Dave Adair Photography

2001: Nepal's royal family is massacred

2012-05-10T03:01:00.001-07:00

On June 1, 2001, I had what you might call the good luck to be in Kathmandu when most of Nepal's royal family was massacred. The next morning I was listening to the BBC on my shortwave radio. When they announced the massacre, I jumped up to look out the window and down to the street. People were strolling around as though nothing had happened - and I thought, I'm the only one who knows! As it turned out, everyone knew, but they were in shock.

It was a fascinating time to be here, and I was chronicling my experience via the five e-mails posted below, as well as taking slide film photos, which weren't processed until months later. This is the first time I've put them together.

It's a long story, but hopefully worth it. There are small photos along with the text, and they are all shown full-size after the e-mails. Enjoy!

From: Dave Adair
Date: Sat Jun 2, 2001
Subject: A surreal day in Kathmandu

Remember when I forgot to e-mail you that I was headed to Mt. Kailash in Tibet? Well, you can forget that you never read it, because I'm not going. Two days before we were to leave, we found out that the Chinese government had suddenly and inexplicably stopped giving tourist permits to Kailash. I'd bought a tent and stove and a bunch of food for the walk around the holy mountain, and I ended up selling most of it to someone who was going later. It was opened up a few days later, but too late for me to be able to go on the trip.

But today's drama in Kathmandu overshadows any postponed trip to Tibet. Nepal has a much-beloved king and queen who live in a palace that's only a half-mile from Thamel, the tourist heart of Kathmandu. The king is revered as an incarnation of the God Vishnu, and the king and queen's photo is in almost every business in Nepal. Last night almost the entire royal family, 11 people or so, we murdered in one horrific incident that's being blamed on the king's son and heir to the throne. Apparently he opened fire on his family with a machine gun after being unhappy with his mother's reaction to his suggested fiancé, and then turned the gun on himself. The whole country was in shock this morning, and normally bustling Thamel was a ghost town of shuttered shops and dazed tourists wondering where they were going to find their next banana pancake. I was in one in tiny breakfast place, one of the very few that was open, when suddenly a throng of people starting running crazily past, and into, the shop. It was startling and scary as some people hurriedly pulled down the shutters to protect those of us inside and lock out whatever the danger was outside. It turned out that not a single person knew why they were running except that everyone else was running and encouraging others to do the same. It showed the level of tension in the streets that so many people were so jittery.

Most of the town was locked tight today, and the few restaurants that were open were filled to capacity with tourists. No one really knew what happened, or could predict what tomorrow will be like. Incredibly, the prince who apparently committed the crime survived and is brain-dead and on life-support, but was officially proclaimed as the next king. His uncle, the former king's brother, is widely rumored, at least on the streets, as having been behind the mass murder. He was expected to be made the next king, but he's been named the regent, since the new king is incapacitated. It has really been a surreal day.

In the afternoon a parade-like procession came through Thamel carrying the bodies of the slain king and queen, as well as three other slain members of the royal family. It was an amazing scene to see the number of people who came out for the last glimpse of their king and queen. We waited in the street for three hours until they came filing past, accompanied by military bands and soldiers. The bodies were carried on bamboo litters, wrapped in sheets but with the faces showing. People threw flowers or ceremonial scarves on the bodies as they went past. I didn't have much of a personal feeling for the king or queen, but when a woman behind me starting sobbing loudly and holding her hand over mouth, I found it really touching and sad. It's so easy to turn a human tragedy like this into just a good travel story and forget about the thousands who are profoundly affected by it.

The current rumor is that there will be a thirteen-day mourning period, five days of which there may not be anything open. Today there were no buses running and it was rumored that many flights were cancelled. People are unsure of whether there will be food available tomorrow, or whether they'll be able to leave the country as planned. I'll be here for another week or two, so I'll keep you updated.

Love, Dave

- - - - -

From: Dave Adair
Date: Mon Jun 4, 2001
Subject: Riots in Kathmandu

I find it just amazing what you can get used to. The first time I got tear-gassed today, it was unsettling and a little uncomfortable. But later in the day the affects seemed more exciting than scary and there was less of a tendency to bolt when the billowing clouds of gas filled the narrow streets in Thamel. How did it come to this?? It seems completely unreal to be relaying this story, and the surreal-ness that I referred to in my last e-mail seems tame compared to today's events.

The mass murder of almost the entire royal family was initially blamed on the king's eldest son, who was later in the day named the new king. Then the official version of the tragedy was that it was an accident! The killer prince, now king, died today and the original king's brother was made king. This new king, the third in four days, named Gayanendra, is terribly unpopular, at least in part because his son has run over and killed three pedestrians in the last four years. Shakespearian!

Protesters filled the streets of Kathmandu today, including the tourist enclave of Thamel. They're mostly angry young men looking for a legitimate explanation for the murder of their beloved king. They don't have a particular target for their anger, so they end up taking it out on the police when the police try to block their path. An intense encounter of about 100 motorcycles lining up face-to-face with riot police this morning ended without incident. But it got ugly this afternoon as protesters starting throwing bricks and rocks at police, and police responded by shooting tear gas canisters at the crowd. That crowd included a lively group of dim-witted tourists who were sure that they weren't a target and hoped that the tear gas would go around them (it didn't). It was a combination of a fearsome intensity and a good-spirited sporting match. When the tear gas was fired, everyone ran like crazy to get away, laughing and yelling and taunting the police. Leaders of the protesters would yell and gesticulate at the police, and the police would do the same in return.

At one point I was right near the front of the protesters. Okay, actually I was in front of the front of the protesters. When the police fired the tear gas, it went well behind me, and to retreat I'd have to run through the gas cloud and follow the protesters into a narrow alley. So I stood there and waited while the police charged forward and caught up to where I was standing. They totally and completely ignored me, and didn't mind as I switched sides and starting taking pictures of them and the protesters from a different angle. The frivolity went on for probably two or three hours, until the police were replaced by the army. They were wearing green camouflage and carrying what appeared to be machine guns. All of a sudden, people stopped throwing rocks.

An hour later a curfew was called, and the announcement was made that people seen in the streets could be shot. As difficult as it might be to believe at a distance, there were still quite a few people out in the streets, and not all of them locals. It got freaky when the army guys laid down on their stomachs with their legs spread and pointed their guns in our direction. It was enough to make some people head to their hotels.

I'm writing this from the Kathmandu Guest House, which has maybe the only available internet shop in Thamel. It's anyone's guess how the next few days or weeks will turn out here, but my guess is that the protests will become stronger, and will end up with shots being fired at protesters. There are rumours about protesters being killed today, but nothing is confirmed, and hard information is difficult to come by. There is no easy solution to quell the violence, since almost the entire royal family was killed; there is no alternative to the current unpopular king. And since it was almost certainly a conspiracy of some kind (rumours are that closer to 40 people were killed, including bodyguards and servants), the truth can't be told as a way to soothe the populace. I'll write again soon.

Love, Dave

- - - - -

From: Dave Adair
Date: Wed Jun 6, 2001
Subject: The third curfew in three days

Calm has returned to Kathmandu after the first curfew was ordered following Monday's riots. We had a brief break Tuesday morning before a noon-to-midnight curfew was ordered for Tuesday. It's Wednesday night now, and yet another curfew was ordered at 9 tonight. Information only comes out in bits and pieces, but the riots on Monday weren't as fun for everyone as they were for me. Apparently three people were killed and two dozen were shot by police. The paper said 480 people were arrested.

During yesterday's curfew I was outside the Kathmandu Guest House watching a bit of an argument between the blue-clad police and the camo-clad army. The army was in an open-topped jeep with several soldiers, one of whom was aiming his machine gun over the hood. After the arguing continued for a minute or two, the soldiers got out of the jeep, taking defensive positions around the vehicle, and the lead soldier turned his gun from the front of the car to point it sideways towards the police. I have no idea what they were arguing about, but it stopped soon thereafter. That curfew was much more strictly enforced than the first one, although tourists were allowed to move between the few places that were open. I had to walk back home late at night during the curfew from the Kathmandu Guest House. It's only about a five minute walk, but it's a eerie feeling to walk down the streets and only hear the sound of your own footsteps.

As I last wrote, there was a hastily arranged cremation of the brain-dead-prince-turned-king and coronation of the new, and quite unpopular, King Gyanendra. He's in an unenviable position, especially if he's not the murderous scoundrel that everyone thinks he is. He's ground zero for the conspiracy theorists, and has a son who's a lunatic, by most accounts; that son will someday be made king. An indication of how Gyanendra is thought of was shown in a surprising quote in today's newspaper. One of the leaders of an opposition party said that if it's found that the successor (meaning Gyanendra) or his family was responsible for the massacre, he should be tried for murder. That raises the speculation from the street gossip it had been prior to that. The new king appointed a three-person panel to investigate how the massacre occurred, which went nowhere when one of the people refused to participate. It was the promise of a report that seemed to cool people down. If the investigation doesn't get underway soon, the pressure will build again. But by many accounts, regardless of what the panel finds, that's when the protests will begin anew. It seems likely that there will be more intense protests regardless of what happens.

Another tidbit that hasn't made the newspapers was told me by a trekker who'd just finished the Annapurna Circuit. One of the most popular spots on the Circuit is Tatopani, where the hot springs have made for a thriving tourist stop. The Maoists, a Shining Path-style guerrilla group that have been fighting to overthrow the government in Nepal, let the police know that they were coming to Tatopani. They told them they could fight if they wanted, but they were coming either way. The police all fled, and when this trekker was there just one week ago, there were some 75 Maoists wearing military fatigues wandering around town, polite and well-spoken, and no police. That seems to me to be a landmark in the battle between the Maoists and the government, and threatens the tourist trade to a large degree. That's probably why it hasn't been reported yet.

The latest semi-official explanation for the massacre is shifting back to the prince as being responsible. For the public to buy this, there will need to be full reporting and a transparency that the government and royal family aren't used to. It was so widely reported on the street that the prince had wounds both in his back and his stomach, after he was supposed to have shot himself once in the head, that most people don't seem to question it. He could have been a nutter, but what happened to the huge security contingent that would surround the royal family? Where were they then, where are they now, and where are all the servants that would have been at the family dinner? If it could have been simply explained by saying it was the prince, they've lost their chance, because that story's lost its "legs" at the moment. It will take some work to get the people to accept it. I'll keep you posted if something big comes up.

Love, Dave

- - - - -

From: David Adair
Date: Fri Jun 8, 2001
Subject: A calm but skeptical public wait for the truth

The newspapers came out today with the first eyewitness account of last Friday's massacre of the royal family, claiming that it was, indeed, committed by the Crown Prince Dipendra. When I asked the guy who makes my daily mango and yogurt milkshake (orgasmic!) if he believed the story, he gave me that are-you-retarded look, and shook his head no. He said "no one in Nepal will believe that." That expresses the sentiment of most people it seems, though my skepticism about it may be for different reasons than theirs. Most people here can't imagine a son killing his parents, especially a prince, while I'm from the U.S. and find it unlikely but not impossible. I have questions about where security was for the reported 15 minutes of the killing spree and how, if the prince was as drunk as reported, could he wreak that kind of havoc. I asked two men standing in the front of a shop on the street whether they bought the prince-killer story. They paused a bit, then said it might not be a safe thing for any of us to be talking about. Their English wasn't good enough for them to clearly say why, but it was good enough for them to leave no doubt that they were completely dismissive of the notion of the prince as the killer.

Rumors abound. There are stories about doctors at the military hospital where the royals were treated that haven't been heard from since the shooting, and more funeral pyres than are normal. I heard second-hand today of a Westerner who owns a restaurant and has lived here for years, who "knows for a fact" that five cooks from a prestigious restaurant have not returned to work after their gig at the Royal Palace last Friday. The speculation is of a massive cover-up, and today's report didn't make much of a dent. Parts of the story seemed reasonable to me until I read the bit about the new king's son, Paras The Lunatic, who "saved many lives that day" when he kept a group of teenagers from being shot. He stood in front of the teenagers and pleaded with the prince to spare them. This is the Paras who runs people over with his car, then drives away? Homey don't buy that story.

The government has shown its commitment to truth and freedom of the press by arresting three people from the biggest selling newspaper here for treason. The newspaper published an article with statements by the leader of the Maoists claiming that the massacre was a conspiracy. It might be a coincidence that the newspaper has frequently criticized Prime Minister Koirala, who is a little less popular than Paras. (Last week, prior to the shooting, there was an unprecedented three-day strike where the country came to a standstill. The strike was trying to force Koirala to step down – he's accused of corruption.)

The government-sponsored cover-up, er, investigation began today. It's led by only two people after the third declined to play; one is a judge and the other a politician. The probe will take three days and will include ballistic and forensic tests and interviews with all the witnesses and doctors who treated the survivors. In three days. Right.

I heard about a 12 year-old kid whose eyes were inflamed after the tear gas during the riots. When my friend showed concern, he said, "It's nothing. I would gladly take a bullet for my king. He is my king and he is my father and I love him." Meanwhile, grown men still get emotional and misty-eyed about their loss. A man yesterday, describing his pain, said that his heart was very small, and gestured that it was like the size of a pea. These are such sad times for the people here. They feel completely unprotected after seeing that even the king isn't safe, and they don't feel they have a lot to look forward to. They have no expectation of receiving the truth from the Royal Palace or the government, and they are powerless in the face of it. I realized today that although there aren't that many tourists around, there are just as many Nepalese. They have nowhere else to go.

More later...

Love, Dave

- - - - -

From: David Adair
Date: Mon Jun 18, 2001
Subject: Disbelief and resignation greet investigation report

The much-anticipated report about the massacre of the Royal Family of Nepal was released last Thursday. I saw the report being read live on TV, first in Nepali and then in English, and was struck by how few of the restaurant staff were watching it. It was fully expected that Prince Dipendra would be blamed for the shooting, and most people were so dismissive of the investigation that they weren’t interested in hearing the report. There were lots of scowls and snorts from the staff, and when a pair of Dipendra’s boots were held up, a waiter said, "They're fake! It's all fake!" I thought, what if they are - they're just a pair of boots. My question was why show them at all?

The six-page synopsis report was posted on the internet and printed in newspapers, and reads like a teenager's book report. Apart from language problems, it was filled with unimportant details and had glaring omissions, like, for instance, motive. It said, for example, that "physical items and materials were subjected to scientific tests" without saying what those tests, or their results, were. Here's an editorialized summary of that night: Prince Dipendra was stumbling drunk on whiskey, and had been smoking cigarettes laced with hashish and an "unidentified black substance." (Experts on the street - ok, tourists - speculate that it may have been opium.) He was seen "swaying, unable to hold himself upright" and four people had to accompany him to his room. There he made several phone calls to his girlfriend, Debyani, (the marriage to whom his parents opposed.) She said that his voice was so slurred that she worried about him and called attendants to look after him. The attendants found him in his room, lying on the ground, apparently unable to get his pants off. After they helped him, he went into the bathroom and vomited, then called his girlfriend again and said, "I am now about to sleep, good night, we'll talk tomorrow." Half an hour later, this stoned, drunken, swaying, I-can't-get-my-pants-off Prince emerges from his room as Rambo. Dressed in military fatigues, he killed his father first, then went on to murder a total of nine people, including his mother, brother and sister. As a final testament to his dexterity and marksmanship, he apparently shot himself in the left temple, even though he's right-handed. He must be tough, too, because they found two empty bullet casings next to his body. Most people can only manage to shoot themselves in the head once.

No one would confuse my version with balanced reporting, but there seem to be enough problems with the story as reported that it's hard to accept at face value. It's not that it couldn't have happened as reported, but the story is odd. There were three rifles, two pistols, and several ammunition clips found at the scene, which seems like a lot to carry for one drunken person to carry, much less aim accurately. Why wasn't the Prime Minister told of the shooting for something like an hour after it happened? Why did every person get taken to the military hospital, even though there are other hospitals nearby and they were taken in individual cars? Why would the Queen "give chase" to Dipendra well after he'd begun his killing spree? Where were the security personnel for the length of the shooting? (The whole incident was only one and a half minutes, not the fifteen minutes I said in the last letter.) Where are the autopsies of the bodies, or why weren't they performed? Why weren't independent examiners allowed to see the bodies prior to their hasty cremations?

I met an American woman who has been here for 10 years, and knows some of the Royal family. She thinks all this talk of conspiracy is just a bunch of hooey. She was told first-hand or second-hand on the night of the massacre that it was Dipendra, and she doesn't doubt it a bit.

There's one conspiracy theory that's floating around that's too outlandish to believe, but makes a good story, nonetheless. It was an impostor! Someone with the girth and features of Dipendra may have done most of the killing. An eyewitness reported that Dipendra was wearing a hat pulled so far down that you "could barely see his eyes." Outlandish, yes, but it could answer every question raised. It raises one more, however: would an impostor really fool eyewitnesses?

I've yet to find a Nepalese who believes that Dipendra was solely responsible. I asked a shopkeeper if he accepted the report, and he said, "We must." His response was laced with resignation and defeat rather than trust in the report. Most people, including me, expected protests and violence following the release of the report, but it didn't happen. There were a few reasons why. It was reported in the paper that about 1,000 people have been arrested, either for talking about the massacre, or because they're known agitators. Groups were randomly arrested just for talking together. People are also skeptical that they'll ever know the truth, so they aren't very fired up about protesting. And lastly, people knew that if they protested, it wouldn't be long before the army opened fire into the crowd. I suspect, though, that the frustration they feel over the loss of their king and a suspected cover-up will be added to all the others, and make the next protest that much more charged.

This chapter is coming to a close for me, as I'm flying tomorrow, June 20, [2001] to Frankfurt, Germany. I'm sorry to be leaving this beautiful and chaotic country, as usual, but I have no doubt I'll be back again.

Love, Dave [2001]

And now... Love, Dave! [2012]

The lobby of Kathmandu Guest House, where tourists and locals were glued to the screen, trying to figure out what was happening.

A policeman, maintaining order as the surging crowds waited for the procession of family members who were killed.

We waited three hours here.

I believe this is the King's body, with his face uncovered.

A spontaneous memorial for the King and Queen.

Tension starts to rise.

A large group of young men on motorcycles were parading and protesting through the streets, but were blocked by the police from getting to the Royal Palace.

It's not clear where this is headed, but you can see in people's body language that it's tense.

Uh-oh. Tear gas. That stuff is nasty. You can just make out the police in the distance.

The streets are wet from people upstairs supporting the protesters by dropping water down so people could rinse the tear gas off.

Throw rocks, inch closer, wait for the tear gas to be shot. Retreat. Repeat.

Notice how many shaved heads in the crowd.

This photo, and others, were used by the BBC for their "On This Day" series. I saw their request for photos two years later and sent some in. You can see them here and read more about the event, as well.

This is after I've switched sides. Rocks are littering the ground after being thrown by protesters. The police would sometimes throw them back.

The local commander, apparently, looking my direction. He never said a word to me. The blue smoke is tear gas.

The military arrives, and the protest stops soon after.

The army starts to march forward, periodically stopping in formation and raising their rifles. It was designed to impress and intimidate. It worked.

I'm not sure why I thought it was OK to be standing here and taking these photos.

Not too many spectators left on the street by now. I had a pair of binoculars and as I raised them to my eyes I saw one of the soldiers pointing his rifle straight at me. That freaked me out - it looked like he was standing right in front of me.

Another spontaneous memorial.

There was a long queue of people waiting to go into the Royal Palace to pay their last respects.

Memorials like this were all around the city.

And life goes on, somehow.

The kids were still playing in the streets.

People were are beautiful and colorful as ever.

And if you got tired you could just pull up a cow and sit down. He acts so casual, but he was posing for me, hoping I'd take this photo...

(The End)

"What you think of me is none of my business." Photos from Bandipur.

2012-05-08T04:30:00.001-07:00

"What you think of me is none of my business."
~ Terry Cole-Whitaker (and perhaps others)

Below, please to find photos from the beautiful village of Bandipur. This is a former trading post for India-Tibet trade, which explains some of the beautiful architecture and relative wealth. The road was only built in the last 10-ish years, so I hadn't even heard of it prior to this trip. Beautiful place - beautiful kids!

Love,
Dave

The main pedestrian-only road in town. I haven't even seen a single motorcycle on this lane, which is shocking. Motorcycles are normally accepted anywhere they can squeeze through.

This old woman hauls these bamboo poles all day long. She looks around 60 years old.

There's a great diversity of people here, but everyone is beautiful!

On a day off from school, this girl and her friends were wearing makeup.

Traditionally loads are carried like this. It's less needed now that there are more roads, but you still see people carrying heavy loads, even on flat ground.

The two beauties on the left are identical twins, Ganga and Jamuna, named after the holy rivers.

Going old-school on cutting reinforcing bar for construction.

This tall swing is a traditional Nepali feature in certain villages. Here a Buddhist nun is giving it a go. We spent a long time here, as it's just near a small Tibetan Buddhist temple that's being built.

I love this kid.

Hiking boots! We met a group of young Nepalis from Kathmandu who were here for the weekend. They didn't plan on hiking, which is why this poor thing was wearing these shoes on a two-hour hike. She wasn't happy.

We hiked to a large cave, which had no lights or path or safety equipment. It was pretty disorienting for me, especially when we first went in, since my eyes don't adjust to the dark very quickly.

We continued the walk from the cave down the hill to the highway and met many photolicious lovely people.

Awww!!

I love this photo.

Some guys were repairing the airhorn underneath a big truck. I stuck my camera under there and hoped for the best.

This 15 year-old might be the happiest mechanic I've ever met.

Who knows what the heck this is? They seemed to be retreading tires, but using a wood-fueled fire and some ancient metal contraption with a pressure gauge. I'm baffled.

Cage fighter!

A beautiful man a traditional Nepali hat. By the way, I didn't know when to use "Nepali" and "Nepalese" and discovered that there is no consensus on their use. Language, people, culture - either word is OK, apparently.

This is Kali, who I had to beg to come out for a photo. Mom rewarded her by offering her to us take to the U.S. Kali didn't like that idea! It's a common joke, but some tourists yesterday think it was offered seriously to them.

This girl is 15, and though she didn't want her photo at first, she sits with such composure. Beautiful.

This young woman is a laborer, with her hands covered in dust and nail polish hanging on in bits on one hand. She kind of gasped when she saw this photo - I'm hoping it's because she saw how beautiful she is.

More of on my favorite kids from the swing.

This is during a procession of Buddha's birthday, from the Buddhist temple through town. Most people are Hindu here, but they have a lot of tolerance for each other's views here.

This serious kid is only five or six. What a stunner!

Young lovelies in front of the Buddhist temple.

At the end of the ceremony for the Buddha's birthday, there's the traditional tsampa war. Tsampa is roasted barley flour.

Sonam, one of the head monks, was well into this part!

Get 'em, Sonam!

I'm running out of ways of describing how kids are cute. Cute-a-licious! Cute-a-lectable!

The swing, at its full potential.

All the kids are cute, but not equally so! I love this one especially. The girls were rehearsing for a dance performance.

Dance rehearsal.

Carom on the street, just in front of our hotel.

Just down the hill from here - 20 years ago, on my first trip in Nepal. We had to sit on the roof of the bus for most of the nine hours dirt-road trip - the same one that takes four hours now. Now that I no longer look like this, people are happy to tell me that I USED to be attractive. (Thanks, Jen - love ya babe!) I don't remember anyone telling me that then!

(The End)

"You show your worth by what you seek."

2012-05-07T08:36:00.000-07:00

When you plant a tree

every leaf that grows will tell you,

what you sow will bear fruit.

So if you have any sense, my friend,

don’t plant anything but love.

You show your worth by what you seek.

~ Rumi

Prepare yourself, lovely readers. Today you'll see these photos from Kathmandu. Tomorrow you'll see photos from Bandipur, a spectacularly charming village halfway between Kathmandu and Pokhara. And the next day, if you're still with me, I'll be posting a set of on-the-scene newsletters with unpublished photos from 2001, when Nepal's entire Royal family was gunned down by a drunken and grumpy prince. Or was he really the culprit? Riots, tear-gassed tourists (OK - one tear-gassed tourist,) intrigue and a nation in mourning. It's a good and tragic story.

The non-photographed drama from this trip to Kathmandu involved a group of drug-addled street youth. When I first came to Nepal in 1991 there were large numbers of street kids, begging, going through piles of garbage looking for food, and befriending well-intentioned tourists (like me) who didn't know enough to know that they didn't know enough to really help. Leftover meals might actually encourage these kids to stay away from home, or keep them from going to school, or put themselves in other types of street-life danger. The last few times I was here (2001 and 2003, most recently) the street kids appeared to be gone, and I thought the problem had been resolved.

Well, they're back, in a big way. Jen and I were walking towards our hotel one evening and came across some filthy, rough-looking kids between about 15 and 20-ish. I stopped when I noticed they were handling crumpled money and spreading it out among themselves. It was dark, but I could see the oldest guy had a swollen cheek near his eye. The youngest kid said they needed money - "Look his eye! Look his eye! Cutting, cutting!" I pulled out my flashlight, reluctantly, and saw a deep gash, maybe 2 inches long, just near his eye, obviously needing stitches. The young kid kept showing me the blood and wound on his head, from the same attack, if you believe their story. If I'd had any sense I would have kept walking, but I don't. I was thinking about what I'd written about the leprosy volunteering - it's easy to not get involved, but it's tough to get involved a little. We told them we wouldn't give them any money, but we'd go with them to a hospital and pay for the doctor. These guys were so stoned they could hardly stand up. Mr. FaceGash was inhaling glue from a bag right in front of me until the young kid told him not to. They insisted on money, to no avail, and eventually agreed to the 20-minute walk to the hospital, with me and Jen in tow. Even stoned they walked twice as fast as me, and they disappeared into the crowd, coming back to find us and wandering off again. Jen was really trying to keep up, but I thought it was their job to stick with us, not the other way around. I'm not sure they saw it that way.

Eventually the young one wandered off and didn't return, and then Mr. FaceGash indicated that he wasn't going to the hospital. We stood in the intersection and watched him stagger away. We waited for a while in case he changed his mind, and that was that.

As they say in Nepali, "ke garne," what to do...

Love,

Dave

In my world view, these women are stunning.

This woman seemed a little kooky, but she was SO happy to see her photo.

A beautiful, clear-faced boy holding his hands in the "namaste" position.

I think he's happy. It's hard to say.

Air pollution makes for nice sunsets, at least. The air's not as bad as I thought based on other's reports.

The burning ghats at Pashupatinath. Someone famous is being cremated in the center of the photo, based on the number of people who came to view the ceremony. We stood on the bridge directly above him and watched as they took off his clothing, stacked wood on and under his body, and lit the wood on fire.

Incredible stone carvings in the Pashupatinath complex.

I believe this is a Garuda, a mythical winged god who serves as Vishnu's mount.

Shiva lingams are lined up in small temples.

Another entry in the cute kid contest.

Twins and their friends.

A construction site, which you see all over Kathmandu. That's an older woman working in the front, wearing traditional dress and wearing construction flip-flops, most likely.

We're entering the ancient city of Bhaktapur.

This is not a zoo.

Inside a small temple in Bhaktapur.

I call this photo "A bird and stone dog-looking thing." Lyrical!

This man was making small clay pots by hand. Someone said he'd been doing this since he was 10 years old.

There are stunningly beautiful girls, of all ages, all over Nepal. Amazing.

This is Sona, who invited us into her grandmother's home. Such a sharp kid.

Nurses, maybe?

I started practicing shooting photos from the hip. This is one that I like.

You still see old men using this method of carrying loads. I haven't seen it so much with younger men.

Sunset at a traditional Nepali temple.

The vegetable market just down from our hotel.

Colorful.

A flower seller and her garlands.

Baby. Aged 25. Does he look like an adult, or is it just me?

Necklace sellers behind egg sellers. I love the colors.

A busy street scene at dusk.

When the exposure is long, people that are moving appear blurred like this.

An unintended optical illusion. These are two different men, one deep inside the temple.

(The End)

24 hours in Kathmandu

2012-04-23T12:03:00.001-07:00

"Monotony collapses time; novelty unfolds it. You can exercise daily and eat healthily and live a long life, while experiencing a short one. If you spend your life sitting in a cubicle and passing papers, one day is bound to blend unmemorably into the next—and disappear. That's why it's important to change routines regularly, and take vacations to exotic locales, and have as many new experiences as possible that can serve to anchor our memories. Creating new memories stretches out psychological time, and lengthens our perception of our lives."

~ Moonwalking with Einstein by Joshua Foer

Jen and I took a painful overnight bus ride from Bir, in the Himalayas, to Delhi, in a rickety truck/bus contraption with blown shocks and broken seats. There was ample evidence in the ruins that was the interior of the bus that we were but the most recent of a very long line of people to have suffered similar fates. But at least we didn't have mice or bedbugs, like our friend who'd taken the same bus recently. Score!

After a day and night of sleep-deprivation-blur (imagine that) in Delhi, we flew to Kathmandu, Nepal. I've been to Nepal on six different trips, but not since 2003, and it was Jen's first trip. Another great wander today, and we're happy and tired. Photos, all from today, are below...

Love,

Dave

Ridiculously adorable.

Adorable girl's adorable mom.

This reminds me: I became a vegetarian in Kathmandu in 1999 when I accidentally said words that forced me to think about what I valued. With absolutely no prior intention of becoming a veggie, I became one, and never looked back. But you can read all about it in my book! (I'm kidding - I'm too lazy to write a book.)

It was a school holiday, and this group of girls somehow got hold of a big shipment of fake nails and glue. They look so natural!

I had to drag Jen away from this group of kids. "Do we have to leave?" she said, seriously.

One of the nail crew.

There are public squares all around Kathmandu surrounded by housing. We met the sweetest group of kids here.

Entry #1 in the beautiful baby contest.

That thrilled look is because she's watching Jen teach them how to play Hokey-Pokey!

So cute!

The 25 year-old mother of beautiful baby #1.

This man may have been a beautiful baby at one time. Doesn't seem all that likely, but still.

People in Nepal have such beautiful eyes.

Grams.

The famous street in Kathmandu that leads to Durbar Square. Google Maps tells me it's called Hanuman Dhoka.

Housing surrounding a beautiful temple.

Elaborate wood carvings in the overhangs of a temple.

Dang, this woman made us some good momos today! Momos are a type of steamed dumpling.

Unfortunately, we didn't see this poster until after we'd eaten the momos. Apparently they would have tasted great with Coke.

Wiring on a street pole.

We saw two girls fishing water out of a dirty hole. It sounds like the water table is dangerously low.

These boys were playing cricket and were TOO happy to have their photos taken.

This kid's getting a shower. Thanks, Mom, he means to say, but probably forgets.

This river is a stagnant garbage dump. It's appalling.

More kids on the road.

Lovely.

I'm not sure what she's eating, but she seems happy. I take posed photos and wait until they laugh when I'm done and then get the "real" photos.

A Tibetan shopkeeper. You can see from the red headband that he's from the Kham area of Tibet.

Contestant #2. How beautiful is this one?!

I took this photo before we spent about an hour with this kid and his grimy compatriots. We told them we're their "no money friends" so they'd know we don't give them anything but love and attention. They kept following us and seemed genuinely happy just for the friendship.

The eyes of the Buddha on the Swyambumath Stupa. The temple is famous for being sacred to both Hindus and Buddhists, and they both pray here.

The stupa.

A Tibetan monk.

Golden decoration at the top of the temple.

Contestant #3. I can't pick!

(The End)

Love, and its location.

2012-04-19T11:23:00.000-07:00

"I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no hurt, but only more love."

~ Mother Teresa

I just took the first day of a 5-day writing class here in Bir, given by a talented American author, Janet Thomas. Since I could only take the first day of the course, I didn't [get to]/[have to] read my short essay to the class. I appoint you my audience:

The room is cool and quiet, with only the sound of soft, almost silent breathing. The walls are a non-offensive light brown color, and the carpet absorbs sound, adding to the quiet. No light comes through the windows, since it's late at night.

I'm just waking up, at midnight, after an exhausted nap. My brother says, "You might want to come - it's getting close." The breaths are getting shallower, and further apart. With the exhale of each breath, and then the long pause, we're wondering if it might be her last. And then, it is.

My mother's body, now lifeless, apparently, lies still, in stark contrast to the unexpected animation and joking and love of the last nine days in hospice. I wonder: if she's not here, apparently - where is she? And if she's not here now, how do I know she was here before?

What I don't wonder about: love, and its location. We're swimming in it, before and now, in this hospice room, in the hospital stays, in the restaurants and hanging out, talking and non-talking and in-between. We're swimming in it.

Love!

Dave

p.s. I'm flying with Jen to Kathmandu, Nepal on Sunday, the first time I've been in nine years.

Yummm!

Our Romanian traveler friend, Catalina.

What am I, some kind of frickin' donkey whisperer or something?! It's almost like they're not stubborn around me - but that's crazy talk.

Two distinct groups of tourists come to Bir: meditation-types and paragliding-types.

Fun-scary. I didn't try it, but might on another trip.

The beautiful shale roof of a small barn.

We had the bad idea to hike down from the top of the paragliding take-off point. My knees regret that decision.

We came across two women carrying large loads of wood down the hill. Yeah, but my knees! I'm on vacation and my knees hurt!

Just after she gets her bundle up and positioned on her back, her mobile phone rings, which you see in the last frame.

Grandma.

Grand-daughter. Lovely!

"One ringy-dingy! Two ringy-dingy! Is this the party to whom I am speaking?"

Another delightful stroll through fields and villages today. People are SO friendly.

I'm Dave Adair, and I approve of this picture.

This beauty was walking with her grandfather. Adorable.

We met a man, woman, and child riding a motorcycle, and they invited us into their home. They're both teachers and speak quite good English. They were happy to talk about both the benefits and challenges of their traditional Indian life. They wanted us to stay for dinner, and when we declined, they insisted that we come back next trip. OK!

Lovelies on the road.

This woman was part of an extended green-eyed family that were happy to chat with us.

These sisters could not stop giggling.

I'm loving her hairstyle.

(The End)

"You are not the person you believe yourself to be."

2012-04-16T13:02:00.001-07:00

I'm still in Bir, India, still happy, and taking lots of photos. The price of admission for viewing the photos? You have to read these quotes. It won't hurt. Much....

"Though we ordinarily think that a leaf is born in the springtime, Gautama [the Buddha] could see that it had been there for a long, long time in the sunlight, the clouds, the tree, and in himself. Seeing that the leaf had never been born, he could see that he too had never been born. Both the leaf and he himself had simply manifested - they had never been born and were incapable of ever dying. With this insight, ideas of birth and death, appearance and disappearance dissolved, and the true face of the leaf and his own true face revealed themselves. He could see that the presence of any one phenomenon made possible the existence of all other phenomena. One included all, and all were contained in one."

~ Thich Nhat Hanh, Old Path White Clouds: Walking in the Footsteps of the Buddha

"All that happens is the cause of all that happens. Understand first that you are not the person you believe yourself to be. What you think yourself to be is mere suggestion or imagination. You were not born, nor will you die."

~ Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

Too much love!

Dave

Donkeys are so stubborn! It took me forever to get him to pose like this. Or it would have, if he wasn't already posed like this - cuz as everyone knows - donkeys are so stubborn! (That's kind of a private joke about the way we maintain our prejudices by only seeing evidence that supports them...)

This is the lane heading up to the Deer Park Institute, a center for Tibetan Buddhism teaching. Those are Tibetan prayer flags hanging about. They have printed Tibetan prayers on them, and the prayers are carried on the wind.

The night before it had rained quite a lot, so this morning the air was clear and crisp, and fresh snow was coating the high mountains. Tea plantations are in the foreground.

Striking a pose. Not sure where they learn this stuff - just like kids at home!

Rush hour can be a real bugger.

Nothing funny here. This poster commemorates a young Tibetan, Jamphel Yeshi, who lit himself on fire to protest the Chinese occupation of Tibet. He later died. Something like 29 Tibetans have done the same in the last year. The Chinese government blames the Dalai Lama, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary.

These guys look like they just got out of the hair salon. Many potential pretty-goat jokes will go unspoken.

A young Tibetan monk.

This sprawling covered courtyard is at Sherab Ling monastery. The monastery is a huge place.

These monks were inside a prayer hall, directly across from the last photo.

The people in this area are unreasonably friendly, and I'm not sure anyone has said no to having their photo taken. They don't all pose as beautifully as this, though.

We took an "alternative route" (OK, fine, we got lost) coming back from Sherab Ling and came across beautiful houses and people where only paths, not roads, connected villages.

A hint of big snowy mountains in the distance.

There's a famous pottery school nearby, and three of the four of us took the introductory class. (Someone had to take photos.) This is the instructor getting all Patrick Swayze with Jen. We were singing "Unchained Melody" by the Righteous Brothers on the taxi road home.

Walking away from the pottery school, on an afternoon where half the sky was blue and the other half was storming with thunder.

On the taxi ride we came across some festival, not too far from home, so we jumped out and said goodbye to our taxi driver.

The women here, besides being really beautiful, were dressed in their finest.

The main attraction? Near-naked brutes wrestling in the dirt, wearing only what appeared to be underwear.

Actually, it was great fun! These guys are SO tough. They wrestled until one man got the other's shoulders to touch the ground at the same time, either with a quick flip or after a 15-minute grinding match.

It was an elimination competition, and the victor of one match would face the next guy. I couldn't believe how long and hard they fought.

This young guy won the "crown," which he's wearing, along with prize money totaling 300-400 rupees, or $6 - $8. He was super modest and humble when we congratulated him.

Fancy dress!

Jen can get a group of women and children surrounding her in no seconds flat. That's her Super Power!

A sign in our favorite breakfast restaurant, er, restraurent. How many correctly spelled words can YOU find?

On a relaxed don't-know-where-we're-going walk today, we came across a group of women sitting on a porch. I love this one!

It's great when Jen is with me, because she's happy to do the heavy social-lifting while I float around the edges taking photos.

After we said "hello" in Hindi and "how are you" in English, the verbal conversation sort of petered out. They didn't speak a word of English. They laughed, and we laughed, and they made us tea. We loved it.

This Grandma was a kick.

When someone new joined the group, they did this one-arm to one-arm greeting that I've never seen before. She repeated it with everyone in the group.

Onwards, finally, past more colorful houses and beautiful kids.

Stunning! This 26 year-old beauty offered us tea, too, as did others, but we declined.

People in this state of Himachal Pradesh generally look quite different than the average person in "flatland" India - say Varanasi. Eyes tend to be more round, among other things.

I like this woman's expression.

A go-kart with a one-sister power motor.

This looked like Mom and two sons. The youngest kid was such a ham. He posed with a heavy bag of gravel and insisted on me taking his photo.

Another beautiful family.

This is the grandfather of the little girl above.

The same little beauty.

At the end of our walk, by accident, we ended up right at Chokling Monastery, which is where our guest house is. These deeply carved rocks are called "mani stones," and have Tibetan prayers carved on them. What a great day...

(The End)

Into the mountains: Bir, India

2012-04-10T11:20:00.000-07:00

"Sense pleasures and desirable things are like saltwater - the more one tastes them, the more one's thirst increases."

~ Gyalse Ngulchu Thogme, Thirty-seven Verses on the Practices of Bodhisattvas

"Desires fulfilled breed more desires."

~ Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

My friend Jennifer and I were deciding how to get from Rishikesh to Bir, near Dharamsala, the home of Tibet's Dalai Lama, well into the foothills of the Himalayas. The overnight bus is a 15 hour drive, leaving at 4pm and arriving the next morning. The train arrives at 2am, but requires a further 5-hour taxi ride into the mountains. We chose to go by taxi on a pretty exhausting 14-1/2 hour drive (map link), over tortuous mountain roads, about a third of which were unpaved, all of which were rutted, with near-constant honking of horns and passing trucks on blind curves as they belched black smoke and dust into our open windows. Delightful, except not. We were BEAT when we arrived, but, incredibly, our taxi driver left after an hour's break to drive back the same night. It didn't seem possible, but he claimed he was fine. (How could that be?)

Bir is a beautiful, unhurried place, filled with Tibetan monasteries (and Tibetans!), green hills, tea plantations, snow-covered mountains in the distance, and restaurants that serve wonderful momos (Tibetan dumplings) for 60 cents a plate. Luckily, not long after we arrived a well-known Tibetan nun, Tenzin Palmo, was giving three days of teachings. Ms. Palmo is famous for being one of the first Western women to become a nun, and for having lived in a cave at 13,000 feet elevation for 12 years!

We've been here a week now, and we're just loving the place. Maybe in the photos you can see why.

Love to you,

Dave

This lovely old Tibetan woman was sitting in the Chokling Monastery during a 10-day "long life" ceremony, or "puja."

Birds on top of the monastery's ornamental roof line.

Monks start young.

These two women were watching the long life puja.

One young monk helps a younger monk with his robes.

A statue of the Buddha at the front of the prayer hall in Chokling.

Blowing conch shells as part of the ceremony.

The view from the sidelines, where we were sitting.

Another young monk.

Inside this small workshop young Tibetan craftsmen are making these elaborate ornaments out of, I believe, copper. It's supported on a block of malleable wax.

The carnival is in town, and these kids got the first (and only) ride.

Jen played with these two beautiful grimy creatures for about an hour. They're the same two as in the photo above.

This looks a little dicey, but safety rules are lax here. (There are safety rules?)

This is the view we had from the balcony of the hall where we heard three days of teachings from Tenzin Palmo.

We visited a friend's project high up the hill. Our friend Nathan is showing us the trail to start our one hour walk down.

I'm always grateful when a lovely old woman like this allows me to photograph her.

Next time your Mom wants help with the groceries, show her this photo! And then help her with the groceries. She's carrying a big bundle of grass up pretty steep hills.

As the hills start to level out further down the hill, wheat fields are plentiful, and so are the gorgeous kids.

This is the little girl's grandmother.

She's not unattractive!

A handsome old guy walking down the road.

Young monks on the last day of the big puja.

A monk from Germany was showing the kids some magic, and they loved it.

Inside the puja, we were given candles and incense to light. A few minutes later, they took it from us and gathered them all together.

Gathering the incense sticks.

Just before the rice wars. The solemn "tossing a few grains of rice" devolved into an all-out rice war, with monks throwing handfuls at each other and at the tourists. It was really fun.

A close-up of the floor after much rice-related tomfoolery.

The sun shines through a window and illuminates a bright red wall.

Butter lamps, as they're known.

Lunch at the Tenzin Palmo teachings, with Artyom, Kate, Zohar and Nathan.

(The End)

Touching My Toes and Calling it Yoga

2012-03-26T08:00:00.001-07:00

"I wish everyone would get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that its not the answer."

~ Jim Carrey (Yes, THAT Jim Carrey.)

"Only contentment can make you happy - desires fulfilled breed more desires. Keeping away from all desires and contentment in what comes by itself is a very fruitful state - a precondition to the state of fullness. Don't distrust its apparent sterility and emptiness. Believe me, it is the satisfaction of desires that breeds misery. Freedom from desires is bliss."

~ Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

Happy people, I've been enjoying the groovy vibes of Rishikesh, one of the more famous yoga centers of India, for the past month. It's not an unreasonable question, but I'm never happy to hear it: "So, what are you DOING?" What is it with all these questions, like it's the frickin' Inquisition or something! Hence the title of my post. Now quit asking.

Though I barely have any ambition remaining in this body, I'm trying to shed what little I have. It probably sounds like nonsense to the majority of you, but it's not exactly a joke. It's actually a practice, and not such an easy one, to live, brace yourself: a free and unencumbered life. To see through the notion that there is a set of conditions that I can avail myself of, where, once those conditions are met, I Will Be Happy. You know how happy you can be when you finally have something that you've longed for? Some say that it's actually not the "having" that is the source of your delight; it's the lack of longing that accounts for it. That fits perfectly with what the Buddha said about the nature of life and its "unsatisfactoriness": it's caused by clinging desire.

Hold your desires loosely, and see what happens. No need to trust in the teachings. See for yourself.

Love!

Dave

I wondered how they get the paint into the deep cracks of these statues. Now we know.

It kind of made me want to have a go. Maybe next time.

A Belgian couple had ridden this tandem bike from somewhere like Hungary. Google Maps tells me the most direct route would be 8,000 kilometers, or 5,000 miles. Some people are tough! This is the patio area of the Vishnu Rest House, with the Ganges River just in front.

A vegetable seller in the lanes of Varanasi.

Revisiting the "Holy Sidewalk Dentist Baba from Varanasi" as I referred to him in this 2006 blog entry. The sharp-eyed among you may notice that he's cleaned up his act a bit: haircut, trimmed beard, and a shirt! (Maybe an IPO is in the offing?) But he's still working, hard, on the side of a busy street, at the gutter. The people standing up are in the waiting room. I arrived just in time to see a bloody tooth being yanked with a pair of pliers. The guy in the far left does that type of work.

Baba builds dentures and the like, while you wait. I don't know his story, and who gets the money, but he is really busy and working hard. He looks to be doing good work, too.

Nearby, I thought to let this guy know that his roots are showing. But I thought, heck, why burst his bubble?

On to holy Rishikesh, an 18-hour train further upstream on the Ganges. This giant statue at a big ashram is the monkey-god Hanuman, opening his chest to show that Sita and Rama reside in his heart.

I'm so not a hippie, but you might not think so if you saw the people I hang out with. This is the rooftop of my $5/night hotel in Rishikesh, where it turned out there was a big dance party fundraiser ($6 a ticket!) The Ganges runs through this valley way below, and you can make out the towers of the walking bridge in the center right.

This is the Original Choti Wallah! He's the mascot for a big Indian restaurant. Sitting a few feet away is the other Original Choti Wallah! Two brothers, apparently, had a falling out years ago and split their big restaurant in two, each of them calling themselves the original. I always go to the Original one myself - cuz they have ice cream.

Holy men and unholy men and miscellaneous stragglers line up waiting for handouts from generous Indian pilgrims.

Lovely Lucie, from the Czech Republic. I met her two years in Dharamsala and bumped into her this year in Tiru, in the far south, then again in Rishikesh. That might sound improbable but it's not uncommon. Her hair is growing out after she shaved her head recently - also not uncommon!

A kid and his sister had to be coaxed out of their house for these photos. I'm not always successful, but I'll give it a good try.

The little sister, who makes me melt.

My friend Jen volunteered six years ago at this orphanage in Haridwar, about an hour downstream from Rishikesh. She's there again this trip, and I came to visit for two nights.

Field trip! Taking a farm tractor and trailer to a nearby Hindu temple.

These adorable and healthy kids have really excellent care and look happy as can be. Their stories before they came to the orphanage, though, would curl your hair. Unless it was already curly, and then it would straighten it.

I love these two! I helped them on the monkey bars for a long time. They were just small enough that they couldn't quite manage swinging across on their own. Or maybe they just liked telling me what to do!

Yeah, OK, I love this kid, too! How could you not...

I'm not used to seeing water buffalo used to pull wagons, but here you are. I find it fascinating that this method of transportation hasn't changed much for thousands of years.

I forgot - I love this little girl, too.

We took another field trip the second day, to a nearby national park where there are wild elephants, plus these working elephants.

That's quite a load. That's all food for the elephants. We were surprised to see that they stripped off the leaves and only ate the branches.

The trunks are so dexterous. They're amazing animals, and I didn't like to see them chained.

This beauty's mom is a German woman who came to the orphanage to volunteer. She ended up staying, and has lived in the orphanage with her Indian husband (and two beautiful kids) for 17 years!

Through the bus window. We were parked for a bit while the kids went for a walk, and Jen and some kids were waiting in the bus. A BIG male monkey climbed through the window and sat down on a seat and started going through a bag. Jen said all she could do was yell, "MONKEY! MONKEY!" Monkey wasn't bothered, but eventually left.

(The End)

The Name of God is True

2012-03-01T05:11:00.001-08:00

"Ram Naam Satya Hai!

Ram Naam Satya Hai!"

~ the chant of pallbearers walking down the lanes of Varanasi on the way to the burning ghats

A possible translation: The Name of God is True; meaning God exists, and he is true.

I'm sitting in a train in India writing this, reminded of how things have changed over the years I've been coming here. The essential nature of the place isn't changing very fast, praise Shiva. I just had a conversation with a guy on the train platform in Varanasi and he asked what was my favorite place in India. When I said that beautiful Varanasi is my favorite, he laughed and said, "Beautiful? How can someone say that?!" I thought he wasn't from here, but he was, but he couldn't understand how someone from the land of wide highways, big cars and beautiful houses could think that. Yeah, sometimes I wonder too.

I tried to explain how, yes, the West is beautiful and clean, but India is SO full of LIFE! It's all on display, like it or not, and among the burning corpses there are foraging cows and dogs and kids playing kites and building projects and chai makers and head shavers and laughing and not so much crying and a sea of vibrating energy that either lifts you up or washes over you and tries to drown you. Your choice.

"But everyone is happy in America!" he said. I begged to differ, and he said, "I bet 90% of the people are happy." I said, "The problem in the West is that people think they can manage their way into happiness by having the right set of conditions: a nice car, big house, the right clothes, food, temperature, colors, gadgets, etc., etc., etc. And not a single person has ever achieved lasting happiness from a set of conditions. Money doesn't buy happiness, and neither does poverty."

"I think we need some of both," he said. Fair enough.

Love!

Dave

This kid with the 20 year-old expression is about two, and sitting on the gas tank of her Dad's motorcycle. What a beauty.

For those of us who have been coming to the Sarnath program near Varanasi for years, this is a welcome site. Stone workers at the Thai Monastery have been chipping away at massive stones since I first came in 2000, all with this giant Buddha as the final goal.

This little girl wearing what look likes underwear is begging from a fancy bus full of Asian tourists.

My favorite sweet shop in Sarnath, and my favorite gut-busting dessert: longlata.

This is Christopher Titmuss, former Thai monk and meditation teacher for the last 40 years. In the sharing group at the end of our 10 days together, where I'm normally silent, I said that I remembered resisting coming to my first retreat with him in 1995, (then came to about five more), didn't want to come to the first Sarnath program (which I now love,) and was only moderately interested in the first Dharma Yatra walk in the south of France, where I've been six times (and LOVE it.) I said, "Christopher, you're the father I never wanted, you've ruined my life, and for that I am forever indebted."

A set-up for a modern Indian wedding. They're getting more gawdy, over-the-top and LOUDER as time goes by. I didn't see any elephants in weddings this year, though.

Beautiful little kid in the village of Sarnath.

Ah, Varanasi. Dodging the water buffalo as we make our way to our favorite chai stall on the lanes. Don't worry, folk! There's plenty of room for everyone!

Jen entertained some beautiful kids for at least an hour, including this kid with beautiful green eyes.

The nightly "aarti" puja at the main "ghats," or steps leading down to the Ganges River. Thousands of people are watching from the steps, and looking out you see all the people sitting in boats in the river.

A lovely kid near Vishnu Rest House, where I've stayed since my first trip to Varanasi in 1995.

So adorable.

Shivaratri, the Night of Shiva, begins. Mayhem follows. Seriously.

Why is everyone so keen to drink tea? Cuz it's not tea, it's marijuana-laced lassi, a yogurt drink. On this night, and only this night, virtually the whole town, including families with young kids, drink these "bhang" lassis.

A small temple just up the steps from the Ganges.

Much partying was had by all.

This character was in a procession, and so fired up with religious fervor that he was grappling with his friends like they were fighting. But they were just being boys.

Crazy boys dancing behind HUGE booming speakers.

He's dressed up as some God, no doubt. The snake wrapped around his neck is real. This guy was off his head, and when the cart came to a stop, he almost pitched forward face first.

This is Shiva, or a dressed-up version, as he stands next to Parvati, who he married yearly on Shivaratri.

Who is this scoundrel? His head looks to have evil thoughts therein. He might be scheming on Parvati.

I can't explain it. I guess he's a priest, covered in colors, and offering blessing to people along the lanes.

Yum.

A small temple next to a lovely courtyard restaurant.

This full-sized door isn't. It's a carving in the same temple, about six inches high. Amazing detail.

I can never get a straight answer when I ask about why people where this wide yellow stripe.

A nice handlebar moustache.

Oh, yeah. I love this one!

Jen is standing in the lane as a body is carried down to the burning ghats. "Ram Naam Satya Hai!"

The girls having a henna party.

It's traditional for the oldest son to have their head shaved when a parent dies. It's amazing how fast they can shave a head.

Sunrise over the Ganges. I don't see many sunrises, so I make sure to take photos when I do!

The famous ghats of Varanasi. The other side of the river is completely flooded in monsoon, so the city is only on one side.

I can't explain it, as much as I'd like to. He looked Indian, but his clothes didn't.

(The End)

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)