Bliss and Contemplating in Ladakh

Leh (Ladakh), INDIA -  The trance-inducing power of the great Himalayas has nearly convinced me to abandon the world and retreat into oblivion, to experience moksha.

But I can't do that just yet!  I am merely stumbling upon the dharma and my duty for this life is slowly taking shape.  The brilliant thing about being in Leh is all the slow, sunny mountain-scaped moments that you have to contemplate what it is that you should do next.

Therefore ...

I would like to briefly comment on some changes/ideas that I've had for BackpackerJournalsim.com.

Overview:  BackpackerJournalism.com (no longer to be an experiment in Mobile Journalism) should become a means to provide a large social network with information about non-profit organizations worldwide.

Here are some reasons that have forced me to reconsider the idea of BackpackerJournalism.com which may in the end push the website to become the aforementioned means.

Number 1 - Tourism Blows:

It is decidedly true that nothing can possibly beat waking up 70 km from the Pakistani border in a small village called Hundar in the Nubra Valley of Northern India, jumping on a motorcycle, blasting the Black Keys' cover of Bob Dylan's Wicked Messenger on your iPod and barreling down the highest road on earth straight into the sun!

Aside from the splendid holy moments that come with traveling abroad, I am stuck with the question - what is tourism?  Is it simply a chance to ride double-humped camels?  To have pizza in a garden restaurant who serves beer in tea pots cause they don't have a liquor liscenese?  What is tourism?  Is it a new, aimless pilgramage.  For the most part - I don't care for it.  I hope many people share this sentiment.

Photo:  Men at the Lamayaru gonpa in the princely state of Jammu and Kashmir, in the Ladakh region, prepare timber for support beams on a reconstruction project for the Buddhist monks, July 6, 2010.

Number 2 - Lack of Connectivity:

Since I arrived in Leh - I've experienced consistent power outages as well as internet server crashes.  While nobody connected to a BackpackerJournalism.com network will have control over such issues, remoteness must be something to consider for future projects.

Photo:  The Indus and Zanskar rivers meet at a confluence near the village of Nimmu in Ladakh where rafting trips terminate on the rocky shore.

Too Much to Remain Focused:

How can we keep focused and make the most of our time as backpacker journalists?

There needs to be a network in place to connect journalists to non-profit organizations throughout the world.  The idea that a backpacker with journalism skills and a mobile device can serendipitously capture stories is a bit fool-hearted.  It may be possible but requires an extremely extroverted person.

Also, not many travelers have time upon arrival (unless you're one of the lucky ones who have quit their job and are bouncing around India for a year!) - to research projects happening in an area.

Therefore, BackpackerJournalism.com's network must be:  Backpacker journalists+editors+NGO founders or coordinators+social network (Facebook, Twitter, blog followers, etc.).  A shared research effort could be made to expedite the time spent in an area.  This is real peaches and cream or should I say mangos and curd?  Ahhh ... Somewhere-over-the-rainbow-stuff!

In conclusion ... I hope that a robust BackpackerJournalism.com network and a clearly focused mission will be an amazing thing for all individuals involved.  Capturing a story can be easy and fun.  From what I experienced in the Chennai-area, it is the best way to stop being just tourist and truly see a different part of the world.

All comments are very welcome!

namaskar

The Possessed, the Headless and the Gateway

Chennai, INDIA - Have you ever just sort of floated face down in a pool - suspended ... silently? Your arms and legs float away effortlessly and you try to pinpoint the actual feeling of weightlessness?

That's what I was doing for a bit Sunday afternoon in a pool just outside of Madurai. For 300 rupees you can spend the day lounging and drinking Kingfisher at the 5-star, Gateway Hotel.

Relaxation, I have found is hard to find in an Indian city. The constant honking and movement of people, pollution and mud, dogs barking, babies crying, beggars and junk dealers - trains, buses, crows and cows, stomach cramps, sweat, heat, sweat. A nice pool in the sun atop a mighty hill overlooking the countryside was a good attempt at finding relaxation.

While face down in the pool, between breaths and in the middle of a tranquil moment my mind replayed the events at the Pandi Kovil (a possession temple) that I visited a few hours before ascending (or descending) into the gates of the Gateway Hotel. Pandi Kovil (rural Madurai area) is where many years ago locals accidently dug up a Buddha statue. They converted it into Pandi - gave it a mustache and a snarling mouth. It is believed to possess women enabling them to speak out against abusive and traumatic situations at home.

I'm still not sure what to think about all of this. And ...

There was that photo of this guy (a Dalit priest? I don't know. I don't ask enough questions these days) who was holding a dead chicken and staring at me as I was leaving the temple site. His glare quickly changed into a smile and I asked if I could take his photo. Here's the result:

So the guy doesn't have a head ... neither does the chicken. I'm sure there's a good scientific explanation to that.

I particularly enjoyed the women cooking pongal. It was a ghostly experience watching them group together around a small fire and cooking pots. The grey smoke wrapping around them between me and the black rock temple walls.

Ahhh. Enough thinking. Another day is almost here. Check out the video by clicking here.

namaste

India - First Impressions Are Everything

Chennai, INDIA - There's a saying from this part of the world about the heat that "only mad dogs and Englishmen venture out in the midday sun."

Yesterday's temperature was around 100-105 degrees so
I must be a hybrid Englishmuttmadman because I did some sightseeing.


I had a nice old women saunter up to me at the Sri Ramakrishna Math and say very cheerfully, "This is a very lovely city but you have come to visit at the wrong time..."

Umm ... (wipe sweat from forehead, eyes, lip, neck) ... yes. It is hot!


But you get over it. The streets bustle and ooze the oddest smells - from flowers to shit - to coconut and curry to rotten tomatos - to grilled chicken to a sweaty armpit - a sweet, perfect mango to the tail pipe of an auto-rickshaw. Dirt, dust, humid air, air conditioned ATM booths, Coke in a bottle. This is an ancient place with a new under-current poking through the surface wherever it can find a spot to grow.



A walk on the beach is with shoes because trash is everywhere - the sharp kind. But failure to venture past the beached boat camps and you'll never meet the Bay of Bengal - the warm waters of the Indian Ocean where families dive into crashing waves - eat pineapple, cotton candy and roasted American sweet corn on the cob.



First impressions are everything. India easily won my heart. Even if Lonely Planet guides say skipping Chennai is a good idea - I am content. This city is steeped in tradition and swarming with a people proud of their south Indian culture. Plus the food is super-spicy!


Today, the DVD-production team began rehersel. Four future Bollywood stars (one is absent unfortunately because he is sick) - are dedicated to memorizing lines and acting their hearts out. I have the easy job of operating the video camera.

I am trying to think of what it would have been like in the 3rd grade for me if I were given the chance to star in an educational video for my fellow classmates. I probably would have given up. School plays were difficult enough. C'mon - Engilsh is a second or third language for these kids. Very impressive!

Around every corner I am reminded of how fortunate my life has been. It really is important to understand the balance in life that we all share.

Before I get too far into an after-school special rant - I will stop.



Say hi to Perry, the beach pony who runs on globs of cotton candy and cobs of corn. 150 rupees for a couple hundred yard ride. Yeah right! I can just see the dumb foreigner galloping merrily down Marina beach waving like an embicle to the locals, laughing and pointing. Maybe next time, Perry, after you and I share a few lukewarm Kingfisher beers.

More to come. Stay tuned.

namaste

Singapore Without a Sling to Kuala Lumpur

Kuala Lumpur, MALAYSIA -

Last night I had a dream, a surreal montage of the last few days that played out before me like a bad, made-for-TV movie.

I was high above a giant city - an Asian version of NYC with a twist of LA.  But within that city there was another country that clanged and beeped, buzz-sawed and squashed sidewalks, called adherents to prayer five-times a day from mint-colored minarets, bubbled curry from doorways and stalls, gave $25 Thai massages, crept and waddled with hunched backs, GQ wanna-bes, young and old, bearded and lambasted.

As I zoomed in from my aerial-dream view, one click - one more - one more - Satellite View to Street View, I entered a tiny backpackers hostel where everyone was watching re-runs of Ellen.  She made bad jokes about the snow storm in D.C.

Like all good dreams - this one came in flashes, unexpected scene changes.  I could see vats of hard boiled duck eggs in brown all-spice, cardamon and clove water.  A troll of a man, fresh from the streets of Santa Cruz - reeked of booze and cigarettes - rotated from his hostel dorm bed to the porch while his cell phone played a Grateful Dead song.  Bus rides past alligator farms and hikes through jungle preserves where giant lizards darted meters ahead across the path into the putrid swamp stirring up fist-sized spiders and crabs.  Aloe-honey water and plants that grow without dirt.  Sounds that made words I could not understand.

The moment in the dream that I remember best before waking up was walking from the the hostel - the Inn Crowd in Little India - where I had booked a $25 bus ticket to Kuala Lumpur.  No problem.  10-minute walk.  Here's a map.

I set out at 5:45 p.m., but I never found the station.  Sweat dripping in my eyes and from my nose, down my neck, soaking my shirt.  I asked for directions but nobody knew. The fear crept in.

6:25 p.m. -  I soon became aware of the dream.  You know that lucid moment when you realize that you're not really there but you can sort of take the helm and navigate the dreamscape current?

I was there and I knew I had missed the bus.  I would have to stay another night in Singapore.  Anxiety crept in - or perhaps a bit of superstition.  I had heard it was bad luck to back track on a journey.

I scanned the streets for some sign of this mysterious bus station.  The dream was no longer fun.  My brain cracked open.  I stopped and looked around.  Motorcycles swirled around me, snaking through side streets, narrow sidewalks offered no shade and across the street at a Krishna temple, a monk paced feverishly back and forth waving an urn of smoking incense.  I stared dumbfounded.  How was I going to make it anywhere in the world  if my mind was snapping at such a minor setback?

I watched the monk move before the facade of a thousand gods and goddesses.  He was chanting and within the temple the sound of bells rang ferociously like gnarling wolf jowls.  The whole sordid scene made me sick.

Finally, I saw a big, blue bus whizz past.  I followed it like a little Sherpa - still wanting to find the bus station regardless of the missed 6:30 transport.

Ah, yes!  Not the station I wanted but a station, nonetheless.  I booked 7 p.m., first-class ride to KL. 

Dreams are silly.  And this one ended up costing an extra $20 for getting lost.

I thought that perhaps I wouldn't write about this dream.  Oh well, it's just a dream.  One of those holy moment perhaps when you're mind is out of sorts and the Krishna temple is mocking you.

But all is well.  KL for 2 nights and a very early flight to Chennai.  Spirits high!  Hopefully, we'll have our first video to post within a few more days!  Until then ...

namaste

Daibutsu - The Great Buddha Trip

Fussa City, JAPAN - 6:45 a.m. - I am en route to the Great Buddha and the silence absorbs me.  It is so damn quiet on the train from Fussa to Tokyo that when we stop and the doors open, if nobody enters or exits, I hear birds chirping, a bicyclist rattles past, and even the scratching noise of my pen to paper seems obtrusive like a loud American haranguing his life away whilst the clever foreigners look on in quiet disdain. 

Hell with it.  I continue to write.

Soon I realize that I am not the only person affected by this nuanced railway travel.  Plenty of travelers have their distractions:  texting, googling on smartphones, jamming out with the ever-present white earbuds, flipping through the morning newspaper, reading leather bound novels or reading the cheap ones that you can buy in vending machines along station platforms.  Distraction or not - things are peaceful and I quickly begin to like it.

Why chat?  Why fill the void with words?  Recollect.  Philosophize.  Relax.  I am en route to the Great Buddha.

Tokyo Station - 8 a.m. - @ a Curry Diner for breakfast:  pork curry, boiled eggs sliced, white rice, pickled ginger, iceberg lettuce with sesame dressing, coffee American with sugar = 450 yen.  My palette is awakened by the foreign cuisine.  Life swells and spins into a pleasant, new mood.  I am in Japan.  I change trains at TS to head south for Kamakura to find the Daibutsu Hiking Trail.

Kitakamakura Station - 9 a.m. - Exit train, wait for it to pass, cross tracks, locate the trail on a map and briskly move ahead of a large herd of tourists wearing purple armbands with white letters - PTA.  Ah yes!  The Japanese Parent Teacher Association field trip without the kids.  That makes sense.

On the trail - I ascend a thin, stone path shelved-in on the left side by a forest and on the right side by a fence and bamboo.  From beyond the fence, classical music undulates hynotically.  I want to find its source so I scramble upward to a vantage point and soon spot a woman working in her garden - pulling weeds.  The scene is idyllic and makes me feel light but I am intruding so I move on.

I look behind me and can see Kitakamakura down below.  I continue through the woods, scramble a ridgeline and discover small shrines, forest parks, cedars and ferns - the whole perfect picture takes shape with an overlook that rolls slowly down an ancient ravine into the ocean.

Two kilometers into the hike I come across a small circular, sky-blue object in the black and tan mud.  I pick it up.  It's a button wrapped in denim.  It is odd and out of place.  I put it in my pocket and sharply notice another object:  a small, rectangular piece of paper with Japanese writing.  I pick it up.  The reverse side:  a photo of the Great Buddha.  I am en route to the Great Buddha.  Sign posts in the mud.

Kotoku-in Temple - 10 a.m.  I buy a ticket which happened to be what I found on the trail.  Could have saved 200 yen! 

 

Arrived at the Great Buddha.

Hase (village), 11 a.m. - I walk to Yuigahama beach.  Jazz movement of surfers, young couples sun bathing, dogs tugging at their leashes to sniff and fight each other, waves crashing into black sand, the smell of seaweed and meat cooking on a grill.  It's Saturday.  I eat a mandarin orange and bury the peel in the sand.

Kamakura - 1 p.m. - Lunch.  An omelet stuffed with rice and veggies and you can smoke in restaurants in the small towns.  It's almost enjoyable nonetheless my allergies come out so I eat quickly to get back outside.

On the train to Enoshima, I spot a line of vendors hawking shit from their cars along the waterfront so I take the Shichirigahama stop to inspect their goods.  Hippies, Japanese Rastas, Harley-Davidson chicks, Aussie dropouts and surfer bums.

Onward toward Enoshima - a 4 or 5 km walk - eventually over a causeway that leads to the precipiced shrine.  I stop for a moment by the marina and eat overpriced clams that are grilled on the spot - the bivalve mollusks writhe and sizzle - fresh - and a cold beer.  The taste of the ocean is an acquired taste.

At the shrine I purchase a paper prayer flag for 55 yen and tie it to the fence where everyone else had tied their prayers.  I ask the gods or God or whoever for a safe journey (but this feels silly - wouldn't I just ask for a safe life?).  Someone inside the temple bangs a gong wildly.

I return to Tokyo from there.  Overall:  5+ hours on crowded trains and $70 lighter was well worth it.

Pearl of Wisdom:  If you give up your seat on the Japanese Railway to an elderly lady, then chances are she'll bow to you many times before she takes the seat and many more times when she exits the train.

The silence is good.
Tomorrow = Singapore

namaste

Seattle Is Still SuperSonic

SEATTLE - The Olympic mountains sit like giant Buddhas holding Puget Sound to Seattle's waterfront.  Seagulls and bums wait for sandwiches.

Met Shooter Jennings and Ted Russel Kamp of the band Heirophant at a restaurant/bar next to the Crocodile music venue.  Their show was a performance based on their new album Black Ribbons.  I left feeling drained.

As a lover of concept albums - I was excited to be able to hear this new release performed live (Stephen King voice overs and all).  I was a bit dissappointed but that's not to say it wasn't an excellent performance.  The concept merely seemed worn out like an old Ford Bronco blasting AC/DC from the cassette player and hurling over cobblestone streets near Pike Place Market while young girls comment, "wow, old school."

Basically, I'm not sure what the hell this rich kid is trying to say - his anti-establishment, "the Man is taking away your rights" - message seemed fake.  The concert crowd - full of conspiracy theorists, NASCAR fans, black metalheads, pot heads and hanger-ons (Jennings evidently is married to a Desperate Housewife) looked to be having a blast!  Funny how such an anti-establishment rocker is right in line with the hypnotized-TV-dosed generation (Jennings was born in 1979).  Anyway, you have to hand it to a band that uses Nintendo chips in their guitars.

Overall, the evening was a good experience and I know it will prove to be an interesting point of view while traveling for the next couple of months.  If I reach Burma, where the right to free speech and press truly does not exist, maybe a rich kid rocker screaming about a government take over of the radio waves will seem just about right.

Until then, Seattle for a day - Kurt Cobain exhibit at the city museum and SeaTac airport for a night - fingers crossed there's a space available on the 4 AM Patriot Express flight to Yokota, Japan tomorrow.

Time to get out of the Green Tortoise hostel (highly recommended to anyone looking to stay across the street from the market).

Found this little beauty on Pier 62 - Seattle waterfront this A.M. - Dharmackra

namaste and "it seems like everywhere I go, the more I see, the less I know." - Michael Franti

Off to India but Indiana First

First part of the journey:  4 days in Indiana. Seattle in the morning.

There's a flight on Tuesday from SeaTac to Yokota, Japan.  No clue when I can get to Singapore. 

Zen.

I had this thought today while observing 5 different timezone clocks on my iPhone:

It's the same second everywhere. The earth spinning creates the illusion that tomorrow is coming. Enlightenment is now.

Gear list below:

Camera Gear and Accessories

- Canon Vixia HFM30 camcorder

-Cullman Magic 2 Tripod

-Pro Master SD/MMC card reader

-Impact macro/wide angle lens

-iPhone

-Lavalier Microphone set

-Solio Solar Powered battery charger

First Aid

-Triple antibiotic ointment

-Bacitrain ointment and betadine

-Tiger Balm (for sore joints and muscles)

-Malaria pills

-Assorted bandages

-Dramamine

-Oil of oregano

-Probiotic proprietary blend
-Sunblock

Bags

-Kelty Red Cloud (old version)

-Mountain Smith day hiker pack (camera gear bag)

-Marmot sleeping bag

Misc. Spit Kit

-Flashlight

-Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap

-Toothbrush and tooth paste 

-Dental floss
-extra batteries
-Lonely Planet Travel Guides:  India, Southeast Asia on a Shoestring and Indian language phrase book

Clothing
-2 pairs of linen pants
-1 Bullhead blue jeans
-linen shirt
-few t-shirts various hipster designs
-Keen sandals
-super underware
-Marmot rain jacket
-MSR camp towel

All thoughts and comments are welcome!

namaste