 55 BC.) Hadrian was the emperor of Rome from 117 AD to 138 AD, and on his third trip here he ordered, in 122 AD, the building of a 72-mile wall bisecting the isle to keep out the barbarians from Caledonia - the Scottish. Shock number two: large parts of that ancient wall, now pushing 2,000 years old, are still standing.

I went to a museum about the wall (which I'd seen briefly in 2004) and was looking at statues and various ancient relics like coins and tools. What I really wanted to see was some kind of video recreation, cuz these bits of museum signboards and a rusty piece of whatever just weren't cutting it. The next day I went to the wrong museum (blame my GPS's owner) and watched a fantastic 3D movie, showing the wall in its full glory, as seen from the view of an eagle flying overhead. It was exactly what I was looking for! Half an hour later, a short distance from the museum, I was walking next to this 1,900 year old wall, built by the Romans. My mind just went blank, and I was filled with the most delicious awe. I can't really describe it, but the scope and history of it overwhelmed me, and my mind became so quiet.

May you find awe and wonder in your life. What excites you? What are you passionate about? Start there!

Too much love,

Dave

Before we get to the wall, first the "other things" from the blog title. I "wild camped" (not in a campground) near these cliffs in Norfolk, and walked about six miles along the the coastal trail.

What's she thinking about?

I love the shape and angles of this bird.

Ah - I'm now in the famous Lakes District. Home to lakes, mountains, and spectacular walking. I went for a few hours walk around a lake.

We walkers got lucky with the weather today. And the only time it really rained I ducked into this abandoned slate mine.

This estate is just across the street from Wordsworth's house, near Grasmere. It happened to be on the walk.

This area is the wettest part of England. That looks right to me.

I love those colors.

This little bridge, crossing a small creek to reach a pasture, is unremarkable in this part of the world - which I find remarkable. Think of the physics of that arch: those stones are all trying to fall, but can't because they push on each other and onto the slanted walls. If those walls were to move apart from each other, the whole thing would topple.

I let my GPS tell me what route to take to the next campsite.

This is called a "single-track" road. My van fills the road, and when a car comes the other direction someone needs to find a wide spot to pull over. This wasn't a busy day, but it's not a very relaxing type of driving!

This explains why the campground owners said, "You drove over that pass? In THAT van??!" Do you know how steep 30% is? If my van stopped on 30%, I don't think it would go up again - I'd have to back up first - which in fact happened. I had to back up down a super-steep, super-windy section. I came really close to missing the corner, which would have stuck the van and the other car. Not fun. Sometimes my choices surprise me.

This is Lanercost Priory, the oldest parts of which date back to about 1170 AD. Oh, so much history, including when King Edward I and his posse stayed here for five months when he was on his way to tame the Scots. It was torn down, mostly, when Henry VIII, the benevolent one, wanted to shtup someone more fertile, and the Catholic Church said no to his divorce.

The store rooms under the ruins of the church. Lanercost happened to be in the volatile area between England and Scotland, who battled for centuries. Many of the buildings here are built as defensible fortresses - even farmhouses.

A tombstone on the floor of the church.

Looking at the ruins from inside the part of the church which is still in use.

Steve Jobs: "Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important." ...

...continued: "Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart."

This is a still from a video I took. England, really, come on. This is a two-way road?

Hadrian's Wall! It was originally about 15 feet, or 5 meters tall. It continues along the edge of the cliffs, and up and down some very steep bits.

Vast parts of the wall were pilfered over the years and ended up in churches, castles, houses and even sheep fencing.

The wall was built by the military, which had its own architects and engineers.

Yeah, the Romans, whatever. But Kevin Costner was in a movie right here! This is known as Sycamore Gap, and apparently it was featured in the Robin Hood movie.

These delightful young people were hiking for some days along the wall and staying at bed and breakfast inns along the way. They looked like they were into computers, but I didn't want to ask. I didn't really need to, either!

A wooded stretch, just next to where the wall had been. Only a small wall is there now. The wall continues off in the distance, over the wooded hills above the lake.

I'm sure the dye makes it easier to identify their sheep, but its not helping my photos, thanks. I read that they all need to be tagged, regardless of the dye.

Sycamore Gap from a different angle.

There were forts and crossing points every mile along the 72-mile wall. There would have been a road going each direction - left towards Scotland and right into England.

The Romans were so far ahead of many civilizations of their day. Look how elaborate this bath house was. There's a hot room, a tepid room, a cold room. It looks more or less like a modern gym, but maybe nicer. (Wikipedia's Roman Britain.)

Remnants of the wall are running up the hill, and you can see what's left of the protective ditch on the right side. There was a 12-foot ditch, initially only on the north side, and eventually on both sides of the wall. It prevented, or slowed down, a full-scale attack of the wall. It's not clear why they built one on the English side, other than perhaps to keep people in.

At this point, the original foundations can be seen, but there's only a thin modern wall on the outside of it. Further along you can see where the full-width wall begins again.

Look at the difference between these two sections of the same "modern" wall, just a little ways apart. For my rock wall internship, I want to go with the guy from the left side.

Hey - it's my brother's birthday today! Happy Birthday Miguelito!

(The End)

Sweden to Denmark to England

2011-09-30T11:17:00.001-07:00

Greetings!

Last I wrote I was with Whitney and Kris on the island of Gotland, Sweden, heading back to Stockholm. We had some beautiful sunny weather for days, I learned that the red "idiot" light on my van's dash actually meant something, and when the brakes started working again we continued our trip without incident. Eventually I ran out of money and had to say goodbye (I swear that's not true) and headed for the ferry in Esbjerg, Denmark, about 600 miles from Stockholm.

When I was in Denmark I was looking for my ferry e-ticket ticket, so I was searching Evernote for the info. (Yes, you do need Evernote. Everyone needs it.) I came across a document my cousin had sent about the histories of some Adair ancestors. One of them had been born in Soro, Denmark, in 1845. I had just seen Soro on the map, and it was nearby, so I went. What a difference it made to my perception of the place to think that my great-great-grandmother was born there. I thought of what it must have been like 160 years ago, and what it must have been for her to travel to the U.S. Her story just gets more interesting: at the age of 17, and not yet speaking English, she WALKED with one of the Mormon wagon trains from Illinois to Utah. If she hadn't, I wouldn't be here. (Good Buddhist question: when I begin?? When I was born, or when she was born, or...??)

I had a simple and comfortable 18-hour overnight ferry crossing, with a private room. My big drama when I drove off the ferry onto England: driving on the opposite side of the road! "Left side, Dave! Left side!" This is my mantra every time I get in my car. Between that and the serious narrow country lanes here, I'm not finding driving to be relaxing, especially at night. At one point on a narrow lane I pulled way over to let a car pass, and didn't realize for 10 minutes that I'd pull over on the wrong side. Oops. I guess that explains why he was so slow to pass.

Someone has to stop me from taking so many photos, or wanting to share so many. More stories below.

Love,
Dave

Spires and boats, Stockholm.

Someone industrious took this rock outcropping and built an arch and flat stone base to turn it into a little yard.

I didn't know what this was until a French tourist told me. Lovers come to this tall bridge, put their lock here and then throw the key into the river as a symbol of their love. But if you break up, you have to come back and throw your partner into the river. That part may not be true.

When I reviewed my photos I had maybe eight photos of this set of buildings. I love the colors.

Taken from the steps of City Hall.

"Does this gold paint make my butt look big?" On top of City Hall.

A florist shop in the colorful Gamla Stan neighborhood.

A long pedestrian walkway in the center of Stockholm.

Stately building facades.

I went in this coffee shop for a cafe latte and a pastry.

Inside the coffee shop.

I was riding my bike around town and didn't know where to go, so I started following random people on their bikes. I ended up here: the starting point of the Stockholm Half Marathon, which was happening the next day. There was some kind of talent competition for young people. All the introductions were in Swedish, but of the six songs I heard, one was in Swedish, and five were in English. They were REALLY talented.

These kids run a half marathon? Not quite - one lap around the square, which ended in tears for some and Mom's running next to their kids holding their hands.

Kris and I walked to meet Whitney at the trendy and chic "Lux" restaurant, which is just down there near to the water.

I love good food, but I'm just about as indifferent to what I call "fine food" as is possible. Service was amazing, they could name the farmers and the little old lady who grows the apples. That's lovely. But a meal that costs $175 each sets the bar so high, for me, that no chef in the world can get over it. And "reindeer sashimi?" Spare me. Yes, I might be a caveman. The irony is that my favorite food in the world, regardless of cost, is anything that Whitney cooks, and she's the one that dragged me to this restaurant.

"Dress to kill, but tastefully." I took a short ferry from Helsingborg, Sweden to Helsingor, Denmark rather than going on via the bridge I took last time.

Arriving at Helsingor, Denmark. It's another 200 miles drive to the port of Esbjerg, where I took the 18-hour ferry to Harwich, England.

Welcome to England, in an uncharacteristically bright spell of good weather. Or "fine" weather as they call it here. I'm trying to fit in, so I talk about the weather constantly, and it's a sure-fire conversation starter. Samuel Johnson famously noted, in 1758: "It is commonly observed, that when two Englishmen meet, their first talk is of the weather." Dude, that is, like, so true.

I guess I could have shown some more beautiful coast photos first. But here it is: under the piers in perhaps Clacton-on-Sea, Essex. Just down the way from Walton-on-Naze, don't ya know. (It's true.)

A fixture on English beaches: the beach hut. Privately owned, and chock-a-block on most beaches. These have an unusual amount of space between them.

A wind farm some miles out to sea. There is a big one being built off the Norfolk coast, nine miles out to sea, that will be have 87 turbines (in up to 60 feet of water,) powering 220,000 homes.

Oh, the history! This is Framlingham Castle, where Mary Tudor, daughter of Henry VIII, was proclaimed the first Queen of England, in 1553. She was as lovely as her dear old Dad! According to Wikipedia, she had 280 religious dissenters burned at the stake. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_I_of_England

This is the interior of the castle, such as it is. There's an amazing amount of history here, primarily about the rich and powerful. Poor people don't really have history, now, do they? "Until the lion has his or her own storyteller, the hunter will always have the best part of the story."

The castle was completed in 1220 A.D. or so. Great intrigue and nastiness in the three powerful families of the area competing for power with the King. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Framlingham_Castle

This is the church in Framlingham. I love the wonky gravestones. "Framingham" Massachusetts (missing the "L" for some reason) was named for here, based on a wealthy emigrant who owned most of the land surrounding the city there.

The tomb of Henry Howard, the 3rd Earl of Surrey, and good friend of Henry VIII's illegitimate son, whose tomb is just next to this one. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Howard,_Earl_of_Surrey

Pews in the church. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Michael_the_Archangel,_Framlingham

Moody light inside the church.

In Memory of YOU, Who Died TOO SOON, Aged NOT ENOUGH. Broken Record Boy is here to remind you: you don't know when it will happen, only THAT it will happen. And you don't need to prepare for some (hopefully) far off day as much as you need to really dig in and love and immerse yourself into this day that you're having. This one. Right now.

I went charging up a hill to find a place to photograph this.

I like the colors here. It's not a brilliant pic, cuz I stopped on a road and put my camera out my window to hastily take it. On the wrong side of the road.

This looks the distortion from a super wide angle lens. But no - this village has the most wobbly-looking houses I've seen.

Another medieval house, with bricks between the wood.

That front window is just as bowed as it looks. There's another proper window on the inside.

Stained glass in a church.

Have you heard of the "Green Man?" He's a pre-Christian character that shows up on churches all over England (and the world), and has for about 800 years. "Primarily it is interpreted as a symbol of rebirth, or "renaissance," representing the cycle of growth each spring." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_man

Flowers in a town square.

Ummm, them are some good worms. Worm sashimi.

The Norfolk coast, not far from Sheringham, where I walked to along the coast trail.

I wanted to run after this couple so I could send them this picture, but they'd think I was stalking with them. I guess I would have been, but in a nice way. It's easier to approach people when I'm traveling with someone else, especially with a woman. Some people aren't too sure about a big single guy. But English people have been incredibly friendly and outgoing, which I love.

(The End)

Stockholm and Gotland, Sweden

2011-09-24T13:08:00.001-07:00

Hello my people,

I survived, er, enjoyed a week of blissful travel, sight-seeing, and indulging in Stockholm and its environs with my old friends Whitney and Kris. For those who don't know, Whitney and I dated in another life, and spent a year in another VW van driving from San Francisco to Costa Rica and back. In spite of that experience, she invited me to join the two of them in Sweden. It didn't bankrupt me, in spite of a valiant effort, because Kris put me up in her apartment and we only had a few splurges, which I secretly enjoyed. Don't tell them.

I'm breaking up the photos into two newsletters, since there were so many I'd like to share. I'll send another newsletter in a few days. Stories, some true, are with the photos below...

Love to YOU,
Dave

This is just a day or so before I met up with the girls, and the weather was unpredictable. It makes a huge difference for photography when the sun is out - especially here where the low Sweden's low sun makes for beautiful light.

This was taken at a lakeside "bathklubb" - not sure I've got the spelling right. It's surprisingly warm in Sweden, but fall was in the air, and no one was swimming in September.

This is the famous copper mine in Falun, which had mining operations for an amazing 1,000 years. It only closed in 1992. It wasn't a giant pit mine until a massive collapse in 1687 left a huge crater. The traditional red color on Swedish cottages is still referred to as "Falu Red," with origins from a by-product of the mining here. The mine also fueled much of Sweden's military might and revenues for centuries.

Lost normally in the "strategically important" and "military might" conversation is that mine workers included 10 year-olds who sorted the crushed rock and 8 year-olds who sorted the debris. This was the typical entry point to be a full-fledged miner working in the mine shafts.

A church tower at sunset.

This is my old friend Lotta, who I met in India 10 years ago, where I've seen her on multiple trips, as well as on yatras in France. (My nickname for her is "One Whole Lotta Love." But that's kind of long, so sometimes I shorten it to "Lotta.") Anyway - she lives a 5-minute walk from where Kris lives, in this cottage that dates back to 1750.

Lotta's beautiful daughter Alice, which explains why I haven't seen Lotta for a while. Alice turned three the day after this photo was taken.

Stockholm's skyline on a beautiful clear day.

Whitney and Kris on our first walk around town, with Kris's dog Casey.

The ship below, the "Vasa" had a spectacular and short life. It sunk 30 minutes after it's first launch, in 1628, and was so massive it couldn't be raised. It rested in the mud and fresh water for 350 years before it was finally relocated, brought to the surface in 1961 and renovated. It's incredible to see. It's 69 meters, or 226 feet long. Fascinating details here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasa_Ship

This is a model of the ship, showing the original colors and detailed carvings.

There were around 1,000 carvings on the ship, many of which were salvaged.

This is the rear end of the ship. That's the nautical term, I believe. Or is it ass-end? I forget.

Imagine the resources that went into this monstrosity, only to have it sink almost immediately. It was intended for the ongoing war with Poland.

Some of the carvings on the bow were all of the Greek emperors. (I think the King might have been a bit of a dick.)

I asked if I could take his photo, cuz that knife looks sharp.

Whitney tells me that there is a ton of design happening in Stockholm. She has to tell me, since I wouldn't know it if I saw it. I like the colors of this window display.

These look to be old restored cottages, like the one Lotta lives in. The government owns Lotta's and rents it out.

We stayed at this hotel for a night, and watched the sun set on one side while the full moon rise from the other.

This is the renovated farmhouse hotel, with the restaurant fully lit.

It's a three-hour ferry ride to the island of Gotland, which is halfway between mainland Sweden and Latvia. We're arriving here in the old walled town of Visby.

There were 14 churches in and near Visby, for some reason. Somebody had too much money in my opinion. Some of the churches were just blocks from each other.

This is inside the ruins of another church on Visby.

The profile of yet another Visby church at sundown.

This is part of the wall, which still encircles the old town. This gate dates back to 1280 or something.

The main square in old town Visby, taken from the steps of the restaurant where we ate.

Gotland's most famous residents: sheep. They do have a beautiful curly coat, which I only managed to see up close on the skins for sale in shops.

I'm fascinated, some would say obsessed, by rock walls. I don't believe I've ever seen this style of layering single round stones between flat stones.

We had a couple of great drives on Gotland in my van. It's a rugged coastline, and there was a howling wind.

This looked to be an old military installation.

This is a "boat-shaped grave" that dates back to the Late Bronze Age, 1100 to 400 BC. Wow. The dead were cremated and put in an urn, and buried either in or near the boat-shaped grave. There are 350 of these graves they've found on Gotland, ranging from 6 meters to 46 meters in length. This one is 29 meters, about 95 feet..

Cormorants, I think. Whitney told me more than once, but you have to care to remember things, I've noticed.

Portable party sauna? It was in a relatively remote part of the coast, but had a phone number to call and reserve it.

I love dramatic black clouds behind a sunlit foreground.

Old town Visby.

Next newsletter, soon, back to Stockholm, and on towards England...

(The End)

Sweden

2011-09-09T08:33:00.000-07:00

Please to enjoy the photos and stories below. I'm meeting my friends Kris and Whitney in Stockholm tomorrow. I'm happy about that!

Love,
Dave

One of the first sunny (and windy!) days in Sweden. Prior to this I'd seen mostly farms under grey or rainy skies, so photos hardly seemed worth it. The light was incredible on this day.

As this passenger ferry was making his way towards this narrow inlet to the harbor, it was really rocking to and fro.

Why is it that only exotic or rare birds get all the attention? What's up with that? Are there things non-exotic and non-rare in your life that could use some attention?

The coast is typically rocky and with many inlets. I read that a pretty high percentage of Swedes either have their own vacation home or access to one from relatives, so it's hard to know who "lives" in these houses and who's just visiting.

More brilliant light and colors.

I took a little bike ride around this town, whose name has escaped me.

This canal crosses a river, and was completed in something 1886. It was the final link in a long canal and river system to allow the shipment of goods more easily in otherwise rough country.

It's just like being home! You know how there used to be a bunch of old American cars in the U.S., but there aren't so many now? It's cuz they're all in Sweden. I'm not sure why, but cars from the 1960's and even 1950's seem really popular here. I don't know what the heck that beast is in the front, but the writing on the cab says "Vikings Only." I camped just off the road here, and I'd hear my roaring past every once in a while.

I wonder where this is? It looks nice. (I'd make a great travel book writer, no?)

The speed limit in kilometers per hour. KM/hour x .62 = MPH. So 70 KPH is about 45-ish MPH.

An interesting grave marker.

Beautiful clouds threaten rain at a moment's notice.

This cemetery looks to be the dead center of town. And people are dying to get in there. Thank You! I'll be here all week!

This red color is pretty standard in most villages. I found out today it has a long history. It originally came from the 1,000 year-old copper mine in Falun that only closed in 1992. The rust from the rock was the pigment.

This fascinating contraption is at the Fröå Gruva copper mine. A huge waterwheel slowly rotates and pushes the poles for the 200 meters to run a rock crusher at the top of the mine. In slow motion, each of these crossbars rock back and forth. The technology is a few hundred years old, and this one was rebuilt relatively recently. (Google satellite map of the mine is here: http://goo.gl/QVU6c.)

This photo shows how the wooden poles were connected for the 200 meters to transfer the power from the water wheel to the crusher in another building.

The water for the water wheel was forced through these wooden pipes, with the metal bands to make them water-tight enough to raise the water to the top of the wheel.

This plant tells me that fall is coming. The bright green and bright red are on the same plant.

I camped here for the night.

A lot of the landscape reminded me of Alaska, where I also drove a VW camper van.

Slow motion waterfall.

I wish I could remember the joke I just told myself. It looks like it was pretty funny. I have soot on my forehead from making a fire.

This is probably the nicest place I camped. I never paid for campground. It's also close to the furthest north that I went: http://goo.gl/v1GNy

I came to Ostersund to check out the monster that reportedly lives in these waters. The only monster I saw was the old woman who flashed her lights and glared at me because I rode my bike about 20 feet the wrong way down a one way street, at about two miles an hour. I guess that's what I did - it wasn't clear, but I'm pretty sure no one's life was threatened.

Sweden is absolutely covered with lakes, rivers, fjords, bays, bogs, and every imaginable kind of waterway. It makes for beautiful drives.

And I ran into Jeff Bridges! How funny is that?! I asked him Goldie Hawn was and he stormed off. Sensitive!

I took this from one of my campsites.

Lovely red houses along a waterway.

It's not obvious in this photo, but almost all the water here has the brown-ish color that comes, I think, from the peat in the soil.

This area is called the High Coast. At the height of the last Ice Age, about 20,000 years ago, this part of Sweden was buried under an astounding three kilometers, or two miles of ice. Since the ice totally melted about 9,000 years ago the land rose 285 meters, or 900 feet, the most anywhere in the world. Of course, this is just a theory, like evolution or gravity, so you may want to check with Rick Perry to confirm its validity.

I hiked to this narrow canyon in a national park.

This is the view from above the canyon.

The walls here are about 30 meters or 100 feet high, I'm guessing.

The landscape on this hike was beautiful, but it was hard going, more so because it had rained a lot the night before. Slippery!

(The End)

South to North

2011-08-27T09:53:00.000-07:00

‎"The inexpressable is the only thing that is worthwhile expressing."
—Frederick Franck, The Zen of Seeing

Greetings!

Here's a game: where do you think I am? Everyone who says "frickin' Sweden, of all places," gets a prize. Here's a quick catch-up since I last wrote: 10 days on the Dharma Yatra, then 9 days at the lovely Sangha Holiday, both in the south of France, followed by too much driving. Two long days to Utrecht, Holland, then one day across to the north of Germany, then I've-lost-count across Denmark and into Sweden. I've thought about coming before, but what clinched the deal is meeting up with my good friends Whitney and Kris in Stockholm for a week that is likely to end up with me selling my van and going back to work to pay for it. I'm kidding. I hope.

Favorites:

The yatra: harder than some of the past ones, and still beautiful. Come join me next year, peeps! www.dharmayatra.org
The Sangha Holiday: Seventeen thoughtful, kind people swimming in the river, jumping off the rocks, sharing meals, meditating, making ice cream runs to the local cafe. Wonderful.
Utrecht, Holland: hands-down, the big winner was the bike drive-by along the Houseboat Red Light District! There were maybe 40 of these houseboats, virtually identical, with huge plate glass windows and sexy woman posing in them. You thought driving while shooting video was dangerous! It's amazing I survived it. Beautiful women selling themselves for money. Incredible.
Steyerberg, Germany: I visited my old friend Nirmala and her fiance Lukas, who live in an intentional community that was built on the grounds of a former munitions factory in WWII. Hitler visited the site twice. Their motto, more or less, is "Peace, Creativity, and Diversity." It's beautiful, and I wrote in the captions below about the Forest Kindergarten, which blows me away.
Copenhagen, Denmark: a few hours biking in the evening with only my GPS and no idea where I was going. I literally couldn't have found my van in the dark without it.
Sweden: It's warm (surprise.) It's rainy (not surprise.) I haven't seen so much yet, but I'm working on it. More in the captions below...
Check the Google Map of the drive since I left the Sangha Holiday 10 days ago: http://bit.ly/nrKWnP

Love to all of you,
Dave

The Dharma Yatra: since I was the official "clean-up" person at the back, making sure no one got left behind, I have many of these types of photos. Be glad I'm only showing you one.

I love this kid's expression in this photo, and it's the only time I saw it in 10 days. He looks so relaxed.

There are more than a few kid photos here. I can't help it. And don't want to!

French, Israeli, and an American living in France. There were people from maybe 15 countries.

We decided it would be easier to bring our own herd of goats and make our own cheese. That's really not true.

The talented Bryan Tucker was rocking the house most mornings as we got ready to walk, and some people got happy feet and needed to dance.

Amber, from England. I described her in last year's newsletter as my favorite model.

The real reason I come to the yatra. Nuff said.

On the drive from the yatra to the next event, the "Sangha Holiday" we came across this reconstructed windmill in beautiful afternoon light.

Sangha Holiday: like last year, we put up the yurt and used it as a meditation hall. It takes maybe six hours to erect. Every piece of it was made by hand other than the canvas cover, which isn't on yet.

The kid on the left is French, and Laya, on the right is part of the most multi-lingual family I've ever seen. Her parents are Spanish and French, and they speak those languages plus English and Catalan to each other and to all three of their children.

This beautiful kid is the sister of the green-eyed boy above. Adorable.

This is the view from what will be the bedroom of an old stone house that's being rebuilt by friends.

Nearby Olargues is a beautiful village, and the bridge in the lower left is said to be 800 years old. Cars drive over it! Hard to believe.

I wasn't sure this car would make it through this narrow alley, but he did. There was ample evidence of cars that lost part of their paint and fenders trying this. (In Olargues.)

Another photo of Olargues. My old friend Beka and I walked through these lanes and got lost. It was beautiful.

Lichen, I believe, on rock.

Back at the Sangha Holiday, we shared dinner inside the yurt one evening when it rained.

This is Lanza, Denis and Lydia's son, who was born just a month before last year's Sangha Holiday. I thought I heard Lydia call him Lanzano. I asked if that's his Italian nickname, and she said, "No - I told him 'Lanza! No!'"

The morning meditation on the last day, next to the river.

Later that night, on the way to Holland with Anke and Kristien, we "wild camped" next to some vineyards, and there was an incredible lightning storm off in the distance. It was flashing every few seconds for an hour. The light to the left is the moon, and the other light is the lightning.

After two long days of driving, we arrived in Utrecht, Holland. This is Wim and Kristien, giving me a little tour of the town. This is a tunnel that leads to the canal.

Holland is justly famous for it's biking. They don't ride them primarily for fitness, like most Americans do - it's just a part of everyday life. This is an art piece.

Pleading his case? We walked past a photo shoot of some kind.

A truck that sells Italian gelato.

Kristien getting her apartment ready so she can serve Wim and I a beautiful pasta dinner.

Kristien, who I met last year at the yatra and the Sangha Holiday, and Wim, who I met in India in 2009, and also saw last year at the yatra. I stayed at Wim's house and he talked me into a 10pm swim at the lake just in front of his house.

The amazing-to-me "Forest Kindergarten." These kids are in the forest, year-round, all-damn-day, rain or shine or snow. And it's in the far north of Germany. It gets cold there! It's considered somewhat alternative, but there are maybe 800 of them in Germany. The kids love it, it's great for their immune system, and they learn a lot about nature. Look at the little fart in the background, up on a branch. That alone would be the basis for a lawsuit in the U.S.

This shed is available for a big storm, but they normally never go inside. On the right side there's a shelter from the rain, which they also infrequently use. I'm amazed.

The toll on this bridge in Denmark costs $42 each way. But hey - I got this nice photo. The next big bridge not far from here is $57, each way. Ouch.

Artwork in Copenhagen, Denmark, where I parked and rode my bike around the city for a couple of hours.

A lively spot in Copenhagen. I didn't see that much of the city, but what I saw was lively, gritty, and looked pretty fun.

A red light in the bike lane at 9:30 p.m., and this isn't some bike rally. This is just life in Europe. People ride bikes!

I crossed into Sweden after 10 p.m., coming from Copenhagen. I looked a while to find a parking spot in the dark (it's legal to "wild camp" in Sweden if you're out of view of a house) and the next morning I saw my new neighbors.

Day 1 in Sweden, enjoying the flowers and taking goofy pictures... until...

My starter motor decided to give out. I think of all the places this could have happened where it would have been a real pain - and this wasn't one of them. The huge potato farmer (he was huge - I'm not sure about his potatoes) used my tow strap (second time!) to get me started, then led me to his friend's auto shop, where they tried to buy a new starter. Unsuccessfully...

Sweden at night. This was taken at my second camp spot - in the parking lot of the mechanic's workshop. They couldn't get a new starter, so they rebuilt mine the next day. Dang, Sweden is expensive. That and some other minor work cost $475. If he HAD bought a new starter, the part alone was going to be $600. And I'm writing this in a McDonald's, where the wi-fi is free. Free, that is, after I paid $10 for a veggie burger and large fries, with no drink. Diesel is $8.20 a gallon. Should I go on?

Many more Dharma Yatra photos: https://picasaweb.google.com/publicdave/2011DharmaYatra

Many more Sangha Holiday photos: https://picasaweb.google.com/publicdave/2011SanghaHoliday

(The End)

In the south of France, the Dharma Yatra begins!

2011-07-28T06:08:00.000-07:00

Hello all,

I don't have time for much of an update. I dropped off Regina yesterday near Albi, France, after we drove from the French Alps. You can see the drive we took, more or less, on Google Maps here: http://goo.gl/XJbIc. In two hours I'm picking up another friend who needs a ride to the start of the Dharma Yatra, which I wrote about last year (read it here.) The yatra begins this afternoon and continues for 10 days. I'll be out of touch during that time, but should have some photos of lovely smiling people when next I write.

Here are a few photos from the last few days...

Love!
Dave

Regina and I finally managed to do a short hike. This ancient village on the left ridge may date back to the 5th century. The national park that it's in is encouraging ancestors of the original inhabitants to live there (during summer, at least) and restore some of the old houses. It's a beautiful spot, and we had a delicious lunch at the little refugio there. Except they call it a "gite" cuz everybody wants their own words for things in Europe.

This river flows just below the village and then plunges into a waterfall.

Our reward for a hike well hiked. The guy served this out of a little aluminum trailer thing, and it was wicked good.

This is us driving into the Gorge du Tarn. My GPS has its own ideas about the best way to get to places, but it suits me. The sign said no vehicles longer than 19 feet, and I found out why. My van is just about that length, and we could barely make it through the turns. All day long the GPS would announce a turn, and Regina and I would say, "That can't be right!" But eventually we did get there.

Life and Death.

Life and Life. (And Love!)

(The End)

Awe and Wonder in the Dolomites

2011-07-24T02:30:00.000-07:00

I've been dreaming of spending an entire summer in the Dolomites, and maybe sometime I will. Although I can't imagine becoming complacent about the beauty of the place, I could already see in the 10 or 12 days that Regina and I were there that it's hard to hang on to that "Big Wow" energy. The feelings do change over time, and you can get used to even the spectacular vistas, in a way. I've always wondered about kids who grow up in magnificent (or tragic) surroundings. They wouldn't have anything to compare it to that makes them think that it shouldn't be just as it is. I always remember going on safari in Kenya, and seeing my first wild giraffe. Thrilling! And by the end of the long day, as my energy was lagging, I would barely turn around to see yet another giraffe. In one day, it can happen. One of my meditation teachers described the spiritual path as the movement from the gross to the subtle. I suspect there's a connection between what he was pointing to and the gathering complacency in the midst of such beauty.

Happily, we are all surrounded by beauty, and it is but our duty to recognize it. It may take the form of dramatic vistas, or tiny flowers, or a glimpse of the divine that you might see in the eyes of a child.

In the impossibly beautiful Dolomites, we met an older Swiss man who drove south from his spectacular mountains to marvel at these mountains of northern Italy. That's impressive - but not just the mountains. The feeling of awe, of wonder, of an expanding chest and open arms, of so-much-bigger-than-me... now that's impressive.

Too much love!
Dave

The Big Daddy's of the Dolomites are known as the "Drei Zinnen" or "Tres Cime" or "I forget the other one" or the "Three Peaks." Because they're so famous, there were walkers everywhere. For my money, I'm loving these rugged mountains that face the Three Peaks.

I really needed a super wide angle lens, because I couldn't get everything I wanted in one shot.

On the same day we took a bus ride up to see Drei Zinnen, two uber-fit Czech guys from our campground went on a 7-hour hike into these mountains and back on this same day. Our four-hour circumambulation of the mountains was plenty for us.

I mostly chose this photo for the quality of the light. It was an incredibly bright and clear day, and the light is amazing. These are Japanese tourists, most of whom were struggling to get their photos taken in front of such massive mountains. I'm just saying'.

These are the Drei Zinnen, from the backside of where we started. We're approaching a big "refugio" where we had a hot lunch.

You don't have to be a cow to know how good this feels.

Further around the mountains, this is looking back towards the refugio.

It's a climber's paradise, apparently. I love how rugged the rock faces are.

This might be my favorite photo. If you look carefully in the center left, you'll see the red refugio building where we had lunch.

Coming back around to where the walk started.

I decided to walk back to the campsite rather than take the bus down - an additional two hour walk. Lucky for me half the Italian army decided to do a training hike that day. I ended up walking with them most of the way down. I was hoping they'd draft me into their foreign legion or something - think of the stories! No such luck.

It rained like crazy that night and the next morning, and this is fresh snow just above Lake Misurina. We camped just near the lake. We finally got out of our sleeping bags around 10 a.m. Freezing!

This very life-like statue turned out to be a very statue-like real person, who must have balls of steels, if you'll forgive the expression. (It's an Italian phrase and perfectly fine in mixed company here. My other favorite Italian expression, said with a thick Italian accent: SUNNOVABEETCH!!) It was SO cold I was whimpering, which isn't that rare, but whatever. It was COLD. In World War I the Italians were fighting the Ottomans/Austrians (somebody help me out here.) When the Austrians lost, the Dolomites were given to Itality, after being part of Austria since 1368 or something. Interesting little WWI history story here.

Something's changed: we dropped maybe 4,000 feet in elevation, and camped near the main town of Bolzano (in Italian) or Bozen (in German.) Pretty much every town has a name in both languages, and all signs will show them both. Many people speak both languages, too. In this town, German was the main language. A mountain pass or two later, and the main language was Italian.

I've taken up oil painting, and this is my first work. Yes, it's for sale. No, I'm not serious. It's a photo of a pond.

This restored castle was built in 1244. It has what may be the oldest grapevine in the world, at 350 years, if you believe their brochure. Maybe it's true. http://www.castel.katzenzungen.com/eng/index.html

Why does Mary have seven swords piercing her heart? Because six wouldn't be enough. And eight? Come on, that would be ridiculous.

This is just above the town where we stayed, and the entire valley (between Bolzano and Merano) is incredibly fertile. (Some of the young women looked like they might be, too, but I would never say it.) Almost every inch of plant-able space is covered by either apple trees or grape vines.

We hiked from this town, Madonna di Campiglio. There are many tourist-oriented towns, and this photo gives an appropriate sense of the busy-ness of the place.

My fifth failed attempt at a short hike. I was trying to catch the ski tram down, but I was very close to missing the shut-down time, so I ended up walking all the way down to the valley you can't quite see below. Ouch.

Back in Madonna di Campiglio. You can see why people come here.

I love the weaving around this fence. We ate at this restaurant, a beautiful big-recycled-timber place serving German food, and playing kind of loud rap and hip-hop music. I happen to like that music, but it was a mystery why they'd choose that music, other than that the young wait-staff would like it.

Goodbye Dolomites. See you soon...

(The End)

The Big Wow: more hiking in the Dolomites

2011-07-18T12:01:00.001-07:00

We had a rainy, rainy day yesterday, with more predicted today. But we decided to head out for a short walk, and four-ish hours later decided that it's hard to do a short walk around here. There are paths everywhere, with ski lifts, and gondolas, and endless beautiful destinations. It's an incredible place for hiking. The photos below are from a hike we did a few days ago plus today's hike. Enjoy!

Much love!
Dave

p.s. It was hard to boil down the photos to the group below. There are more to be seen here:
https://picasaweb.google.com/mrdavemo/20110718TheBigWowDolomites

If you've seen it before, you may know that the deep blue sky in photos like this come from using a Polarizing filter. Clouds mixed with blue sky make for much nicer photos than do solid blue skies, generally, and especially nicer than grey skies.

Regina isn't crazy about cows, especially house-sized ones. This is the start of a BIG hike, but she didn't realize it, which is why she's coming with me.

This is a typical signboard is most towns. The blue lines are roads, the red lines are walking paths, white lines are maybe gravel paths, and the black lines are gondolas. You can take a fantastic walk just about any direction you choose, and it would be hard to make a bad choice. Unless you just stayed home.

An impressive gondola ride. In 1989 a US fight jet flew too low (about 300 feet elevation) and too fast (540 mph) and clipped a cable on one of these gondolas, plunging 20 people 250 feet to their death. The pilot and navigator were acquitted in the first trial, which didn't go over well with the Italian public. The crew had destroyed a videotape of the flight and were later convicted of that. Big drama.

The trail hugged the base of the cliffs until we came to a beautiful "refugio," where we had a delicious hot meal. Delightful.

We started downhill from the refugio and walk (for two-ish hours) to the valley, where we took a gondola back to the top to get the van.

Rain threatened a few times, and clouds came and went.

On another day we drove the endlessly windy roads to another town. On one mountain pass each of the 24 hairpin turns was numbered.

Now this in my idea of a nice woodpile.

At the start of today's walk everyone was cooing about the cute duckies.

We're camped as I write this near this lake, in the town of Misurina. (Google Maps link here: http://goo.gl/7OqYp)

We took a chairlift up from the lake and started walking around this massive mountain.

Bluebells, I guess.

We ate lunch at this refugio. Delicious pasta dish (I should have written down the name, since I didn't recognize it) and another lovely server.

This is the view from the refugio. I intended to walk back to the lake on the path that hugs the cliffs, but when black clouds came in, threatening rain, I changed my mind. And it never rained! Dang it.

The view from the other side of the refugio. We ate lunch outside.

Regina's new Facebook picture, or so I told her when I took it.

A couple of hours later, and we're back to the lake.

We stopped into this bar for a hot chocolate, which traditionally is as thick as pudding.

Another view across the lake.

And the van at our campsite. Just off to the left is a nice restaurant where we're using internet. Sweet! (Brigitte let me take her bicycle, which is on the back of the van!)

There are more photos here:
https://picasaweb.google.com/mrdavemo/20110718TheBigWowDolomites

(The end)

Hiking in the Dolomites!

2011-07-16T02:38:00.000-07:00

When I was in Dorfen, Germany, my travel friend Regina and I were sitting at an outdoor cafe, and I started chatting to the table next to us. I said that we were traveling in the area but didn't have a particular destination. She said, "You HAVE to go to the Dolomites - it's in northern Italy." I'd heard about it a few times, and it seemed like a fine idea. About 30 seconds later, I said, yeah, I think we will go there. Sure enough, as I write this I'm sitting below spectacular mountains, looking at fresh snow in the distance (it rained HARD last night) and watching paragliding/hang-gliding gizmos jump from the mountain tops around 3,000 feet above our heads. I like the photos I've selected below, but I'm not sure they do it justice. Beautiful!

Here's a Google Maps satellite view of where we stayed on the hike described below: http://goo.gl/BHKTi

Love,
Dave

If you drove a bee-line from Munich to the Dolomites, it's supposed to be around three or four hours. We don't do bee-lines! In fact, we never got on a highway the entire way. We saw this castle in Austria. By local standards, this isn't so impressive, but it's beautiful, and hugs the outside of a cliff all the way around it.

We're just entering the Dolomites area here. This is Regina. She's from Brazil, but lived in England and Wales for 25 years. We first met on a Dharma Yatra (meditation walk) in 2003, and have seen each other three times since in India. She happens to be just six weeks older than me. In Munich we met up with another India traveler friend who just happened to be there, and we'd all been in India together one trip.

It's easy to take way too many photos here. This is taken from the road. The mountain passes have more hairpin turns than I've ever seen anywhere.

This is the first of a series of photos I call "Flowers in the foreground and blurry things in the background."

This region is absolutely FILLED with these beautiful chalets, called "refugios" with a full restaurant, bar and lodging. This one is right on the road, but many of them are a couple hours walk from the nearest road.

Our perfectly lovely server at the restaurant above. Many young people speak four languages: Italian, German, English, and a local language that I haven't figured out the name of.

The roads are narrow and there aren't that many turnouts. Surprisingly, there's not all that much traffic yet. Some kids are still in school. Someone told us to avoid the place in August, when it's packed. That's the road we drove up in the right side of the photo.

God would like to have a word with you.

Hey! I know this series!

OK, enough of the series already. We camped about a kilometer from here, in the town of Corvara.

There are trails just about anywhere you look. Easy trails in the valleys, climbing trails get tougher, some are marked as expert, and there is a huge amount of rock climbing here.

Re (short for Regina) and I decided to go off the valley trail and climb up the steep valley shown here. What started out as a short and easy walk turned into about four hours or more of tough (and beautiful!) walking.

This is part way up the way valley shown in the photo above. It was a bear. I'm pretty sure Re was swearing under her breath. Cuz it wasn't that "we" decided to come this way. I sort of twisted her arm. I do that.

We'd come from way down the valley on the right side, where our campsite was.

From the top of the steep bit, it went horizontally, more of less, along the base of the cliff. You can see that the trail passed a waterfall.

Wildflowers grow like crazy.

We're getting to the highest point of our walk. That's Re coming up the trail.

I'm fascinated by the little huts you see scattered around in remote places. I guess they're shepherd's huts, but I don't know.

This small waterfall is the downstream continuation of the big waterfall in the other photo.

Just about the end of the walk. I was limping at this point, I was so tired. The next day we went for another short walk, but it turned into five hours of spectacularly scenic agony. Today we're taking the day off!

(The End)

The irregular and thankful blogger says hello from Dorfen

2011-07-11T00:42:00.001-07:00

Hello people. Considering how many hours a day I typically spend on my computer it still amazes me how I can't get a blog post out.

Today I write from the town of Dorfen, Germany, just outside Munich. My good friend Brigitte put me up in her large flat, cooked for me, registered the van with me (twice), took the van on its semi-annual inspection, got an oil change with me, and then also invited into her house my friend Regina, who flew in from London to travel with me in the van. I'm well taken care of, and I'm SO appreciative. When I was in the Bay Area for a month, I picked up my U.S. van (I have two vans!) from Lillie's house, where she has stored it for me for a year and a half, and I stayed for three weeks with the Perlstadt family and their beautiful kids. The list goes on. It would be impossible for me to live this unusual lifestyle without good friends who support me and allow it to happen. Lovely!

Regina and I are (finally) giving Brigitte some peace by heading south today. We're driving through Austria into the Dolomites region in northern Italy. From what I've heard from friends and seen in photos, it's incredible. Photos will be flooding your computer soon, I hope.

Love to you,
Dave

p.s. What are YOU thankful for?

Before Regina arrived I made this four minute video after two bike rides around Dorfen. I hope you like it! After the video are some some pics from the last month, first in the San Francisco area and then here in Germany.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyrPOJ3KVIg

The Perlstadt family, who I've stayed with for almost three months over the last year. I love them!

Beautiful Ruby.

My all-grown-up niece Brooke, who just graduated from high school. She's off to UC Santa Barbara soon. She's lucky I'm not her Dad - I'd lock her in a closet. She's too pretty to be let loose on a college campus.

My friend Lauren and our charges for the weekend, Nathaniel and Sebastian. Sebastian is our godson.

This is Noah, he of a hundred expressions, my favorite model in Munich. I stayed with him and his parents last year when I was here. He just turned two, and I took these photos of him as I babysat him (briefly) last week.

Tabea, Noah's half-sister, 14 years old.

The BMW Center, or something. I call it the Temple of Materialism. (You really CAN be happy, if you buy the right stuff. You're not happy? Then you haven't bought the right stuff.)

This car drives back and forth along the upper walkway of the Temple. Brigitte tells me she had one of these years ago! They have three wheels, and the the hood opens out to let people in.

This is the famous roof of Munich's Olympic Stadium, taken from the top of the Seattle Space Needle. I guess that's not the tower's name, but it could be, if it was in Seattle. I'm not that into facts, really.

We are way up there. Those are people in the seats on the right.

The don't-jump barrier on the observation deck.

The Christopher Street fair in Munich's main square. It's a big gay pride thing, from the looks of it. We couldn't account for all the feather boas until someone told us. We're kind of slow.

A performer on stage. Very talented.

A piece of paper art in one of the booths.

We've had some amazing weather, including one of the biggest thunderstorms I've ever seen, as we drove back at night from Munich. These pics are from last night's sunset. Dramatic!

And to remind you, if you don't know, this is the van! Very groovy. The pics are from last year, in Germany and Croatia. That's Noah in the lower left.

(The End)

Now is the time

2011-06-16T13:07:00.001-07:00

"There are two kinds of positive thinking. One kind is thinking that the future is going to be all right, which is based on panic and concerned with security. The other one is not living in the future but living in the present. The present situation is open - you could almost say solid - and real, definite, and healthy. There is an appreciation of the richness in the present."
~ Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing."

~ Helen Keller

During this trip to Guatemala I was having a hard time with something, and I caught myself thinking, "Yeah, I'm going to have to figure that out one of these days." Then it hit me - fer Christ's sake, Davemo, you're almost 55 years old! This is it - you're not in your 20's where you (might) have a long life to sort things out. You need to act, now, out of your best intentions and to the best of your abilities. But this hazy fog of looking into some indefinite future for your answers? That's not happening. You have the answers. You just need to dig deep and act out of that deep place. It's not the I-don't-know aspect that's troubling. It's the indefinite someday-I'll-resolve-this that is so limiting.

That got me thinking about what other things in my life I'm putting off, and how easy that is to do. That SOMEDAY mentality is so comfortable because we don't have to do anything. We can be filled with misty-eyed hope and plans and intentions, all sprinkled with pixie dust, which might just be dried bullshit and glitter.

When I first started my travels I looked into going to Peru, because "I've always wanted to go to the Amazon." When the fear of going by myself grabbed me by the throat, I had to come to grips with the big question: do I really want to go there? Or do I just want to SAY that I want to go there? The decision to go was painful, fraught-filled, horrifying, and ultimately, incredibly invigorating, enriching, and liberating. To quote the teacher on my last retreat, "No breakthrough without breakdown."

I invite you to look into and question your list of "Someday's." Why are they on your list? Where do you get your "juice?" And do you REALLY intend to make that dream a reality?

Much love to you all,

Dave

This set of photos is a mix of my five months in Guatemala.

Liz and Lauren in a church in Santa Cruz la Laguna, on Lake Atitlan.

This little sweetie really charmed us.

Adorable.

An enthusiastic game of basketball played by the Mayan girls in their traditional dress.

An orange popsicle, it seems, and a lovely child, for sure.

The pueblo of Santa Cruz, high up the steep hill, where all the indigenous people from this village live. There are many houses down near the water, but they're almost all owned by extranjeros, or foreigners.

We saw this kid on the trail walking down from the pueblo.

A church in the village of San Pedro, a 20 minute boat ride away from Santa Cruz.. They were having their annual festival on this day.

I have some nice close-ups of this cutie, but the soda crackers in her mouth are a little distracting!

Did I use this photo before? Maybe, but she's worth it.

A religious procession. It's pretty low-key compared to the grand processions in Antigua that I wrote about before.

A giant snake of firecrackers, which are perfect for commemorating, well, everything. I doubt that a single day went by that I didn't hear them going off somewhere. And the gentleman must be a HUGE hockey fan! "Hockey is Life!" I'd bet that he has no idea what hockey even is. Spanish is a second language in these villages, and few people even speak English, so he may not even know what the shirt says.

Cute old guys watching the festivities. The one man is wearing traditional woven trousers, which you don't see as often as you do women's clothing.

An interminable dance slog, er, performance. It's a reenactment of the conquistadors coming from Spain, which is what accounts for the pale faces and blonde hair you frequently see in these dances.

You can't hear out of tune these guys are. The Gods are smiling upon you!

These two are having so much fun on the trampoline.

Child labor is widespread in Guatemala, though I mostly saw it in the form of family farming and chores. Education and literacy is pretty abysmal, and even malnutrition is a big problem, leading to stunted growth and lower IQ's.

This is inside Liz's beautiful home that she designed and had built 10 years ago. It's a 15-minute walk along a narrow path through the jungle to the nearest transport, which is the boat dock. There are no roads into Santa Cruz. She and her son Myles are on a plane to Asheville, South Carolina for a year.

When Lauren and I left the lake and were forced to fend for ourselves, we luxuriated for two nights in the beautiful Meson Panza Verde hotel in Antigua. It was cool at night at the end of January, and we had a fireplace in our room. Sweet. (Suite!)

The famously colorful streets of Antigua. I read that in 1770 Antigua had a population of 60,000 people.

Look close and you'll see the Domino's pizza logo. It wouldn't be cool to admit that I had their pizza quite a few times. So I won't admit it.

A beautiful door/gate to what I think is a private house.

A scene from the shore of Lake Atitlan. The decaying boats in the foreground and called cayucos. Those are two volcanoes in the distance - they line up and it looks like there's only one.

A rugged-looking boat driver on Lake Atitlan.

This regal-looking woman was the mother of the bride at a wedding I went to in Antigua. An American man, John, married a woman from Guatemala City, named Blanca.

A wedding guest. Is she reasonably attractive, or is it just me?

Blanca and John.

My friend Kris surrounded by the local rugrats that she's befriended in Antigua. Every one of them, except the baby on the left, works selling something on the town square almost all day, seven days a week. It's a complicated relationship, because even though they do really like Kris, they also always want something. If I was in their place, I'd want something too.

The arches on the government building on the main square in Antigua.

Yeah, I like kids, but this one really makes me melt.

When I came back from an earlier trip, like 10 years ago, I realized that while I found myself enjoying a lot of the photos, I was really gravitating to photos of people. So I made a point of taking more people photos. Lovely child, this.

Wow, what a beauty.

Positively edible!

There was a big food giveaway that I took pictures of for a non-profit that Kris worked with.

These women are in line for food. Such diverse woven clothing.

This lovely old woman seemed genuinely curious. She was happy to have me take her photo.

It's amazing the loads you see balanced on women's heads.

Curious about me - but not too sure. Get in line, kid - you're not alone.

This cute American girl was on a volunteering holiday with her family. She's a doll.

This is one of the wider streets in Antigua. This photo reminds me of the posters of little fish getting chased by progressively larger fish.

A free music concert in Antigua. The band was from the U.S. It's the same square where the food giveaway was held.

(The End)

Photos around Antigua, and a walk in the surrounding hills.

2011-05-24T16:18:00.001-07:00

"Except as we have loved, all news arrives as from a distant land." ~ Mary Oliver

Just some photos this time, with descriptions. I hope you enjoy them.

Love,

Dave

The term "indigenous" gets used most often to describe the native people of Guatemala. When you see indigenous women like these in Antigua, identified primarily by their bright colored clothing, they're almost always selling something. It looks to be a tough life, but very social.

The bride waits for her entrance at the church on the town square.

This fountain might be one of the more photographed spots in Antigua. It's inside what used to be an old colonial home, and now houses Cafe Condessa, a popular restaurant and bakery with free wi-fi and delicious, inexpensive food. The original house was built in 1549 - just over 50 years after Columbus "discovered" America. I find that amazing.

The enthusiasm of youth. These guys are no doubt here in Antigua to taken Spanish lessons. When I get off a three-feet wall these days, I get down off it like a toddler climbing out of his high chair.

Cerro de la Cruz - the famous cross overlooking Antigua. It was unusually hazy on this particular day.

I can't help but smile when I see photos like this.

One of my favorite restaurants - Las Palmas.

There were more military in evidence in Antigua in the last few days - possibly because 27 people were found beheaded in the wild and relatively lawless Peten region, near the Mexico border. They suspect the Mexican Zetas drug gang was behind it.

Some local vendors are checking out the photography exhibit in the main square. It's the norm to see women selling all day, carrying infants, looking after toddlers, and managing older kids who are sellers themselves.

People looking at people, looking at people. (If I include you, that would be another people.)

The inside of the oddly name Travel Menu bar and restaurant.

One of Antigua's famed walls.

A construction worker on his way home for lunch.

A boy looking out the window of a parked bus. Some of the buses have paintings, stickers, and decals on the top and bottom third of the front window, leaving only a narrow slot to look through. Virtually all the public buses here are old American school buses.

Carrying firewood up a steep hill.

We saw this little girl on two different trips, and she's got the spirit of a fashion model. She LOVES to pose and have her photo taken. She's unusually calm here.

I took quite a few pictures of this girl, who was hanging out with the model. I don't think they're related.

He's not sad - he always looks like this! His expression cracks me up.

The model wearing my friend Kris' sunglasses, which broke about two minutes later as two kids wrestled with them.

Lovely!

The Model and Lovely.

This is beautiful Benjamin, the child of two Americans who built a place called Earth Lodge up in the hills above Antigua. It's a steep but interesting two-hour walk to get there.

Benjamin, you're killin' me!

This kid was playing football on the dirt street as we walked past.

The Model in her look-at-me mode, and her sisters.

The Model's sweet and soft-spoken brother.

I love these two.

How is it that some people don't like kids? It's a mystery...

(The End)

Easter Processions during Semana Santa, in Antigua (with a video!)

2011-05-16T20:22:00.000-07:00

Oh, dear readers, I've not abandoned you. But I feel like I have. Most of you have no idea when I last wrote or where I even am. But it's my feeling, dang it, and I can cling to it if I want. I mentioned procrastination the last time I wrote (as if you even read my letters!) so that's off the table. Geesh - I'm speechless. My good intentions when I came on this trip (I'm in Guatemala, thanks for asking) was to write more, photograph more, and generally be engaged and engaging. It hasn't worked out that way.

Enough of that nonsense, and on to other nonsense. Semana Santa, which means Holy Week, (Easter to the rest of us) is a Big Deal in Antigua. It's famous for its giant processions that weave their way through the cobblestone streets of the city. Locals sign up to carry huge floats on their shoulders, as you'll see in the VIDEO (whoa!) and photos below. I'm worn out watching a procession for half an hour, but they run from a few hours to 18 hours in length. The tradition comes from Spain, where it was it really got going in 1521 when some noble or other returned from the Holy Land and wanted to initiate a "stations of the cross" walkathon. It doesn't appear to be spread evenly through Latin America, by any means, although someone mentioned that they got in a massive traffic jam in the Mission District of San Francisco during a procession. Who knew.

Look for more photos soon, lovely people.

Hugs and besos,
Dave

The video I created, using footage from my Canon 7D camera. It took a long time to make this - you need to watch it!

Gettin' jiggy with it, marimba style, on the the town square.

Such a beautiful face.

These "alfombras," or carpets, are made on the routes of the processions. This one is made with pine needles, sawdust, colored egg containers, and flowers. They're swept up immediately after the procession walks over them.

A hat vendor. Or maybe he just really hates the sun.

I was kind of excited when I saw the first one of these purple guys wandering around. He wasn't alone...

Yikes. It's a convention.

The colors of the outfits change. In the early days of the celebration, they wear the purple, then on Good Friday everyone is in black. In the distance you can see the float.

I'm not sure of the center guy's role, but they usually look like they're doing their best to steer the float. At times they're pushing pretty hard one way or the other.

Women carry separate floats, of course. And they're always behind the men's float. Of course.

They look like they take it pretty seriously.

I'm loving the hairstyle, and general grooviness.

There were floats carried by really young children, but their parents were huddled so close to them I couldn't get a photo. These girls look to be maybe 13-ish.

Lawrence of Antigua.

Roman soldiers at the head of one of the processions.

Good Friday.

(The End)