World cities become more dense, crowded

India's cities are straining under the weight of mass migration. Across the world, as crowding and poor standards cause building collapse and other lapse of reason societies tremble. What is happening. Mass poor are moving to cities which have neither governmental nor physical infrastructure to accommodate them.

We are planning our return to India in 2013 for the 200th anniversary celebrations of the Maharathi Missions. Our Earth strains more today than it did 160 years ago when generations of my Grandparents spent lifetimes in India challenging assumptions about how our planet was going to involve the masses in its evolution and structural construct. Records of the history of early mission are kept in the Amistad Research Center in New Orleans.

Today marked the passing of Frank Bessac. I did not know much about Frank before I read about him today. But, in reading about his life, I loved his company...

I crashed the dessert course of a dinner on at my wife's godmother's house Christmas Eve. It was worth it for many reasons. One of which is I met our hostesses mother Bisi. Her father was a diplomat in China during the same time my Grandfather (who was raised by the American Missionaries in India). "My father did not think much of most of the missionary work in China," Bisi told us, "but he thought the Medical colleges were an admirable lot." The exchange of ideas, education, friendship, respect and service engenders trust.

What can we do to trust and build trust with emerging populations in cities and rural areas?

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Back in the USA

We are back. We are here. We are probably not so far from you, or at least we no longer have an ocean between us. If there is an ocean between us now, you have seen us more recently than have many others.

Our dialog is non-stop, the stories are endless, yet the words we use to describe our journey are inadequate. Insufficient. Paltry without the smells and the tastes and the pulsing sense of the experience. 

I want to say, "Listen, I'll tell you this story about India. But first you need to develop a queasy 'travelers stomach' and sear your tongue with scalding chai and be coated with dirt from walking in the streets and spend a few moments of your morning exchanging pleasantries with the cow draped in jasmine flowers that contentedly awaits affection from her stolid stance in the middle of the street."

But we try to articulate our adventures, knowing that our words could never fully express our experiences. Yet still we try, it's a human condition. We try to define and label to better our communications and connections. We are social creatures, it's an 'evolved species' thing.

People ask us how the transition back to the United States is going. Others, especially those who have completed extensive travel themselves, ask whether we are experiencing 'culture shock.' The truth is that for now, our journey has not ended. We are still on the move, still in motion, still experiencing and exchanging and learning. There are pockets (albeit slightly smaller) of the Bronx or of Beverly that are unfamiliar, just as there were pockets of strangeness in Behai or Nis or El Jadida. No matter where you are, new sights and experiences exist, travel just amplifies your receptivity and awareness. With an accommodating mindset, a walk through the town that you have lived in for an entire lifetime can be just as enthralling as an African safari.

The biggest difference now is that we are surrounded by familiar faces. Family and friends are near and just as anxious to see us as we are them. Although the beauty of a New England autumn is quickly approaching, the geography cannot captivate me in the way that the voice and smile of a loved one can. If ever I was homesick on our journey, it was for people, never for things (I am lying, I once was in tears thinking of the joys of a 'western toilet').

There really is 'no place like home' when home means family.

Hope to see you soon.

xoxo

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The Internet is Ubiquitous – or was that a glitch?

Microsoft is corrupted.

For the third time on our nine month journey, our computer is dead. On a blue screen it screams, “your computer has been corrupted – please restart in ‘Safe Mode’”. Travel with a computer has become, for us, common place.

We left New Orleans in early December with a less than one kilo netbook. It has performed flawlessly and been heavily abused. It’s one drawback, though, is that it keeps allowing Microsoft to corrupt it. When corruption occurs, I think of it as the computer’s gone for vacation. The computer is still there. Its office space is occupied. But when you try to contact it you get this passive blue screen – a sort of ‘I will be out of the office until September 2nd – please try and contact me when I return,’ type message.

So, our computer is corrupted. Thinking about our current computer problem leads us to feeling that we are letting down our blog. We love our blog. It is a part of our promise of service and exchange between home and abroad. We have a dedicated group of readers to whom we are very grateful. Our readers give us a sense of mission, engagement beyond our common surrounds, contact with home, and exchange. We do not mean to let you down.

When at first the computer goes on vacation, we enter into a revolving conversation. I always defend the internet. When we were in developing countries I would throw up my hands, “Let’s just give away the computer here and be done with it.” My latest response in Bretagne, France was different, “We are close enough to home; let’s just carry it around broken until we get back.” I look at computers as apparati of planned obsolescence. Computers are disposable. They are meant to be treated this way. I don’t like it. I don’t appreciate it. But, it is a fact.

My wife, coblogger, and traveling companion has a much younger and healthier opinion and usefulness for a broken down compute;. “It is not the computer that is malfunctioning; it is Microsoft,” she will tell me. All we need is a reasonable techie in an internet café and we can reinstall Windows. A simple fix. Of course, she is right.

We have had our computer put back together from Mumbai to rural Turkey. Our computer has recovered from two previous complete meltdown, several close calls, Chinese worms, spyware invaders, reckless luggage handlers, overnight bus rides under foot and much worse… So, it seems obvious enough that now that we are back in the West; now that we are back in the birthplace of western civilization; now that we are in the country of all things cosmopolitan and worthwhile for consumption (France); it would be easy for us to find techies and internet. In Mumbai, when the precious blogs on our ‘desktop’ had not been properly backed up to the hard drive, our lovely techie buddies did the equivalent of open heart triple bypass surgery to our computer. Not really being surgeons; but having our full faith; they got their 10 minute surgery education from YouTube. The surgeons downloaded a video of cutting apart and putting back together our exact victim and then for the course of two hours played Dr Jeckyl and gave rebirth to our traveling Mr Hyde.

This of course brings me to our point: We need the internet to publish. We need the internet to travel (our itineraries, maps, contacts etc reside in email or other forms). So it is important that the internet remains ubiquitous. It does not.

When the internet quits working our Marco Polo lifestyle collapses. For those of us who begin travel from a computer savvy country, we may have to accept changes in our technological world view. At the beginning of our trip I imagined the world was broken into two classes of internet use.

My internet worldview was developed between my experiences in the United States and Latin America. I believed that there was either a culture of computers (with wifi flowing freely from every house and business), or, there were internet cafes in every neighborhood where single available twentysomethings teenage facebook fans, tiny video game addicts, and midlife male losers met like a small community to laugh about or hide behind computer terminals under whirling fans. I believed that the internet was ubiquitous. As it turns out, internet and computer culture changes as dramatically from country to country as language. In what I thought would be the most computer savvy countries t visit (China and Japan where computers are pioneered and built) there was not the public I.T. culture I had assumed.

Early readers may remember us bemoaning the ‘Great Firewall of China’ which kept us blocked from such important web communities as Facebook, Google, and YouTube. In Ethiopia, internet had really only arrived in the capital (Addis Ababa); the rest of the country waited for periodic signals and power to be turned back on. In Ghana and West Africa, there was internet as I had known it in South America, existing in small internet cafes. However, they were so completely local we needed guides to find them.

Each country, it turns out, has a unique relationship to computers. In Turkey, wifi was everywhere. However, the country was struck by some great paranoia (so that while wifi comes streaming from every possible nook and cranny, none of it was accessible). A grand conspiracy to sneak in and destroy your computer, your home life, and probably your fridge and TV caused streaming paranoia. In three weeks in Turkey, we never came across an open wifi signal. In Europe, there appears to be internet. I think people are using computers. But it is not a public thing.

In Paris, Madrid, or Venice, the great café culture has not been upended into becoming the great internet café culture; people leave their laptops at home and still enjoy old fashioned conversation.

As for our blog, we are going to work hard to find internet. If we can find a sprightly twenty-something techie we will beg them to help us reinstall our windows and return our tiny netbook from its extended vacation. Until then, we will seek out internet hotspots and wifi cafes, borrow beg and steal our friends and others computers, and publish, where ever possible, our blogs.

Our computer is corrupted. This means, you can expect fewer blog postings for a while.

The Internet is Ubiquitous – or was that a glitch?

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Get Paid $30,000 to Have Three Kids!

Coming from a two child family, I was always amazed by large families. My best friend from childhood was eventually to become the eldest out of nine. The elder children were expected to help their parents in caring for their younger siblings and were responsible for household chores. The children grew up to possess exceptional tolerance and consideration and awareness of other people. One of the most incredible thing about this family was (and still is) the depth of the love for each and every child, and how carefully each child was raised to be caring, generous, responsible, and kind people. Although issues of overpopulation and dwindling resources fuel many debates against prolific childbearing, this amazing family shows another form of action and awareness. Which is the more responsible action? To be childless by choice or by sacrifice? Or to raise conscientious, educated, thoughtful, and engaged children. I don’t have an answer that is appropriate for all, but in most things, a balance is most likely the most appropriate solution.

As we travel, one of the first questions that people ask are, “do you have children?” Depending on where we are, our reply generates a variety of responses.

In China, where overpopulation is a major concern, many couples are allowed to have only one child. Exceptions are made for rural areas (when the child is a girl), ethnic minorities, and when parents have a child illegally (without the official papers that are mandatory for school enrollment, health care, etc), or when they pay a large fine to have another. I think that families who adopt the orphaned children of relatives are exempt from this law, as are families whose sole child dies before the age of eighteen. Twins are allowed.

cousins in Yangshuo, China

As a result of the restrictions on children, China is absolutely child crazy. Huge theme parks and playgrounds and toy stores and baby clothing shops are clear indications of how spoiled Chinese children are. They are overly cherished, but with just reasons…can you understand why?

Once past the age of menstruation, Chinese women are required to visit a doctor every three months. If at the time of the visit, they are found to be pregnant, they are heavily encouraged to have an abortion. Whether or not the woman is pregnant, she is heavily pressured to use birth control. When we told the Chinese that we didn’t have children, they were confused and hurt. Why wouldn’t a healthy couple, with obvious wealth, and no laws on childbearing, be bereft of children? It may have been a slap in the face.

In Ethiopia, we met large families with many children. Ethiopia still has a large agricultural and animal-raising culture; many hands make lighter work. I was amazed to see a three-year old shepherds, striding across a vast plain at the heels of immense and bright white cows with broad horns, occasionally whacking them with a stick. Children in Ethiopia (as well as in many other cultures) possess remarkable self-confidence and self-assurance - they are conscious of their valued role in the family.

a village of friends in Kemba, Ethiopia

There are several places in the world where overpopulation is not a concern; actually, the opposite is true. Population decline is impacting Japan, Russia, most of eastern Europe, and Italy. Other countries are not far behind. The incentives offered by the government in some of these countries is astounding. The Republic of Singapore offers parents $3,000 for the first child, $9,000 in cash and savings for the second; and up to $18,000 each for the third and fourth!

In India, the gender gap is immense. Sex-selective abortion, as well as female infanticide are critical issues that will continue to impact the population of India, and have created a huge population of missing women in Asia. boys do not require an expensive dowry to be paid out, nor do they leave the family to live with the in-laws. I couldn’t say that the worth of children is lessened in India than in other cultures; however, with a very large population, extreme poverty, low standards of health and cleanliness, life is more tenuous in India. Estimates predict that by 2020, there could be an excess of 25 million men in India, instead of a natural, biological gender balance. Similar estimates are predicted for China.

students from a girls school in Ahmednagar, India

I have a good friend who has made a choice not to have children; she feels that in this modern world, it is the most responsible decision. I appreciate her candor and honesty and recognition of how privileged she is to be able to see children as a choice, rather than a necessity or obligation or powerless consequence. Perhaps not the right decision for all, but ask yourself: do I have the power and the right to make that decision? Could I make that decision out of sacrifice? Not all people reading this blog can answer yes. Think on that and read more about Childfree by Choice.

Other topics that will not be covered in this (already lengthy) blog are: discrimination against women/couples who choose not to have children; adoption; same-sex parenting; late life parenting; etc. Too many topics for one amateur blogger. I only write what I have learned and deduced from my own life and travels. But feel free to share your links or thoughts and add additional information as applicable.

I hope that this blog has given you a chance to think and reflect on your own positions of children. Each person is entitled to their own views and beliefs, but I believe greatly in the power of perspective.

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Localvores living abroad

Tonight, we went out in high-end neighborhoods not far from our friend's house in Casablanca. This is a gentrifying neighborhood close to an enormous seaside mosque.

We were out trying to find some quick ingredients to put on a fast dinner. On the way, we had the good fortune to turn towards a bakery and some flower stands and find a great public market where we purchased lots of great greens, veggies, fruit etc. Outside, we also bought fresh baked breads from local vendors. We brought all of this home and had a scrumptious supper.

Casablanca is another city that is filled with small shops and great markets. On the rooftops and surrounds of a neighborhood central market you can find barbers, seamstress, repair shops, and all other sorts of small businesses you could imagine existing in the mid-twentieth, late 19th, or, perhaps even, 22nd centuries!

We love this kind of green travel.

We are localvores, we prefer to eat local, fresh, seasonal products that are unprocessed and come from local sources and traditions. The best breads and cheeses, the freshest produce, the highest caliber food production we discover available in these green markets. What delights!


More than just improving our palates, we learn from or meet the producers and farmers. We also gain better green food habits by being localvores. At local markets, by example, you do not encounter those same strange looks when you arrive with your own shopping bag or basket. For a farmer-come-to-market the reusable wood crates, wicker baskets, and tough cardboard make sense - where as having plastic bags around is just additional cost passed on to the customer.

Relearning what it means to buy local is a wonderful path. We have learned most from places where cultures have never morphed away from local production and/or delivery systems of food and services. We have found what we love in South American, Caribbean, and Indigenous Markets of our homelands existing in all parts of the world. The major difference between Aix-en-Provence or Astor Place, it turns out, is that in elite green markets the cost is more for the luxury; whereas in 'third world' markets we pay less for not importing foreign goods not in season and the 'luxury tax' f big box retail.

We remember what we loved in the enormous city affairs in China and Ghana. But, the more local we can shop the better. We are always compiling favorite memories of localvore shopping. As we progress on this path, we are defining our terms for what it means to find a great shopping community that is not based on consumerism, consumption, or marketing - but, rather, social, cultural, and familial market traditions. The more local the market the more sentimental it feels to return to it. Africa, Asia, and the Middle East have all been places that pulsed with this sentiment and a commonality of purpose in the human joy that exists more in public markets. North Africa, in Morocco, weare finding, also has these wonderful charms.

The more that a community provides for the localvore to dig down to the localist possible ingredient, merchant, or guild - the more that one can reach the source, or, near the source of the product or service which one is buying - the happier, more knowledgeable, informed and interconnected we can be. As we take on the attributes of informed and connected purchasing, we become more responsible and humane citizens of our communities.

There are too many examples for us to mention, however, India's always a great example for me of highlighting how even in mass urban communities we can rediscover our humanity through engaging our fellow people. In Mumbai, a city that is very high-paced and developing rapidly, public shaves and street haircuts still took place, spice and vegetable vendors were on pedestrian overpasses, and, my personal favorite, individual cologne dosages (daily or for special events) were sold at your local fine purveyor of smelling potions. When you participate in daily ways, when you must return to the markets and engage with your neighbors directly, you build fabric of society. When you purchase what it is that gives you life and know or trade to the source - you give your body dignity as well as nutrition.

Today, on a short detour from a supermarket, in a rush to get some quick ingredients for dinner - we discovered once again the value and contentment of the lifestyle and power of the localvore.
We remember my mother--in-law's friend Peggy in Oregon who is spending the next six months with her husband only purchasing what they have preset that they are going to shop for. If this sounds easy, try it. We applaud Peggy for leading the way to smarter consumption. Fi we think about what we hae to buy before hand, we are more likely to use decision-making skills that save us money, make us healthier, and impact the world in positive ways. Last night, we set out to but some ingredients for dinner. Because we had no plan, it is no wonder we diid not come back with bags of plastic and processed food...thannk goodness we found the loca market.

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New Ideas and Debate on Public Art: Reflections on Legal & Illegal Art Europe

I did not know it, that Europe would be the most graffitied place I had ever been. It is too much!

It is everywhere. Sometimes it is a masterpiece of enormous proportions; or, maybe it is a tiny image, politically understated yet provocative, hidden among graffiti tags on a slender alley's wall. Other times, it is debatable whether there is anything 'artistic' at all; if what you are seeing is plain ignorance; a teenage angst brought to life; or, the worst we have seen, desiccation of another, much more historically important or beautiful piece of art.

We have seen thousand year old ruins and statues spray painted. We have seen beautiful modern art sculptures covered with globs of paint or wax or worse.

So we continue a debate - what is Public Art: What is damage?; What is political?; What is juvenile?

In the Balkans, in Italy, and in France the lines of officialdom begin to blur.

Art is so useful here, so expressive, so 'cutting edge' and/or deconstructive. But, one has to ask - where would a modern open-minded society dare to put restraints on production, placement, or culpability of displaying public art?

Reticently, we have had a debate about how to use better, more temporary public art displays as environmental art. Our debate centers both in the sense of art display and in terms of its social and environmental impacts.

We are seeing some types of art, especially grafitti, causingdamage, social stress, and reinforcement of negative values. How can this negative become a positive, we ask ourselves? After seeing so much damage and vandalism to property by 'artists' we were happy to find that some artists were looking for compromise and solutions. One art exhibit in particular really seemed very well thought out in Marseilles.

In this exhibit, a photography group has produced large paper prints of two separate expositions. The first group of photographs takes up the concepts of spirituality and public spiritual displays in India. This was a terrific exhibit which stretched over several blocks in the historic foothills surrounding the Vieux Port area.

The second exhibit was apparently produced by either the same photography exhibition group or very kindredly inspired artistic spirits. This exhibit collects recent and historic photographs from the neighborhood where it is exhibited.

What impressed us and drew te fire together for our debate on producing meaningful, and harmless art in the form of intentionally temporary exhibits.

What are some of the benefits of producing temporary public art exhibits?

Our debate about basic questions concerning placement, quality, temporality, and nature of Public Art is one that we give more thought to now than before we reached Europe. The Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How - of whether art and its display in public space should continue to exist is, to us, now unquestionable. That more art on public display produces more thought, insight, debate, camaraderie, and a more sociable urban aesthetic is, to us, obvious.


But... are there ways for all 'public' art artists to improve their art. Can it be made more green? Can we put moral or critical restraints on ourselves in order to not offend or to reach different audiences? Are some lines too important not to be crossed? How do we distinguish between art and vandalism? How can art collectives strengthen social fabric and explanation of art?

In temporary photography exhibits we see in Europe (and those described above in France) there is specificity.

Here, we found in two exhibitions a melding of Marseillaise social history, of green arts technologies and recycling, of bridge-building, of mosaic collage, of spirituality, of international ambassadorship, of much to make neighborhoods and cities humane. These were progressive, thoughtful, for everyone.

Art can be fun. It can be interactive. It is something which we can identify with, be critical of, and be proud of (sometimes, all of these we can find at one and the same time)...

Public art is a tradition as old as humanity. Let's support it!

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Going Guidebook-less

If I may be so bold, I would say that we have become exceptional travelers. We haven’t always been this good….it’s a skill that has developed in the last five months on the road.

When we began this journey in December, we carried with us a Lonely Planet India Guidebook. Let me note that we didn’t arrive in India until three months later, and additionally, let me specify that the LP India weighs about four pounds. It was a bone of contention between us, but once we left home with it, why would we dump it before arriving in India? I was delighted to pawn it off on our good friends in Jabalpur in our last few weeks in India. We learned a few lessons from having that guidebook: 1) it is way too heavy for backpackers; 2) that we oftentimes used the guidebook to determine where we DIDN‘T want to go, since every other foreigner was also there; and 3) that we oftentimes set ourselves up for disappointment when the prices listed for hotel and transportation were vastly incorrect. While great for some, and mandatory for many types of travelers, they just don’t seem to help us that much.

So, we bagged the whole guidebook thing. We use the space in our bags to tote a few, quickly devoured, pleasure books, some short pamphlet-style literature from Ghandi’s Ashram, and plenty of our own writings. This isn’t to say that we aren’t interested in browsing through a guidebook should it cross our path, but we don’t seek them out. When we are trying to determine a direction, we look at our National Geographic World Map, stop by a travel/tour office and ask some questions (the people who work in these offices are notoriously bored and are happy to chat), or talk to the people that we meet along the way. We also sometimes save regional maps to our computer and use them for reference.

Last week when we left Accra, intending to head down the coast to Cape Coast, we arrived at the bus station only to find that the CC bus had left a few hours earlier. So, we just hopped aboard the next bus, bound for a town called “Takoradi.” Now, without a map, or a guidebook, or very positive customer service at the bus station, we hadn’t the slightest idea where Takoradi was….but we knew that it was in Ghana and only four hours away. Quick deductions told us that it wasn’t east (for Togo was only three hours), so let’s go North….or West….or Northwest….or wherever Takoradi is! Tickets purchased and window seats scored, we were soon delighted to find ourselves traveling west, along the Atlantic Coast.

Strangely enough, our bus passed right through Cape Coast, but since we’d purchased tickets on to Takoradi, we stayed aboard. We ended up staying three days in Takoradi, quickly establishing ourselves as regulars at the local restaurant and enjoying countless bowls of spicy groundnut (“peanut” for all you foreigners) chowder, wandering through the industrial port, browsing through the market, and spending ridiculously hot afternoons watching Tela Novellas dubbed in English on our hotel television.

After a few lazy days in Takoradi, we backtracked to Cape Coast, our original destination. Debarking from the bus, we coyly evaded the merciless taxi drivers and walked half a mile, then catching a reasonably-priced taxi into town. We told the driver that we wanted a hotel room for around 10 cedis ($8 USD) and he deposited us in a modest hotel with a fantastic balcony that catches the most spectacular evening breezes from the ocean. At night we relaxed in the fresh air and watched fruit bats the size of owls swooping in the gigantic tree outside of the balcony.

However, let our readers not think that each and every part of our guidebook-less adventure is pleasant. I can recall a few that weren’t so easy or carefree. I can even remember a few where we would have been delighted to have the address of a hotel….ANY hotel! But my selective memory is a gift and I remember more vividly the times when we unexpectedly arrived at a perfect place, of our own accord, with nothing to thank but hope, perseverance, and luck.

There is certainly a wealth of information on the internet, but we don’t really do much in the way of internet research either; most of our internet time is spent posting blogs, dealing with business from home, and trying to stay in touch with friends and family. When I am out exploring the world, I don’t feel inclined to spend too much of my time reading about other people’s explorations. There just isn’t enough time in the day; better to spend the hours wandering and talking to people and figuring things out for ourselves.

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The African/Asian Universal Understanding

written by Nathan

In Asia and Africa, life is based on a fuller sense of universal understanding. Each is different, complex, and individualistic by interpretation. Each is complete in itself. Taken together, however, these universal belief systems and acculturations demonstrate core human values which we are all affected by. 

In China, we gained first hand appreciation of the wisdom of Chinese peaceful social cultural norms and their power to organize and direct large populations. The grace of Chinese interactions can be seen in its tea ceremony. The commonality of life’s necessity can be understood in a common enjoyment of green tea. 

Chairman Mao famously wrote proverbs including many which still are present in the work and family edicts of the Chinese. “A man tells his sons one morning: Sons, I cannot move this mountain alone with my hoe; but, together we can move this mountain.” And, they did. We have met many peoples who planted trees with the idea that they would never know its majesty, but that their grandchildren could enjoy the tree. And, the tree lives a thousand or two-thousand years and is used by a village and is revered. 

India balances China’s productivity with its long history of political reason and discourse. Much influence of British rule left many lingering educational influences. It is a gentler land of equitable dignity with total inequity of power. 

In India, Ghandi’s generation left a legacy of peaceful democracy. Both countries have had the least enfranchised benefit in socialist, capitalist, and communist forms. Both have newly combined wealth, existing powers, corporate military industrial complexes, democratic educational systems, raising enormous new middle-classes. All of these leave their marks as mass physical appropriation of resources accelerates. 

In Ethiopia, there is a mesh of peaceful religions. there is a pathway to families of shepherds and priests. Impacts on the 19th to 21st centuries are less. Religious belief is everywhere. Yet, Ethiopia experiences Africa’s history of ‘development through total impoverishment’ by behaving in acts of colonialism on its neighbors and its own diverse populations. The largest natural and human disasters here are entirely preventable, yet persistent. But, their overarching philosophies carry only worry from growing season to dry season and from day to day. 

Ethiopia being Africa balances the Asian history with its own biblical ages…history again stretches into sandy footsteps of time. Instead of social or economic capital, Ethiopia has practical experience and righteousness, carried with the pride of a lion heart. 

There are modern dilemmas facing all these grand countries that each hold origins and histories of the world. Each has been affected by dangerous physical development. Each has vowed to create a healthier, more sustainable natural world. All are vastly different. 

Ethiopia, India, and China need plans to achieve cleaner development while also increasing their living standards. What they don’t need are lectures on social thought or universal understanding. 

If we could mesh the economic power of unified China, the common cause and social decency of India, the proven spiritual agedness of Africa, with the practicality and rationality of the western mind, perhaps we could produce cleaner thoughts and science. 

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Brotherly Love

When, over a month ago, we first arrived in India, I was astounded. Of course, my awe was a result of an entirely novel and culturally different place: new experiences came at every turn. New faces, new foods, new smells, the whole package was so new. I remember being absolutely delighted by the openness of male homosexuality; everywhere I looked, men were holding hands, arms were wrapped around waists, and tall figures were sitting on laps with long legs intertwined. With a real absence of women in the commercial and street life, I hoped that the same tolerance extended to the homosexual women that appeared to stay predominantly behind the closed doors of their homes.

Oh the never-ending foolishness of foreigners….does it ever end?

India is a land of brotherly love. My eyes did not deceive me: men were certainly showing outward and blatant physical affection. But I quickly learned that my assumptions were created by a land of minimal public affection in the land I am from. When you see two grown men holding hands, walking down the street, what do you think? If you are from a Western culture, you may have made a similar, and equally incorrect, deduction.

In India, and in Ethiopia too, men who are friends hold hands. They cuddle. They snuggle. They drape their bodies around each other while sitting. Public affection is commonplace, personal boundaries are minute, social stigmas around homosexuality are different. How different? I can't profess to be an expert, or to have any real knowledge.

Does it have something to do with the extreme sexual repression that permeates the male population of India? Pre-marital sex is absolutely taboo and match-making services (many now use online services) are a popular topic in everyday conversation. Women rarely walk the streets unattended and there seems to be limited opportunities for unsupervised interactions between the sexes. All of this, combined with the staggering and devastating numbers of female infanticide, sati, and deference shown to men, means that the gender balance is

highly skewed. Perhaps some of the physical affection displayed by men is a substitute for the oftentimes unattainable female partner? Perhaps there is indeed a large population of homosexual men? I don't have answers to any of these questions, only speculations.

Now, I can't speak to the actual prevelance of male (or female) homosexuality in southeast Asia or Africa. I didn't seek out this community, or see much to support the likelihood of its widespread existence. My usual course of action would be to "ask google" and fill in this blog with research information; however, the deficit of

internet access here means that I will have to save any theories for the future. Maybe the next trip.

Or maybe you know?

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Two Rivers

written by Nathan

A Brief history of related lives of Shroyers and Humes

I.

In 1830, several families set out from the Monoghahalia valley in far western Pennsylvania. They were walking to a new frontier where no villages had yet settled. With them they brought all the necessary belongings in ox-carts and horse and buggy. Sheep and cows were herded beside the caravan.

The carriages were full, so the families walked. They brought their livestock of cows, pigs, goats, chickens, and squab. They brought seeds to plant. When they arrived at their new location in tiny Selma, Indiana six weeks later the families had to stay in in the ox-carts and carriages for the winter as the houses they began constructing that Autumn were far from complete. Temperatures that winter dropped below freezing for many weeks on end. They had to rely on hard work and help one another.

Before reaching western Pennsylvania from which this Shroyer journey sprung, generations of families - Jones, Hopkins, Euwellen, and Shroyer - had already lived, married, and settled together. They had bonds of family and belief. These were very pious people with trusted leadership who helped one another.

In the late 1800's, the Shroyer's migrated a third time to South Dakota. After half a generation, they returned to Muncie, Indiana before making another migration to Crockett, Texas where my grandfather and father were born and raised.

In my own childhood of the 1970's, my Shroyer grandparents lived in such faraway places as Abu Dhabi, South Africa, London, Malta, and Netherlands (interesting and confusingly another family name).

I am indebted to my Shroyer ancestors for giving me the confidence to start new beginnings

II.

In the 1830's many of my Hume family ancestors (another family which had immigrated to the United States before the Revolutionary War with Britain) answered a call for missionaries to go into the world and serve. They asked and got congregational support for following the word of God because their faith demanded that they share God's love.

The Hume family's America Mission, while dedicated to spreading Christianity in India, was to serve a  humanitarian mission. They would sail off to India three months at a time to get back and forth to the USA (not including several long stops). Here, in far away lands on the other side of the globe, they would live for three generations. Once they reached Bombay, they had to live on board their boat several months to gain permission to land. The East India Company (which was running business in India) forbade all missionaries from entering India. After appeals for their mission reached parliament in England, special permission was given.

After being raised in Bombay (now Mumbai), India, my great grandfather Edward Hicks Hume went back to the USA for education and became a doctor. He joined up with some college classmates and left for a new

mission to China. On the way, he and his new wife Lotta stopped over in Bombay for a year to volunteer as doctor and nurse at missions his parents and grandparents had begun 60 years prior. Because of my Hume

ancestors fierce dedication to service, I grew up with a grandmother who spoke Chinese and had stories of narrowly escaping the violence of revolutionary wars in China.

III.

When I first came to India, my mother insisted that I understand how our family histories are imperfect. My family's risks, their adventures, their service had not been without mistakes and suffering. In the case of my missionary ancestors, their insistence on introducing western ideas and politics in China and India had likely

caused untold rippling effects that were lasting through to today. 

Similarly, when my Shroyer family migrated to Indiana, South Dakota, and Texas they settled on indigenous land belonging to others. They had land grants; but the use of these grants displaced

None of these families were perfect. Each family had 'black sheep' and hidden sin (for whom they assigned their forgiveness, banishment, or reconciliation - over often extended periods of time). Nor was any family life easy. There were conflicts. They had trouble with other families, settlers, religions, or native peoples.

As our world 'flattens,' as distances become smaller, as travel and migrations are recognized and normal, as our economic participation and advantages muddy in streams of global economies - recognizing the gifts and privileges afforded us today, thanks belong to these ancestors.

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Public art in Mumbai

written by nathan 

Lively, vivacious Bombay - the heartbeat of India.

Public art and public-ness are everywhere in Mumbai (Bombay). Mumbai is a city which mirrors our modern times. Even its name is a willingness for change. Mumbai is Bombay.

In Mumbai, we stumbled upon the School of Art near V.T. station in downtown. Here they have mural art and spray can (graffiti art) covering the public walls. These canvasses are painted by some great students.

One of the pieces I really love is a graffiti collage of murals in which a character from one mural gently reaches around the corner and pinches a car in an adjoining mural. It symbolized for me an often playful and communal character at work in public art.

Our friends Jenny and Hank Sultan of San Francisco would love the murals of Bombay. They are longtime supporters of public art. Jenny and Hank are some of our favorite friends to think of when we stumble

upon great public art. Hank has been a long time supporter of Precita Eyes, in the Mission District of San Francisco whose mission it is to produce and preserve mural arts. Jenny and Hank would love the murals

surrounding the large campus courtyard at the Arts University in Mumbai. Even more than this, they would love the kilometers of murals painted on the walls running beside train tracks around Mumbai.

What can we each do to preserve and promote more public arts in our community?

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Namaste

Today is our last day in India....six weeks have passed so quickly!

It has been an incredible journey, we promise to fill in the details soon.

However, due to a big computer issue (did you realize that window can just "suddenly become corrupt" with virtually no reason?), our blogs will not be updated today....and probably not tomorrow.

For at 5AM (on the 25th) we leave for Ethiopia.

Stay tuned.

Much love and Namaste.

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The Validity of Work and Rose Milk

I write this piece in a place of utter honesty: The Sevagram Ashram. This Ashram was established by Ghandi in 1936 to progress rural sustainability and service work. Our journey has led us here.

To tell the truth, the last month in India has been a struggle for me. I have felt uncomfortable and ill at ease here. I have wished that our departure was closer. I have despaired of my feelings and sentiments, which has only increased my discomfort. I am perpetually exhausted: my dreams are filled with anxiety and attackers and price negotiations and strife and struggle. I awake despondent and low. I yearn for peace.

I wanted so much to love this country: India had been on my “places to visit” list since I was a teenager, and I anticipated a country that would be easy for me to adore. I can pick out a list of things in India that I do love - rose milk, amazing textiles, lovely countryside, chai tea with cardamom, vegetarian food, the Chauhan’s, free-roaming and happy cows in the streets, beautiful women wearing intricate gold jewelry, sweet curd, the word “Namaste” and the prayer-like action that accompanies it, holy men in the midst of society, friends in Hindmotor - but the overall sentiment has not been a positive one. I cannot say that I have enjoyed the entirety of India.

A large part of my struggle has been our service, or lack thereof. Our goal for this “Honey Service Year” was ambitious and boldly stated, and although I believe strongly in our efforts, the responsibility of following our intent causes me anxiety. So many of our friends and family and acquaintances supported our mission both in spirit and in wallet; sometimes I feel that we are letting everyone down. Especially here in India, where our service has, thus far, been so absent.

But, in this heavy afternoon air, the hot Indian sunshine threatening to burst the clay walls of our Ashram guestroom, I understand. I realize why India has been so difficult. I realize how difficult our work has been, especially for me. I cry with the realization and the epiphany and the appreciation of us both.

For here, in Ghandi’s place, our journey makes sense. Our daily work seems real and valid and more poignant that I have understood.

This morning we joined seven other Ashramites before dawn, and sat upon the simple clay verandah of Ghandi’s hut. I listened to chanting and singing in Hindu, following the intonations and tones and rhythm, while understanding nothing of the words. Suddenly, to my thus-uncomprehending ears, issued forth an English version of the “Lord’s Prayer.” I could join in, my voice melding with gentle voices in the crispness that only lives in the air before sunrise.

After breakfast, we reported for service work: sunscreen applied and flip-flops ready for action. We were given the task of sweeping the cow paddock, using bundled branches as brooms, and working our way through the hulking, cud-chewing cows. One young cow followed me throughout my task, bumping her milky head against my body, seeking a caress. We swept the pasture clear of hay and branches, working around the mounds of manure. Then, the manure was picked up with our bare hands, and loaded into a large pit, where it is eventually gleaned of methane gas to fuel the kitchen.

While we worked, Indians passed: many people visit the Ashram to learn about and remember Ghandi. Soon there was a crowd of ten men standing in front of the paddock, watching the foreigners picking up manure with their bare hands. Although I was aware of their presence, I was mostly lost in my work, relishing the dust and the heat and the fragrance of cows that surrounded me. People were talking and taking pictures.

How can I explain, to all of you so far away, how monumental was our service in the cow paddock? India is built on caste levels that a person is born into, and that prohibit movement to higher or lower or different caste/class levels. In a land where classism and caste-ism dictate Indian culture, our work in that pasture, in front of a group of Indians, was profound. It was so much more than the physical act of sweeping a pasture. It was so much more than helping to fuel the stove that would cook our lunch and dinner. Our work was much larger than the act itself. It was a statement. It was a clear and literal act of Ghandi’s message and principles.

It wasn’t until we arrived here, at the Ashram, and I re-read Ghandi’s words and his mission and his beliefs, that our service work suddenly made sense. In the way that we present ourselves and how we experience India has resulted in daily work that questions and shows our disregard for a discriminatory and classist structure. Being here, in Ghandi’s home, I realize our work in India has been this, every day, every moment. Every day that we strive to see the world from the eyes of the common, the poor, the regular, the local, the “walas,” we say something about ourselves and the place that we are from. We have been acting out Ghandi’s message every day that we have been in India. I just didn’t realize the impact of our work, or understand how dramatic a statement our daily activities have been. Here in India, people like “us” don’t walk in the streets among the dust and the dirt and the urine. And they don’t eat street food. And they don’t have conversations with people of a lower caste. And they certainly don’t pick up cow shit with their bare hands.

I also now understand why India hurts me so, and why I continue to allow myself to be hurt. Because it is bigger than me.

Traveling through India is more intense and uncomfortable for me than it is for Nathan, although I know that my discomfort causes him, in turn, great discomfort. But it’s been truly awful. In a male-dominated society, filled with extreme sexual repression, I am ogled and oggled and leered at and the subject of unrelenting stares from the male population. It makes me feel vulnerable and objectified and uncomfortable and awful about who I am. I have been seriously considering a burka, no joke. It’s difficult to be caught in the middle: I can’t be who I am here, and I certainly can’t pose as an Indian, no matter how elaborate the saree or henna or tanning cream. And I have just wanted to disappear under a heavy burka and be an ostrich. But something has prevented me, and it’s been more than the reluctance to cover my body with dark cloth in such a hot land. It’s because the moment that I hide myself, I cease to deliver my statement about my view of the world and the role of women within it. We are not here to be oggled in a way that makes us feel self-conscious and uncomfortable. We are not here to be objectified. Just because my skin is fair, my clothing different, and my eyes a lighter color doesn’t mean that I don’t walk the streets instead of taking rickshaws, or eat at Thali food stands on the street instead of an indoor restaurant, wash my laundry by hand instead of sending it out. We are people, no matter what we look like or where we come from.

And it’s hard work, each day. Harder than you could imagine, but suddenly, I understand the work. And I will continue to work, though it makes me cry and feel awful. It’s the hardest work I think that I have ever done. But, again, it‘s bigger than me. And the feeling of being part of something larger makes me feel less vulnerable, less alone, part of something larger.

What a tremendous feeling.

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India for Travelers

We spent six weeks in India (February - March 2010), flying to Kolkata, then to Delhi, and departing from Mumbai. The following blog posting is a list of our experiences and takeaways. Please note that this is not intended to be a comprehensive travel guide, but is limited to our experiences and some tips that we think might be helpful for travelers.

We have very different opinions of India, most of which is directly influenced by our genders. Brittany found India to be overwhelming and male-dominated, which brought with it objectification and feelings of vulnerability because of being a woman. Wearing a headscarf helped to lessen the oggles and leers, but it was still a difficult land in which to travel. As a man, Nathan found the experience to be very different and much more enjoyable, but Brittany’s difficulties made him uncomfortable also. But India is wonderful and incredibly diverse and filled with delicious food, rich history, and kind people. But Indians are also very inclined to “fleece” foreigners at nearly every opportunity; it’s just part of travel there. The sooner you accept it, the easier your trip will be.

If you are traveling to Africa (specifically in our case, Ethiopia) stock up on gold bangles and other gold jewelry…the replicas of course. They are so incredibly cheap in India, but the women in Ethiopia were ga-ga for them, even when they knew that they were fake gold. I had so many offers to trade lovely silver jewelry, artwork, etc. for my bangles, I wished that I had brought more that the ones I wear daily.

For the ladies: there are special “ladies compartments” on the city trains in India. Take them. Don’t even hesitate. In such a male-dominated country, it’s a real treat to be in the midst of such beautiful and brightly attired women; they will be happy to see you! Plus, the other compartments are uncomfortable and occasionally involve inappropriate touching that is difficult to prevent when packed into the steel car like sardines. If you are traveling with a guy, just make sure that you both know how many stops until you get off - sometimes you are so crowded that you cannot see the signs, you can only count the times that the trains stop.

Embrace the veg! You will most likely never miss meat, and if you do, head to a Muslim neighborhood for some cow.

Gandhi Ashram: Seagram. A wonderful place to stay and learn and contribute. Our experience here truly shaped our journey to India. However, accommodations are not free: 120 rupees/night + 40 rupees/day/food. A fantastic price, but better to be informed about the cost beforehand.

Hakman’s Grand Hotel: Mussoorie. Halfway down the mall, with views that overlook the Dun Valley. Rather outdated and slightly run-down hotel that was surely once a great lodge. Rooms have private baths and cable. 450 rupees off season and negotiation always an option. Keep your bathroom door closed…the monkeys like to come in and play!

Padni Nivas: Mussoorie. Much more expensive than the LP describes, but appears to be well worth the money. Sweet rooms and a lovely main building, Nivas is a historic hotel halfway down the mall with incredible views of Dun Valley. The best spot is a small and private cottage partway up the hill. Sprawling with well-kept gardens, pleasant staff, main building has dining room with lodge-style design (mounted heads and oversized wooden furniture). 1,000-2,500 rupees/night.

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India Is Dusty

India is dusty.

That’s a bit of an understatement.

India is dirty and crowded and dusty and desperate.

I haven’t yet found a way to explore India with my heart intact. I feel exhausted and raw at the end of each day here. I feel embarrassed by my fair skin and sensitivity. The poverty and human struggle is constant and all-pervasive and stunning. At times, the images of India are overwhelming, and too much for the human eye, soul, and heart to bear.

The eyes seek oases on which to rest.

Against the dull background of India, where every surface is covered with uniform layers of dust, bright colors seem cartoonish. They seem to have a life of their own, and dance in my vision as does a mirage on the horizon to a parched traveler.

Heaping piles of fragrant flowers are strung into garlands to adorn cows that sit contentedly in the middle of crowded streets and lumber through train stations.

The whisper of bright sarees conceal belled ankles, flashing smiles, and dark hair glowing with henna.

Shop doorways are curtained with textiles in glowing hues, patterns highlighted with sequins and fine embroidery.

Oases for the eyes and soul.

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Service and Exchange on our round-the-world honeymoon

What is service? Service and exchange are two terms that we use to describe the practical side of our travel this year. But, how one becomes of service is a journey, far different from travel alone. I use a lose definition of service and combine it with the ideas of exchange, (idea exchange, economic exchange, cultural and political exchange, service exchange). The best way to be in service while a traveler is to indulge in regular interactions. These actions can be as light-footed as our presence in an unexpected place, or, as meaningfully complex as intellectual exchange about current affairs.

What comes naturally to us is the exchange of ideas. The construction, repetition, and/or building on philosophies, values, civic mindedness, even science and of life and our current world affairs.

Travel necessitates a willingness to indulge in new ideas, to try new things, to meet new peoples. Realizing how exchange becomes service is a different act. To be in service is to be at once open to influence of others and consciously encouraging critical and new ideas to emerge in the communities we engage with. While it is easier, and normally to be more productive, to exchange with folks who have similar educational or intellectual backgrounds, we cannot limit ourselves to what is easiest in India.

We are constantly approached for two-minute street interviews. Whether testing simple English, or from a desire to know how in the world a pair of funny looking foreigners made it to Jabalpur, Nagpur, Hindmost (or even more commonly visited places like Delhi, Kolkata, or Mussoorie) our smiles, friendly gestures, or backgrounds introduction beaks down common assumptions and makes the world smaller for all of us. Yet, sometimes, a larger gift is exchanged. People are interested in international relations.

Headlines in India recently focused on poor treatments of recent Indian immigrant communities in places as far away as Australia and France. We are able to use these examples to broaden perspective on modern Indian social dilemmas such as domestic terrorism, tensions with Pakistan, or interfaith biases that are common in daily news and conversation. 

Yesterday, at an ice-cream stand in the market here in Jabalpur, a young man approached us. He explained that he was interested in using a system which a movie star here promoted about engaging visitors to India and being a good ambassador for his country. However, when the conversation turned from India families being prejudiced against abroad to the conflicts between Hindus and Muslims in within India, we were able to draw his attention to how economic disparity, globalized markets, international migrations, and race and religious discrimination are work which we must take seriously at home and abroad. Small lights of understanding seemed to go off that in order to protect our human dignity and rights we must treat people fairly and equitably, and how our respect earns respect. The better we practice engaging in service in our daily lives the more we become natural teachers and propagators of conscious change taking place

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A Pledge Against Plastic

Mussoorie, India is a ‘hill station’ in India, set up by India and the British as an outpost for military encampments, and, during the hot season, as a cool place for rest. It has been in regular use as a honeymoon destination for 150 years. During our low-season visit, a chill is still in the air, and the weekdays are peaceful and bereft of many tourists. However, the weekend brings many newlyweds, feet still adorned with lingering henna dye, many posing for photographs against the dramatic Himalayan backdrop.

The winding mountain road that leads to Mussoorie is flanked by signs that iterate the importance of planting, raising, and preserving trees. People want to keep this peaceful hill station a green and relaxing place.

But, Mussoorie (and the entire state of Uttarakhand) have done something special. Something a little extra to make sure a clean, green, verdant environment greets the honeymooners who flock here from across India each summer, escaping the humid heat of the urban centers. The people of Mussoorie and the state of Uttarakhand have pledged not to use plastic bags as a way to save the environment, clearly stated by a large billboard covered with signatures.

Plastics, the people here recognize, do not biodegrade, Plastic bags blow around on windswept mountainsides and get stuck high in trees or on mountain bushes. They get stuck in fences and are strewn about by hungry monkeys and bored cows.

However, sometimes a billboard, even with many signatures, is not enough. Mussoorie has not yet defeated the plastic bag. Around town, we have encountered several unmitigated dumping areas, mostly filled with plastics. Shopkeepers still dispense in bags. But, when we bring Tupperware for fresh yogurt the man is pleased and happy to oblige. Although some new bags are still being added, the recirculation of bags here is strong; people reuse plastic bags until they disintegrate.

India definitely recycles. Indian recycling happens through individual family efforts to make a living and feed themselves. Across the continent of Asia, existing almost entirely on poverty, recycling ‘wala’ workers begin a process which is needed. It is near complete. Small residuals of plastics and items part plastic do disappear into landfills.

But, with hope that springs from pledges not to use plastic, our world takes a turn for the better.India needs a clean-up campaign. It will benefit the whole planet if we find models in all our countries to clean up and value the stewardship role we can play for our planet. Replacing plastics with biodegradable/reusable products is a great way to begin to see this role functioning more effectively.

Can we make pledges not to use plastic and plastic bags?

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Guruji Paints!

After only one night in the Ashram, we felt a pull from the north, especially after spending the day unsuccessfully finding a hotel in Rishikesh. Although a magnificent and holy place, Rishikesh happened to be in the midst of a one-week International Yoga and Mediation conference and the city was packed with pilgrims and foreigners. 

Before we departed, Swamiji said that Guruji would be happy to answer any questions we might have. Once again, I entered the greeting chamber where Guruji welcomes and speaks with disciples, devotees, travelers, and pilgrims.

I asked Guruji, “what is time?” 

He smiled. He might have even chuckled a bit. 

He replied that time is one of the universal qualities of God which we come to know on the earth. We know it a sunrise and sunset, and in the human form of past, present, and future. Time in its universal form occurs in the present. God the universe is all time.

 

He also spoke to me of health and of actions.

 

 Guruji said that we should use our mouths with great caution. A wise person thinks twice about what he drinks, twice about what he eats, and twice about what he speaks. 

He also spoke about how the body is constructed of three parts: the head, the hands, the heart. The way that we use each part can determine how we live our lives. In conversation, when we use the head, we react. When we use the hands, we retaliate. When we use the heart, we respond. The correct and most valuable action always comes from the heart.

“Where are you going now?” Guruji asked. Clearly he was happy to help guide our trip.

“We do not know yet,” I responded.

“Well, it is better to have some idea of where you are going before setting off somewhere,” he replied. “Have you no idea where you might want to go next?”

“Yes, Guruji, we were thinking of going to Mussoorie,” I answered.

He thought Mussoorie a good decision and provided very accurate travel information that saved us from the constant “fleecing” that follows us throughout India. We packed our bags and stopped by for a final goodbye.

There we found Guruji, standing in the dining area with a large paintbrush in one hand, and a small transistor radio and a cell phone in the other. His four meter long locks draped casually upon his forearm. His paintbrush moved in long strokes along the pale yellow walls. 

“It is so nice to see that you are a painter as well as a guru,” I said to him. “We love to paint. We spend a lot of time painting.” 

“I love to work. I love to paint, to construct,” he replied.
 

And we waved goodbye, leaving the Guru, paintbrush in hand, looking out across the expansive Ganges river.

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An Incomplete Address

***written by nathan

While exploring Old Delhi one day, I met an unemployed school teacher at the fancy restaurant Haldriman’s. I bought him a chai, and he scribbled down the address for an Ashram in Rishikesh. He said that unlike many Indian Ashrams, this one would host foreigners. Ashrams are places where pilgrims gather, rest, meditate, sing and dance. 

However, the address written down on the small scrap of paper was incomplete, a fact that was rather evident as we repeatedly asked for directions along the winding streets of Rishikesh. We finally reached the ashram, thanks to the help of several other holy men of other nearby ashrams.

This is how we found Guruji. The Guru.

Upon our arrival, we spoke with several disciples, who politely asked us to rest while they spoke with Guruji. After just a few moments, we were asked to enter Guruji’s waiting room. While he listened to our story, and how we arrived at his Ashram, Guruji arranged himself. The long hair dread that was piled in a mound on our arrival was slowly wound atop his head in a knot. He wore a saffron-colored length of silk fabric wrapped around his body, which he adjusted to a snug fit over his round belly. Guruji remained (except when seated) at all times perched upon wooden sandals that had platform pieces to ensure that his feet did not touch the ground. His beard was long and grey. His eyes were kind and wise. His age was absolutely uncertain. He listened to our responses with closed eyes and deep thought.

Guruji offered us a room in his ashram to stay in. After our backpacks were stowed in a dormitory-style room, we were asked to join the Ashram members for meditation. Forty-five minutes of sing-song chanting whizzed by in an instant, and afterwards, we shared sweet treats. Guruji seems to have a penchant for sweets.

Guriji has devotees all across the world. At the time of our visit, seven were living at the Ashram, while others visited during the day. Devotees who live in the ashram eat meals together (consisting of ’harmless food’: food that is not heavily flavored or spiced and does only good for the body and mind), meditate daily, work and sing. Guriji and his devotees take long walks along the Ganges river, along which many Ashram‘s are located. Every year on both Guruji’s birthday and on a 9 Day Festival for Universal Goddess devotees travel from around the world. Many stay at the ashram. They pray, meditate, sing.

‘Swamiji’ is Guruji’s disciple. He used to work for government offices in Delhi and has three sons: two are doctors and one computer engineer. All live in the United States. Swamiji was our guide to the Ashram and told us many stories and provided countless insights into an environment which, for us, was very new.

“It is hard finding a Guru who is a true Yogi.” He told us.

Swamiji shared with us the story of Guruji and his path to perfection. Guriji had gone to the source of the Ganges river, and for fourteen years, lived in a cave. Alone. He prayed, singing chants every evening and morning. He wore no clothes. He meditated. After fourteen years, Swamiji and others followed him. People traveled from across the Himalayas, from across India, from China Nepal, Bhutan and Tibet to meet him and worship with him, high up in the Himalayas.

“He never needed food,” Swamiji told us, Whatever he needed, God provided him. “To be a true yogi” Swamiji said, “you must live like this in these mountains, you meditate and pray to God.”

The tallest mountains in the world connect by way of mountain passes. Passes are very high passageways through mountain ranges that attach two or more valleys. Passes have been used by travelers (and special guides of the Himalaya mountains called sherpas) for thousands of years. Ashrams often connect the passes offering pilgrims a place to stay.

Some gentler passes have roads. Other, lower passes can be used by special horses, cows, sheep and goats who are herded to markets and to graze meadows.. Most passes are so high they only used by people walking to cross the mountains. Sometimes these perilous crossings are razor thin, dropping off to steep cliffs and gorges on either side. Oftentimes, such as in the Himalayan passes, the snow is so deep as to be impassable for most of the year.

Guruji and Swamiji never took roads to the mountains. They walked.

All across India, pilgrims are walking, making sacred pilgrimages between places where gods are worshipped. These places are sometimes rivers or mountains or lakes. Sometimes these sacred places are marked by temples. A small temple marks a place where the great Ganges River begins in the Himalayan Mountains of India. The Ganges is very small here and pours gently out of a cave.

Far from perfection ourselves, we were unable to traverse into the great Himalayas. Instead, we learned about their fierceness from Guruji and his devotees.

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Holy Holi!!

As we travel, our luck continues. After four days in Delhi, we decided to head north, towards the Himalayas. First destination: Haridwar, a four hour train ride from Delhi, and one of the most sacred cities in India for Hindus. Holi was a festival to end all festivals, and reminded us both of Mardi Gras, and of Blancos y Negros in Pasto, Colombia. Although we knew from our ten year old Lonely Planet India that the Haridwar Kumbh Mela (celebrated in Haridwar once every twelve years) would be taking place during our visit, we didn‘t realize that the important Hindu holiday of Holi would also be occurring. Kumbh Mela  happens every three years but is spread between four small  cities, including Haridwar. Without discrimination for any creed or caste, Kumbh Mela celebrates an important story from Hindu religion: the gods and demons once fought a great battle for a pitcher that contained the nectar of immortality. The God Vishnu was the victor, but in his escape, four drops of nectar spilled onto the earth in four locations. These locations are sacred cities in India, one of which is Haridwar. 

We arrived in Haridwar on the eve of Holi, just a few minutes after sunset, and were immediately accosted by rickshaw drivers, porters, hotel representatives, and even a drunk policeman. As per our usual style, we discarded all offers of assistance and trudged off down the street towards the river Ganges. As we wandered down the streets of Haridwar, we once again proved to be a delight for the revelers who found our ginormous backpacks hilarious (as do we….until we are carrying them to an unknown and potentially distant destination). We passed pyres erected in the middle of the streets, lovingly strung with strings of flowers and garlands of dried cow pies, and draped with lavish and brightly colored scraps of fabric. We passed people dancing on the streets, and people smeared with bright colored paint. “Just wait,” we responded to the many offers to join in the party, “we’ll be right back!” After unceremoniously dumping our bags as a basic hotel, we headed back into the fray, ready to join the celebration and learn more about the town in which we had arrived.

Retracing our steps from the train station, we passed a still-smoldering pyre; the people who had beckoned us earlier had moved inside into an ashram. As we paused on the street to listen to the great din emanating from within the deep recesses of a kind of place that is sometimes unavailable to foreigners or non-Hindu‘s, an older gentleman gestured for us to enter, to join the party. And of course, lovers of parties as we are, we leapt through the grand archway and straight into a Holi celebration.  We were ushered into the dancing crowds with hundreds of friendly hands, and indoctrinated into the celebration by countless handfuls of colored powder pressed to our cheeks, our heads, our necks, and any other exposed skin. It was a multi-colored medley of joy - people dancing and singing and clapping and laughing and delighting in the convergence of a great family. Within our first ten minutes, we were introduced to the bishop himself, who sat in a folding lawn chair in the center of the room laughing and singing profusely, giving blessings, conducting the dance, and having a grand old time. The bishop covered our foreheads in more sacred anointment and we were encouraged to dance, sing, eat, and become family the whole night through.

 

As have many of our far-flung destinations, Haridwar again proves to us the strength and power of human harmony, the generosity of our hosts, and the ultimate privilege of being ’honored guests.’ We are guests and ambassadors to all the countries we visit, the families we enter, the cultures and economies we touch. We perpetually thank our lucky stars for these opportunities of exchange and sharing and friendship.

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