Thursday, September 24, 2009

video: india


kite fighting-jodhpur



ganga aarti-rishikesh



delhi being delhi



best.rickshaw.ride.ever.-agra



rain-varanasi



sunrise-kanyakumari



backwaters-kerala



sunset, alleppey



elephant bath, hampi

video: west africa


'festival'-toubab diallo, senegal



samba & nabou-toubab diallo, senegal
[ed. note: their performance earlier in the afternoon was much more inspired]


typically, the end of may marks the beginning of the rainy season in senegal. the rains first fall around casamance and in the atlantic just west of the country. besides bringing much needed water for vegetation and daily needs, the commencement of rains confuses many fish which are inadvertently fooled into shallower depths than they are accustomed. my visit happened to coincide with a two week period in which it is possible to catch fish by going no farther than a few feet past the shoreline.

rock fishing, part un



rock fishing, part deux

rosetta stone

those who know a little about africa, know that the lingua franca in african countries is more often than not that of their european colonizer. those who know a bit more, know that there are thousands of languages spoken on the continent, with the majority (if not all) being further divided among several dialects. while basic french aided my travels through senegal, mali, burkina faso, benin, and togo (i was pretty comfortable with english in ghana), i made my way more easily and respectfully by picking up a phrase or two of the local tongue. the following videos are a small slice of a handful of local languages as spoken by its native speakers.


wolof (senegal)


bambara (mali)


dogon (mali)


songhai (mali)



bariba (benin)

Sunday, September 13, 2009

why i travel

delhi, india

eight countries, dozens of cities, hundreds of nights in foreign beds, thousands of kilometers, and the million magical moments that comprised my summer of 2009 will come to a close this evening. fifteen weeks of buses, boats, metros, zemi-johns, tro-tros, sept-places, rickshaws, bicycles, cars, trains, mopeds, and feet will be capped off with one more voyage, this time by plane. while this was not my first time to forsake the familiar for the foreign, there was enough from this trip alone to inspire subsequent adventures. just as no picture of the taj mahal, no wooden mask, no train ticket stub can approach an appropriate summary of my experience, neither can any talking point address why i do this. as the question is generally lingering if not asked, the following is a very adumbrated list of why i travel......

to hear 'inshallah' on two continents

to bathe in the ganga

the african night sky

to look totally out of place, but feel like i completely belong

so that next time i hear someone's horror story about delta airlines, i can offer my own about djibuka transport

to sign autographs on rail station platforms

for terre rouge roads

to improve my french

so that places i could once barely pronounce become the stage for some of my life's most sacred memories

to see for myself what all the fuss is about

to see a men in turbans ride motorcycles

for west malian thunderstorms that provide a re-introduction to near-pant wetting fear

to be pretty sure you're the only person on the indian subcontinent wearing sandles emblazoned with the burkina faso flag

because the examined life is worth living

because how else would i meet samba, souleymane, imran, sanjay, hilal, hamadou, or any of the hundreds of other people who touched my soul

for vistas of ubiquitous baobabs

for clarity

for a better understanding of the difference between 'have' and 'have not'

who are you and why are you asking? leave a happy man alone

for perspective

to pass through ouahigouya, ouagadougou, fada n'gourma, and natitingou consecutively

to (finally!) be well-received just for being a u.s. american, but to realize we still have a long way to go

to put on jeans in udaipur, realizing the sand in the pockets came from ghana

for gentle shoulder taps on buses and trains that transform ipod isolation into conversational kilometers

to hear 'the power of love' by celine dion in cape coast, ghana and be reminded of when you last heard it outside of sikasso, mali [blogger note: neither hearing by choice, of course]

so that when my maker asks me where i traveled, i can respond, 'got a minute?'

to look back and move beyond

to bypass the walkway and cross the tracks

for crepuscular moped rides through rural indian villages

to realize the value of a sunset

to find the fuel and ideas for my next destinations

to hear an indian casanova say the word 'cock'

to keep a promise and hope you'll get to make a million more

to witness a portuguese airport official look impressed while leafing through my passport

because trimming a beard (or {gasp!} shaving) is just plain unethical

to realize that i owe life far more than it owes me

for the next batch of questions

to find my inspiration

to realize the value of a sunrise

to stare down and ultimately conquer a plate of plain spaghetti noodles, knowing i hadn't kept any food down all day and had absolutely no hunger, but that it was the only way the malaria medicine would take

to learn how to tell between pure saffron and its imitators

for 5 rupee cups of chai on the train

to light a candle in a lotus leaf, make a wish, and set it free on the ganga. then to turn around minutes later and see the candle is still alit

because i am me and this is what i do

to impress travelers in africa by telling them i'm going to india; and impress travelers in india by telling them i'm coming from africa

to join the exclusive i-had-the-runs-on-a-long-distance-indian-train club

to accept the fact that this is not a phase, this is not one last hoorah before my 30s, this is not working through any sort of psychosocial matter, this is what i was born and meant to do.

for all these and a crore more.


but, again, if you have to ask, you'll never know.

namaste.

Friday, September 11, 2009

superlatives

delhi, india

when not attempting uncomfortable sleep or offering sex education lectures to indian adult males, time spent on indian trains can be fertile for self-reflection. with the hour of departure looming ever nearer, the final rail journey fully in the rearview mirror, and the muddy/fecal alleys of delay being peppered with ceaseless rain, now may be as good a time as any to offer my take on that which was. for your reading pleasure or casual disinterest, i present the superlatives of my voyage.

best sunset
hanuman temple, hampi. the sun seemed to explode like a red paintball behind a bouldery ridge, while the villages and river below gradually dimmed. simply incredible. honorable mention: just about every sunset i saw in west africa.

best in pack
cotton/nylon blended hiking pants. packed almost as an afterthought, i hadn't realized that men wear long pants throughout much of muslim africa and parts of india. breathable, tough, comfortable, and most importantly, i never baked inside of them. honorable mention: head lamp.

worst in pack
alarm clock. if there were not statutes against it, this dense piece of non-functioning garbage would be returned through the front window of the duane reade on broadway. i want my $4 back, and punitive damages for transit costs.

best local dish
jolof rice, ghana. a healthy portion of baked chicken mixed in with a variety of vegetables, sauteed in a subtly spicy sauce, served over a fluffy bed of golden rice.

best ride
the bus from the senegal/mali border to kayes, mali. two hours long with a window seat in the back row to myself, we rolled through the late afternoon with nothing but an endless vista of baobab trees, the only interruptions being idyllic villages constructed entirely out of mud.

worst ride
oahiguyou to ouagadougou, burkina faso. we left just after sunset, but were packed into an airport shuttle's bigger brother like sheep. we sweated for a good twenty minutes before the bus finally departed and my lower half went from pain to numbness to sharp pain in the course of the trip.

too little time
dixcove & busua, ghana. i only had one night to spend on an idyllic beach sandwiched by two traditional fishing villages, one of which featured a break suitable for surfing.

too much time
dakar. should have slept in the first day, seen ile de goree the day after, and gotten my malian visa at the border (where it was apparently cheaper too). honorable mention: varkala's time should have been donated to hampi.

next time
timbuktu, niger, more time in ghana, leh, kashmir, nepal.

best vibe
hampi.

best city
lisboa. to be overly critical, i was on the whole unimpressed with the cities i visited, making this award similar to the 'most desirable real estate in nebraska' honor. however, lisboa was worth days and days beyond the 12 hours i was fortunate enough to give it a wander.

best bucoli-city
southern burkina faso/northern benin. this is like the best picture award, having seen some of the best rural scenery the planet has to offer. offering terre rouge against the backdrop of verdantly green rainy season vegetation, driving through this part of africa was a feast for the eyes.

most disappointing
1. not seeing live music in bamako
2. not seeing a tiger (parks are closed during monsoon)
3. not taking a boat on the niger river
4. i did not surf
5. i did not go scuba diving

most depressing
seriously, the heineken bar at newark's liberty international airport. despite traveling through some of the world's poorest countries and seeing the stark inequality of india, there was something so tragic about the gathering of souls in this pre-departure airport lounge.

best westerners
the spanish. factoring in both quantity and quality, these iberians were consistently great company and friendly to the locals.

worst westerners
1. the english guy at the ghanaian embassy in ouagadougou. this guy was an absolute jerk to the receptionist (i loved it when the superior came out and scared this guy out of his knickers).
2. the english family at the restaurant in jaipur. who splits a bill in india? when you're dining with family? they not only told the waiter to split the bill so father and son could pay separately, but they proceeded to debate the most miniscule items line by line. and the total? less than 10 pounds. they probably paid more to a neighbor boy to water their plants while they were on vacation and then proceed to ruin thirty minutes of it arguing over pence.

best book
extremely loud & incredibly close by jonathan safran foer. honorable mention: kafka by the shore by murakami.

biggest con
the omelet guy in bamako. the damage was a little more than us$20, but it was an absolutely stupid, transparent, easy-to-spot duping that was executed to absolute perfection. it had all your classic elements of a good con: offering protection from a perceived third party con, building trust, and using the sun to fatigue the subject. i'm still shaking my fist in his general direction.

best splurge
sushi & ayurvedic massage, bangalore.

best save
not shipping from ghana and storing at the guest house in delhi.

best sign of hope
accra, ghana. i did not see all of it and i hate to be one of those people making inductive leaps based upon infrastructure, but i was impressed. just about all african cities can show off a central business district or two, but accra has more depth to its prosperity than most that i have seen. i departed with some hope that development that can lift all boats is possible in africa.

worst sign of hopelessness
slums outside dakar. several kilometers outside the city, the drive to the east is lined with poor, informal settlements. these are, unfortunately, not an aberration in africa or the world. what was so disconcerting about these particular communities is the sheer distance and state of the road lying between them and the city, their only opportunity for economic advancement.


most pleasant surprise
kayes, mali. the guide book trashed it and while i would agree that it's not a vacation destination, i was able to make a pair of friends and enjoy the beautiful views of the senegal river.

best accomodation
under the stars, dogon country, mali.

best acquisition
tie: hand-woven tapestry carte d'afrique and the vintage bollywood posters.

worst acquisition
1. malaria
2. hypersensitivity to car horns
3. hate this one: an ability to ignore people.

thing to hate i am jaded of but know that i am going to miss
the 'we are all human' conversation. i strongly endorse its thesis and strive to live by its principals, but i've had some form of this conversation every day for the past hundred days. plus, the people who engage in this conversation tend to be of the more intense variety.

fallen comrades (things lost along the way)
1. adapter for francophone country outlets (fell out of incompletely zipped pocket between parakou and cotonou, benin).
2. orange hand towel (left on restaurant table, delhi).
3 & 4. camera battery charger and usb cord, taj mahal. wake up at 5 to catch the sunset and the overzealous security guard told me i couldn't bring these innocuous items inside. i tucked them behind a corner of a nearby building and, as expected, they were not there when i returned from the taj.
5. in the neighborhood of 10-20 pounds.

aside from obvious (family, friends, college football, burritos, etc....), reason i am ready to come home
green backpack. i subscribe to the 'all eggs in one basket' theory of travel, and the light green north face backpack is my basket. it has my passport, wallet, emergency money, camera, spare medicine, and anything i could need in a day. due to its value, it is always with me: next to my head on the overnight train, set on the sink during bathroom trips at restaurants, at my feet or on my lap during auto transit, and on my back while walking (and sweating profusely) through some of the hottest climates the world has to offer. i am ready to not have to look after this bag (it feels like the home ec baby assignment with a bag of flour from junior high) and it needs to be washed. badly. thing could probably hitchhike by this point.


blogger's note: thanks to the readership for sharing in my travels, any questions/comments are gladly welcome: there's nothing i love to talk about more than travel (well, maybe horses, cause they're so cute!). there will be one more posting from here, but in the next week or so i should have several videos to upload.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

fox

mumbai, india

it simply must be described. the 'when in rome' adage has led me to do, or especially eat and drink, some crazy things, but never has an activity so pedestrian packed such a punch. what could this be? i went to a bollywood movie in the epicenter of bollywood at the regal cinema. for those of you who may never get this experience, the following is a summary of two hours in air-conditioning, piecing together the plot of a film almost entirely in hindi. i now present to you, deepak tijori's 'fox'.

the plot
arjun kapoor has it all: the beautiful girl, skyrocketing success as a criminal defense attorney, the mumbai penthouse and flashy sportscar, and the ability to pull off a semi-mullet. but his conscience gets the better of him after an old, sari-clad lady screams at him and spits on his shoes outside of the courthouse (my guess is she was the mother of a victim killed by one of his clients). in a riveting scene of scotch-induced self-reflection, we see that arjun can no longer defend the sleek, handsome man who always wears ascots. he has to leave. so he gives it all away, takes to the road, and opts for the simple life in goa.

simple life indeed. he grows his mullet into male heartthrob length hair (like tom cruise's character in magnolia) and passes his time between his sailboat and art nouveau beachfront mansion. once an old man seeks and gains his friendship, we see that fortuna has more in store for arjun. the old man has a manuscript that will 'change his life' (that phrase was said in english, clearly for my benefit). arjun reads and loves the crime thriller, 'fix the fox', but the old man (coincidentally) dies during the night. arjun takes the manuscript to a publishing house where a vivacious, leggy editor agrees to take a look. the sexual tension could be cut with a khanda.

the book is published and enjoys astronomical success. arjun's first love interest finds him and they enjoy a few cutesy scenes that involve kitchen flirtation and her wearing his oversized shirts. however, the captain of the goan 'crime lab' (not making that up) receives a tip and it turns out (dun dun dun) that the murders and characters in the novel are from a real case. arjun is jailed and must rely on his heroine to do the legwork on the outside. it is not until we see a choreographed group dance-off between the sexy editor and the guy with the ascot that we can tell they've been in cahoots the whole time (the way that they say 'dance to the music' is so sinister.....yet so sizzling). the old man, the murders, and even the initially benevolent seeming goan police captain are all apart of an ending that will want for nothing and expose everything, except for kissing on the lips, of course.

reasons to love this picture
1. there are not one, not two, but three reading montages (3!), the music for each being some fusion of electronica. the first has arjun reading the manuscript through the night, occasionally changing position in the bed or brushing his flowing mane back with aplomb, spliced with the bedside clock indicating the elapsing of time. the second montage features beach denizens devouring copies of 'fix the fox', the printing press struggling to produce enough copies, and images of the sexy editor's boss screaming with elation at the book's success. the third is similar to arjun's, but it features the 'crime lab' boss reading a copy at his desk with a tense, furrowed look as the minutes glide past on his office clock.

2. it is well known that westerners can easily find spots as extras in bollywood films. what was so funny was how obvious and out of place these extras were in fox. primarily at the party where arjun celebrates his success, but also in line to get arjun's autographs, were a number of western tourists. the seriousness of some tense scenes was easily diluted by seeing mop-headed gap year kids (obviously passing through to goa for a month of getting stoned) prominently screened behind the protagonists.

decorum
in a theatre that seated into the hundreds but was filled into the forties, it was important not to move from my assigned seat (showed to me by the usher with flashlight). after you stand for the indian national anthem (it's preferred that you sing), anything goes. receiving a call on your cell phone? answer it! got something to say to your neighbor or nobody in particular? scream it!

i will be going to another movie in delhi, mark my words.


call center etiquette
in passing from bangalore to hampi, i met a young man on the railway platform who started chatting with me. he had worked for a call center for a year or so and told me that he talked to a lot of americans on the phone. what disconcerted me is he said that out of ten calls, one or two will be nice, while six or seven will use 'slang'. after a couple minutes, i realized that slang meant swearing. it was highly embarrassing to talk with this skinny, sweetfaced, innocent indian young man and realize that people from my country verbally trash him because they're having a problem with their kenmore. time for u.s. america to grow up.

cricket
the only sport i have ever watched that is even more boring after you learn about it.

my chapati doesn't taste the same
.....the jasmine doesn't smell so sweet and the sound of the waves gently lapping against the shore is not what it used to be. let me explain. inside that man who looks like he professionally participates in civil war reenactments; inside that man who cannot fit into the internet cafe with shoulders squared and head unducked; inside that man who was screaming profanity-laced invective at a 13" computer monitor at 7 am this past monday, is a boy. this is the boy that knew beaches in the summer, skiing in the winter, and a great family with a terrific dog. he also knew that when the university of colorado played football, they would field a competitive team. the boy and the man (cause really, are they ever different?) remember darian hagan pitching to eric bienemy. they remember charles johnson's speed, matt russel's tenacity, and christian fauria's hands of glue. they remember a miracle in michigan and a clipping call that gave the buffs (and one ten-year old little dude) a national championship.

so then the question must be asked: what the fuck was that? all summer i read about how the buffs were going to develop the run, have a solid d, and make a serious effort at a big-12 title, only to walk over to a cybercafe after my train arrived and witness them lose thoroughly to colorado state. a fucking mountain west school. complete, utter, absolute shit. i have been patient. i've sat through the past few seasons and told myself to calm down, reassured myself that everything will get better. there is no more time for that. just once in my adult life, i would like to watch the buffs play a meaningful game in november. just once would i like to see the gameday crew in boulder, giving serious airtime to discussion about my team and national title contention. if you can't do it for the boy (or the man), at least do it for the dog: punkin really was terrific.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

mumbai

mumbai, india

this is the first indian city, or place in india for that matter, that has surprised me. the entire sub-continent has shocked and awed, frustrated and amazed, wow'd and silenced me, but mumbai is the first place where i said to myself, 'self, this is mumbai?'. this is not to say that when i saw delhi/varanasi/rishikesh/etc, that it matched exactly to what my mind's eye had anticipated. but when i walked the streets/ghats/trails/etc of delhi/varanasi/rishikesh/etc and told myself where i was, it all made sense. based upon the things i had subconsciously picked and chosen to remember of what others have told me about mumbai, i think i was expecting more of the good ol' fashion indian chaos. there is some of that, to be sure. but why do i see so many reminders of london? buenos aires? rio?

there are black taxis navigating wide, paved roads where vehicles follow more than a semblance of order (lack of rickshaws is my hypothesis) . while many buildings are a little old and worn, they look stately and stuffy enough that one can still imagine them sharing cups of tea across their wrought iron fences (pinkies distended, of course). there is the wide promenade along marine drive where people walk for exercise in the funny way that people walking for exercise do. the silverware shares tablespace with cell phones in the cities numerous restaurants and the wide open lawns of the cities parks and the trees lining the streets add a sense of healthy animation to the metropolis.

it is not like this for all, of course. the jury is still out for slum tours as far as i'm concerned, but the 'no camera' policy of reality tours convinced me to go to dharavi today. with over 1 million people in less than 2 square kilometers of real estate, dharavi is asia's biggest slum. it is sandwiched between wealthy zones of the city, giving it a sharp visual juxtaposition to its neighbors from the outside, but also economic opportunities that other slums do not. this slum's economy accounts for over half a billion u.s. dollars per year according to estimates and our little group of five got a first-hand look. residents take buffalo and goat hide and transform them into jackets. locals melt down aluminium and several forms of plastics to sell back to manufacturers. when this is all added to the wages people can earn from finding work in nearby wealthier neighborhoods, the picture is not entirely bleak.

but it is still a slum. 'smells like shit' is not a simile in dharavi. those fortunate to have the aforementioned jobs perform them for 12 hours a day, between 6-6.5 days per week, in conditions that would have us calling osha within seconds: spaces are too crampt, fumes inhaled are too toxic, and monthly wages are less than a weekday lunch shift waiting tables at a rural applebee's. a walk through the residential quarters is just as depressing. we squeezed into a 5' x 8' space that a family of four calls home. narrow alleys (barely wider than my shoulders) snake underneath hanging wires and over streams of liquid one would never think of drinking. but the people persevere in ways i can barely imagine.

this is not to say that there are two mumbai's or two india's. there are hundreds, thousands of strata that occupy these geographical spaces. but there is something off-putting about walking through dharavi and then seeing a teenager with cell phone walk out of a churchgate cafe with a shirt reading 'i <3 money'. she really should, but i don't think she understands the first about why it's so precious.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

hampi-ness

hampi, india

if one were to take the rustic boulder croppings of moab, utah, scatter them in and amongst rice paddies and lush tropical vegetation of southeast asia, then sprinkle in centuries-old ruins, temples, with a dash of indian chaos, they would have hampi. fields of boulders extend into the horizon from both sides of the sinewy, strong river and the entire setting, from the hues of the setting sun to the pace of the sporadic, gentle rains, seems to subconsciously invite its inhabitants to slow down. a beach town without the beach. a holy town without the holiness. smiles without reason.

for some reason, easily understood yet impossible to define, hampi seems to be the place where so many come just before their return home. it looks to clearly be an entrypoint for the goa circuit, yet its more subdued vibe doesn't lend itself to glow sticks and heavy techno. instead, it has been where those who are looking for a bit of an indian decompression chamber can gather to swap stories from the rearview mirror, fears about the reintegration to the "real world" (quotes emphasized heavily), or to lose themselves in a late afternoon moped ride through the surrounding villages or a sunset from one of the bouldery crests.

in my opinion and experience, every trip needs a hampi. or a tofo, a mancora, a jericoacoara, a lamu, or any other place that's let you process all that's behind and what lies ahead. i still have one sun over a week remaining, but with that time spent in mumbai and delhi, or in transit to and between these places, i realize that this is my last gasp. vast reservoirs of serenity can dry the second a foot touches the floor of a railway station. the few drops that remain will certainly be challenged by the confronting intensity of india's two principal cities. that is not to say i do not look forward to being further shocked and stimulated by these urban behemoths, i dare say i love that aspect as well as anything. but it may not be the most desirable immediately before one reintegrates to their home far away.

and so i am here for one more night. thinking about past and future and ensuring i have enough light to give the world's weakest moped one more spin through hampi's rural veins. i will order one more cheese pizza and not feel guilty that i'm not eating thalis, dosas, or another biriyani. i will watch one more movie at the guest house next door and not be furious if someone else chooses a vin diesel flick. every journey deserves a vacation and mine has one more night.