Emails from India, Nepal and Tibet, 1999

Subject: welcome to the hotel namaskar
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1999 07:25:20 -0800 (PST)

Everyone ---

Maureen and I have found a very nice little hotel just down the alley
from the men's public urinal. No, really, the above sentence is
completely correct. Hotel Namaskar is great...gigantic hot pink room
with bath (no hot water but there is a hot water faucet just outside
our door to fill buckets for baths) and a very friendly owner with a
gigantic mustache who is very concerned for our well being. But it
does have the stated location. But then, sometimes just about anywhere
is a men's public urinal in India.

Today was Republic Day and we bought tickets for the big parade. It
was great --- and very organized! We were sitting in the expensive
seats, though we still couldn't see all the cultural
performances...only the really important people could, it seemed.
However, we did see lots of tanks, a fly-over by a helicopter dropping
rose petals on the crowd, lots of military bands playing bagpipes,
floats from each state with very impassioned and endowed acting
happening on them (the computer centre on the Andra Pradesh float was
particularly impressive, as was the burnt and dying people emerging
from a cracked open earth on the Dept. of the Environment one), the
Camel Corps on beflowered marching camels and the Camel Corps
band...on camels...yes, tubas and bass drums being played on
camelback. And of course, the Children Winning Bravery Award on
Elephants. And a magnificent release of orange and green and white
balloons, scattering sparkle, at the end.

It's really strange being back here and really feeling very
comfortable. My adjustment period was so short, I am quite shocked.
It's also sort of freaky being able to find my way around someplace so
far away and after two years. But this all means that it is definitely
good to be back.

Yesterday we bought our rail tickets to Ahmedabad in Gujarat and we
will try to move directly on from there to Bhuj, on the edge of the
salt flats of the region of Kutch. We leave tommorow at 3PM. Then we
did some shopping yesterday and got a little acquainted with it
all...for me again, and for Maureen, for the first time.

So now it's back to the Hotel Namaskar.....turn right at the urinal.

LOVE, MARIA

Subject: we finally budged from bhuj
Date: Thu, 11 Feb 1999 09:24:28 -0800 (PST)

Namaste, everyone!!!

Thanks to all for the birthday wishes...it was really great to get
them. I picked them up two nights ago in Ahmedabad, the largest city
in Gujarat and home to a really, really sleek and non-Indian
cybercafe, complete with authentic cappuccino and girls in jeans and
tank tops. Perhaps I should say "the new India" rather than
"non-Indian."

We had a fantastic time in Gujarat, though it got off to a rocky start
with a long journey there (night in the train followed by night in the
bus) and a cold and a bit of food poisoning on my part. Nothing like a
bad curry to make you long for a blueberry muffin, a sofa and your
VCR. But I was right as rain by my birthday and we had a few sickness
free days...until Maureen got a brief flu...ah, the joys of...

Bhuj was a truly special city. In the middle of almost nowhere, in the
Kutch region...very isolated, full of desert, beautiful weaving and
embroidery and very colourful tribal groups. The area is not heavily
touristed and so the people were really genuinely happy to see you,
interested in you, and not out to cheat you. We spent hours wandering
through the old walled city (doing lots of shopping...great shawls
embroidered with mirrors, intricate tie-dye, immense silver tribal
jewelry...the kind where the women are wearing the whole village's
wealth on their ears and arms), visited some surrounding villages, and
met some great people...both travellers and locals.

A particularly lucky occurrence was meeting an Irish woman who had
heard of a man who ran jeep safaris into the Little Rann of Kutch. Mr.
Damecha and his family live in a small town on the edge of the Rann,
which is a mudflat, salty desert and home to the last surviving
population of wild ass.

But I'm going to leave you hanging with thoughts of the wild ass in
your head, since I am about to drop dead from exhaustion and must rise
at dawn tommorrow to catch the train to Agra for Maureen's last Indian
hurrah! (The second to last was the bicycle rickshaw ride she
suggested we take today...we chose the skinniest guy with the worst
rickshaw in the middle of rush hour...it took us 3 times as long as it
should have and we paid the guy three times as much as we should have
because we felt so bad for him...so if anyone wants to donate some
spare bike parts, I know a guy who really needs some.....)

LOVE, MARIA

Subject: this is the story of the wild ass
Date: Sun, 14 Feb 1999 06:33:58 -0800 (PST)

***Once upon a time there was a wild ass. Who was endangered. So a
wildlife sanctuary was created in the Little Rann of Kutch. And he
lived happily ever after with the poor agarias (salt workers), except
for the greedy salt merchants who keep trying to destroy his habitat.***

We rose at the crack of dawn to go on our jeep safari. Passed a young
Indian man in town wearing a Temple University sweatshirt! Go Owls!!!
(So that's where all those shirts go after college.) We drove out into
the countryside, past the villages of the salt-workers, who are called
agarias. The processing plants are there, as well as lots of small
boats lying around. Why boats in the desert? Well, during the monsoon
the Rann floods. The water gets a few feet deep and is the breeding
ground for a lot of fish and especially shrimp (as well attracting
huge amounts of migratory birds, who also breed there, especially
flamingos). And since the salt harvesting can't occur at this time,
the villagers fish (though they don't eat the fish themselves, just
ship it to the city for packaging).

Some of the salt workers live in the village and do processing, but
others (except during the monsoon) live out in the Rann. We passed
into the Rann, leaving behind all trees, all green, all everything
except for packed, cracked mud crusted with salt. And dotted on the
horizon, men dragging rakes through mid-calf high salt water set out
in square plots, each with a small hut for themselves and their
family, and a pump drawing the water up and making an incessant
clacking sound.

We stopped at one of the workers' huts. His wife popped out of the hut
with her baby and toddler and the man came from his work to greet us.
We were glad to see that he was wearing rubber boots --- many of the
workers don't (i.e. can't afford them) and among all their other health
problems, their feet and legs obviously suffer from being in salt all
day long. It's said that when they die and are cremated, their feet
won't burn.

The man was very nice and very happy to show us his work. It was
really astounding --- incredibly beautiful to see...different pools
shimmering with different levels of salt, salt caked up on the sides
in the cracks of the brown earth, the salt forming in huge crystals
under the clear blue sky. But also horrifying due to the nature of the
work...a hereditary profession, the man (who couldn't have been more
than 30, probably younger) said he would only be able to do it for 10
more years before his health gave out. And we were there in the easy
time of year...the harshest work occurs during the hot time of the
year, when the temperature reaches highs equivalent to Death Valley.
Then they break the whole camp down before the monsoon, more to
temporary quarters, and then have to set it all up again after the
water goes.

I couldn't quite understand the process, but basically they seem to
rake the water over and over, letting the salt form bigger and bigger
crystals over a period of months, before scooping it out and
transporting it to the plants. They are in the hold of the salt
merchants in a manner typical of the miner/mine owner relationship
(though I believe that it is public land that they work on). Advanced
money each year by the merchants, they pay it back in salt, thereby
unable to bargain price or retain control of the harvest. The
merchants are trying expand the harvest areas, creating concern among
environmentalists like Mr. Damecha, and are also responsible for a lot
of pollution (of course).

After the demonstration, his wife made us tea and showed us her little
hut. The toddler cried at the strange looking people until Mr. Damecha
gave her some biscuits. (We joked among ourselves that not only was
the poor guy a salt-worker, but he had two daughters, which can be
quite a liability in Indian society.) They were very lovely people...I
can't imagine what their life must be like, all alone in the middle of
that huge expanse of empty space, with the noise of the pump the only
sound.

We then drove on, passing other agarias, until we passed a series of
markers (which looked like stone but were actually made of chunks of
the rock-hard earth). Then we were out in the open Rann...nothing for
miles around but an expanse of this incredible cracked earth. Nothing
at all grows there...Mr. Damecha told us it was the most complete
desert on earth. We just took some time there, walking and being and
breathing in this expanse.

Then we went in search of the wild ass. Mr. Damecha knew where to find
them. He was quite a character --- a quiet, soft-spoken gentleman with
a deep love of nature and wildlife (not something too common in India)
and a quirky shyness (except when in the presence of the wild ass!).
He had retired from his photography business and now ran these tours.
But he didn't advertise or promote them...he didn't seem to want it to
be a big business. Rather, he really welcomed us into his house and
family and wanted to show us someplace that he truly loves. The only
problem was that his English wasn't perfect (nor was, I suspect, his
hearing), leading to some funny exchanges! And I unfortunately noticed
that when he said the word "biggest" (which he often did) it sounded
like "big-ass," as in "this is a big-ass desert!".

But anyway, Mr. Damecha chased down the wild ass for us and I was
lucky enough to be in the front seat at the time of the chase. He put
the front window of the jeep down for a completely clear view and we
went after them, sending them running across our path (as I
frantically snapped photos). They are delicate, pretty creatures ---
not conjuring up the word "ass" at all. Small, gracefully marked in
brown and white, with horse-like heads --- they were gorgeous when
they ran. And we were lucky and encountered about four groups of them.
It wasn't a big African type experience, but it was really exciting.
And they saw it all as a game, I believe, since they would run a
little bit and then stop and look back at us...and then go back to
their business.

We had a delicious picnic lunch prepared by Mrs. Damecha...an
extraordinary cook!...finished up with lots of fresh papaya, oranges
and grapes. Of course by then, even in the desert, we had attracted a
curious crowd. After all, this is India and people are never TOO far
away. (Particularly when crazy foreigners are involved.) After lunch
we passed by a tiny burlap hut in the middle (again) of what seemed
like nowhere, which served as a day-care and basic school for the
agarias' children. Maybe 20 children were inside, from infants to ten
year olds, with three female teachers, drawn from the community. It
has just begun and they hope that year by year it will expand into a
real school (I believe Mr. Damecha said that it was supported by an
NGO). Apart from this, there is no school for the children who live
out in the Rann, since they are only in the village for a few months
each year. Of course we stopped and visited, creating quite a stir. The
babies and toddlers became terrified, while the older children
politely greeted us, remaining seated until given permission to get up
and come outside. That in itself I found impressive! The hut was spare
but neat, with a few toys and a small blackboard.

We then went on to a lake where some amazing birds where hanging
out...flamingos, pelicans, cranes and, of course, ducks. At the edge
of the water the earth became like quicksand...you just sunk in and
could only pull your feet out with difficulty. That quicksand effect
thwarted many an invader, who would get stuck in the Rann when the
monsoon came...I believe Mr. Damecha said it was Akbar who finally
figured it out....by following the migration of the wild ass!!!
(Though I might be wrong on the Akbar part...have to look that up.)

The next stop was in a bigger village outside of the Rann. We stopped
for tea at a roadside stall right next to a school and...school let
out. Thank God it was a girls' school (less rambunctious than the
boys)! We were completely surrounded by a huge crowd shouting "Hello!"
"Bye-bye!" "What is your name?" "What country?" and extending their
hands for a shake (a non-Indian custom). We made a quick escape in the
jeep, with the huge mass of little girls in white uniforms, braids
flying, running behind us.

When we finally outrun them, we stopped at a salt packing factory...if
you could call it that. The whole family was there, including some of
the girls who had just gotten out of school, sitting on a patio,
shoveling salt from a pile into little bags and sealing them with an
electric heat sealer. There was a very basic looking contraption that
Mr. Damecha said had to do with the iodine process. The people seemed
relatively well-off (in comparison to the ones out on the Rann) but
the work still creates a lot of health problems.

We went down to the local lake for a few more bird-spottings (and
terrified a few more toddlers, as well as delighting others). Then
drove back to Dhrangandra as the sun set, passing cotton fields and
thorn bushes and little villages along the way.

And on our return we all had a much-needed wash, as we were covered
with dust from head to toe. And then another one of Mrs. Damecha's
great meals. In the morning we again rose early and headed to
Ahmedabad for a day and a half of sightseeing (the world-famous
textile museum being a highlight...as well as the internet cafe...)
until Maureen and I headed back to Delhi. A day of sightseeing there,
followed by trips to Agra and Fatehpur Sikri (an amazing ruined
city), and then Maureen flew back to Chicago late last night. And day
after tommorrow I meet up with the Tanvirs and their Naya Theatre for
a week on the road with their touring shows!

I apologize if this incredibly long email has been too much for
anyone! The day on the Rann was just so astounding, I wanted to share
it all with you!

LOVE, MARIA

Subject: bidri,boulders,bombay ...moliere
Date: Fri, 5 Mar 1999 04:57:26 -0800 (PST)

Jai Shankar, everyone!

I am in Bombay...the Big Apple of India. Charlie flew in on Tuesday
night and on her first day in India, I made her eat pizza and watch
British theatre!!!! (Actually, we lucked out and got free tix for
Steven Berkoff's one-man show "Shakespeare's Villains" at the National
Centre for the Performing Arts, which was fantastic. The pizza I had
to indulge in after 2 pizza-free months.) Basically, parts of Bombay
are completely unlike anything else I have experienced in India (these
parts are truly a part of the 21st century)...which is wonderful for
me at this point in the trip. But Charlie also got a taste of the
"real" India today when we went into the city's heart, to the various
bazaar streets, with Malti, a wonderful friend of my friends the
Tanvir family. As well as taking us to the bazaar, she has
entertained us for lunch both yesterday and today, showing us her
extensive collection of textiles and sharing incredible stories of her
life...as a young girl working with Gandhi (and going to jail for it),
as a founder of the Indian National Theatre, as a sixty-five year old
woman taking off for a tour of Southeast Asia with a 17-year-old Dutch
girl, and as a collector, researcher and dealer of textiles and folk
art. It was truly a wonderful experience to be in her company!!!

Before Bombay, I was in Hampi, a small village on the site of
Vijaynagar, the seat of the South Indian Empire that was in power, I
believe, in the 14th-16th centuries. An incredible place, mostly due
to the nature of the landscape. Huge red boulders litter the gentle
hills, forming incredible shapes, one on top of another, in small
piles and gigantic mountains. Crags of sheer rock shoot up into the
very blue sky and then spread out to cover the ground in sheets. A
river runs through the area...and runs swiftly even in this, the dry
season. But the river's banks do shrink at this time of year, which
means that you can climb (and sit and lie down to take a nap!) among
the boulders that would usually be underwater. They are black and have
been shaped by the water into amazing flowing states...pools of water
collecting among them (where you can sit...in the shade of a big
boulder...and cool your feet). I spent one day on the unpopulated side
of the river, where there are few ruins, relaxing among the rocks. I
took a little coracle boat across and walked through the green, green,
green rice paddy fields to get there.
And took directions from several goat and cow herders to find my way.

But the ruins of the city, blending so with the surroundings, are also
truly spectacular. The rock that the buildings were carved out of is
very hard...difficult to carve with delicacy...so the sculptors made up
for lack of delicacy with sheer size. Huge sculptures of various gods,
many temples with carved columns, the ruins of several bazaars running
colonnaded in front of the temples, and the almost completely
destroyed, but still impressive, remains of the palace
grounds...beautiful step-baths, aqueducts, elephant stables and the
palace steps (many of them, carved and carved with elephants, camels
and armies)... all that remains of the king's residence.

In the most beautiful of the temple ruins, the Vittala Temple, there
are musical columns that each play a different note when struck,
surrounded by sculptures of dancing girls and musicians (and some
erotica thrown in for good measure). And then outside that area, the
local people still come and make little piles of stone on the ground
and then tie pieces of cloth like a cradle on nearby trees, praying
for fertility. And the ancient common people have left behind
different engravings on the stone ground of a man and a woman giving
thanks...to the gods, to the kings?

The area is still a pilgrimage site as well as a tourist site (Indian
tourists often combine the both) and one of the ancient temples is
still in operation...complete with its own elephant stable and a baby
elephant. Apparently, they are taken out each morning to bless the
temple, though unfortunately I missed that. In front of this temple
runs the main bazaar of the village, still in the ancient colonnaded
buildings...towards the end of the bazaar, the shops end and instead
people live in the ancient buildings of the bazaar.

The town itself has experienced a big, big boom of backpacking
travellers, leading to a lot of pleasant cafes and small
guesthouses...though unfortunately also bringing along the usual
problems of tourism...too many souvenir merchants, higher prices if
you aren't careful, small children begging for pens and
chocolates...the village makes more money, but...Well, that's always
the conundrum. I want to see these places, I get disappointed when they
are touristed, but I'm a part of the problem, aren't I? I feel that
way about Bhuj, a bit. I don't want it to change, to lose its
flavour...but I still go there (and will return someday), thereby
exacerbating the situation. (Malti was of the Bhuj area, by the way,
perhaps explaining her wonderful hospitality.)

Anyway, besides too many hash-smoking foreign hippies and too many
ogling Indian tourist men, the only other problem with Hampi was the
many, many mosquitoes and the intense heat...increased by all the red
rocks! But the sunset over the aforementioned red rocks, while sitting
amongst ruined temples, more than made up for any mundane bothers.

Before Hampi, I was reunited with Habib, Moneeka, Nageen and the
actors of the Naya Theatre. What a wonderful time we had! Performances
in three cities, ending in Hyderabad, where we were put up in
splendour at the guesthouse of the Centre for Cellular and Molecular
Biology...truly 5 star accommodation and red carpet treatment. As
entertainment at a conference there, Naya performed Habib's translation
of Moliere's Bourgeois Gentleman, which meshed perfectly with the
experiences and mores of the actors, most of whom are from small
rural villages. Very funny and colourful, with lots of lovely masks.
And it was so wonderful to be back among the actors, wishing me
heartfelt "Jai Shankar"s (the village greeting). And I helped Moneeka
with the props, thereby feeling a little useful and a little bit like
a member of the company and not a strange redheaded interloper.

Our last night in Hyderabad, the family and I went to
the conference’s closing night gala...a sound and light show at the
Golconda Fort out side of the city, followed by dinner at the tombs!!
Actually, beautiful Taj Mahal type royal tombs, gorgeously lit. We sat
on the patio outside the main one, on plush carpets at low tables,
and had a delicious traditional Hyderabadi meal (lots of meat and rice
biryanis) while listening to a tabla and sitar combo! Clear moonlit
sky, good company...all created a perfect evening.

Now we are on the way to the Ellora and Ajanta caves and then onto
Bhopal to see the Tanvirs. But I must go, because Charlie wants to go
to services at the old synagogue here...and then we catch the night
train.

Love, MARIA

PS: The bidri of the title is Hyderabadi stone and silver
carving...very lovely.

Date: Sunday, March 21, 1999 5:24 AM
Subject: harmony

Dateline: Varanasi.

We have found a nice quiet guesthouse just up the
banks of the holy river Ganges from the cremation grounds.

We got here tired, disoriented, bummed out and slightly sick. The night journey from Delhi was not pleasant. I have decided on this trip that overnight journeys should be done in the AC compartments... much more expensive, but clean, with comfortable bunks, bed linen, decent food and a quiet compartment of English-speaking businessmen and families. So you pay much more, but you get a decent night's sleep. But there was no AC available on the train we wanted so we went Sleeper class... and a particularly dirty and noisy and generally free-for-all Sleeper class this was. Two nice French guys in our compartment (one of whom was a DEAD RINGER for Carl, particularly back in the long hair days. Carl --- you have a French twin), but also two men who at 3AM got off at their stop, taking with them their 5 suitcases, standing fan, bicycle disassembled and wrapped in burlap, and I swear their wives and children who all along were stuck under
the seats with their bike. (OK, I guess I dreamt the wives and children... but I didn't dream getting hit on the head by the standing fan.)

So when we got off the train we ended up at the first guesthouse that suited our needs: clean, with a view of the river. And we promptly fell into bed for a long nap. We were awoken by VERY loud drumming and went out on the landing to look. Men were out on the road singing and drumming, with what looked like a gold and orange and red tent carried on their shoulders with poles. One of the men from the hotel hurried by with two Westerners in tow and gestured for us
to join us...so we did.

We followed him down past a big building to the river and our first view of the ghats (the series of steps leading down to the water that line the length of the city). And that's when we realized that the Harishchandra Ghat that we were by was the smaller of the city's two cremation ghats. So we sat down a distance from the ceremonial area, with the other Westerners and our guide, and watched.

The body is carried as soon as possible after death (usually three or four hours) to the cremation ground. If it is a man, the cloth that wraps the body is white; if it is a women, it is red. If the person was old, gold cloth is also used and joyous singing and drumming accompanies the procession to the grounds. The byre is ritually submerged in the water, the pyre is built, and then the immediate family (only men allowed at funerals) leave to go to the government office to get a death certificate --- necessary before burning is allowed, to make sure that no evidence of foul play is destroyed.

The family returns within the hour, carrying with them a lighted torch that is used by the son (who has shaved his head and wears white in mourning) to light the pyre. It burns down within several hours.

So that was basically what was explained to us (sorry if I have any of this wrong). And that was basically what we saw. But it is hard to explain what it was really like --- several funerals going on simultaneously, some just begun, some just smoking embers. Older men lighting the pyres of their old father, a little boy lighting the pyre of his young mother. The cremation ground workers poking at the burning body with lengths of bamboo to help the burning --- a certain scented tree ash is also thrown on and works as a natural fire enhancer. Actually seeing a body shrivel in the fire --- seeing the hands rise up, seeing the foot that hasn't caught. And then seeing it disappear. And all around, kids playing, cows wandering, the city spread out along the river, the quietness of the countryside on the opposite bank. The idiotic comments of the tourist ("Bit gruesome, isn't it? They don't look very sad, do they?")sitting next to us, combined with the running commentary of our guide --- "Now the son lights the fire. Are you from Hawaii? I hear Hawaii very nice place. Now they make body burn faster."

And then, of course, there was the guy in charge of the cremation ground. He belongs to the Dom caste (which some think is one of the origins of the Gypsies... the Rom people)... a very, very low caste to belong to, but a very necessary one. Doms do all the funereal work... including disposing of the charred wood. He pointed out his niece, a little girl of about ten, wandering
through the grounds and putting pieces of wood into a bag. "She takes home
to use for cooking. Other castes, they think this wood is bad! But we can use it." He laughed, as if to say "What idiots the others are... wasting perfectly
good wood." He beamed when he found out that we were from the States. A lot of Indians do, but his association with the US was not about the Bulls or Monica or his cousin in Detroit (or Hawaii), but "American people, they understand us. They understand Dom people." I'm still trying to figure that on out... the funeral directors of the free world?

He also kept soliciting donations so that he could provide wood for poor people who couldn't afford a traditional funeral (more about that later). Somehow, the fervour with which he was explaining his good-heartedness made me think that perhaps the poor people benefiting from our charity would end up being closely related to him... but we didn't have our bags with us, so he could see that we had no money on hand to give. The annoying tourist next to me didn't fare as well and got into a long conversation with the Dom over receipts for donations
and government-approved charities. But the Dom kept smiling the whole time, eventually wandering off singing "Sayonara... say-o-nar-a...sayonara..." No irony intended... it's the latest Hindi pop hit.

The deal with the traditional funeral is that the large building between our hotel and the ghat is a new electric crematorium. The Dom said disdainfully "Some people, they don't want the traditional way!" while our guide said, sottovoce, "Traditional funeral very expensive. Electric cheap." So the poor people take the body to the river to submerge it, but then carry it into the building. But we all agreed that the old way was better, if expensive. If you
can't see the burning, how do you really experience the true closure of the death?

So... the next day Charlie was feeling quite under the weather... nothing serious or specific, just general exhaustion, I believe... and rested much of the day while I wandered through the city and along the river. So incredible... just past the cremation ghat is the laundry ghat (I'm saving my laundry for
Kathmandu)... clothing pummeled on stones in the river and saris and shirts spattered still with dye from the Holi festival spread out along the steps in the sun... then the wrestlers' ghat, with semi-studly men swinging huge clubs as a workout... then the pilgrims' ghat, with crowds of people going to bathe, priests sitting by under big umbrellas, little stalls selling coconuts and garlands and tikka powder for marking one's forehead. And balloon vendors and cotton candy vendors as well, for (as I think I mentioned before) for many, a holiday and a pilgrimage are interchangeable.

Then you dive into the tiny winding streets of the old city, so narrow that no vehicle can fit through. Though the cows still find a way. Walls painted with murals of the gods, as well as notices for hotels and internet, and a little temple at every second step you take.

Sunset I spent in a rooftop cafe overlooking the river... facing east, so the changes in light were slow and subtle... the river full of boats and swimmers, the sky full of little boys' kites and swallows, the ghats full of people, and the river shimmering more and more pink, and then black. Tommorrow morning we take a boat out for the sunrise, which should be spectacular.

Then we go a day trip to Sarnath, where the Buddha gave his first sermon, and then on to Nepal. I'll be very, very sad to leave India. The past two weeks have been wonderful... six days in Bhopal with the Tanvirs, seeing incredible amounts of tribal art, a few days at the Ellora and Ajanta caves, some of the most beautiful monuments in India, and a few days in Delhi, the city that I like in spite of itself.

But Varanasi is truly a wonder... it is so harmonious, it retains its integrity despite the floods of tourists, it goes about its holy business and its daily business, both intertwined and more important than the distractions of the rest of the world.

So I guess I better get out there and join in.

LOVE, MARIA

Date: Sunday, March 28, 1999 5:02 PM
Subject: the australian girl next to me says that it's all worth it

Here I am in Kathmandu... in Thamel to be precise, the heartland of
adventure travel. All the trekking gear, hippie clothing, Tibetan momos and imitation German bakeries your heart could ever desire.

We arrived yesterday after a two day journey from Varanasi... two 11 hour days on the bus, filled to the brim with 22-year-old Israelis, broken by a night spent in the no-man's-land of the Nepal/India border. The grimiest of guesthouses --- take your pick! But the second day's drive, from the lowlands of Nepal (the Tarai) up through the foothills (layered with terraced fields and stone farmhouses) and along the Trisuli River to bustling Kathmandu was worth it (and the Australian girl next to me agrees). The hotel that we chose out of the guide
book has proven to be fantastic... $8 for a huge room with clean sheets and blankets, hot water and a BATHTUB! Quiet and with a balcony. A little more expensive than India, but more for the money.

So I was sad to leave India... very, very sad... but easier environment of Nepal and the adventures that we are looking forward to have dissipated some of the sorrow... whitewater rafting? Tibet? trekking? MOUNTAINS? cool weather!!!!!!? noodle soup? quantity of screaming more than halved? Aachaa, aachaa... no problem.

We decided to stay in Varanasi two extra days... it was too beautiful, too incredible to leave. On Monday we took a six-hour boat ride. Starting at 5:30 AM, before the sunrise, we went down to the ghats and into a little wooden rowboat, rowed by the All-Varanasi Winner of the Most Authentic-Looking Boatman Award. An ancient sweet old man, who rowed VERY slowly (which was just fine) and would quietly point out the passing sights in his minimal English. But he certainly had stamina... we went along all of the major ghats and then up to the Maharaja of Varanasi's palace on the banks of the river up at the next town.

The city was still dark and barely awake when we began, the river beginning to be streaked with pink sunlight. (The cremation ghat never closes, though, and several fires burned in the darkness.) By the time we got into the rowboat and a little further down, people had begun to make their way down to the hats... performing their morning puja (prayers) as well as brushing their teeth and
scrubbing themselves with lots of soap... cleaning up dishes, as well, or starting the washing of clothes. As we passed the main ghat, a loudspeaker
voice boomed out --- "The Ganga is your Mother! Respect her! Do not throw rubbish in the river! Do not wash with soap or detergent! Do not pollute your Mother!" The soaping continued, unabated.

It was so quiet... the sun rose on the opposite bank over the tree-lined horizon... and by the time we turned around and headed back the way we had come and onto the fort, the ghats were bustling with people. Slowly, slowly we moved down past the last of the ghats, which is very old and just made of baked clay, rather than stones steps. Then our boatman rowed us closer to the other side of the river. Since it is dry season now, the river is much narrower than it eventually gets (though still VERY wide) and the country side has large sand banks leading up to trees and fields. When they are not underwater, people
have planted them with vegetables and erected rush wind shelters around them. So on this other side, the city really disappears... you see people tending their fields, bathing their water buffalo... seeming a million miles away from the
hubbub opposite.

We stopped right before an incredible pontoon bridge that is erected every year --- when the monsoon comes, it has to be dismantled and replaced by a ferry. It is very noisy and seems to bob up and down a lot, but does the job. Our boatman guided us through the maharajah's palace museum... pointing out "elephant saddle" "palanquin" "ivory carved" "gun"... and tut-tutting us if we lingered
too long in front of anything. The Maharajah is in his seventies now and still lives in the palace. While we were having a chai (tea) at the chai stall outside the palace, his car went by. Not with him in it, but going to go and pick him up. The chai man wanted us to wait so that we could see him come out, but we were hungry and decided that it was time to head back. So we pushed off again and spent most of the return journey lying down in the rowboat, bobbing up and down with the Mother Ganga.

After that morning we both decided that we wanted to stay an extra two days and also that we wanted out of the Cremation Hotel! We moved to the Vishnu Rest House, a truly wonderful establishment, run by two brothers who always wore white shirts and black ties. There was a great spacious terrace and restaurant --- very sociable and we met several interesting travellers. A policeman was on duty at night --- to ward off bad elements and scare away the monkeys, who terrorized me in particular, it seemed, and stole my journal and then dropped it
off the roof... luckily retrieved by two little boys. A fully operational Rama temple was in the middle of the courtyard and it was located right on the ghats... stupendous view. And we got the best room in the place... a corner room with two big windows... we could lie in bed and see the sunrise over the Ganges!

So the next two days we relaxed, wandered the ghats and the city and on our last evening took a sunset boat ride. This time we had a chatty seventeen-year-old boatman --- "I talk all the time and when I don't talk I sing! I have been boatman for seven years! I never go to school, I was very bad, so my father says if I don't want to go to school I must come and work! Everyday I row, even if I have no customers I go out and row! Even in the monsoon I go out, even when my
mother says I shouldn't! But I know that I will be fine because I am a very
good boatman! And I know that my Monkey God, Hanuman, is with me... I pray to him that I will be alright! And all God is one, there is only one God and I know he is with me inside!" He rowed us past the main cremation ghats, where the fires blazed and the people watched. The Shiva Temple there was lit up like a carnival with flashing swirling lights, tinny religious pop music blared out of it and Vinnie from Leeds (one of our companions in the boat) --- who had traveled overland from Kashgar to Lhasa in the back of a truck --- remarked in disbelief that this was the most singularly strange environment he had ever been in.

We then stopped in front of the main ghat where a pujari (priest) known familiarly as Babu performs an elaborate puja every night... swirling candles and candelabras over the river to the accompaniment of drums... beautiful. We later met him over a ghat-side glass of masala chai... he turned out to be the loudspeaker voice we had heard the morning before. A jolly pujari, in charge of the little Ganga temple up from the ghat, and owner of a lovely old house right behind it. His son, the prosperous businessman, showed us around... from the balcony you look down to the main ghat's square, as you stand next to a little Shiva temple that the old women of the family appeared to be living in!

Before meeting Babu, I was entertained on the ghat by several of the children who sell the little candles set in flowers that one places in the river as an offering... they counted to one hundred for me in Hindi several times, as I conducted them like an orchestra, before I was handed several candles ("Free! Free! Gift!") and led down to the river by them to set them afloat.

A perfect last night in India.

Today in KTM, we wandered around the main square. Went into the Kumari Chowk... the House of the Living Goddess... an eight-year-old girl who had been selected as a toddler as the incarnation of the goddess. Until puberty, she lives cloistered in the house, taken out only a few times a year (for religious festivals)... her feet never touch the ground. But every so often she will appear at her window and look down into the little square, dressed in red, with elaborate eye make-up. And we were lucky --- she appeared briefly, as twenty tourists looked up --- looking bored and sad, she stared down for a moment and
then disappeared again. When she is finished with her reign, she is given a
pension, but will find it hard to get married, since the word is that any husband of an ex-Kumari will die young.

I also bought a roll of Kodak film at the candy and soda store located in the said courtyard of the Kumari.

Hmmmm... soon we will leave the city and we are both looking forward to that.

LOVE, MARIA


Date: Thursday, April 01, 1999 4:55 PM
Subject: what? me climb that?

Namaste ---

A quick note, since I must get to bed since our trek begins at 7:00 tommorrow morning. I am in Pokhara staying at the 3 Sisters Guesthouse, a wonderful place overlooking the Pokhara lake run by (give it a guess)
three sisters. They also run women-oriented treks... Charlie and I leave for six days on the Poon Hill trek. It is both exciting and terrifying, since neither of us have ever done anything like this before. Her family
went on long day trips in the mountains but never spent the night. My family just took the train into Manhattan to see a show!

Then on the 10th we leave for 2 weeks in Tibet. We managed to find a tour agency that formed a separate group visa for us and four others... we stay with the larger tour for a week, then break off for the next. However, the Chinese as of yesterday have changed the rules... you used to be able to go around on your
own in Lhasa, but now they say you must have a guide at all times... even if you are not going to a tourist attraction. This past March was the 40th anniversary of the Dalai Lama's flight from Tibet, so they are jumpy. I just have pictures of a PLA officer following me to the bathroom. We'll see how it goes. Whatever happens, I am so excited.

Confidential to Greg --- the sisters say hello and congratulations on Gabi! They are very happy for you and Dicky said she thought you will be (or, at this point, are) a great father. And thank you for the recommendation... they are so fantastic.

Everyone else --- wish me luck and fortitude! Off I go into the wilderness!!!!

LOVE, MARIA

Date: Friday, April 09, 1999 12:45 PM
Subject: the magical rhododendron forest

I have conquered the mountain! Or rather, I conquered Poon Hill, up about 3,000 m. and "the most done thing in the trekking universe," to quote my guidebook.

The trek was stupendous... I can't believe we walked for 6 days, not seeing a single vehicle (though Sony TVs and VCRs were present in some of the villages). Even though this is the hazy time of year, we saw some incredible views of the Annapurna range, particularly in the morning. Beautiful, sweet, clean villages.
Comfortable guesthouses (this was not roughing it). Men carrying refrigerators and live chickens up the mountain on their backs. Waterfalls, rivers, what seemed like 10,000 steps, and --- the most impressive outside of the mountains --- a forest of rhododendron trees... 200 to 300 years old... big and curvy and covered with lichen and sometimes in full bloom with tons of red and bright pink flowers. When they had finished blooming, that part of the forest path was covered in petals, as if in our honour.

DAY 1: We start out early with a drive from Pokhara to Khare, meeting our guide Indra and porter Satabahatur in the taxi. Both lovely sweet men --- Indra a former primary schoolteacher with a gentle way and great sense of humour and Satabahatur a beautiful 23 year old (we thought he was about 16 at first) who barely said a word (either in Nepali or in English) but smiled all the time and
came from a village five days west of Pokhara. Five days drive? No, one day on the bus, then four days walking! We had it easy --- they wouldn't even let us carry our day packs --- but then our big packs were very light and often porters carry absurd amounts. Some were trudging up the hill with five metal tables or six packs (for large camping parties).

The first day was probably the hardest for me, but also so amazing to be out in nature and to slowly hear the sound of the highway disappear. It is so rare that I am someplace that isn't besieged by random noise. Up we went, hot and sweaty (it was warm until we got up higher the third day), stopping to rest and to marvel every so often. Stopping for some "dalbhaat" (rice and lentils --- the national dish) at lunchtime. The path is strewn with little restaurants/guesthouses, developed with the aid of the Annapurna Conservation Awareness Project, and they were just about all very pleasant.

We went up and then we went down and then we went up and then we went down, finally moving out of the forest (though no rhododendrons yet) and into a typical Nepali landscape --- terraced fields cut into the hills, stone houses, haystacks and children clambering up and down millions of steps! We ended the day in Landruk, at 1550 m., where we had the sweetest room in a traditional stone strip-motel-like structure... sat outside looking at the stars until the young proprietor (who had decorated part of the dining room with Metallica posters and commented when he found we were from Chicago "Last year Chicago Bulls popular! This year, Nike (pronounced with a silent 'E')! Even I am
head-to-toe Nike!" Though we saw plenty of Bulls gear along the way as well. A marketing dream.) said "Why are you sitting outside in the dark and cold?" and we went in to have out dinner with Indra and Satabahatur by the light of a kerosene lamp --- no electricity yet in Landruk. And we had an interesting conversation with Indra about America and Nepal --- trying to convince him that the US was not the promised land, though faced with all the poverty and hardship of life in Nepal it can be a hard argument at times.

Early to bed by candlelight, accompanied by sore muscles.

DAY 2: I stepped out in the early morning for my first clear look at Annapurna I and my breath was literally taken away... previously we had only glimpsed it though the haze in the morning in Pokhara and at night in Landruk. We ate breakfast facing it and staring, staring, staring. And then set off for day 2, which proved to be quite a challenge. We climbed down a million steps to the river, and then climbed up a million steps (though terraced fields that offered
no shade) to Ghandruk, about 400 m higher than Landruk at 1939 m. The worst thing for me was the psychological strain of being able to see each village from the opposite hillside --- you could always see how far you still had to go, since they faced each other. Poor Charlie was beginning to feel under the weather a bit and the day was hard for her, but she persevered. A true trooper!!! Indra sent Satabahatur ahead to book us a room and, even with the pack, he basically seemed to be running there. Charlie kept thinking that by the time she reached Ghandruk, he would be married with 2 kids. He'd still be waiting --- the room would still be reserved --- but he would have decided to get on with his life.

But we did finally get there and a lovely "there" it was. Ghandruk was SO gorgeous and I set out to explore on my own while Charlie rested. I mean, it was so lovely that I voluntarily climbed more steps! Every lane in the village consisted of stone steps, surrounded by big houses made of stone and whitewashed, with large patios where people were threshing grain or weaving or just rocking their babies in the hanging woven baskets that hang from each porch. The windows are all of intricately carved and painted wood...flowers bloom everywhere... children gather by the communal taps to wash up after school... quite idyllic (and I'm sure even more so for the residents now that ACAP has brought guesthouses, trekkers, a small electric power plant, and a
basketball court for the high school.). Occasionally I encountered the "one pen" syndrome --- children all throughout the subcontinent beg for pens and sweets from travellers. It's an awful syndrome, turning ordinary children into beggars. But in Nepal they seem a little less intense than in India and usually just want you to play around with them a bit. I find saying "No! No pens!" in a funny voice often takes care of the situation. But often little boys naked below the waist (no diapers in Nepal) often held out their hand saying "one pen." So I just had to respond "No! One pair of pants! That's what you really need! One
pair of pants!" So if anyone gets that their next time in Nepal, blame me!

We had dinner outside in the cold, watching the haze on the mountains lift a little... could make out Annapurna South and Machhapuchre --- our coming-and-going companions for the rest of the trek.

DAY 3: Easter morning and a butterfly landed on my hand and stayed for a while (millions of butterflies everywhere around here). Stupendous clear morning with amazing views and a visit to the Gurung Museum before setting out. Ghandruk is a Gurung town --- that's the most prevalent ethnic group. They are mostly Mongolian in feature, speak a Tibeto-Burmese language and practice both Hinduism
and Buddhism, as well as animism. And they supply many of the soldiers for the Gurkha troops in the Indian and British army. Indra told me all this --- he's
from a similar group called the Rai. The museum was a little traditional house filled with churns and looms and other household items.

Then we set off --- and eventually entered the "jungle", crossing many little suspended bridges over streams and waterfalls and dense vegetation. And then entered into the aforementioned magical forest... in this one, the trees had already bloomed so our path was covered with petals and the trees were twisted
branches hanging with lichen --- everything was covered with lichen, which only grows in extremely pure air. Every so often we'd pass fat silky black cows grazing and expect them to open their mouths and ask us where Aslan went! It was completely like something out of Narnia or Tolkien.

By early afternoon we reached Tadapani (2680 m)--- not as nice as the two previous villages (few too many flies) but had good conversations with fellow trekkers... beer and popcorn and noodle soup for dinner. The night, however, was freezing. This was when we found out that Charlie's rented bag was down, whereas mine was polycotton!

DAY 4: But it did make me wake up at 5:15 and run outside to the outhouse (bathrooms except in Ghadruk were all outside, but all had solar powered hot showers!). The first glow of the sunrise was appearing over the horizon... just a bit of pink and purple... so, so soft... and the almost-full moon was outlining the mountains in black silhouette against grey sky. But it was too freezing to linger for long, though 45 minutes later I was up for good, to silently watch the sunrise with the rest of the trekkers. The white mountains glowing pink, illuminated as if with a spark, and then the sun finally peeking
over --- a true drama. And then another friendly breakfast... though Charlie and I were again the last to leave, even though we ordered early... eventually we just resigned ourselves to ALWAYS being last to get out. And with the actual walking day being only about 5 hours long, we were in no real rush.

Day 4 led us again to the magic forest, but this time covered with blossoms. The hills from a distance were washed with pink from the blossoms. When I say rhododendron forest, I mean ALL the trees were rhododendrons, like in a pine forest. It was incredible. But watch out for the caterpillars that feed on the flowers... they are poisonous and will sting you if you touch them And even if you don't, their hairs blow off and sting you... which is what Indra thought when I began to itch all over. But I'm sad to say that I still have an itchy rash spreading all over my body, similar to the one I got my last time in India in the Himalayas, so i might be allergic to the mountains! It's a medical mystery... I just hope it will clear up in a day or so (it did last time).

But, aside from the rash, the day was gorgeous, and also very social, since we were often in the company of Brian and Roselyn, an older couple from NZ, who were just charming --- Brian like to belt out old musical hall songs at the drop of a hat, so I felt like my dad was around! Also with us were an American missionary couple working in Bangladesh. Very nice people, with two kids who
unfortunately fell in love with us --- unfortunately since though they were sweethearts, they were also complete and utter chatterboxes!

We spent quite a bit of time resting on top of a ridge about an hour from Ghorepani, out destination. The wind was sweeping in, the sun was bright and the view spectacular. Then we trudge on the Ghorepani (2750 m.) and settled in at the Snowlands guesthouse. It was at the very top of the town, closest to Poon Hill that was to be our dawn destination. We knew we'd be happy of that at 4:45 in the morning (and we were) but there were also chinks as thick as my hand in the boards that, haphazardly hammered together, made up our dwelling place. And the wind just swept in! But once the fire was finally lit (a little too late for
my taste... I fled down below to the Sunny View Restaurant for a while and saw a gorgeous sunset, as well as watched the porters playing volleyball... Satbahatur holding his own) it was very cosy and sociable. We met a great NZ guy(our other companions were in different hotels) and Charlie played cards with him and his guide. I played "steal the salt shaker and stick it in your mouth" with the
young lady of the house... a two-year-old trendily turned out in a black jacket with faux fur. And the night really wasn't too cold, though I kept waking up
since I wanted to make sure we were up in time to be among the first up Poon Hill.

DAY 5: At 4:45, we all gather (C, M, I, NZ guy and guide... we let our "bhai" --- little brother --- sleep in) and trudge off in the darkness, lit by the moon and flashlights... SO COLD... up to the top of Poon Hill at 3193 m... took us about 45 minutes... and we were among the first ones there! Got good places on the look-out tower and waited for the sunrise and the crowds and the enterprising Nepalis selling hot chocolate and coffee for 100 times the usual rate (well, carrying things up a mountain at dawn does increase price!). The sky
wasn't as clear as it had been the day before, but it still was beautiful. And also a totally different experience... people were chatting and taking tons of photos and letting out a cheer when the sun appeared (though 2 German women
did exclaim in a huff "Zis ist madness!" and descend before sunrise!). The sun shaft shot across Annapurna South (the Paramount picture logo) and lit up Deurali across the other side. And then, after many photos, we clambered down for a big breakfast and hot coffee (more reasonably priced) before setting out --- again the last to leave! But Charlie by this time was feeling much better and literally skipped through the forest that day!

It was a short day --- only 4 hours I think --- and all downhill through the forest... lots more beautiful waterfalls. We ended up in the little village of Ulleri... at a lovely, lovely guesthouse... we could see the hills from our window as we lay in bed (we took a nap) and everything was just so sweet and neat... painted blue and white and hung with flower pots. And the family who ran the place were the nicest so far... always laughing and friendly, with the nicest young son and daughter (about 13 and 16) who were very eager to please, even if language barriers sometimes created confusion. We also met some nice
new people at this guesthouse --- more our own age --- and very well-traveled --- but heading the other direction. But the afternoon and evening was spent in good conversation and momos (Tibetan dumplings), except for the hour I spent on the rooftop, watching Annapurna South appear through the mist of the sunset and then disappear, and the fires and lamps being lit in the town (no electricity) as people went about their usual evening business... and I spied on them. And then early to bed --- at 8PM I believe!

DAY 6: We got up for our last sunrise... seen from rooftop in the company of a young investment banker from London named Simon --- but unlike most bankers I know, he had gone all over the place, including through Pakistan to Western China to the Central Asian Republics to Moscow. The last sunrise was very delicate and subtle, but the view of the terraced fields below (we had earlier left behind land so intensely cultivated ) was beautiful. And then another
breakfast... another last to leave... and then we climbed down 3,000something
steps, feeling our knees and feeling pity for those coming up. And feeling the breeze rush by us as the schoolchildren of Ulleri ran down the steps... everyday
they go down and then up again. We had nightmares that they would be coming back up when we were STILL going down.

But eventually we finished the steps and began to move through extremely beautiful, pastoral land... fields, houses, flowers, soft green, bamboo and banana trees, and a rushing river as clear as the Caribbean. We stopped there for a while to sit beside the water and try VERY hard not to tear off our clothes and dive in.

And after a leisurely lunch of dal bhaat, a few more tidy villages, and a last stop for a soda in the loveliest of places --- a village called Bilespur that looked like something out of the Mediterranean, filled with cobble stones and bougainvillea --- we climbed up to the highway, passing more and more trash and shops and unlovely buildings. Until we crossed the beautiful river one last time --- now with a sneaker, among other objects, floating in it --- and caught the
local bus back to Pokhara.

We were so sad to say goodbye to Indra and Satabahatur --- they were the best companions one could ask for and all the other trekkers were jealous of us. The 3 Sisters are trying to fund a hostel for disadvantaged mountain women, so that they could come to Pokhara and train as guides. Already, there is much more demand than there are female guides --- only the sisters and one other woman. So men they consider their brother --- like Indra --- are filling in. But if anyone has any ideas of funding for them, let me know. It is a really worthy project, benefiting both the local women and women trekkers.

So the next day back to KTM for our Tibet info meeting --- apparently the "guide-all-the-time" rule has already been lifted. And we met our two companions on the extended visa ---- we're going to Tibet with 2 glam rockers from Minneapolis! Who are both supercool dudes, as they would put it... we talked about out travels for a long time last night and I think we will enjoy each other’s company.

So today --- last minute shopping and an Italian dinner. And tommorrow at 5AM --- Lhasa here we come.

LOVE, MARIA

Date: Saturday, April 17, 1999 12:07 PM
Subject: lhasa is hooked up

Tashi delay! I don't know quite what to write, but, to everyone on the tour's surprise, Lhasa has internet cafes. So... even on the roof of the world, instant communication is now possible. Which makes me quite sad...

The rest of the tour group left today and though they were overall a very cool group of people, Charlie and I are VERY relieved... TOO MUCH GROUP!!!!

The ride here was spectacular... can't begin to explain the terrain. Gorges and rivers and deserts and purple rock and snow capped peaks (including a great view of Everest) and unbelievable texture of stone and sand... flat-roofed white houses with black and red stripes flying prayer flags... nomads and yaks and communes and desperate-seeming beggars... and dirty, dirty children... and incredible cold brocade and fur hats on incredibly tough-looking men... women
with chunky turquoise jewelry and 108 braids and ruddy cheeks... satellites and mani stones... the Turquoise Lake (which the Chinese are slowly draining for a
hydroelectric power plant)... bluer than the bluest Caribbean, cold as ice, holy of holies... went up to 5050 m... the air is so dry and thin and clear.

And new Chinese towns seemingly made of bathroom tile and imported in large numbered boxes from Beijing surrounding the old Tibetan town and the monasteries... and the monasteries (you know how I love a good monastery)... so beautiful and ancient, even when they had been partially destroyed during the Cultural Revolution and rebuilt. I kept getting lost and talking to the monks and pilgrims and getting left behind by the group. At the first monastery we went to, the monks noticed my guidebook, which has a lot of colour photos, and looked through it, delighted to find pictures of their own monastery (Sakya).
And even more delighted to find a photo of one of the monks!!! A bunch came running when they found it, crowding around to look, so I tore it out and gave it to the oldest monk, who mimed that he would give it to the monk in the photo, but that he was busy praying at the moment!

We reached Lhasa 4 days ago, to find an actual city (the biggest of the places previously was still just a smallish town)... the Chinese have built up everywhere... including an open air market and amusement park right in front of the Potala Palace (they knocked down some of the oldest housing in Lhasa, including our guide's family home, to create this plaza area). But we are staying in the old city, right near the Jokhang Cathedral and Barkhor Square, and despite the internet cafe and a big flashing neon blender sign in the Square, most people in this neighbourhood are Tibetan and it feels more
natural. We changed hotels today, from the group's run-down "luxury" one to a
little guesthouse... very clean and a place to feel very much at home.

I don't know quite what to say... I am still taking it all in... had an incredible evening 2 nights ago in the Jokhang Cathedral listening to the monks doing their evening chants in the assembly hall and being allowed into the shrine of the Jowo Buddha, the holiest Buddha in Tibet. A young 10 year old monk and an old, old monk chanted outside the shrine, while the assembly of monks could be heard in the background... monks inside the shrine were cleaning the lamps and laying out fresh offerings and as we circumambulated the statue, the monk filling a gold bowl with fruit gave each of us an orange.

And then last night we were all taken out for a final night on the town... dinner in a spic-and-span Chinese restaurant (looking all too much like home) which half of our table couldn't eat because most of it was meat and they were all vegetarians. And then to a Tibetan nightclub for a cultural show, including a very impressive yak dance. Charlie and I raced backstage after each dance to take photos of the costumes... a guy with long hair and a Indianapolis 500 leather jacket sang Tibetan pop tunes... and much Lhasa brand beer was drunk
(though the most popular import is Pabst Blue Ribbon, much to the dismay of the American contingent... the MN rockers and a Chicago boy who used to live in
Bucktown and work at the Board of Trade).

We have another week and I can't wait to explore through my own eyes and not through the groups (and I'm looking forward to being able to get lost without having the bus leave without me). And try to absorb more at such a high altitude... coming at you from 3650 m. And coming at you from a very beautiful, sacred and sad place.

LOVE, MARIA

Date: Monday, April 19, 1999 1:08 PM
Subject: if i go missing i'm at the nunnery

My head is pounding from over stimulation, but the only respite in sight is to go back to the guesthouse and watch "Platoon" on video, so..........

I came here to the Barkhor Cafe from the Jokhang Cathedral, again listening to the evening chants. Today, Charlie and I went shopping in the market and she bought a big blue and gold brocaded hat with fur earflaps and I took surreptitious pictures of women with 108 tiny braids wrapped around their heads... they are from Amdo, in NE Tibet and are considered the most beautiful of Tibetan women (said our waiter at breakfast today, blushing)... round moon faces and red red cheeks and white white teeth.

After lunch I went off on my own and headed for the Potala. I had said that I didn't want to go back to the new Chinese side of town (which surrounds the Potala) but I did want to circumambulate the Palace. So off I went through the world of bathroom tile buildings, stereo shops, tacky overpriced clothing and clubs such as "Wang Fleshpot and Entertainment Centre" --- a block from the Potala. And then I walked through the big plaza in front of the Palace, lined
with stalls selling plastic trinkets and opening out into an open space with an ugly fountain in the centre, a big flag pole flying the red flag and children's bumper cars and go-carts (including two really surreal --- as if it wasn't surreal enough --- Santa Claus and reindeer ones). Then I joined the pilgrims across the street, walking around the Palace on a path lined with prayer wheels and beggars (both laypeople and monks). When I reached the back of the Palace, I took the road less travelled and veered off of the main path and found myself
between a construction sight and a small lake, right by the ugly lego-looking housing put up to house those displaced by the building of the plaza. On this path, leading out to a main road, people sat around and gambled and drank chang (homebrewed beer) and pretty much looked unhappy, drunk and unfriendly (a first in Tibet... the unfriendly part). Who knows, this place might always have been the place to drink and gamble, but surrounded as it was by destruction and its
aftermath... and by old women still passing with their prayer wheels and rosaries... I couldn't help but feel very disturbed... it seemed so disjointed...

I went onto the main road and walked along the park that surrounded the lake (separated from the drinking den)... in the middle of the lake is a temple... now surrounding it is another fun-park... China seems determined to turn the Potala into Great Adventure. Unfortunately, I couldn't actually get into the park, since it was walled off and you had to pay to get in... I guess that was one reason why there was no one in there. But eventually I got back on the
circumambulation path, by walking through a huge supermarket shed, filled
mainly with Chinese foodstuffs... the shed ended at the path, but the shopping continued parallel to it. Only this section was the toilet paper section... a long block of it... at the foot of the Potala, right by the prayer wheels and
small temples. It was very strange... the symmetry of form (prayer wheels are shaped like long cylinders on a central spoke... much as if you turned a roll of toilet paper on its end and then elongated it)... and the seeming meaning underneath. Is its placement on purpose or is it just the Chinese again having no aesthetic sense?

I sat to ponder this for a moment, but was soon joined by several 8 year old schoolchildren, all dressed in aqua blue track suits (like in the 70's... the Chinese version of a school uniform, accented by a nice red scarf). They posed delightedly for some photos and then we walked along the path together... they headed off in the direction of the new housing and I headed back to the old side of town.

Yesterday, Charlie and I spent the afternoon at the nunnery... sitting in the sewing room with the 20-something nuns, helping them with their English, trying to drink Tibetan tea (churned yak butter and salt). Then we went back to first one's room and then another's so that they could write letters to their brothers and we could send them from outside the country. One's brother lives in Wisconsin, at a monastery called Deer Park, and the other has two brothers in
India, one in school and the other in a monastery. The nunnery was beautiful and
peaceful and the nuns so sweet and friendly. It also has been a centre of dissent and demonstrations and many nuns have been imprisoned in the past. Forbidden photos of you-know-who were everywhere. We left with our pockets full of a rock-hard flour and yak butter snack and were, once again, totally overwhelmed.

We leave for the border on Thursday and reach there on Saturday. And return to another world... this one is very strange...much stranger, we've agreed, than even Varanasi.

LOVE, MARIA

Sent: Friday, April 30, 1999 11:31 AM
Subject: if i go missing you can find me floating in the bhote kosi

A final namaste from Asia.

We leave tommorrow for London and though I am very excited to embark on the Europe portion of the trip, I also started crying while walking down the street today.... and this was in dirty touristy Thamel, which I hate!!!!

We went whitewater rafting for two days... or rather I went rafting and Charlie sat on the bank of the river and drew (though somehow she still managed to hurt her ankle... we are both baffled). Oh my God... it was insane. I fell out of the
raft once as we went down a very wild rapid... luckily I didn't go far and managed to swim to the raft and grab onto the rope and then get dragged onto back in by the guide! It was really challenging and frightening and exciting and SO fun! And beautiful, too... the mountains going by, the local people staring at us ("C'mon, guys, it's 3:00! "White People Do The Craziest Things" is
showing down at the river!"), the cold water splashing you in the face! And we stayed at a resort type place... big safari tents where you could hear the river crashing by all night, great food (of the pasta salad variety), fully-stocked bar, full moon shining down.

The only down side was that my rafting team was a bit lame, particularly the only guy in the raft (besides our very dude-like guide, Sudhir)... we'll call him Marvin, due to his Marvin the Martian tee shirt. He was the kind of guy who always got picked last in gym. He fell out of the raft, froze with fear so that he didn't swim to the rope that was thrown to him and went headfirst down the river for quite a bit. After that, he was really scared... but even before that he was doing quite a bit of air-paddling. And when it came time to carry the raft back to the bus, he said he couldn't do it because his sports sandals hurt. So the women did it on their own! He also had this cloth hanging down off of his cap to protect his neck from sunburn, but once he put his helmet on, it had the effect of blocking his ears up so that he couldn't hear the commands very well!

So... I must go now because we've splurged and got an AC room with cable TV for our last night and Cinemax is calling my name.

And it is Buddha Jayanta today, by the way... Happy Birthday, Lord Buddha!!!!

LOVE, MARIA

Subject: where I am
Date: Thu, 3 Jun 1999 10:16:00 -0700 (PDT)

If I turn from the computer I can see the Prague Castle looming above
the sun-dappled river, surrounded by pastel houses with red tile roofs.
Yes! Atmosphere!

Another gorgeous day in Prague...puffy white clouds drifting through a
brilliant sky, walking down cobblestones thronged with tourists (but
even that doesn’t matter), gazing at one delicious building after
another. Stopping for one gelato after another. Or one glass of white
wine after another....

For after all, to not sit in an outdoor cafe in a Prague square on a
summer afternoon and to not drink a refreshing cool glass of Czech
wine... what kind of trip to Prague would that be?

How did I get here? Did I raft down the Bhote Kosi? No, don't be
silly...

Charlie and I spent a day and a half getting back to London (by way of
8 hours in a powerless... in more ways than one... Kathmandu airport and
quite a bit of time in the lovely United Arab Emirate of Abu Dhabi).
She then took off for adventures in Eastern Europe while I had some R&R
in my favourite city and then met the folks for 3 weeks in Germany
visiting our family, along with a few days in Prague. We finished our
trip together in Berlin, and I stayed on for a few days until I decided
that where I really wanted to be was back in Prague. Berlin was
fascinating, but... too much construction going on... I wanted old
architecture, not new. So here I am for a day and a half before
stopping back in Germany for the weekend to visit my cousins. Then I
return to London for another week, and then... I must finally face
it... the trip is over and I return.