Needless to say I've got quite a bit to write about.
Stay tuned for posts on:
Trains and other auto-mobile forms of transport
Dehra Dun; the "other" city of knowledge
Satyon- Hindi for "Impossible Roads"
Amritsar and the Temple of Gold
The Sky Town of H.H. the Dalai Lama
More.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Friday, December 2, 2011
A Day In The Life
Perhaps many of you are wondering what I do on a "regular" day in Varanasi. I say "regular" in quotes because there is obviously no such thing in India as a "regular" day.
Here are some things I find my self doing OFTEN.
After waking up in the morning I like to drink Chai. Real Indian CHAI. This stuff is GOOD. Made with fresh milk and LOTS of sugar. Accompanying my chai I like to eat a small, 5 Rupee pack of butter biscuits. I dip my butter biscuits in my chai and eat them when they are soggy. I sit in front of the chai shop for a while and am stared at by Indian men. Sometimes I buy curd from the chai wallah. Fresh curd made from water buffalo milk. It's like yogurt, but more bitter and more fresh than any yogurt I've had in the states. I'll take my curd back to my guest house and mix it with bananas and muesli. This is a darn good breakfast.
After breakfast I like to wander and digest. I'll go for a walk down the Ghats on the ganga and see people and be seen by people and have people try and get me to go on their boat, or buy them things, or give them money, or buy drugs, or flowers or candles or postcards or did I say drugs? I usually end up buying potato chips from my friend the chip wallah who makes these delicious baked potato chips every morning with his mother. He and his mataji (mother) walk the ghats and sell their craft.
In the daytime there are a few things I do often. Alex and I frequent a mandir (temple) and hang out with the Babaji there. He's known as Lal Babba (Red Babba) and is the smiliest man I've met in India. He's just perma-stoked on God and is therefore just uber happy and nice. There's another baba, Muni Babba, that we hang with. He's rad and lives very close to us so we sometimes go and cook lunch at his pad. On other days we go and hang out with the Aussies at the River Ashram. The River Ashram is a "Jesus Ashram" and is very chill. It seems as though a prerequisite to be a leader of the Ashram is to have dreads and an Australian accent. I really enjoy spending time with the crew of the River Ashram. Typical activities include gardening, playing music, talking about big things like God and Life and Death, or goofy things like bad movies and 80's music, or important things like international politics and good movies ;)
I've made a pretty large group of friends here in Banaras and feel like I have a community here. Most of the time I spend with friends involves drinking chai. I drink a lot of chai. When I'm not drinking chai with friends I'm generally exploring the city. Walking up and down the Ghats is good fun and exploring the mazes of alleys is a hoot. The alleys are all lined with shops and so it's pretty full on just walking down the 6-foot wide canyon getting hollered at by store owners to come in and look at the "best" silk, scarves, necklaces, sweets, etc. in all of Benares. Alex has been on the shopping train lately as he's headed back to the states for Christmas. We'll cruise the city shopping for HOURS only to stop for a lassi here and there. Lassis are amazing and I plan to write an entire blog post about them including poetry and mouth-watering imagery. But in short Lassis can bring world peace through their deliciousness. A lassi is basically buffalo curd and sugar beaten together to make a drink. It's nice and cold and sweet and served in a clay cup.
After a full on day I'll go back to the guest house to think and write and read and mess around with two flutes I've acquired. I've really been thinking a lot and experiencing a lot (of life). Varanasi is a full power city. Very unapologetic in all things biologic and cultural. Here you feel the crushing weight of in-your-face earthen humanity juxtaposed with the intricate, abstract and intangible world of spirituality. You see death in his most striking forms standing still in the midst of buzzing life. Very human, very spiritual.
Indian shaves are also great, and I'll have to write a whole post about those too. It's more massage than shave, and a very great experience whose description to you is well worthy of more time and dedication than I have to give it at the moment.
Let's see, what else. Well, that's all for now I suppose. Feel free to ask questions in the comments or ask me to write/think/read about something.
Here are some things I find my self doing OFTEN.
After waking up in the morning I like to drink Chai. Real Indian CHAI. This stuff is GOOD. Made with fresh milk and LOTS of sugar. Accompanying my chai I like to eat a small, 5 Rupee pack of butter biscuits. I dip my butter biscuits in my chai and eat them when they are soggy. I sit in front of the chai shop for a while and am stared at by Indian men. Sometimes I buy curd from the chai wallah. Fresh curd made from water buffalo milk. It's like yogurt, but more bitter and more fresh than any yogurt I've had in the states. I'll take my curd back to my guest house and mix it with bananas and muesli. This is a darn good breakfast.
After breakfast I like to wander and digest. I'll go for a walk down the Ghats on the ganga and see people and be seen by people and have people try and get me to go on their boat, or buy them things, or give them money, or buy drugs, or flowers or candles or postcards or did I say drugs? I usually end up buying potato chips from my friend the chip wallah who makes these delicious baked potato chips every morning with his mother. He and his mataji (mother) walk the ghats and sell their craft.
In the daytime there are a few things I do often. Alex and I frequent a mandir (temple) and hang out with the Babaji there. He's known as Lal Babba (Red Babba) and is the smiliest man I've met in India. He's just perma-stoked on God and is therefore just uber happy and nice. There's another baba, Muni Babba, that we hang with. He's rad and lives very close to us so we sometimes go and cook lunch at his pad. On other days we go and hang out with the Aussies at the River Ashram. The River Ashram is a "Jesus Ashram" and is very chill. It seems as though a prerequisite to be a leader of the Ashram is to have dreads and an Australian accent. I really enjoy spending time with the crew of the River Ashram. Typical activities include gardening, playing music, talking about big things like God and Life and Death, or goofy things like bad movies and 80's music, or important things like international politics and good movies ;)
I've made a pretty large group of friends here in Banaras and feel like I have a community here. Most of the time I spend with friends involves drinking chai. I drink a lot of chai. When I'm not drinking chai with friends I'm generally exploring the city. Walking up and down the Ghats is good fun and exploring the mazes of alleys is a hoot. The alleys are all lined with shops and so it's pretty full on just walking down the 6-foot wide canyon getting hollered at by store owners to come in and look at the "best" silk, scarves, necklaces, sweets, etc. in all of Benares. Alex has been on the shopping train lately as he's headed back to the states for Christmas. We'll cruise the city shopping for HOURS only to stop for a lassi here and there. Lassis are amazing and I plan to write an entire blog post about them including poetry and mouth-watering imagery. But in short Lassis can bring world peace through their deliciousness. A lassi is basically buffalo curd and sugar beaten together to make a drink. It's nice and cold and sweet and served in a clay cup.
After a full on day I'll go back to the guest house to think and write and read and mess around with two flutes I've acquired. I've really been thinking a lot and experiencing a lot (of life). Varanasi is a full power city. Very unapologetic in all things biologic and cultural. Here you feel the crushing weight of in-your-face earthen humanity juxtaposed with the intricate, abstract and intangible world of spirituality. You see death in his most striking forms standing still in the midst of buzzing life. Very human, very spiritual.
Indian shaves are also great, and I'll have to write a whole post about those too. It's more massage than shave, and a very great experience whose description to you is well worthy of more time and dedication than I have to give it at the moment.
Let's see, what else. Well, that's all for now I suppose. Feel free to ask questions in the comments or ask me to write/think/read about something.
Monday, November 28, 2011
November 24th, 2011, Varanasi, India
Today the air was amazingly clear and uncharacteristically fresh and pleasant to breathe. Tonight the air is still clear and there are more stars out than ever before during my time in India. Today was a good day. Today was thanksgiving.
My thanksgiving started with the desire to eat pizza. I asked Alex to join me for dinner in a favorite restaurant of mine in Varanasi; Ashish Cafe. Alex reminded me that it was thanksgiving and remarked that pizza was about the closest thing to American chow we could get here in Varanasi.
We set out in the festive spirit and got a cushion inside Ashish. After inspecting the menu we found out we could order mashed potatoes and creamy mushroom soup. Mix the two and BAM! mashed potatoes and gravy. With excitement at our cleverness we ordered our two dishes as well as a pizza.
The meal was spot on. The taste/texture of mashed potatoes and gravy transported me back stateside. I wasn't sitting on the floor of a small restaurant halfway around the world wearing only shorts and a t-shirt anymore. No, I was wearing a toasty wool sweater sitting at a beautiful table somewhere in the good ol' U.S. of A. about to dive into some turkey and cranberry relish while cold rain spit at the windows and a log popped on the open fire.
As we ate a crew of our friends from our guest house showed up and joined us in the cafe. They sat in such a way that we formed a long table and the feeling of thanksgiving grew more lucid. We talked about thanksgiving and American food and a friend mentioned that he had had apple pie at a nearby restaurant. Alex and I had paid and were out the door on a mission for a couple of golden slices of heaven before our pal had finished the word restaurant.
It turned out we weren't alone in our quest; several of our American cohorts in Varanasi were there as well for their taste of Old Glory.
Our pie slices came out-of-the-oven warm and fresh with heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream sitting proudly on top and melting down the sides of the apply treat. I was awestruck to say the least. My first bite filled my mouth with warm apple filling, buttery crust, and the delicate contrast of cold vanilla cream. Again, as the taste of America exploded across my palette, I was dragged by my tongue into a world of itchy sweaters, loosened belts, icy rain and warm, crackling fireplaces.
The feeling wasn't totally homesickness, nor was it entirely nostalgic. But a lot of pride mixed with a sense of accomplishment and coated with copious amounts of gratitude and bliss.
I had found the essence of thanksgiving halfway around the world and my belly and soul were satisfied.
My thanksgiving started with the desire to eat pizza. I asked Alex to join me for dinner in a favorite restaurant of mine in Varanasi; Ashish Cafe. Alex reminded me that it was thanksgiving and remarked that pizza was about the closest thing to American chow we could get here in Varanasi.
We set out in the festive spirit and got a cushion inside Ashish. After inspecting the menu we found out we could order mashed potatoes and creamy mushroom soup. Mix the two and BAM! mashed potatoes and gravy. With excitement at our cleverness we ordered our two dishes as well as a pizza.
The meal was spot on. The taste/texture of mashed potatoes and gravy transported me back stateside. I wasn't sitting on the floor of a small restaurant halfway around the world wearing only shorts and a t-shirt anymore. No, I was wearing a toasty wool sweater sitting at a beautiful table somewhere in the good ol' U.S. of A. about to dive into some turkey and cranberry relish while cold rain spit at the windows and a log popped on the open fire.
As we ate a crew of our friends from our guest house showed up and joined us in the cafe. They sat in such a way that we formed a long table and the feeling of thanksgiving grew more lucid. We talked about thanksgiving and American food and a friend mentioned that he had had apple pie at a nearby restaurant. Alex and I had paid and were out the door on a mission for a couple of golden slices of heaven before our pal had finished the word restaurant.
It turned out we weren't alone in our quest; several of our American cohorts in Varanasi were there as well for their taste of Old Glory.
Our pie slices came out-of-the-oven warm and fresh with heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream sitting proudly on top and melting down the sides of the apply treat. I was awestruck to say the least. My first bite filled my mouth with warm apple filling, buttery crust, and the delicate contrast of cold vanilla cream. Again, as the taste of America exploded across my palette, I was dragged by my tongue into a world of itchy sweaters, loosened belts, icy rain and warm, crackling fireplaces.
The feeling wasn't totally homesickness, nor was it entirely nostalgic. But a lot of pride mixed with a sense of accomplishment and coated with copious amounts of gratitude and bliss.
I had found the essence of thanksgiving halfway around the world and my belly and soul were satisfied.
Giving Thanks
In the spirit of Thanksgiving I want to do a blog post detailing many (but not all) of the things I'm grateful for in my life at the moment. If I were to list ALL the things I'm grateful for, we'd both be here for hours on end.
I am thankful for my family. I love my family more than anything in the whole universe and I know that they love me.
My parents: because when I talk to them things tend to make a lot more sense. because they know me better than anyone in the entire world and I love them like rocks.
My Mom for her support and love. for instilling in me the importance of being a gentleman and a scholar.
My Dad for always having a bit of wisdom, a lesson, and love to share. for teaching me to take my time.
My Brother for being the one person I wouldn't hesitate to give my life for.
My Dog for always accepting any ridiculously lavish amount of love I bestow on him.
Barb Small for teaching me more about death (and therefore giving me a priceless perspective on life) than anyone else ever could. I'll also note that the money I got from Barb is making my trip in India possible.
Ashland for raising me and teaching me about community.
Oregon for having mountains and rivers and forests and towns that are my homes.
The U.S.A. for bestowing upon me immense privilege and responsibility and many positive aspects of the American Way.
The internet for connecting the world.
The earth for letting me explore it.
My senses/mind/language for letting me perceive and contemplate things and interpret the world.
Pens and notebooks for holding words and remembering my thoughts for me.
Good books for imparting new thoughts and ideas through words and stating these thoughts better than I could.
Music for letting me think without words.
Portland, Lewis and Clark College, eNRG, motorcycles, ceramics, kayaking, snowboarding, sailing, scuba diving, kite boarding, etc. etc. etc. for all being things I'm looking forward to in one way or another.
India for being Full On and Varanasi for being Full Power. for being more (intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, physically, etc.) stimulating than anywhere I have ever been. for being in your face and unapologetic. for being conducive to growth, exploration, and introspection. for making you feel the full weight of humanity and the human condition. for reaching for things beyond the bonds of this physical existence. for inspiring me to build community and see more of the world and make it a better place.
And last but not least I'm thankful for you for reading my blog. ;)
I am thankful for my family. I love my family more than anything in the whole universe and I know that they love me.
My parents: because when I talk to them things tend to make a lot more sense. because they know me better than anyone in the entire world and I love them like rocks.
My Mom for her support and love. for instilling in me the importance of being a gentleman and a scholar.
My Dad for always having a bit of wisdom, a lesson, and love to share. for teaching me to take my time.
My Brother for being the one person I wouldn't hesitate to give my life for.
My Dog for always accepting any ridiculously lavish amount of love I bestow on him.
Barb Small for teaching me more about death (and therefore giving me a priceless perspective on life) than anyone else ever could. I'll also note that the money I got from Barb is making my trip in India possible.
Ashland for raising me and teaching me about community.
Oregon for having mountains and rivers and forests and towns that are my homes.
The U.S.A. for bestowing upon me immense privilege and responsibility and many positive aspects of the American Way.
The internet for connecting the world.
The earth for letting me explore it.
My senses/mind/language for letting me perceive and contemplate things and interpret the world.
Pens and notebooks for holding words and remembering my thoughts for me.
Good books for imparting new thoughts and ideas through words and stating these thoughts better than I could.
Music for letting me think without words.
Portland, Lewis and Clark College, eNRG, motorcycles, ceramics, kayaking, snowboarding, sailing, scuba diving, kite boarding, etc. etc. etc. for all being things I'm looking forward to in one way or another.
India for being Full On and Varanasi for being Full Power. for being more (intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, physically, etc.) stimulating than anywhere I have ever been. for being in your face and unapologetic. for being conducive to growth, exploration, and introspection. for making you feel the full weight of humanity and the human condition. for reaching for things beyond the bonds of this physical existence. for inspiring me to build community and see more of the world and make it a better place.
And last but not least I'm thankful for you for reading my blog. ;)
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
November 5th, 2011. Muna Guest House, Varanasi, India
I'm sitting, lounging rather, in my hammock. My hammock is green and tan, and quite large. The folds of it's synthetic silk envelope it's user like a cocoon envelopes a juvenile butterfly. My hammock is the most comfortable piece of furniture (?) I have ever reclined in.
The only clothing I have on is a traditional Indian Longi. A very light cotton 7 foot by 4 foot piece of white cloth that is worn wrapped around the waist like a long man-skirt. The longi is very comfortable, especially on hot Indian days, and is therefore well suited for the Indian environment. It's design is also conducive to the use of squat-toilets. No more details on that, except that squatting makes far more sense than traditional western bodily waste disposal systems.
I digress.
My hammock is hung between a concrete pillar on one side, and on the other is attached to two sketchy hooks drilled into the concrete wall of the rundown Muna Guest House. On the wall next to my hammock's anchor is a mural of the Hindu deity Saraswati. The elegant Goddess is equipped with a sitar and is seated on a white lotus flower accompanied by a swan and peacock. The wall the mural is painted on makes one side of a three sided terrace, with one face open to the mighty Ganga (Ganges) river which lazily flows some eleven stories below. In my nest I'm positioned so that I look out over the giant body of water across to it's eastern shore. The eastern riverside is a flood plain that's inundated regularly enough to keep encroaching development at bay. Thus the ancient, maze-like city of Varanasi (a.k.a. Banaras, Kashi, etc. etc. etc.) is reflected in the Ganga and it's crowded ghats are contrasted on the opposite river bank by kilometers of empty plains of gray sand.
The only movement in the plains now is a horseman riding north, racing the Ganga down it's banks, leaving only a trail of dust in the sky.
The only clothing I have on is a traditional Indian Longi. A very light cotton 7 foot by 4 foot piece of white cloth that is worn wrapped around the waist like a long man-skirt. The longi is very comfortable, especially on hot Indian days, and is therefore well suited for the Indian environment. It's design is also conducive to the use of squat-toilets. No more details on that, except that squatting makes far more sense than traditional western bodily waste disposal systems.
I digress.
My hammock is hung between a concrete pillar on one side, and on the other is attached to two sketchy hooks drilled into the concrete wall of the rundown Muna Guest House. On the wall next to my hammock's anchor is a mural of the Hindu deity Saraswati. The elegant Goddess is equipped with a sitar and is seated on a white lotus flower accompanied by a swan and peacock. The wall the mural is painted on makes one side of a three sided terrace, with one face open to the mighty Ganga (Ganges) river which lazily flows some eleven stories below. In my nest I'm positioned so that I look out over the giant body of water across to it's eastern shore. The eastern riverside is a flood plain that's inundated regularly enough to keep encroaching development at bay. Thus the ancient, maze-like city of Varanasi (a.k.a. Banaras, Kashi, etc. etc. etc.) is reflected in the Ganga and it's crowded ghats are contrasted on the opposite river bank by kilometers of empty plains of gray sand.
The only movement in the plains now is a horseman riding north, racing the Ganga down it's banks, leaving only a trail of dust in the sky.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The Pink City
Jaipur was another sight seeing blitz, Indian style. I saw:
The Albert Hall Museum- A museum full of artifacts from all over the world, including a few thousand year old Egyptian mummy, beautiful Hungarian pottery, Indian art from every part of the country, and many, many, many other fascinating things to behold.
The Wind Palace- Classic Jaipur. The Wind Palace is a big, pink beehive looking building.
City Palace- The throne of kings! A royal place to say the least. The throne room was magnificent, the costumes on display were regal, and the whole place inspired majesty.
Jantar Mantar- One of my favorite stops. Jantar Mantar is an ancient celestial observatory. It’s basically a beautiful park full of giant sculptures. Well, these sculptures where actually used to measure the distances between planets, the paths of celestial bodies, and the like.
Water Palace- The water palace is a beautiful palace that seemingly floats out in the middle of a big lake. You can’t go out to it, but viewing it from afar is magic. I also saw many camels and elephants at this stop.
Amber Fort- The Amber Fort is HUGE! It’s an ancient fort built on top of a hill, surrounded by miles of wall reminiscent of the Great Wall of China. The whole thing is perched above a lake with gardens all around. The inside of the fort is like a maze. It’s wild; there are tons of small rooms leading to big rooms. Tight, steep staircases lead to wide open verandas. Claustrophobic passageways lead to manicured courtyards.
Ganesh Temple- A modest temple sitting high above Jaipur affording good views of the Pink City.
Monkey Temple- A quiet yet popular temple nestled between hills. Absolutely teeming with monkeys!
The Albert Hall Museum- A museum full of artifacts from all over the world, including a few thousand year old Egyptian mummy, beautiful Hungarian pottery, Indian art from every part of the country, and many, many, many other fascinating things to behold.
The Wind Palace- Classic Jaipur. The Wind Palace is a big, pink beehive looking building.
City Palace- The throne of kings! A royal place to say the least. The throne room was magnificent, the costumes on display were regal, and the whole place inspired majesty.
Jantar Mantar- One of my favorite stops. Jantar Mantar is an ancient celestial observatory. It’s basically a beautiful park full of giant sculptures. Well, these sculptures where actually used to measure the distances between planets, the paths of celestial bodies, and the like.
Water Palace- The water palace is a beautiful palace that seemingly floats out in the middle of a big lake. You can’t go out to it, but viewing it from afar is magic. I also saw many camels and elephants at this stop.
Amber Fort- The Amber Fort is HUGE! It’s an ancient fort built on top of a hill, surrounded by miles of wall reminiscent of the Great Wall of China. The whole thing is perched above a lake with gardens all around. The inside of the fort is like a maze. It’s wild; there are tons of small rooms leading to big rooms. Tight, steep staircases lead to wide open verandas. Claustrophobic passageways lead to manicured courtyards.
Ganesh Temple- A modest temple sitting high above Jaipur affording good views of the Pink City.
Monkey Temple- A quiet yet popular temple nestled between hills. Absolutely teeming with monkeys!
City on the Thames
After an express train ride out of Heathrow I found myself breathing cool, damp air and staring up at the arched ceilings of London’s Paddington Station.
My jaunt in London was a non-stop sight-seeing blitz.
Here’s a list:
Big Ben- Big Ben consumed my field of vision as I ascended out of the dank London Underground station, Westminster. This landmark was Numero Uno on my list.
Parliament
Eye of London- This ferris wheel was MUCH BIGGER than I had expected.
Trafalgar Square- I saw the nice fountains, and the countdown clock to the London Olympics. Walking there I also passed the Sherlock Homes Inn and Pub.
Calvary Guard- Classic English guards mounted on beastly steeds.
Scotland Yard- Elementary my dear Watson.
St. James’ Park- All sorts of English waterfowl and beautiful greenery.
Buckingham Palace- Her Majesty’s palace. Saw the classic guys with big hats and red coats from a distance only…
Westminster Abbey- Big, Old, Beautiful.
London folk are well dressed.
London is very expensive.
My jaunt in London was a non-stop sight-seeing blitz.
Here’s a list:
Big Ben- Big Ben consumed my field of vision as I ascended out of the dank London Underground station, Westminster. This landmark was Numero Uno on my list.
Parliament
Eye of London- This ferris wheel was MUCH BIGGER than I had expected.
Trafalgar Square- I saw the nice fountains, and the countdown clock to the London Olympics. Walking there I also passed the Sherlock Homes Inn and Pub.
Calvary Guard- Classic English guards mounted on beastly steeds.
Scotland Yard- Elementary my dear Watson.
St. James’ Park- All sorts of English waterfowl and beautiful greenery.
Buckingham Palace- Her Majesty’s palace. Saw the classic guys with big hats and red coats from a distance only…
Westminster Abbey- Big, Old, Beautiful.
London folk are well dressed.
London is very expensive.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
The Gypsies
I have to share this. This is a recounting of a classic experience I had on my way home from Eugene after picking up my motorcycle at my uncle Eric's house.
I met the Gypsies the night I stayed at Black Canyon campground. I had bunked down in an abandoned campsite and by 7 o clock was unable to see my hand in front of my face. I'm accustomed to going to sleep around midnight and therefore found myself entering what I thought would be the longest, darkest, loneliest night of my life. Frankly, I was a little scared and a lot uncomfortable. It was too dark for me to keep riding safely so my options were limited. Pulling through seemed best, so I hunkered down and pulled out my notebook. "I'll write the night away!"
No more than 20 min. went by and I was just wasting trees. All of a sudden a red light started bobbing off in the pitch black of the forest night. It was coming my way. I switched off my own white L.E.D. in an attempt to hid in the darkness, fearing a park ranger was after me with an "illegitimate camping site" ticket. I quickly turned my headlamp back on after realizing the red light had obviously already seen my bright beacon of criminal mischief. I changed tactics from hiding to pleading. "I'll get the first words in." I thought, "and make a good case for myself. I'm a nice guy and mean no harm. He'll let me go."
"You bunked down here in the dark?" The red light drew first blood, so much for my plan. Time to beg forgiveness from the stiff hand of the law.
"Yes, but..." I responded modestly.
"Is that your motorcycle parked near the locked gate?" The light demanded.
"Yes it is, sir." Was my staccato response.
"I didn't get a good look at it."-Light
"Whew."-Me
"But is that a Honda?"-Light
"Yeess...(?)"-Me, confused.
"CB750?"-Light
"Yes."-Me, things are looking up.
"What year?"-Light
"'82."-Me, if this guy likes motorcycles I'm saved.
"No SHIT!"-Light
"(!)"-Me, eyebrows raising.
Light-"I had a '72!"
Me-"Don't think they changed 'em much in those ten years!"
Light-"The name's Butch. Why don't you come outta the dark and come grab a cold one in muh ARVEE. Meet the wifey."
The rest of the night was spent drinking Busch and listening to stories (accompanied by literally hundreds of pictures) of RV campgrounds and motorcycle rallies.
I slept great in my hammock, and woke up to a freshly brewed cup of the finest joe ever served in an RV.
I met the Gypsies the night I stayed at Black Canyon campground. I had bunked down in an abandoned campsite and by 7 o clock was unable to see my hand in front of my face. I'm accustomed to going to sleep around midnight and therefore found myself entering what I thought would be the longest, darkest, loneliest night of my life. Frankly, I was a little scared and a lot uncomfortable. It was too dark for me to keep riding safely so my options were limited. Pulling through seemed best, so I hunkered down and pulled out my notebook. "I'll write the night away!"
No more than 20 min. went by and I was just wasting trees. All of a sudden a red light started bobbing off in the pitch black of the forest night. It was coming my way. I switched off my own white L.E.D. in an attempt to hid in the darkness, fearing a park ranger was after me with an "illegitimate camping site" ticket. I quickly turned my headlamp back on after realizing the red light had obviously already seen my bright beacon of criminal mischief. I changed tactics from hiding to pleading. "I'll get the first words in." I thought, "and make a good case for myself. I'm a nice guy and mean no harm. He'll let me go."
"You bunked down here in the dark?" The red light drew first blood, so much for my plan. Time to beg forgiveness from the stiff hand of the law.
"Yes, but..." I responded modestly.
"Is that your motorcycle parked near the locked gate?" The light demanded.
"Yes it is, sir." Was my staccato response.
"I didn't get a good look at it."-Light
"Whew."-Me
"But is that a Honda?"-Light
"Yeess...(?)"-Me, confused.
"CB750?"-Light
"Yes."-Me, things are looking up.
"What year?"-Light
"'82."-Me, if this guy likes motorcycles I'm saved.
"No SHIT!"-Light
"(!)"-Me, eyebrows raising.
Light-"I had a '72!"
Me-"Don't think they changed 'em much in those ten years!"
Light-"The name's Butch. Why don't you come outta the dark and come grab a cold one in muh ARVEE. Meet the wifey."
The rest of the night was spent drinking Busch and listening to stories (accompanied by literally hundreds of pictures) of RV campgrounds and motorcycle rallies.
I slept great in my hammock, and woke up to a freshly brewed cup of the finest joe ever served in an RV.
Lessons about following my heart.
There have been two incidents in which I have learned great lessons about following my heart.
The first is a success story, the second, a misadventure.
I discovered High Rock by following my heart. It was after my night spent at Fish Creek in the Clackamas River drainage outside of Portland. I had gone on that trip looking for the feeling of being in the mountains on top of a peak with majestic views and sun and all that. If you've been on a rocky exposed peak in the Pac West then you might know the feeling. I hadn't found that essence of exposed wilderness I was looking for near the creek. I left my cozy site near the creek and hopped on my bobber heading east; up into the mountains. I felt my heart pulling me towards something, I knew what it was; however, I doubted that I would actually find it. I was afraid I would ride for hours, run out of gas, and be stranded in some lame forest hours away from Portland. I almost turned around a few times, but persevered. My determination and blind faith paid off. Soon I came around a corner and found myself at High Rock; a modest peak with majestic views of Mt. Hood, Helen's, Adams, Rainier, and other peaks to the southeast. One could also make out the vast deserts of eastern Oregon burning on the horizon in the white-hot summer sun. A truly spectacular place, all the more exciting because it was exactly what I was looking for and I had found it by following that ticker in my chest. My heart was satisfied and so was I.
Fast forward to Indira Gandhi international airport in New Delhi, India. I had met three travelers on the flight from London who were also bound for India. All were from California and two had been on my previous flight from San Francisco to London. We met up at baggage claim and talked about where we were all going. The three of them, coincidentally, were headed to Vrindivan. They would split cab fare and have a jolly time bumping down the Indian highway. I was invited. My heart was beating in my ears. These were my first moments in India and my heart screaming at me to make a decision. Full on. I declined the offer to join my friends and opted instead to go to the hotel I had arranged over the internet back in Ashland. I'll tell you now I knew that was a mistake. I just knew it, my heart knew it. I knew instantly after I saw my friends get in their cab and drive away that I had made the wrong choice by staying. Hands shaking I looked for my arranged pick-up. No luck. I called the hotel, "Sorry Mr. Small," the heavily Indian accent laden voice on the other end informed me, "Your reservation was cancelled due to overbooking. You can't stay here tonight, but may I book you for tomorrow?"
With no place to stay for the night I went over to the tourism office and was booked a sketchy hotel in the Pahar Ganj district of New Delhi. It's the busiest, dirtiest district in New Delhi and my stay there prompted my swift departure from the Indian metropolis.
The first is a success story, the second, a misadventure.
I discovered High Rock by following my heart. It was after my night spent at Fish Creek in the Clackamas River drainage outside of Portland. I had gone on that trip looking for the feeling of being in the mountains on top of a peak with majestic views and sun and all that. If you've been on a rocky exposed peak in the Pac West then you might know the feeling. I hadn't found that essence of exposed wilderness I was looking for near the creek. I left my cozy site near the creek and hopped on my bobber heading east; up into the mountains. I felt my heart pulling me towards something, I knew what it was; however, I doubted that I would actually find it. I was afraid I would ride for hours, run out of gas, and be stranded in some lame forest hours away from Portland. I almost turned around a few times, but persevered. My determination and blind faith paid off. Soon I came around a corner and found myself at High Rock; a modest peak with majestic views of Mt. Hood, Helen's, Adams, Rainier, and other peaks to the southeast. One could also make out the vast deserts of eastern Oregon burning on the horizon in the white-hot summer sun. A truly spectacular place, all the more exciting because it was exactly what I was looking for and I had found it by following that ticker in my chest. My heart was satisfied and so was I.
Fast forward to Indira Gandhi international airport in New Delhi, India. I had met three travelers on the flight from London who were also bound for India. All were from California and two had been on my previous flight from San Francisco to London. We met up at baggage claim and talked about where we were all going. The three of them, coincidentally, were headed to Vrindivan. They would split cab fare and have a jolly time bumping down the Indian highway. I was invited. My heart was beating in my ears. These were my first moments in India and my heart screaming at me to make a decision. Full on. I declined the offer to join my friends and opted instead to go to the hotel I had arranged over the internet back in Ashland. I'll tell you now I knew that was a mistake. I just knew it, my heart knew it. I knew instantly after I saw my friends get in their cab and drive away that I had made the wrong choice by staying. Hands shaking I looked for my arranged pick-up. No luck. I called the hotel, "Sorry Mr. Small," the heavily Indian accent laden voice on the other end informed me, "Your reservation was cancelled due to overbooking. You can't stay here tonight, but may I book you for tomorrow?"
With no place to stay for the night I went over to the tourism office and was booked a sketchy hotel in the Pahar Ganj district of New Delhi. It's the busiest, dirtiest district in New Delhi and my stay there prompted my swift departure from the Indian metropolis.
October 22nd, 2011
With four days left in the states I wrote the following:
I find myself in no hurry to leave. I'm letting things happen very slowly, organically. I'm not getting anxious, which, I think, is a good thing. That's not to say I'm not excited; I am, just not terribly so. On one hand I feel I should be putting more thought and effort into my trip. I feel as if this experience deserves every ounce of effort my being possesses. On the other hand, I want to be an empty canvas on which India may paint her most colorful and vibrant portrait; abstract and mind bending as it may be.
After being in India and travelling here for just over a week, I'm glad to say I arrived a blank canvas and that India's brush strokes are marking me more and more with the passing of each and every moment I spend here.
I find myself in no hurry to leave. I'm letting things happen very slowly, organically. I'm not getting anxious, which, I think, is a good thing. That's not to say I'm not excited; I am, just not terribly so. On one hand I feel I should be putting more thought and effort into my trip. I feel as if this experience deserves every ounce of effort my being possesses. On the other hand, I want to be an empty canvas on which India may paint her most colorful and vibrant portrait; abstract and mind bending as it may be.
After being in India and travelling here for just over a week, I'm glad to say I arrived a blank canvas and that India's brush strokes are marking me more and more with the passing of each and every moment I spend here.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Dear reader, you are not forgotten.
I've been on the road since my last post, staying in one place no longer than a night. But now I am settled in Varanasi, India and will have time to update this here blog.
Here's a quick list of where I've been and what I'll write about:
London-Travelling is fun, but what was the London experience?
New Delhi-Arrival Shock
Jaipur-When all else fails, get the heck out of dodge! And explore Jaipur!
Agra-The most beautiful building in the world, along with a new friend.
Train to Varanasi:; Varanasi; and an old friend with new tricks.
Here's a quick list of where I've been and what I'll write about:
London-Travelling is fun, but what was the London experience?
New Delhi-Arrival Shock
Jaipur-When all else fails, get the heck out of dodge! And explore Jaipur!
Agra-The most beautiful building in the world, along with a new friend.
Train to Varanasi:; Varanasi; and an old friend with new tricks.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
One quick post from Ashland.
I'm leaving Ashland RIGHT NOW. It has been a great few weeks back home. Gonna miss it.
Monday, September 12, 2011
September 8th, 2011. Whalen Island, Oregon Coast.
This time I headed west. The desire to be near the ocean griping my heart. I found her near Tillamook in Cape Lookout State Park. Everything my heart was looking for was there. And I had the privilege to indulge her.
The softest earth.
The bluest sky.
The brightest sun.
The greenest trees.
The tallest cliffs.
The biggest ocean.
The warmest heart.
One thing I love about motorcycles is how exposed to the world you are when riding. Unlike cars you're not safely locked away in a big steel cage. Being exposed to the dangers of the road on a motorcycle forces you to be aware and focused on the present moment. This does more than help you dodge errant cars. Ride past a herd of cattle and the smell of manure and rotting steak will invade your nostrils. I got to experience this sensation many times riding through the Tillamook dairy land. Ride under a canopy of leaves and feel the cool air whip about your bare neck.
Riding west I was constantly aware of my proximity to the ocean due to the smell and temperature of the air. Cooler and oceanier. Some would say 'saltier' but I'm not sure I can really smell the salt in the air, but there is definitely an oceany scent about it.
On my way down to the beach I stumbled across a camp. There were many wooden platforms nestled in a stand of trees just above the most ethereal beach I have ever visited. I figured I would make this camp my own for the night, but upon further exploration discovered it was the property of the Boy Scouts of America. I thought I'd play it safe and find a legitimate camping place this time.
I continued on to the beach. The ocean was not visible at the moment as it was obscured by a haze of fog blowing in from the south. It was still perfectly sunny out, however, and the sky perfectly blue. The fog's brief veiling of the beach added a certain air of mysticism to the scene. I spent the next few hours engaging, exploring, experiencing, playing with, and existing at the beach. I frolicked in the surf. I ran on sand wet and dry. I peaked into tide pools and was bitten by sand fleas. Lastly I took a long nap and gazed out into the vastness of the pacific.
My decision to find a legitimate place to camp lead me on a wild goose chase which eventually landed me at Whalen Island. It was late and getting very dark. I paid $15 dollars to string my hammock up between a fence post and picnic table. I endured a cloudy and clammy night alone at the most dismal campsite on the Oregon Coast.
The softest earth.
The bluest sky.
The brightest sun.
The greenest trees.
The tallest cliffs.
The biggest ocean.
The warmest heart.
One thing I love about motorcycles is how exposed to the world you are when riding. Unlike cars you're not safely locked away in a big steel cage. Being exposed to the dangers of the road on a motorcycle forces you to be aware and focused on the present moment. This does more than help you dodge errant cars. Ride past a herd of cattle and the smell of manure and rotting steak will invade your nostrils. I got to experience this sensation many times riding through the Tillamook dairy land. Ride under a canopy of leaves and feel the cool air whip about your bare neck.
Riding west I was constantly aware of my proximity to the ocean due to the smell and temperature of the air. Cooler and oceanier. Some would say 'saltier' but I'm not sure I can really smell the salt in the air, but there is definitely an oceany scent about it.
On my way down to the beach I stumbled across a camp. There were many wooden platforms nestled in a stand of trees just above the most ethereal beach I have ever visited. I figured I would make this camp my own for the night, but upon further exploration discovered it was the property of the Boy Scouts of America. I thought I'd play it safe and find a legitimate camping place this time.
I continued on to the beach. The ocean was not visible at the moment as it was obscured by a haze of fog blowing in from the south. It was still perfectly sunny out, however, and the sky perfectly blue. The fog's brief veiling of the beach added a certain air of mysticism to the scene. I spent the next few hours engaging, exploring, experiencing, playing with, and existing at the beach. I frolicked in the surf. I ran on sand wet and dry. I peaked into tide pools and was bitten by sand fleas. Lastly I took a long nap and gazed out into the vastness of the pacific.
My decision to find a legitimate place to camp lead me on a wild goose chase which eventually landed me at Whalen Island. It was late and getting very dark. I paid $15 dollars to string my hammock up between a fence post and picnic table. I endured a cloudy and clammy night alone at the most dismal campsite on the Oregon Coast.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
excerpt from journal. August 24th, 2011
Appropriate disclaimer: the following is a verbatim transcription of what I've written in my journal. Posts with similar titles will contain equally guileless writing. Judge freely.
I left the store around six today and road my motorcycle up the country roads to Estacada. I stopped at a gas station and quick mart to fuel up my bike and grab some canned food for my night in the woods. Chef Boyardee ravioli and canned peaches. I've been planning on doing a solo ever since I moved out of my previous house. It was my home for a few months.
I plan on bouncing around for the next month, but my friend Cat has offered me a place to stay. Cat is nice.
Anyways, here I am, camped out next to Fish Creek, a tributary of the Clackamas River. I feel a playful, loving respect for this river. The Clackamas is fun. It's the river equivalent of your always smiling, slightly chubby (in a comfortable way) friend who's slightly older than you.
I feel like a Kerouac-esque character at the moment. Writing in my moleskin notebook by campfire light whilst my motorcycle sits patiently on the road above me, and a creek rushes a few paces below. My hammock is all set up and I'm tired. I'll only be up as long as there's enough fuel within arms reach to feed my little campfire.
I'm gradually starting to see why friends of mine are so drawn to writing. It's not about the finished product; writing helps you perceive the world in a beautiful way. Or many different ways and through different lenses. Writing because it helps illuminate things in the world. Helps you think about things in various ways. Feelings, emotions, experiences. Perhaps it's because in writing we want to show others the beauty we see in the world, but in the process find it truly for ourselves.
Now, a reflection.
It's funny how I feel sometimes about my self and my attitude towards what I do. For instance, calling myself a Kerouac-esque character. I am drawn to the lifestyle lived by characters such as Dean Moriarty and Sal Paradise. But at the same time I feel my desires are so cliche. For some reason I feel cliche is bad and demonstrates a lack of originality. I'm not copying, idealizing, or romanticizing these lifestyles, but merely being inspired by them. I assume that's the way I should go about it.
I left the store around six today and road my motorcycle up the country roads to Estacada. I stopped at a gas station and quick mart to fuel up my bike and grab some canned food for my night in the woods. Chef Boyardee ravioli and canned peaches. I've been planning on doing a solo ever since I moved out of my previous house. It was my home for a few months.
I plan on bouncing around for the next month, but my friend Cat has offered me a place to stay. Cat is nice.
Anyways, here I am, camped out next to Fish Creek, a tributary of the Clackamas River. I feel a playful, loving respect for this river. The Clackamas is fun. It's the river equivalent of your always smiling, slightly chubby (in a comfortable way) friend who's slightly older than you.
I feel like a Kerouac-esque character at the moment. Writing in my moleskin notebook by campfire light whilst my motorcycle sits patiently on the road above me, and a creek rushes a few paces below. My hammock is all set up and I'm tired. I'll only be up as long as there's enough fuel within arms reach to feed my little campfire.
I'm gradually starting to see why friends of mine are so drawn to writing. It's not about the finished product; writing helps you perceive the world in a beautiful way. Or many different ways and through different lenses. Writing because it helps illuminate things in the world. Helps you think about things in various ways. Feelings, emotions, experiences. Perhaps it's because in writing we want to show others the beauty we see in the world, but in the process find it truly for ourselves.
Now, a reflection.
It's funny how I feel sometimes about my self and my attitude towards what I do. For instance, calling myself a Kerouac-esque character. I am drawn to the lifestyle lived by characters such as Dean Moriarty and Sal Paradise. But at the same time I feel my desires are so cliche. For some reason I feel cliche is bad and demonstrates a lack of originality. I'm not copying, idealizing, or romanticizing these lifestyles, but merely being inspired by them. I assume that's the way I should go about it.
what we call the hottest weekend of the year in portland.
Summer.
Since school ended I have been living in Portland working for eNRG Kayaking as a kayak instructor and river guide. That's one big ol' check on my list of dream jobs to have. I've been dreaming of being a raft guide for a long time. So a big "Thank You" to Sam Drevo for offering me a position at eNRG for the summer. Working for Sam at eNRG has been huge. Definitely the biggest part of my 'summer.' I say summer in quotations because this is a summer unlike any other I've ever had. I'm not going back to school in the fall, I'm not in Ashland, and it's not over 90 degrees everyday. Summer in Ashland is hard to beat: Waking up in a cool dark basement late in the afternoon to a 90 degree day well underway. Going on a hike and and taking a subsequent dip in the icy reservoir above the lush and green Lithia Park. Packing in a car with friends and heading out to the Illinois river for a camping trip. Bonfires and backpacking in the hills behind Ashland in the dog days of summer. Midnight snacks and videogames until four in the morning with friends. Getting everywhere by skateboard. Truly carefree.
Working this summer has been rewarding and I've met many good friends through eNRG. To name a few; Sam Drevo, Eric Adsit, Michael Gordon, Niko Peha, Aaron Paulson, and many more. We've all invested a lot into this new venture and have been taking lots of people out on the river, mainly with our Willamette Falls Kayak Tour. On this tour we talk about the history of the area surrounding the falls and get an unmatched view of the falls itself. If I ever get my camera back from my mom I might take it along one of these days and post some pictures of the falls.
I've been told most of my life that it is important that you love the work you do. I've never doubted that. With this job I'm learning that lesson firsthand. It would be nice to make money doing what you love, but earning money and fulfillment seems like a hard balance to strike. So fortunate are those that can make a good living doing what they love. Being a river dawg isn't the most lucrative business to say the least, but luckily for me I'm passionate enough about kayaking that the fulfillment I get from being on the river everyday more than makes up for it.
Initially I was planning on funding my adventure to SE Asia with money saved from working at eNRG this summer. I hope to still make a good amount of money at eNRG but I probably won't reach my original goal of $4,000. I was stressing out over this until I got word from my parents that I had inherited some money from my aunt who passed away a few years ago due to cancer. Barb's love is still blessing my life today as her gift alleviated that stress of not making enough money at work to fund my trip. Now I get to focus on having a good time at work and can look forward to spreading Barb's love all over the world!
I've learned some big lessons already in my time away from school. I've spent some valuable time "in the real world." I've had a job. I've payed bills. Real bills like rent, electricity, garbage, water, gas, food, etc. I've found that I had huge expectations for this summer. What a dream to be living in Portland driving my motorcycle to work. And by work I mean kayaking. :P And for the most part it's been great. Honestly a little lonely at times, and confusing. The world can be a confusing place at times. It can be scary, stressful, overwhelming and seemingly unmanageable. It's easy to lose oneself in big questions and big feelings.
Luckily there are places like Oregon Country Fair that remind us about the most important things in life. That is, that the world is first and foremost a beautiful place, full of wonder and awe, stimulation and love.
It hasn't really sunk in yet that I won't be going back to LC in the fall. I still visit campus regularly and use the facilities there often. The library has been a great resource as well as the gym and outdoor pool :)
I'm at school now, in the library. I've been here longer than I planned but it's fine because it feels right.
Remember that last sentence because you might here it again in 10 months.
Since school ended I have been living in Portland working for eNRG Kayaking as a kayak instructor and river guide. That's one big ol' check on my list of dream jobs to have. I've been dreaming of being a raft guide for a long time. So a big "Thank You" to Sam Drevo for offering me a position at eNRG for the summer. Working for Sam at eNRG has been huge. Definitely the biggest part of my 'summer.' I say summer in quotations because this is a summer unlike any other I've ever had. I'm not going back to school in the fall, I'm not in Ashland, and it's not over 90 degrees everyday. Summer in Ashland is hard to beat: Waking up in a cool dark basement late in the afternoon to a 90 degree day well underway. Going on a hike and and taking a subsequent dip in the icy reservoir above the lush and green Lithia Park. Packing in a car with friends and heading out to the Illinois river for a camping trip. Bonfires and backpacking in the hills behind Ashland in the dog days of summer. Midnight snacks and videogames until four in the morning with friends. Getting everywhere by skateboard. Truly carefree.
Working this summer has been rewarding and I've met many good friends through eNRG. To name a few; Sam Drevo, Eric Adsit, Michael Gordon, Niko Peha, Aaron Paulson, and many more. We've all invested a lot into this new venture and have been taking lots of people out on the river, mainly with our Willamette Falls Kayak Tour. On this tour we talk about the history of the area surrounding the falls and get an unmatched view of the falls itself. If I ever get my camera back from my mom I might take it along one of these days and post some pictures of the falls.
I've been told most of my life that it is important that you love the work you do. I've never doubted that. With this job I'm learning that lesson firsthand. It would be nice to make money doing what you love, but earning money and fulfillment seems like a hard balance to strike. So fortunate are those that can make a good living doing what they love. Being a river dawg isn't the most lucrative business to say the least, but luckily for me I'm passionate enough about kayaking that the fulfillment I get from being on the river everyday more than makes up for it.
Initially I was planning on funding my adventure to SE Asia with money saved from working at eNRG this summer. I hope to still make a good amount of money at eNRG but I probably won't reach my original goal of $4,000. I was stressing out over this until I got word from my parents that I had inherited some money from my aunt who passed away a few years ago due to cancer. Barb's love is still blessing my life today as her gift alleviated that stress of not making enough money at work to fund my trip. Now I get to focus on having a good time at work and can look forward to spreading Barb's love all over the world!
I've learned some big lessons already in my time away from school. I've spent some valuable time "in the real world." I've had a job. I've payed bills. Real bills like rent, electricity, garbage, water, gas, food, etc. I've found that I had huge expectations for this summer. What a dream to be living in Portland driving my motorcycle to work. And by work I mean kayaking. :P And for the most part it's been great. Honestly a little lonely at times, and confusing. The world can be a confusing place at times. It can be scary, stressful, overwhelming and seemingly unmanageable. It's easy to lose oneself in big questions and big feelings.
Luckily there are places like Oregon Country Fair that remind us about the most important things in life. That is, that the world is first and foremost a beautiful place, full of wonder and awe, stimulation and love.
It hasn't really sunk in yet that I won't be going back to LC in the fall. I still visit campus regularly and use the facilities there often. The library has been a great resource as well as the gym and outdoor pool :)
I'm at school now, in the library. I've been here longer than I planned but it's fine because it feels right.
Remember that last sentence because you might here it again in 10 months.
Introductions.
Liminal Divagation is a blatantly intellectual, big wordy, and ridiculous sounding title for a travel blog. It's a bit pretentious, I admit. Perhaps a bit hubris as well. I'm not actually helping my case by describing my blog title with the words pretentious and hubris now am I? But what is my case anyways? Well, as you will see, I'm not entirely sure. But I can tell you what this blog is all about, and maybe that will shed some light on its title. This blog will contain a series of posts documenting my year-long leave of absence from Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon (Disclaimer: not all posts will be mere re-tellings of my experiences. Expect to read about some mushy-gushy stuff too, like my thoughts and feelings, musings, etc. My blog may begin to resemble a diary or narrative rather than a play-by-play log of my experiences). I have opted to take a break from collegiate life (don't confuse this with academic, intellectual, or scholarly life, think Animal House) and travel the world in order to, well, have an adventure. More to come.
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