Basketball at Midnight

Obama was elected.  This is fantastic, and this statement is dearly outdated.  I’m sorry that I didn’t live up to my promise to comment immediately after the election.  Nearly a month later, I am in St Louis and in a bit of a limbo between the volatile and dynamic inconstancy of traveling and a return to the structured projects that occupy my sedentary life phases.

I am alive and well, and, as long term readers should expect, webkevin will be under hiatus until my next adventure.

Thank you all for reading and participating in my 2008 journey.

I have returned to the USA and have employed myself doing manual labor for my parents - building a retaining wall.  I filled out my absentee ballot and mailed it in, and so my civil obligations have all been met.  Aside from that, there is a lot of relaxation and decompression from my year abroad. This weekend, I expect to run a 10k with Ryan Brown in Atlanta.  I don’t know why I’m going to run it, seeing as I haven’t trained or really run anything in months…. but, I was invited.  It’s a big step for me - to sign up for an official race without be prepared weeks in advance.  Usually I only sign up for races that I know I will be training for and am anxious to even consider races when I don’t feel well equipped.  But this time, I’ve let everything go, and will probably even pass up the 5k possibility to do the all-out 10k.  No expectations, no requirements, just trying to get back to the run.

I’ll be headed to Austin to see Jeff and Neda soon, and then back to St Louis.  I’d like to say I’ll have another post or two– at least one following the election results on Tuesday– although my procrastination may leave you only with reflections on the election and not on my final moments abroad.  If you don’t see anything new after the election and by, say, November 20, just give up.  It’s a lost cause.

So take care, best wishes, and I hope to see you soon.

After an arguably mediocre stay in the tourist bastions of Rajastan and Uttar Pradesh, I’ve been a bit reflective about how relaxed and enjoyable my weeks in the not-really-Indian parts of North India have been. You heard about me in Tibetan Leh and the non-hassley but very Hindu Rishikesh and trek to Gaumukh. Central Nepal aside from Kathmandu, bleh) was a little more intense than Uttarakhand, but the last week in Sikkim and “Gorkhaland” have been fantastic.

Case and point : I have walked through local taxi stands at least– AT LEAST– three times in the last four days without anyone asking me if I wanted a taxi. When I asked for the jeep stand to Darjeeling, someone actually walked me 3/4 of the way.

Perched atop higher and more dramatic foothills of the Himalayas, and with some fantastic views of their snowy big brothers, the cities themselves have been magnificent. Although Gantok is derived from the term “top of the hill,” it should be “side of the hill” since the ridge is a park and the city is built with steps going from the roads that form switchbacks up along the side. Many buildings are many stories tall (like 10) because they have entrances on both the lower and upper roads.

Darjeeling at least has buildings on the ridge–the cheaper guesthouses are located there! I’m staying in one with a panoramic view of the valleys. It feels that Darjeeling has better overall vistas, and definitely better views of the Himalayas. It’s too bad I couldn’t get to Pelling in Sikkim because it sounds like that village is equally dramatic.

I met a couple from the UK on the roof at sunrise this morning, and joined them for an all-day hike to Tiger Hill, which supposedly has a view as far as Everest on a clear day (though clear, the Northwest had clouds rolling). Interesting kids (though 27), the man was an artisan butcher, and the woman a cheese marketeer, in a farmers market in the UK. They sold their house and have worked out a plan to buy 10 acres with cash, probably in either Australia or Canada, and start a farm (mostly animal-based), do their own slaughtering and retailing to farmers markets. Right now, they’re traveling the world, in part to visit prospective places to settle, and in part to volunteer to see how different people take care of their animals in a similar environment. So why Australia and Canada and why 10 acres? They’ve spent a fair amount of time working out numbers and looking up citizenship requirements. In the UK, land is just too expensive near any populated area to try such an endeavor, but in the mentioned two countries, one can become citizens very easily if they have a small farm with a small marketing system (in Canada, if you have CA$3,000 in annual sales). These are also places where they can get 10 acres with the proceeds from their house sale (after their budgeted traveling expenses).

So I was thinking….. Perhaps….. if John McCain gets elected….. 10 acres, CA$3000, and then… Citizenship! At least I won’t be mocked and criticized by the entire world when I travel in the future. That would be a nice relief.

Without a transition, let me jump to my final comment on my current location: if you noticed, I quoted teh name of my present location, “Gorkhaland.”  Gorkhaland is a state that is not a state.  The area here is part of West Bengal, but the state looks a little like Idaho if there was a bulb at the top of neck (and “Gorkhaland” is the bulb).  The people here are mostly Gurkhas (Nepalis) or of the Tibetan/Chinese stock and suffer from a lack of services provided by the state government in Kolkata (i.e., Idaho Falls)- there isn’t even a hospital here.  So, the locals have been pressing for their own state for about a decade, and most shops have a sign to that says “Gorkhaland,” and one of the signs at the entrances to Darjeeling says “Welcome to Gorkhaland.”  There is even, perhaps unsurprisingly at this point in history, a militant ethnic faction that has assassinated a few political leaders and has recently threatened terrorist activities (yes yes, I know.  I’m leaving soon).

Anyway, it’s my last day in Darjeeling, and tomorrow I fly to Delhi (gah!), and in three days, I fly back to the US to fulfill my civic duty. I hope my parents received my absentee ballot. Otherwise it’s a long drive to St Louis for a day.

It was a long, tedious, and sometimes difficult journey, but I made it to Sikkim. My final marathon busride of the adventure is over. I don’t think I have a ride more than 4 hours long for the rest of my stay. For those counting, that ‘rest of my stay’ is six days. I haven’t yet absorbed that fact and so I’m not going to reflect on it at the moment. It just dawned on me earlier today. Six days.

As for the journey, it started fantastically. Once again, I was on top of the bus, and we left about an hour before sunset. We reached the ridge around the Kathmandu valley exactly at sunset (according to the GPS), which was one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen. The colors were so deep and rich, and there were just enough clouds in the sky to catch and accent the colors. On top of that, one of the Himalayan ranges could be seen from the ridge, and the last moments of pink sunlight illuminated the peak when the rest of the mountains were nighttime blue. I thought, mistakenly, that that would be the last Himalayan peak I would see in Nepal.

When the sunset had finished and the stars came, things began to go badly. Not bad with the stars - they, too, were fantastic, and as it was nearly a half moon, I had some time to absorb their depth before it came out. However, we were hardly 30 km from Kathmandu when we were stopped. The best information I got was that there was a fight and a Nepali killed another on the roadside, and so the delay outside Pokhara was replayed outside Kathmandu. The police, once again, stopped traffic in both directions for 4 hours to do whatever they do when some dies near the road. I can’t imagine what that could be or why they couldn’t just move the body to let the traffic by. But, it happened. Although we left Kathmandu at 4:30pm, it was not until 11pm that we were moving again.

It continued that everything natural was wonderful and everything logistical was terrible. The sunrise, again, was marvelous (I’m running out of words that express ‘goodness’), and low lying mist came rolling from the foothills on the Terai, which is rice farmland in the south of Nepal. The Everest range could be seen in the distance as well, which was a worthy replacement for the sunset range I had seen. Around mid-morning, however, we were stopped again. Apparently the town had called a Travel Bandh (strike) in protest of the federal government not fixing the road. They wouldn’t let anyone pass. So I found some more tea, talked to an Australian headed towards Everest, and waited. I was about ready to hike to the next town to catch another bus, like I did in Pokhara, when we started moving. It was, still, about 2.5 hours later.

The road ended about 2 hours before the border. If you heard about the dam in Nepal that broke in August and flooded a town and a highway, that’s where I was. The UN had set up refugee camps, but no work had begun to restore the road, bridge, or town. Fortunately, there was a man who spoke good English on my bus. He deserves a digression, at least, to tell his story.

Ganga, the man, lives in the Eastern Terai, about an hour from the flooded village. He had left Nepal several years ago, went to India, took a plane to Dubai, and then snuck across the border to Iraq. After some trying, he got a job working food service for the US soldiers through one of the infamous contracted businesses providing military support. He learned quite a bit of English, and had some interesting insights about the soldiers he met : “Most soldiers are from Texas, no?” and “Most soldiers are black, no?” He came back recently, and plans to try to go to Afganistan to do the same type of thing. When I asked him how he found out about the opportunities in Iraq, he said that he just went and that it was highly illegal. He didn’t clarify what part of it was highly illegal, but I’m guessing the border jumping. His motivation was entirely economic, and I guess he feels that there is more opportunity in Afganistan right now.

Anyway, Ganga helped me navigate through the tractor, then walking path, then boat, then tractor, then rickshaw, to a town that had a bus stop. Because I was so low on time (as it is, I only have 5 days in Sikkim), I had to motor on to the border and pass up his invitation to visit his family for dinner. Again, I rode on top of the bus. The sunset this night had similar deep, stunning colors, but was lacking the mountain backdrop from the night before. Still, not too shabby.

I arrived at the border at 8:30pm, 28 hours after I left Kathmandu. This morning, I woke up at 6:00am, sunrise, and hiked across the border to catch the bus to the transit point to Sikkim. As I walked across the bridge separating Nepal and India, I looked over my shoulder and saw a Himalaya — possibly Everest– greeting the morning sun. That was the last Himalaya I saw in Nepal.

In my nine days in Nepal, I rode inside a bus for 23 km, going to Lumbini from the border. I probably rode on top of the bus over 1,000 km. I joked with Boris, back in Bandipur, that I could probably outfit a bus with seats on the roof and sell rides to western tourists for $25 (in comparison, I paid about $10 for buses that made my 28 hour journey). In India, I had to ride inside for the four hour journey to Sikkim, and I missed the open air, the unimpeded views, and the feeling of relative freedom.

I found solace on the top of the bus today.

It was four hours from Dumre to Kathmandu, where I am right now.  I feel like Cat Stevens.

To backtrack, I left Pokhara for Kathmandu yesterday, but an accident left traffic stopped on both sides.  Near the scene of the accident, I found some tea and a tree near an Israeli named Boris.  We talked for a little while, but after the bus had been stopped for two hours, I grabbed my bags and began walking.  People said it would be a few more hours before the full assessment was made and they would be allowed to clear the vehicle (and body) from the road.

About 2 km down the road, I got on a local bus, and after another change was headed for Dumre, the gate to Bandipur.  I decided I would stop off there for the night to avoid arriving at Kathmandu late.  When I had to switch buses, Boris shortly climbed up onto the roof (I have been continued to travel exclusively by roof).  Apparently he started walking shortly after I had, and although they told him the bus would go all they way to Dumre (he was headed for Bandipur to begin with), it didn’t.

Bandipur was beautiful and fantastic; it’s on a ridge 8 km above the main Pokhara-Kathmandu highway, giving you vistas of the Himalayas and the terraces rice fields of the foothills.  Even though I was only there for about 16 hours, it was worth it.

Then it was me on the rack of a minivan-bus from Dumre to Kathmandu today.  The ticket guy came up from time to time to join me, but I was mostly alone as we followed a river most of the way.  The road passed gorges and ridges that were simply magnificent.  I thought, at several points, that I could perhaps move to Nepal.  Between the climate, the scenery, and the culture, it was alright.  This might be the first place aside from Canada I really felt that comfortable in.

And then I arrived in Kathmandu, and I am already yearning to leave.  Hawkers, touts, annoying people asking me if I want a hotel room when I don’t even have my backpack….  I feel like I’m in India again.  So a correction - I could live in Nepal as long as I don’t have to be in the tourist areas of Kathmandu.

I am probably going to get on a terribly long (24 hour) bus for the East India tomorrow.  Nicky has decided to stay in Pokhara; she said that she wanted more time in Nepal, since it was her first visit, and that it would be easier to travel back than to travel onward.  That’s what she says, at least (though… it’s technically true).

I have returned to the foothills of the Himalayas, this time in Nepal.  Some of the highest peaks in the world (the Annapurna Range) loom over Pokhara, the current city, and waking up on the roof of the night bus to see the sun rising against them was fairly amazing.

On the roof, yes- that is what I said.  Nicky (the same Nicky, in fact, from Rishkikesh) has decided to journey with me into Nepal.  She had been working on an academic paper for a course she is taking in Australia for the time I knew her in Rishikesh (new light on distance learning).  She finished it at the same time that I was planning where to go from Rishkiesh, and so I invited her along.  And she said yes.

So we went that day by overnight bus to Delhi, then took an AC night train to the nearest station to the Nepalese border, took a bus to the border, and then took a bus to Lumbini, the birthplace of the Buddha.  At this point we had been traveling for nearly 48 hours, and so we stayed the next day in Lumbini and then took a night bus to Pokhara, where we are now.   Although it is in Nepal, Lumbini is on the plains, is sweltering hot, and has no view of the Himalayas.

On the 20 km ride from Lumbini to the next major town (for the night bus), the bus guy said, “Bus full.  Ride on top?”  At fisrt we said “No!” He said it was ok, we could go in the bus, but I realized that meant standing in the aisle… in a sweltering bus….. that’s often not well ventilated to start with…..  I suggested that we go to the top of the bus since it was only a short ride; we did, and it was fantastic.  The breeze (at 40 km/hr) was more than enough to keep us cool, we could stretch out our legs, and see much more of the view.  It was a win on all aspects except that we didn’t get a discount :).

So when we were getting ready to board the night bus (and we paid for specific seats), we asked if we could start out on top and go down when we were cold or tired.  It was nearly sunset, and so we figured it would be a beautiful way to start the ride.  We were trendsetters, and three other tourists jumped up after us.  After several hours, one of the tourists went underneath, only to come back up an hour later.  He said that the bus was packed and uncomfortable, and the top was much nicer.  As it got colder, we took out warmer clothing and curled up under a sleeping bag, and watched the silhouettes of mountains and trees, illuminated by the near-full moon.

As I mentioned, the last hour of the ride happend while sunrise illuminated the Annapurna Range in the distance.  What could be more fantastic?

I’m leaving Rishikesh.

I know, you never thought I would.  A relaxing, climatically lovely city on a sacred river.  No rickshaws, no hassles, several friends, and a plethora of generally friendly people.

But it’s true, I’m off.  I leave tonight on a night bus to Delhi, and then will take a night train to about as close to the Nepali border as I can.  I will have two weeks between Nepal and Sikkim, and I’ll fly to Delhi from Bagdoga, West Bengal, two days before I go home.  If everything works out, I’ll meet up with Sakesh, the lawyer working for the Supreme Court, and his family when I’m in Delhi.

So that’s the plan.

Yesterday was both Durga Puja and the celebration of Lord Ram’s disposing of Ravana, the demon king.  Which one you celebrated depends on where you are in the country, it seems– Durga Puja in Bengal, and Ravana’s defeat elsewhere.  Regardless, they both are celebrating the destruction of evil demons by the good guys.  Frequently, the festival includes burning effigies of the demons in celebration.

Nicky and I got the idea that, to celebrate, we could make our own effigy and burn it.  We didn’t have a lot of guidance, but had a fantastic time creating a demon-destroying festival of our own from supplies easily found on the streets of Rishikesh.  The rest of this post will describe what we thought would make a meaningful festival.  Those who can’t deal with humor or silliness should probably stop reading now.

First you need to have a burnable effigy.  Rolled newspaper is a good material for the body and head, and with markers you can draw character features.  Creative use of dental floss and safety pins allowed us to avoid using tape, which doesn’t burn or releases toxic fumes.  A bloody tongue would probably be a fitting addition, though we didn’t add it.  A necklace or sash of body parts is good, as is a bloody sword.   Since it is a demon, it probably has more than two arms.  Ours had four.

Very importantly, the “demon essence” needs to be contained in the effigy.  The essence should be a suitable metaphor for an essence or soul/spirit.  As you probably know, a tomato is a fantastic metaphor for the soul.  The bright red color represents the passion and fire and life, and it, like one’s spirit, is full of valuable and moral things like anti-oxidants.  It’s skin is thin and it can be crushed, squashed, or bruised easily, even when it is housed in a paper bag or some other manifestation of the body.  Similarly, spirits are notorious for being wounded by casual bumps and bruises.  Finally, it’s generally easy to handle– a good roma tomato fits well in a hand– and this shows how one can (and perhaps should) take their spirit with them wherever they go.

Each participant in the festival also needs a “soul” to protect against the demons of everyday life; choose a healthy, unbruised one for obvious reasons.  I’m not sure if demons have souls, so for the demon I’ll refer to it as its essence.

The best time to perform the ritual is just after the sun goes down, since that is when the demon is presumably at its strongest, and it’s defeat at this time would be final.  Each participant should take their own soul/spirit in their right hand.  In their left, they should have a collection of peanuts, in shells or crushed.

Then, all participants should dance in a circle around the effigy many times.  They must hold their spirit-tomato close to their solar plexus (for protection); the left hand, with the crushed peanuts, should be pumped up and down or waved menacingly towards the demon-effigy.  Chant to Durga or Ram or generally just hoot and holler as desired.  The participants should circle at least three times; six or seven is probably good.  42, being the cross product of all that is bad (6) and all that is good (7) is probably the key number for the truly devout.

Once the circling and chanting is complete, everyone should gather in front of the demon-effigy and throw their peanuts at it.  Then, the designated firestarted can light the effigy while the group gathers arond to watch the destruction of the demon.

When the effigy is sufficiently burned, you will probably still have the demon-essence, possibly warm and somewhat baked.  One participant should make some statement about the defeat of darkness or evil and then smash the essence fully.  Do not let anyone eat the demon-essence, no matter how much they liked roasted tomatoes.  This is a temptation that will lead to full destruction of their own soul.

Each person should then eat their own souls that have been protected from demon; it will provide strength and goodness to their body.  

The final act of the festival is for all to eat a sweet in celebration of the casting out of demons from our lives, since that is so sweet!

October 5, 3:20 am : I woke up.  It would be wholly unfair to say that I had to drag myself out of bed.  It was surprisingly easy.  I picked up a card Nicky put under my door sometime shortly after midnight and packed it into my daypack.  By 4:00 am, I was out of the guesthouse and walking across the bridge to the bus station.  I was headed to Gangontri. 

Shortly across the footbridge, I met an Israeli couple that was holding a rickshaw and waiting for another rickshaw to catch up.  I jumped on board since it was a reasonable price, and we made our way to the bus station.  We took the cramped, uncomfortable local bus for 7 hours to Utarkashi.  The Israelis had done better research than I had and knew that we had to stop there to get a permit, otherwise we would not be allowed access to the park. 

In Utarkashi, we learned there were no more buses headed to Gangotri that day.  They only leave in the morning.  The Israelis wanted to get the move on as well, so we hired a private jeep to take us the rest of the way- I wouldn’t have been able to do it by myself.  First, however, we had to go to the permit office.

October 5, 2:05 pm : We arrived at the permit office, which closes at 2:00 on Sundays.  There was a Bengali family standing outside and they told us they were incapable of convincing the permit officer, who was inside (though the door was locked), to fill out the permit because the office was “closed.”  Apparently, there was only the first problem.  The bigger problem was that the park had already handed out 150 reservations for each of the next four days.  That is the maximum daily admittance to the park. 

With the Bengali father translating and some pleading, the officer called the heard warden, who offered to give us special permission if we went and picked him up from where he was staying.  One of the Israelis took the hired jeep and brought him back.  He graciously filled out the permits for us and the Bengali family.  How this happened, I’m not sure.  It’s not like the National Park Service ever let me stay in a booked campsite.

October 5, 7:30 pm : There was a landslide somewhere in the middle of the trek between Utarkashi and Gangotri, and we had to wait for the bulldozer to clear it.  I could have crafted that into a little more suspense, but it wasn’t a very big deal.  I was more worried about the rain that set in around 6:00.  The downpour on the steep, curving, mud and rock roads that the kid driver was speedily navigating might have caused more cautious observers to shiver (like one of the Israelis).  I just hoped, after figuring out how to get the permit and get to Gangotri, that the skys would be clear for the hike.  Then I realized I also forgot my rain gear.

It was a cold night, and a little sad.  At the trailhead, there wasn’t much to do after 8:00pm, and I was still uncertain if my timing was off.  What if the rain kept up?  What if the region was hazy and foggy like Rishikesh had been?  After the many near trek-killers that had appeared - and been overcome - throughout the day, there was no certainty that things would work out.  No matter how much I amuse myself by seeing metaphors and symbolism in life, it’s not really quite so literary.

October 6 : Or maybe it is that literary.  It was a beautiful, fantastic, clear day.  The huge mountain peaks that stood garrison around the valley loomed against deep blue skies.  Although parts of the drive the day before were reminscient of the Appalachians, here was an analogue of the rockies, with pine trees and brambly shrubs climbing up half of the peak, leaving the rest a jagged, rocky splinter reaching for the sky.  Halfway through the day, I had hikes above most vegetation and trekked through the dusty, rocky upper altitude terrain.

I met the Israelis and we started off about 9:00am.  We were on the same permit, and so we couldn’t get past the checkpoint unless we were together.  I tried to walk with them for a while, but I’m a bit of a fiery hiker, especially up hill.  They told me to go off on my own, and I covered the 14 km in about 4 hours- 90 minutes less than they did.  My awesome GPS (thanks Amy) told me my average moving pace was 4.6 km/hour.  It was probably slightly higher since that includes the tedious first three kilometers I hiked with the Israelis.  The day had a 800 meter net elevation gain, but the path was wide and well maintained.  Not only was it a good pace and a great walk, but I arrived at camp just as the clouds were setting in.  Soon it was cold, blustery, and overcast.

By sunset, everyone had arrived and was milling around. The Israelis were a bit insular, and I spent most of the rest of the day talking to the wide variety of interesting people who were at the tiny campsite; a very intelligent couple from Bangalore (South India) who liked to talk about politics, nature, and global development; a younger pair of NRIs (Non Resident Indians) living in Geneva and Australia; an ethnic-Indian Kiwi couple; a pair of older men from Delhi; etc etc.  The subject of US Politics came up several times, and various factions made fun of Sarah Palin or lamented a US public that even gives John McCain a chance.  To date, I have not met a foreigner in my travels that supported the 2008 Republican ticket (or George Bush’s present policies, for that matter).

October 7 : Despite the previous evening’s overcast skies, It was a similarly beautiful morning.  The major difference in the day is that the clouds didn’t set in at all.  That was great, because the Israelis and I had decided we’d go to the Gaumukh and back to Gangotri that day.  Although it would be 22 km, there was a net elevation loss of 900 meters (after the 100 meter gain on the way to Gaumuk).  We wanted to save the extra day and also to not pay the overstay fine.  At the park checkpoint, the guards told us our permit would only last for one night even though it said two. 

Gaumukh literaly means “Cow’s Mouth” and it’s the source of the Ganga.  The Cow (or Bull, at least) is the representative animal of Shiva, for whom the river has other special importance that I’ve mentioned in times past.  Ganga is a goddess, and she is sent to earth in the form of the river to nourish the people of India.  However, she is so powerful that she would destroy the people she was trying to help if she was simply unleashed on the Earth (ummm.  flood?).  Shiva volunteered to have the Ganga run through his hair to temper it before it reached the Earth. 

As I’ve mentioned in various other posts and rants, bathing in the Ganga is supposed to wash away your sins, though I haven’t gotten a good consensus on how much or what the side effects are.  I’ve heard a variety of different stories, but all of them indicate it’s much less auspicious to bathe downstream than at the source.  Nicky (mentioned before, a friend Becky and I met in Leh whom I met up with again in RIshikesh) liked Andrea’s idea that washing in the Ganga might wash away your sins, but then you’ll pick up the sins of people who washed upstream of you.  I like that one two.

And if we go with that: At the source, there’s no one upstream!  The only thing upstream is a GLACIER, and there are some ice bergs near the cow’s mouth to prove it (the Gaumuk itself is a hole in a rock face where the glacier-water actually pours forth after traveling some distance underground).  I had hiked that far, and so I had to get in.  One of the Israelis captured it on video for me, which I’ll post when I can.  It was cold.  Duh, Kevin; it’s from a glacier.  But it was invigorating and enlightening. 

According to Scott  Smith, the age of 30 is the time to start a few years of proseletyzation before coming to a tragic end.  If this is true, what better way to start than bathing in the source of the Ganga? 

For whatever reason, I was the only one that I saw that fully submerged myself.  There were some holy men that were rubbing water onto their arms and such, but no one got into the water.  It was cold, but the few seconds I was under water wasn’t nearly as rough as I expected it to be.  Maybe I’ll join the polar bear club now.

I left the Israelis at the Gaumukh and began the trek back.  I didn’t need them to tell me to go ahead today.  For the 18 km return, my moving average was 5.1 km/hour.  Why do you insist on telling us the number, you ask?  Besides my interest in fully utilizing Amy’s age-29 birthday present, I think it’s interesting to point out that whether it’s a 800 meter gain or a 900 meter loss on the day, my pace is almost the same.

October 8: So the entire trek was a fantastic experience, and to top it off, I met the two men from Delhi in a cafe in Gangotri on the night of the seventh, and they offered to give me a ride back to Rishikesh the next day.  So, most of October 8 (12 hours!) was spent in interesting conversation, drifting from politics, to society, to religion, and etc.  They had been old friends from middle school and tried to take a yearly vacation to go hiking.  The one, Sakesh, is a lawyer for the Supreme Court.  Aside from the free ride and good conversation, I have an invitation to visit when I’m in Delhi before I return to the USA.  Fantastic!

Now: So I’m back in Rishikesh until I figure out where to go next.  Cheers, everyone, and take care!

This is to let you know that I have moved on to the foot of the Himalayas, in Rishikesh, “Yoga Capital of the World.”  It is also on the Ganga, and for some reason has drawn many different Ashrams, which you can think of as an encampment of meditation and philosophy led by a spiritual leader.  I briefly mentioned the one in Pune, Maharastra, which catered mostly to western tourists, charged some exhorbitant entrance fee (at the time of the book writing, I think it was $200), administered an HIV test, and then preached the benefits of drugs and sex to reach enlightenment.  The Ashrams here seem to be a little more …. legitimate…. but not all without their Karma-Cola aspect.  Rishikesh itself have little ancient-historical religious significance, and is far less important to Hinduism than Hardiwar, about 30 km to the south, where the Ganga flows from the last Himalayan foothill onto the plains of North-Central India.  It has modern-historical significance because the Beatles came to an Ashram here and hung out for a few months (before allegedly becoming disillusioned with the Guru’s womanizing). 

It is also the gateway to the Ganga’s Himalayan origin, and I plan to look into making the 3-day trek to the source, although it may be that I need to have proof of Typhoid immunization, which I don’t carry in my wallet. 

The rest of the post will respond to a couple interesting comments on the last few posts.  Andrea commented on the proliferation of big-boobed stone goddesses in the posted photos.  I have two additional points of interest about these goddesses.  While Barbie is constantly derided for not having enough room for a liver (if she were a real woman), some of these goddesses, I am convinced, would also not be able to have their kidneys or the bottom two ribs!  The other interesting note is a comment on sandstone, which many of the temples were carved from.  If you touch it enough over time then the oils from your fingers end up polishing it.  So the heads of the gods are often polished from the priests taking blessings from them every day.  The boobs of the goddesses are often also shiny in the same way.

Jeff also commented that past karma is meaningless compared to the present, and that if all my karma is washed away but nothing changes, I may never have had karma to begin with.  With this, I’m not sure I agree, and it may come down to a difference in understanding between Buddhist and Hindu karma….  I’m not sure why past karma would have a continued influence on your attitude and actions in the present.  My perception of it is that it is the accumulated balance of whether your past choices have been ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ (I’ll skip the questions about who determines the scale), and that a net positive karma at the end of a set of lives allows you to transcend the cycle of reincarnation (samsara) and attain Moksha/Nirvana (very different in themselves, but both separate from samsara). 

Come to think of it, that understanding would not account for the attainment of enlightenment, as it is called, which potentially would be a separate sidestepping of the samsara-cycle through a realization that there really is no karma (and thus, universal right or wrong, or accountability for past actions).  Am I getting somewhere here, Jeff? If that is the case (in Buddhism), I wonder if there is an analogue in Hinduism.  Maybe I should join an Asrama to find out.

My previous rejection of bathing in the Ganga and cleansing my bad karma to attain Moksha (Hindu Paradise, compared to Nirvana, Buddhist Annihilation) is peculiarly close, as I reflected a bit later, to a criticism of a choice-based Grace, as found in the modern western religions (Christianity and Islam)- that is, if there is an ultimate Grace that washes away all of your sins assuming that you ‘choose’ to believe the correct religion, and no amount of wonderfulness on the part of those who chose ‘incorrectly’ will ever lead to such Grace, then it comes down that all choice (except for one) is meaningless and it doesn’t matter what is done as long as the choice of singular belief is correct.  To me, that’s just like choosing to wash in the Ganga and cleanse any/all bad karma from the past, and I feel there’s a philosophical problem with that (at least for a choice-monger like me). 

For those still reading, you might find it interesting that, if there is universal grace (or universal moksha, or universal nirvana, or any other thing that affects all people equally), I feel my argument falls apart.  There is no other-worldly accountability for specific choices and actions, and the consequences (or lack of them) are merely what happens to you physically and how your interpret that psychologically.  That is, for me, the essence of living, for then one is to make their own choices based on their own personal beliefs and values, and they will judge themselves (or forgive themselves) based on the same and deal with what physically happens to them based on their understanding and perceptions of their own choices.  Reading that over again, it seems a bit heavy.  I’m not sure how to explain it better.  I guess the idea I have is that the existence of an afterlife, or a next-life, should have no bearing on the present (that sound a bit like Jeff’s comment), and that our choices, the external (not-us) reaction to those choices, and the internal perception of both the choice and the reaction form the basis of …. of….  everything? 

Well, that’s perhaps enough ranting for the time….  This was going to be a very short post, initially.

-42 

According to the news, the stock market tumbled 7% due to the house failing to pass the economic bailout bill. That’s wild! and being in India probably insulates me from the full effect of that news. I hope you were all shorting the market. I wasn’t.

I’m in Varansi, the holy city of Shiva. Hindus purify themselves in the Ganga (Ganges) here, which supposedly erases the bad karma you may have accumulated over time. I have decided, once again, that I will not bathe in the Ganga. This time, it’s a bit more deliberate; I decided that I’d rather suffer returning to the universe in future lives than having all of my bad karma washed away. All of my choices, good or bad, are my choices, and if I am to be held accountable for them, then let me be held accountable for them! Otherwise, it would be like saying that no decision I made ever meant anything.

That being said, it might be a nice time to mention that I don’t believe in an afterlife in which there is a separation of souls; that gives me the luxury to be metaphorical when confronted with situations like the Ganga Issue.

I also went to Sarnath, which is the location where the Buddha began teaching in c. 300 BC (?). It had been mostly destroyed by the Muslim Mughals in the 11th century and so was a collection of new building and monuments mixed with the unearthed foundations of the originals. The archaeological work began in the 19th century by the British.

Of particular note, they had a cutting from The Bodhi tree. For those unfamiliar with the life of the Buddha, he went to Bodhgaya (which is about 5 hours east of here) and become enlightened under a certain Bodhi tree. Then he came to Sarnath and began his teachings. A cutting from that Bodhi tree was taken and planted in Sri Lanka during the reign of the Buddhist Emperor, Ashoka. Somewhere in time, the original Bodhi tree died, was burned down, or was otherwise destroyed. Recently (ie. in the last 200 years), cuttings from the Sri Lankan cutting (after 2000 years, it is now a full grown tree), were taken and planted at the original site in Bodhgaya and also in Sarnath.

Also of note, there was a verse/inscription recorded from the Buddha that said something along the lines of “for enlightenment, you have to release your craving for reincarnation.” In light of my recently mentioned decision to not bathe in the Ganga and thus suffer the slings and arrows of future reincarnation, I found a little irony in the juxtaposition. Although I could argue that my decision is founded on moral or philosophic principles, perhaps I should abandon my “craving for reincarnation” and just jump into the water. We’ll see.

The question will no doubt continue to follow me. I’ll be leaving Varnasi tomorrow for Uttaranchal where I will follow it all the way to its source. I’ll have many more opportunities to bathe, and legend has it that bathing at the well spring negates your bad karma from all your previous lives as well. That poses an entirely different question since I’m not sure how responsible I should be for my previous lives. You might hear me musing about this more in the future. Until, then, cheers.

Kevin

Also, more Photos:

1. Hampi, which was one of my first places to visit, deep in South India
2. Ellora, intricate caves outside Aurungabad, Maharastra
3. Kalleda, the school I was teaching at in Andhra Pradesh