taj taj taj

to the taj!

Who's got two thumbs and is ridin' 250 mph backward on rails between delhi and agra to see one of the world's wonders (and is bloggin about it from his phone)? THIS GUUYY!!! Look for photos and comments in about 15 hours.

Allahabad to Khujaraho

There are many photos and experiences regarding our stay in Allahabad, which may have been the most enjoyable days of the trip. We had extremely nice and considerate hosts, foremost Arunava and Poonam, who have worked hard to organize most of the monthlong trip. Our collective thanks on all accounts. Today I will be unable to spend too much time because of a busy schedule and a home office dial-up connection here in the city of Satna. It's one of the smaller spots we'll stay and only for a day. Coming from Allahabad we made an ill-advised left turn in one of the many many villages and ended up on rutted and sometimes unpaved, hilly backroads to Khujaraho. This place, which has a name I'm likely mispelling, is called the Land of Temples. It's immaculately clean, beautifully landscaped and just acre upon acre of ancient sandstone temples made by Hindustan kings as long ago as 900 a.d. What a treat it was to spend the night in a hotel there, have breakfast and walk among these ancient and nearly entirely intact places of worship for a long, sun-soaked afternoon. All of the temples are carved with the erotic figures often photographed and copied for the Kama Sutra. The cascading minarets are designed to look like the peaks of the Himalayas and the entry ways like caves to mimic the places where lord Shiva was said to live, meditate and reach enlightenment. This evening we're in Satna, cement city, which our tour guide says "pass through if you can". That being said, who wants to stick to tour books. If that were the case we wouldn't be staying in homes of nice people like Santos Gupta, a native of Allahabad who moved here to begin a billy manufacturing company. Billies (again, spelling) are handmade, all natural cigarettes mosted noted for the green leaf that wraps them. Tonight we have a cultural presentation and will do our stuff at the Rotary meeting, dinner, and tomorrow a breakfast and tour of a Rotary community project. Have I said that here, where government seems to fail all too often, Rotary seems to pick up the bill and help run schools or employment programs. Midday tomorrow we head to Renukoot for a few days and will begin the sojourn back to Delhi for a day in Agra via the speed train and a day in Delhi shopping and such before getting back on the plane. I hope all is well back home and abroad, and wish everyone a fine morning/evening.

Indian Jungle

The delay in dispatches, folks, have come with good reason. After leaving Lucknow we headed north and a bit east for a quick lunch in Sitapur and went along to Lakhimpur Khiri. These are both much smaller places than we’d been. Therefore, no wiring for Web, including at cafes. At Lakhimpur Khiri, after meeting briefly with Rotarians at the outpost and posing for photos, with the GSE team adorned in the area’s finest cloth bandanas (I looked like a rhasta cowboy), we loaded back into the trusty four-wheel to head for the tiger preserve, Duduwana, near Nepal. That lasted only to the end of the road. Flat tire. We all hopped out, much to the glee of the locals, who gathered around in gads to watch the interesting looking people look with interest at a flat tire. With good humor, Karisa pulled out the guitar and did an impromptu jam sess. The crowed grew to a couple hundred, pulled tightly around Karisa and the car. After the performance, our driver headed out to get the bad tire fixed, so we retreated “backstage” behind the gates of the Rotary complex. The road to the “the end of the earth”, as Anne called it, was dusty and rutted and thick with sugar cane fields. The villagers, unlike most who would stare with interest and sometimes chase the vehicle, looked nearly startled at our presence. We were told that India is famous for its jungles and that many westerners come for such trips, but not to the one we’re headed. The others have loads of five star hotels. Ours would be nice, but rustic by comparison. At nightfall we waited at a one-way rail crossing, the only route to our destination. When it was our turn, we drove a quarter mile or more across a thin rail bridge, which seemed no more bumpy than the roads we normally travel. Before going to the forest house, we stopped at a Rotarian’s house on an enclosed compound at one of the area’s largest sugar cane processing plants. We had a Lohri celebration, a Punjabi harvest celebration that may or may not also have something to do with the astrological configurations (this is under wide debate). We built a bonfire, fed it peanuts and popcorn and fed ourselves whiskey. The team of five, along with our primary host, sat around a table and had dinner as about 20 others looked on and offered dish upon dish. This is a central theme here, part of what builds the “American Circus” notion for us. We arrived at the house late and tucked into some damp and chilly beds to awake the next morning with the sun fighting off a thick haze. Monkeys prowled, hoping for handouts. We took car rides through the jungle and then mounted elephants to look for wildlife, with tiger as the ultimate prize. This turned out to be one of the most magical experiences, not of the trip, but of a lifetime. The view from atop an elephant: a constant and startling change between having heads in the thick trees of the forest, to that one step to a clearing that showed a vast river plain or grassy open field for miles. When coming to India, I thought of the cities and monuments, never of this unbelievable open-sky natural beauty. It looked like photos of the Savannah in Africa I’d seen. So here we are, taking deep breaths to consume the cool air spilling down from the Himalayas, and our guide spots something through the thick and up a hill. After a lumbering ascent and a push through a strong web of over and undergrowth, there stood in a small clearing, feeding, a pair of black, heavily plated rhinos. They looked at us and the elephants, about 20 feet away, with some amount of indifference. Then the elephants began to growl, a from-the-belly, guttural rumbling. The mama and her baby, after a few moments, opted to find another place to graze and pushed through the thick. We circled around, headed back down the hill, found another small trail, and before long pulled into the thick again. There, under a log (I feel the guides understood where to look) was a giant python. At its thickest point, I may have had a hard time wrapping my arm around it. It likely was 20 feet or better in length. It stayed coiled, almost entirely motionless until we hovered right above. Then, it only moved the front foot near its head and flickered about, relatively undisturbed. We pushed out and continued our lumbering safari as the sun really started to rise and warm the day. We moseyed along riverside wetlands and looked at any number of variety of birds --- cranes, storks, kingfisher, spoonbills …

Back at the forest house I was reclining in the terrace sun, half asleep when I heard a couple shrieks. I could tell Karisa, who had pulled out her guitar and was looking to relax and strum on the other side of the terrace, was having some unwanted interaction with the monkeys. This was the opportunity for which I had been waiting. With all my practice on squirrels back home, now I could leap into action. I ran across the veranda and turned the corner shortly after one of the crazy monkeys had lept and taken a swipe at Chris’ back, and began growling and jumping up and down and wagging my legs and hands wildly. They back down a bit – a mother and her little ones – but it took a second rant to make them run off. It was affective after all, and really made the girls laugh. Anne saw the whole thing from a nearby watchtower that rises about five stories. I saw her up there and went to get a look myself. There, before lunch, looking out across the river, I saw one of the most awe inspiring views of my life. A wide, undulating river in the sun, rutted with sandbars and trees and brush in all stages, and alive with animal life. Photos will be included. After lunch, in a cafeteria cage to hide from monkeys, we hit the road for Lakhimpur Khiri. That night we had a Rotary club presentation and spent the night with a host family. The following day we split for Rae Bareli and had the same program: One Rotary dinner with presentation, one night with host families. Somewhere along the way I contracted some “rot gut”. By the time we made along several hours of rough road to Allahabad, where we are now, I was no good for anything. I spent two days in bed and ate nearly nothing for three days. Some meds, which were tough to keep down, and yogurt and rice, and a lot of water and a lot of rest has resurrected me. I feel “98 percentages” today and have done away with what the locals openly and frequently refer to as “loose motions” or “loosies”. Enough of that! I had a great meeting here with a group of journalists from The Times of India. Today we went to the home of India’s first prime minister Jawaharlal Nehru and the place where Gandhi spent many of his most influential years fighting for the country’s independence from Britain. We also went to a zoological museum and had a nice lunch at a downtown place called El Chico. Our current hosts – mine, Neeraj and Mamta, as well as our tour coordinator, Arunav and Poonam Ray, are very fun and progressive people. Tonight we have dinner together, and if we’re lucky, get a chance to relax and listen to some more Australian country music!

The latest here is my involvement in cricket. I was sitting in the street waiting for a ride to a Rotary function when some of the local boys asked if I would join them in a game. I was briefed of the rules (luckily one of the youngsters already has a pretty good handle on English, because I'm still pretty slow with Hindi), and we were off. I played one game yesterday and another this morning. I'm unsure if there was a winner yesterday, but I know today's match was a win for the good guys. As was Indian's fine win today over bad guys Australia (sorry Sonya). I'm told this is the first win for an opponent on Oz soil since 2005. If you all are as naive about the game as I was a couple weeks ago, don't worry, you won't really miss anything. You have until March to figure it out. These cats play FOREVER. Today we did a little shopping, and Anne's hosts (Arunav and Poonam) took us out for burgers, fries and Pepsi. What a treat. The burgers were REALLY good. And for those of who doubt me, they are not hamburgers, but lamb-burgers. Tonight, maybe finally, a movie. Namaste.

First the photos

headed somewhere

this morning finishes our longest stay in any one city, and i feel a bit saddened to go. lucknow is a very cool city and was filled with very warm and fun people. we finished our tour here last night at the rotary center by attending an all-clubs meeting and giving our presentations. we had a couple drinks, dinner, and danced punjabi-style around a bonfire. i have photos and video that are forthcoming. trust they're worth seeing. i cannot recall where we're headed. in the jumble of places and names, i've misplaced this one somewhere, along with our travel itinerary. i know it's about a three hour drive and a one night stay before moving again. the lone thing i recall is that we'll be visiting a tiger park. in the case there is no web availability in this much smaller city (some have even called it a village, but that could be capital city egoism), hang tight and expect posts from allahabad, which is just a few days off. from lucknow, patrick and the rotary's traveling circus -- p.

Some catching up

A couple days ago we visited a hand embroidery shop called MLK Pvt. Ltd. here near Lucknow. Its run by a pair of brothers and each 100 percent cotton garment (mostly tops, dresses and skirts) is hand sewn, washed, died, embroidered in the fashion known as chikan, clipped, checked for quality, pressed, folded, packaged and shipped. It's a lot of work with a lot of people. There an even split of men and women, with all men doing the sewing and all women doing the chikan work, and a smattering for the other jobs. The shop was clean and seemed to be well run and all the employees were fully clothed adults. This probably should not need to be said, but I understand what the impression many in the U.S. and Europe have of garment factories in developing nations. The company is two years old. Last week they sent a shipment to the U.K. -- 30,000 pieces. When I returned to my host family in the evening, the grandfather here, Ramesh, told me he was the first person to take Chikan to the states in 1973. Today, we all know this type of garments. Many of my friends where it, particularly ladies on skirts or down the plackard of a light top. It's a delicate and intricate series of stiches, many times in loops and flowers, and also incorporates sequins and sometimes tiny mirrors. Yes, in 1973 Ramesh brought this form to the states. This type of export (along with handicrafts, including amazing camelbone carvings) remains the center of the business that supports six people in this beautiful home in the oldest section of Lucknow. Chikan apparently was commissioned by Aurangzeb, the militant son of Shah Jaha, who had the Taj Mahal built as a mausoleum and memorial for his deceased wife. Aurangzeb enjoyed having this stitchwork on this pill box caps, and before long it became a stylish decoration in the way we wear it today. It took but 400 years to make it to the states. Thanks Ramesh.

We also visited the Residency, a park with 300-plus year old buildings dating back to British occupation. It was the site of the 1857 mutiny. The cannons stood in place, as did the holes in walls from cannon balls and other, smaller ammunition. The experience, on a warm, sunny day, reminded me of all the trips my cousin and I used to take with his father Dick when he was doing hospice work on Arizona reservations. Ruins, ruins, ruins. Many marred walls with no ceilings. History lessons, stories of days passed that often ended with bloodshed.

We had a nice day yesterday (Friday) touring the Uttar Pradesh consulate building. The 406 person consulate is not in session. Virtually everything here is on holiday break. We sat in the office of the general secretary of the state Shri Hukmdeo Narayan Nadav and had tea. We sat in some uncomfortable silence for a little while, all of us expecting maybe we were awaiting someone, or to finish tea, or for some other reason the secretary wanted to wait before entering discussion about legislation, government, programs, funding, challenges, etc. Carly, our youth probation officer was the first impatient enough to begin asking questions. She asked about priorities -- Water, refuse cleanup, education, drought? We began a fine discourse and took a tour through the chambers, where this continued. I restricted myself to polite questions about procedure as to avoid being cuffed. At dinner that night, Carly told me our host had spoken with the Nadav before we departed. He apparently was suprised (maybe not delighted?) we had an interest in the actual workings of his government. I'm told there are only a limited number of westerners, particularly Americans who come to this state, the largest, most populated and most challenged in the country by nearly every social issue. When Americans come, they don't visit government. In fact, most foreigners are disallowed from entering the compound. This man has sat second to the unending stream of house speakers in this state for nearly my lifetime. He's retired, but continues to serve. And he assumed all we wanted was to have tea and see the building.

Yes, dinner last night was a treat, particularly for the ladies. We arrived at the home of C.P. Agrawal about 5:30 and had tea and many many appetizers in a sitting room off a beautiful terrace overlooking the hustling city street. C.P. and his family deal in construction materials. He does plywood. His sons do copper and concrete, for instance. His son-in-laws, other portions of the building materials trades. We listened to music, played with his grandchildren, took a tour, drank scotch and reveled in the female visitors being fussed over by the local ladies who adorned them with bangles, toe rings and henne art. By the time we sat for dinner, must have been 1 p.m., I was stuffed from appetizers and could barely eat. The food was great, but the ladies insisted I disliked their dishes. It's difficult to explain that I really can't eat that much. They don't understand. Oh yes, and I can also drink more. They don't understand that either. I'll keep at it.

Indian Oddities

1. AstroTurf Vests (more on this later)
2. More horns than brakes
3. Water pitcher for toilet paper
4. Glass shards for barbed wire
5. Condom salesmen
6. Holy cows
7. Dung shrines
8. Kites galore
9. Pious monkeys
10. Painted trees
11. Unionized beggers
12. Red tobacco
13. Rickshaw school buses
14. Too much water in whiskey

India I

There is a cow
On the road
Outside the gate

I hear him
Where I climbed
to pull the string
That led to a kite
Stuck in garden trees

It's the kite of a boy
Who flies them
Next to cows

A cheeky essay

Who are we here? Our Varanasi hosts said we are not dignitaries as may have been suggested. "You are gods," he said. "You are gods when you are in our country!" he said, spitting blood red tobacco to a corner. This bit, this five of us being carted around, are we a rock band? We have a guitar, thanks to Karisa. I see the locals saying, "I knew the Spice Girls reorganized, but what happened to that one? She's aged so!" Karisa, she's the front person here. It's her curls they like. "You are looking beautiful today," passers by say. But she wonders, what's next? What do they mean. Is there something attached? We travel. We're scooped and moved and fed and told to rest and scooped and moved and toured and introduced and fed and fed and fed and moved and fed and told to rest, for we will move again. Four days, two days, four days three days. We are the American Circus come with a tent of ideals and maybe some expectations. But there's nothing to tell us from here to there what will take place in those three center rings. Are we the talent? The freaks? The laborers? The beasts? The experience, the sights, the breathing and knowing, the coming to know people with real skin and real eyes. Do these people see us the way we see them? Do they know the flying trapeze acts we parlay in our minds? When we are adorned -- fresh fruits, flowers and pearls -- are we being decorated in dye and sash like the holy cow, thereafter meant to be let alone, wandering and revered? This much: Our dreams are pleasant and safe, our mornings are bells and prayers, our days sunshine and architecture, our nights families and spices. And again the dreams. Sometimes the cow, sometimes the clown.

Some new photos

Lucknow

I believe our Indian hosts put us on the ground in Varanasi only partially because it's the oldest and holiesty living city. The other reason likely is because they wanted to shock us into submission with the press of people and creatures, the noise and intensity, so when we moved along we would feel relieved when we reached places like Lucknow. Yes, it's the capital of Uttar Pradesh. Yes, there is still heavy pressure, thick air and many people, but to a lesser extent, and even beyond that, a more subdued attitude among the masses. Somesh, my gracious host, told me early "You will find that residents of Lucknow are much more easy going, relaxed and tolerant than in other areas of the country." He was right. Listening to Somesh speak, in itself, calms the nerves. He is an eloquent speaker who knows much about his world and mine. He is an exporter of clothing and handicrafts and travels often to the U.S., U.K. and Australia. Yesterday he was our guide to Chhota Imambara and Bada Imambara, Muslim temples and gathering places started in the mid 1700s and completed following an extensive famine by an Iranian architect in the mid 1800s. The earlier building, which boasts the largest hall in Asia, was constructed with no reinforced materials, such as iron. The best I could understand is that each aspect of its stability is due to keystone construction, the type of work that keeps an arch in place. Somesh says the entire building is ventilated from the floor, and because of the particular air flow, if the windows atop the structure were closed, the entire place would crumble to the ground. This building, atop 45 steps to a second level, is a labyrinth of thin narrow passages -- "Two wrong and one right," our guide kept repeating. At various interior points of this dark and tight maze, there are vantages to the front gate, seen from secret either straight away or by virtue of a reflecting pool of water. It's easy to see the enemy enter without being seen. Also, from the front and back end of each hall, a person can stand and whisper a message that reaches the other end with striking clarity. To illustrate this, our guide lit a match from more than a football field away. As the twinkle of light appeared in his hand, the sound of the match was as if it was born from your own. We also visited a gallery of antique, artisan chandaliers and other wall hangings, took lunch and had a beer at a relaxing hotel resturant, and went for a pleasant stroll in a place that was set up under British rule as a military compound. India's military now resides there (60 years of independance!), but now the park is open to anyone who would like a reprieve from motorized traffic and to enjoy the whistling and open spaces. Nighttime brought the intention of going to see a Hindi comedy, but we had a dinner party of 10 at a hotel run by the Taj group and ran past midnight. We'll save the movie for another day. Today, I'm as Somesh's house writing and reading. We'll sit on the terrace and eat some fruits. Later we'll shop a little. Then my group will reconvene here and have a pizza and beer party on the terrace. Yes, it's a birthday celebration for me, so I get to spend it my way. Yea!

Travel on

Gorakhpur is a city covered in a fine clay soot, a khaki dust that permeates the pores of its occupants and coats each flat surface it finds, and it finds everything. It finds the trees, it finds the ledges, and even tacts to windows and walkway walls. The traffic here, and population in general, is much reduced from that of Varanasi. There is slightly more order, but still a chaotic and sometimes frantic buzz and blast that makes even the largest of U.S. cities pale in comparison. Joining the beast parade of goats and cows and dogs and humans and razorbacks on the streets of Gorakhpur are the mules, which travel in packs and tend to themselves in much the same way as others -- finding food and rest where they can, wherever they can. The entire city shuts down by 10:30 p.m., even on a weekend night. It will not open again until 10 or 10:30 the following morning, something the people here call "Indian time." Yesterday we took the road to Kushinagar, which is half rutted and half new, flat construction that comes and goes in short, intermittent spurts. This is something that parallels society as a whole here, I think. The road, again, as in the case of Varanasi to Gorakhpur, is lined with villages and is occupied by many many wood oxen carts carrying sugar cane. The place they're headed is Sukroli. It resembleds a battlefield following an air raid. The visibility cannot be more than an eighth mile. Diesel fuels powers belt grinders to mince the cane and extract the pulp. This is boiled under straw huts in circular cauldrens four foot in radius. In any direction, as far off as can be viewed, piles of gray and black smoke finger the sky. In this sacarin village, every breathe comes with an intoxicatingly sweet sting. Now, with the sticky syrup sifted and strained, villages allow the substance to cool and it comes to a grainy, brown molasses. It is gritty and sweet to the taste. Children paste it to short sticks of sugar cane and eat it as candy. As Karisa, one our group members noted, "This place makes me feel like I'm in a National Geographic production." Indeed.
So, another 15 minutes up the varying road, Kushinagar is known as the land of Buddha, where the wandering prince spent his final embodied days. It is said that when he passed, the Earth shook and the skies shot a shower of stars. Upon arrival to this holy place, we stood in the sunshine and ate fresh goya and bananas. We watched school boys use a lodging house court yard to play cricket. Even 12-year-olds have vigorous matches. We walked to the stupa and other ancient structures that were unearthed in the 1920s. We visited a temple constructed 14 years ago by a Thai king, given the tour by a Thai monk. Anne and I were pulled aside by a group of Gorakhpur teens. Apparently they liked the way we looked, and asked us to pose in a photo with the group. We do tend to stand out. The architecture for the temples and the mausoleum where an approximately 40-foot tall statue of Buddha lays on its side are impressive sites. The lone regretful thing is that the grounds for such an important place are littered beyond excuse. It ocurred to a couple of us that a handful of the beggers here could be given jobs to simply collect the paper waste and put it in an offset spot. But the days here are irreplaceable. It is difficult to be on the road, rushed about all the time. The thick air, the blaring horns, the oppressive traffic, the massive amount of food our gracious Indian hosts insist we try, and the 5:30 a.m. prayer calls that echo through the city at the first light of each day tend to wear on our apparently light Western constitution. However, it's impossible to justify a day of rest. This is a time never to be had again, and to miss a day of events with such enlightened hosts and an ever-bonding travel team would be inexcusable. Today was a trip to Lucknow, the capital city of Uttar Pradesh. On the way we stopped for lunch with Rotarians at Barabanki and visited a grade school for village girls -- young ones in previous generations that used to be called "untouchables." The school, in a movement called "coming to caring", was started in the early 1930s by Gandhi himself. These little girls, with their large brown eyes and brilliant smiles, performed traditional song and dance for us in a sunny courtyard. We presented them with warm wool blankets provided by the Rotarians. Although the temps here are mid-70s, this is the Indian winter. At any rate, equal rights and education --- a project for which anyone can be proud.

Now in Gorakhpur

Hello from the road. The final couple days in Varanasi were fascinating. We went to the Golden Temple in the middle of the oldest part of the city. We were being led through by guides in a maze of very thin walkways shrouded by ancient walls and lined with every type of merchant imagineable. I bought a small collection of tunics, some toys and jewelry -- much to the delight of the local business people, who are very honest and friendly -- and spent less than $20. As we approached the temple, we were checked by militia men no less than five times. We were disallowed from taking cameras, phones, pens and anything else that could conceal or be fashioned into a weapon. The walls and gates leading to the temple were coiled with razor wire. There were soliders with automatic machine guns hunkered down behind cement covers. The threat of violence here is real. Any of the most sacred places among Hindus and Muslims could be a target any time, either for attack or retaliation, depending on which side of the conflict you stand. Closer to the temple, there were many people lining the thin walkways, vines and tropical trees infusing the encampement, breaking the sunlight. Monkeys hung and bounced from every high surface. As I lined with hundreds of others, barefooted and in dripping and dimly lit corridors, to enter, I was approached by one of the guards: "You from U.S., are you of the Hindu Faith?" I replied accordingly and was told I could not enter. I, along with my travel mates, waited to the side as our guides, all Rotarians, entered the temple to pray before the shrine of Shiva. Later that evening we were escorted to one of our host family's homes to attend an all-clubs meeting of the Rotary. There are 16 clubs in Varanasi, which I have been told has an estimated population of 35 million. We gave our presentations, each of us showing photos of our homes, family and workplaces, telling the 200 people in attendance about what we do, how we live. After the presentations were were given gifts, many photos were taken. The following mornign we learned that one of those photos made a Hindi paper that is circulated to more than 2 million readers. Yesterday we made the trip to Gorakhpur. It was a five hour ride with all of us and or luggage in a large Chevy fourwheeler (with a very good hired driver) on a thin highway with much traffic and villages the entire way. It more or less follows the Ganges watershed and had beautiful expanses of farms and villages. We had a bonfire party with Rotarians last night and rested well. Today we visited a garment school and clothing factory where women are given training to enter the workforce. This was an occupational visit for Anne, who is a clothing designer. We also went to the Mother Theresa home where people with mental disabilities who cannot be cared for by their families are given proper shelter, food and medical treatment. Finally, we visited a nature hospital where we were shown a variety of treatments for nearly all illnesses. The means to cure or abate disease involve only water, sun, air and mud. After the tour, we all had full body massages and had a fine meal prepared from the doctor's family garden. What a place! I'm wildly relaxed and glad to be at an Internet cafe (for 20 rupees per hour, which equates to about 75 cents) so I can share some of this with you. We have another presentation tonight, and will leave our hotel tomorrow for Lucknow. I'll try to get photos on here as well, though I'm blind in choosing them. Much love to everyone, and an update again soon. Patrick, on behalf of the Group Study Exchange Team in Uttar Pradesh India.

Ahh, yes yes!

Early note -- Yes, it's taken me a bit to get to this. My initial intention was to do daily updates here. I understood Web was much less common in India. Nay nay nay. Much much less common. I'm staying with friends Subodh and wife Sunita and their friend who owns a nice hotel, Surya, allowed me to use an office for this purpose. I have many photos and stories after only three days of a one month trip. I can give a quick sample of these photos now and will do more later. First, some early impressions, very early impressions from my first day in the wonderful country.



Day 1 – Varanasi – 31 Dec.

We sit in the lawn under a yellow umbrella with pink and green flowers, surrounded by gardens and the hosts’ young girls in gowns running in circles singing and dancing, showing off for us. We are driven through impossibly pressed streets – bicycles, pedestrians, motorcycles, cows, scooters, buses, goats, rickshaws and dogs – then us in a small Suzuki passenger car with sideviews pinned back for precious space in a cacophony of horns and calamity of crisscrossing goers everywhere. It’s tucked tight and harried in a small city with many-many people. But, as seems to be the case with most Indian things, everyone finds their place. Somehow, maybe by divinity, there is a place for everyone. Banaras Hindu University is miles long because the story goes the man who would take the land donation was told to walk as far as he could and make it back by sundown and that would be the campus. The Fine Arts Faculty is a mostly private collection held by the university. Most normal people – particularly Westerners like me – cannot see this: 2800 B.C. copper war tools, stone carvings, edifices from ancient buildings 1,700 years old stand in no case and without glass giving the stalwart aroma of humanity, of things done well for the right reasons. Carved pearl daggers with inlaid stones rimmed with gold and a room of Alice Boner, from Switzerland, who came to India in 1926 to be inspired by all the people, the simple ones with extraordinary lives, the dancers with waving palms up, the singers with long lifting voices. She sculpted and painted and it sits here for us somehow. My palms sweat. I want to sing and cry and laugh and scream all at once. We go to the oldest temple in the oldest living city. The holiest of places made for all people for all gods and all believers. We stand in the busy street in the sunshine and have tea in clay cups. We go to the Faculty of Fine Arts and sit bare-footed in a small room and listen to traditional drums coupled with the sitar players, the passionate and peaceful disciples of Rati Shankar. We have lunch in a grassy courtyard of Milan Royal Retreat, eat all the traditional Indian foods. Rubi’s husband Anook is the great grandson of the modern founder of Hindu, a man who wrote and painted and danced and traveled before travel and died at 35 in 1885. I don’t want to hear anymore of this place and it’s starvation and its filth. The people who talk of these things are blind to strength and determination. India to me seems like a collective grace in all life’s aspects.



Since this day I've floated the Ganges River, took tea with new friends on the sandy beach, toured the ghats where many thousands from all over come to pray and bathe away their sins, had traditional Indian meals at fantastic restaurants, had a late-late "31 Dec. Celebration", visited the Sarnath temple where Buddha went first after finding enlightment to teach his five wandering students, toured a massive Hindi language newspaper that has 2 a.m. daily deadline and sends two million papers to readers' doorsteps by 5 a.m. ---- uh, whew --- and shortly ago finished coffee and conversation with the Singhs, hotel owners, on the matters of spirituality (no need to speak of religion, there is a differene) and how to reach the place you seek. Now I'm beckoned for dinner. Much more later ---- Happy New Year!