Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Murudeshwar-- a very big Shiva (and Gokarna, and birthday)

I'm currently in a great, small town called Sringeri, and have been here several days now. Last night I spent a while typing up this entry when the computer crashed (in the more or less permanent sense), and so it turned out to be one of those times when you lose a bunch. I'm not devastated or anything, but for whatever reason I feel the need to mention it before proceeding. Since the entry is more or less already written, it should be similar to what it would have been, except that I am now less likely to confuse my z's and y's since I am typing on an English, rather than German, keyboard. I'll explain this and more about Sringeri in my subsequent entry. That way I can maintain the week delay of all information on the blog . . .

Written Nov. 26, 9:30 am.
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Murudeshawar

I am about to leave Murudeshwar (pronounced more like Mudeshwar), a town south along the coast from my last destination, Gokarna. I am here for a few reasons, the principle one being that it isn't mentioned in my travel guide (the Lonely Planet). It came to my attention because an Indian fellow I talked with recommended it, and it happened to be on my way southward, but the reason I decided to get off the bus as it stopped briefly on a highway that passed nearby was that I hadn't yet escaped from the destinations listed in the Lonely Planet. I thought doing might give me a chance to get a glimpse of India as it exists outside the world of Western tourists.

Indeed this proved to be the case. During my stay, the only other people I saw who appeared to be Westerners were a single European couple that I passed in the street. This is not, however, to say that Murudeshwar doesn't have its fair share of tourists; in fact it appears to be more or less a town built upon tourism. It's just that they almost exclusively get Indian tourists. It turns out that this place has a giant Shiva statue, which I remembered the Indian fellow who made the rec. to visit having mentioned once I saw it-- towering over the town and surrounding landscape--from where I got off the bus, about a mile away. In fact this Shiva statue is claimed by the town to be the "World's Largest," and I can believe it (especially since there aren't likely contenders outside India . . . ). Though I've never myself seen the Statue of Liberty, I'm tempted to say that it is of similar proportions, perhaps a bit smaller (though I'd still put my money on Shiva in a fight: he has 4 arms--one holding a mean-looking trident-- and is, afterall, the destroyer of the universe). In any case, this monument is definitely the less tall of the two, as Shiva sits in the hyper-cross-legged lotus position. Even so, the sheer size of this thing is impressive.

So why no Western tourists? Or, in other words, why don't the guide books include it? After my experience with Let's Go this summer I feel comfortable saying that it's partly arbitrary, what gets included in travel guides. In the Lonely Planet, most smaller destinations get lumped in the "Around X-major city" sections, and it isn't really "around" any major cities. As for why this isn't a must-see for all foreign visitors, as a relatively recent construction, it has an undeniable campiness. There's a small kind-of campus surrounding Shiva with a host of other, smaller statues, and as a whole the thing looks a little piece of Disneyland developed around Hindu gods instead of Mickey and friends.

I walked around the grounds maybe 15-20 minutes. Nearly all the rest of the afternoon I spent wandering, first about the streets of the town and then later through the surrounding farmland. Most everywhere I went, I was something of a spectacle: people stopping, staring, pointing, coming out of houses to look at me. I greeted everyone as warmly as I could, and at this most transformed blank stares into big smiles and returned the gesture. Not once did someone hound me to buy something or give them money. Not once! I can recall a beggar or two, but they weren't aggressive, and there were a few men trying to push their postcards at the base of the Shiva, but one polite "no thanks" was enough. Twice in my wanderings I had the opportunity to accept offers from nice fellows on passing motorbikes to ride as the third (in India motorbikes seat three and bicycles seat two, which isn't to say either is made differently than we in the States are used to). Generosity, extended in my direction!! While I certainly felt a little strange causing such a commotion everywhere I went, on the whole I was ecstatic with how differently I was being treated from most places in India that I have been thus far.

What I'm not sure of yet is how much this difference I encountered might be in part due to religious influence: I discovered as I walked through the town--from a man originally from Dubai with perfect English-- that Murudeshwar is 70% Moslem (and only 20% Hindu, with 10% of the population Christian). So in that sense I presume this town isn't representative of the rest of India, which is about 80% Hindu and 12% Moslem according the Lonely Planet. Whether Indian Moslems conduct themselves differently from their Hindu neighbors, I don't yet know. My sense is that they don't, and I suspect that my experience would have been much the same if Murudeshwar was entirely Hindu. But, even the notion of being surrounded by Moslems gave me the chance to reflect upon the respect I gained for Islam during my time in Syria, replacing vaguely negative associations that I kind of knew I probably shouldn't hold with genuinely positive sentiments. Which isn't to say that I prefer Islam to Hinduism, or anything of the sort. I will say, though, that while I feel I have at least some understanding of Islam, Hinduism continues to be a perplexing thing to me, though I know a fair number of facts about it. It just feels so different from what I've known, and so complex-- there are, according to the Lonely Planet (again) 330 million Hindu gods. What does that even mean? And, of course, I don't have an already immersed, local-language-speaking guide to the people and culture, as Rich was for me in Syria. (English gets me by, but only at a basic level. There's rarely opportunity for conversations of substance with locals.)

More beach

Prior to my arrival in Murudeshwar (and following my time in Hampi), I spent another 3 days on the beach, more than I expected after my experience of it in Goa. I decided to go this beach largely because it seemed as good a way as any to get back to the coast and continue southward. It sounded like it might be an improvement over Goa, since (a) the town is a major Hindu pilgrimage site, and (b) the beaches were far less developed. Also, my Israeli pal from Hampi, Danny, was headed there. So I thought I might spend a day and then be on my way.

A few things conspired to prevent this. On my overnight sleeper bus from Hampi to Gokarna, I made friends with a British couple and a Dane, with whom I then traveled to the beach upon our arrival at 4 something in the morning. We ended up at this place with ultra-basic huts very much like the huts lived in by many coastal-living Indians-- a bamboo frame and palm frawn walls directly on sand-- and so in my mind far more authentic than the more plush huts I had found in Goa. The beach was mostly unoccupied (though a huge resort is about to open very close, which will certainly change the whole feel of the place), felt remote (also perhaps not for long), and was generally stunning--hands down more so than anywhere I saw in Goa. Many of the huts were occupied by semi-permanent residents (six month visas being the limiting factor in permanency) who formed something of a small, pleasantly inclusive community. In fact, with encouragement from my new companions from the bus, they threw me a semi-surprise birthday party on the evening of my arrival (the 22nd, which still felt kind of like my birthday since I didn't really sleep on the bus the night before). The Indians who owned and ran the place were really great, and they made the best food I've had in India. All around, there was a lot to like.

And yet, despite all this, after about another day and a half on the beach, I'd had enough. Though in every sense an improvement from Goa, my experience at Gokarna in the end still felt very much like the product of that contrived Western fantasy, if of a slightly different sort. Most the residents lounged about through the day in hammocks, dipping in the ocean now and again, and partied all night, all the while being waited upon by the Indians. As we stayed longer there grew something of a rift between me and my European pals, as they expressed feelings along the lines of, "I need to stay at least another week here, maybe two." My own mindset was moving more and more towards, "If I don't get out of here by Friday I'm going to start breaking things." Like in Goa, I just felt like there is just too much to see and experience in India to be spending day after day sitting on the beach. I guess a big part of it is that I've never really been able to enjoy sitting on the beach all day-- I get bored and discontent quickly. I prefer to do something, even if it's just roaming . . .

The problem was, the town was an hour walk away from where we were staying, and since most booking has to be done in advance (at least for the trains, which I expected to take), it took me several days to get out of there. But, this was okay in that the walk to town, over headlands and along other beaches, was spectacular. And the town itself felt distinctly Indian and not overrun by tourists. In the end my trips were unnecessary, as I cancelled my train reservation and caught a bus instead, realizing that the particulars of train travel from Gokarna would be a headache. Once this decision had been made, I realized that this would allow me to stop easily enough in Murudeshwar, and so I decided to go for it.

Having seen how great the absence of tourism can be, I think I may continue to stop in small towns unmentioned in the Lonely Planet during the remainder of my stay. I'm considering going to Sringeri tonight, another town circled in the Lonely Planet. It gets a brief description in the "Around Mangalore" section; though brief, it makes the town sound pretty cool.

--Josh
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A note about that birthday of mine, as per request: I wrote up in my journal part of what was to be a post of the events of my birthday in Hampi (and then on the sleeper bus). But an entire entry for one day was more space than the days events merited. So, briefly: I had quite a nice day. I didn't worry too much about the fact that it was my birthday, though I didn't ignore it entirely, either. I started the day visiting the remaining temples/ruins of Hampi, which included a really cool one on top of a big Hillock with great views overlooking some of the other sights. I had lunch at a restaurant called the Mango Tree, where I ate almost every day I was in Hampi because the food was pretty good and the atmosphere was a contender for best I've ever seen (outdoor terraces facing out over the river, beneath a giant mango tree).

From there I went in search of some waterfalls a little ways outside of town that I'd heard about, which proved to be really cool. Though most hire guides to show the way because it is supposed to be quite difficult to find, I decided, tired of the various sights where you just show up and look, that I would find them myself or not find them at all. With some good luck and occasional directions from locals, I was able to make my way through the various banana farms, marshland, and rocky slabs to the waterfalls. Though uncertain of what to expect, these waterfalls turned out to be among the most interesting water features I've seen: in the middle of a big rock clearing, the waterfalls are a series of half underground cascades. The water rushes beneath and between piled boulders, so to get down to the water I had to scramble down through the rocks. You could never see very much of it at once, which is why I think I enjoyed it so much. I say waterfalls because there were two, one after the other with a pool between. After the second, there was another pool, which then disappeared entirely underground, resurfacing only a kilometer or so later. It's difficult to explain, and probably pretty boring to read, so I won't elaborate much more. In short, it's the sort of thing that gets me excited, so I really enjoyed being there. Especially since I was able to find it without paying someone to just show me-- it made it so that it didn't feel like the sightseeing I described previously. I ended up staying a good while longer than I expected, such that as soon as I got back I had to go catch my bus to Gokarna. So that's my birthday-- nothing too wild, but a good day to be sure. Looking forward to celebrating the ability to drink legally in the US upon my return . . .

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Hampi-- sightseeing


First bit written night of Nov. 19, finished Nov. 20, in Hampi, in the center of the south of India. I hope to post an entry about my recent birthday shortly. I still haven't taken the time to get pictures on here; in the meantime, in case you might happen to be interested, the Swedes I met in the Bollywood filming have posted a photo of us at breakfast one of the subsequent mornings: http://www.resedagboken.se/Default.aspx?documentId=81&userId=63535§ion=myimagegalleries&journeyId=44166. The picture is currently at the bottom of page 4 (did I mention that my eyes are mostly open!). Christoph on the left was my first pal in India, Thomas is another really cool German fellow I also hope to see again, Esta was the female half of the Kiwi couple, and C-J is one of the Swedes. Happy Thanksgiving!
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Ten days after arriving in India, I think today was first day really, truly here. I spent it exploring Hampi, a sacred Hindu city once the capital of one of the largest Hindu empires in history (then called Vijayengar) but now in ruins, with a really nice Israeli fellow named Danny.

Hampi happens to be a place that I've hoped to visit a few years now, well before the notion of traveling to India otherwise started to appeal to me this past summer. Set in a valley filled with so-called "hillocks" covered in high quality granite boulders, it is among the world's best bouldering destinations. I may climb before I leave, but this is by no means a focus for me at the moment. By and large bouldering feels like something from another lifetime from where I stand in my life presently. That said, there is a certain amount of familiarity for me in the boulder strewn landscape, especially since the hills themselves are only sparsely vegetated since they are mostly rock. But quite unlike the arid places the boulders remind me of, between the hills are acres and acres of lush banana farms, with coconut palms here and there, the occasional sugar cane farm, and a river at the valley's center.

The differences don't end there: built amongst, out of, sometimes against these boulders are scores of anonymous monuments of Vijayengar in varying stages of decay. Spread out over the valley are the remains of four or five major Hindu temples, still stunning today. Predominantly made of the golden and white granite of the valley's boulders, these open air temples house countless depictions of what I presume to be Hindu gods and their various incarnations carved out of the stone. Over the entrances stand tall pyramidal towers--also carved entirely with various figures. Smaller towers rise up at other points in each temple. Throughout what was the main temple are sets of small columns that, when tapped upon, sound varying musical notes; the sophistication of this blows my mind! The notes are low in pitch and kind of muted, perhaps the sound you would get if you extended a xylophone a few octaves lower. While it's novel to go around tapping these columns, listening to their different sounds, what really excited me when visiting was imaging how beautiful and religious it would be to hear a musical piece arranged for and played on the columns (which is to say played on the temple itself!). I don't know if this was done, but (clearly) I would like to think so.

Having said all this, I should mention that I didn't enjoy visiting these places as much as I might have made it sound above. I spent much of the day vaguely frustrated with the nature of sightseeing. First, being treated like a human bag of cash (meaning having every Indian you encounter try to sell you something) gets tiresome quickly. Second, sightseeing is just so . . . passive. You go, you see, you cross things off your mental to do list. And what else is there to do, really? Like with the temples described above, I enjoy having seen all these things. So we'll see whether I continue to sightsee as the trip progresses.

Perhaps my favorite part of the sightseeing excursion was when Danny and I took the bikes we were renting for the day to get around the sites down a small path through a grassy area, away from the main sites. There we found a smaller ruined temple, and two small boys, brothers, who wanted some money in exchange for our taking a picture of them. We avoided the issue, instead joking with them by asking for them to give us a "school pen", as many of the children do to us. They laughed, and as we walked back to our bikes they followed us, and then when we began to ride away they jumped on the back of our bikes and rode with us for a while through the grass. Once we had made it clear we weren't going to give them money, they became a bit more real with us, and it was just a really fun, unexpected moment.

In the evening after our return to our guesthouse, as sunset approached I went wandering on a ruin covered hill above the town. The sunset was a brilliant red, and as the light faded the ruins became dramatic silhouettes against the sky. As I walked about the village after dark, I found myself greeting the various hawkers with a big smile to accompany my "no thank you". For some reason, this made them seem to let me go without further harassment. In general, I felt thoroughly happy, and like I was hitting my stride a bit. Afterwards I grabbed dinner with Danny, and we talked over all sorts of travel related topics.

Prior to my arrival here, after my departure from Mumbai, I spend about four days on beaches that look like a New Englander's mid-winter dream of a tropical paradise. They were beautiful, and my time there was okay, but by the time I left I was dying to get out of there. They're just super touristy, and, when you get right down to it, quite artificial-- developed with bars and palm-frawn covered beach-hut accommodations to satisfy the Western tourist's notion of that "tropical paradise". I could imagine myself enjoying it after months of grueling travels, but it turned out to be a lousy place to start a trip here-- there was very little distinctly Indian about these beaches. My main hope in stopping here was meeting people to travel with, but it turned out that many people at touristy beach destinations don't have an interest in India extending beyond such beaches. Those who I met who were traveling were mostly wrapping their trips up.

Okay, that's all for now.

Josh

Monday, November 14, 2005

Panaji, Goa-- Mumbai and Bollywood

Hello,

This will be my first entry written here sitting at the computer. I may borrow from some writing I did last night, but at the time I was fairly uninspired. The result is that what I wrote intended for this blog was excessively long winded and dull, so I won't include it in full. Here goes.

Bollywood

Shortly after I had written my last entry that first night in Bollywood, Christoph and I were asked to be extras in a Bollywood film. The Lonely Planet mentinoed that this happens sometimes, and it sounded pretty cool to me, but I didn't expect to be so lucky. So we gladly accepted, and, as promised, the fellow who asked came by our room at 8:30am the next morning. A few cabs and a local train ride later, Christoph and I, along with 7 other backpacker types also staying at dingy hotels in Colaba--the section of town where backpackers tend to stay--found ourselves at a well-kept medium-sized theater in some unknown section of the great sprawling metropolis that is now called Mumbai. The theater had been taken over by the people involved in the film--trailers, big cables, busy looking people with headsets moving about. We were escorted down to the underground garage that they had designated their "junior artist" (extra) holding area. After just a few minutes I was given a costume to be a coat-taker and led upstairs, where I proceeded to take a coat in the background of the opening scene. Though the scene was only 10 seconds long, myself and CJ, a Swedish fellow playing a security guard in the scene, were there at least an hour. We did the scene over many times, but what really made it stretch out were these bizarrely long breaks between cuts. One contributing factor was the presence in the scene of India's supposed "best actress" (in fact she had won this award three consecutive years in the major Indian movie awards), a high-strung, high maintenaince individual. Between shoots, her hair was redone each time (though she didn't so much as take a step), and at one point they had change out one of the Indian extras because the extra's sari was too similar to this actresses own sari.

The film, it turned out, was to be titled "The Contest," the basic plot being an American Idol style competition, but amongst an Indian community living in New Jersey. Thus the need for white coat-takers and security guards. We found out later it was not a true Bollywood film, and was in fact intended as a "crossover", which is why it was being filmed in English.

Anyhow, the day stretched on, with lots of sitting around in the garage. A little later CJ, his friend Alex, a German fellow named Thomas and myself were called back up to be security guards (note that I have now been cast in two separate roles in the film, an amusing thing given how seriously the people making the film were taking themselves and the film). I'm going to borrow hare from the blog-equivalent kept by the Swedish duo, as they offer an excellent description of our security guard uniforms: "We were slightly (to say the least) disappointed when we were given XXL T-shirts with a “SECURITY” logo on the back, baggy black ill-fitting jeans, green(?) socks, belt suited for Rosanne Barr and black grandpa-style shoes. After the feminine make-up guy had his way with our faces we looked absolutely nothing like Will Smith in “Men in Black” – to say that we resembled something out of “Police Academy 14” was closer to the truth. Welcome to the multi-billion business of Bollywood" (more at http://www.resedagboken.se/Default.aspx?documentId=3&userId=63535§ion=blog&journeyId=44166.) All I'll add is that despite "SECURITY" written on our backs, our backs never once appeared on film; our fronts were blank, except for little cards hung from our necks that read "Volunteer".

Well, we ended up mostly sitting there in theater for hours on end, one of us at a time standing in a position such that we might provide a leg or an arm way in the background. Meanwhile the other "foreigners" (white backpackers) were just sitting in the garage down below. Fortunately for us they gave us locked-channel radios for our costumes, which we turned on and set to the same channel, allowing us to banter in the ear of whichever "security guard" was on film at the moment. Without this the filming would have been unbearable as it dragged on. And it dragged on and on and on. It seemed as though they were making the whole thing up as they went along, with their one camera. It's hard for me to verbalized how unprofessional and badly organized they were. In all, we were on the set a mind-numbing 14 hours, for which we were compensated Rs 500 (roughly $11). Though I was cast twice, some poor people, such as Christoph, were never once cast, meaning they just sat there all day.

Though the filming itself was a little tedious, on the whole what made it a good experience was getting to know and hang out with the other "foreigners": the Swedes, a Kiwi couple they had been travelling with (and were also on the set, cast as one of two white couples in the audience, both attired in Indian clothes), a German couple (the other white couple in the audience), an Aussie pair, an English couple, and the German Thomas. Christoph and myself hung out especially with Thomas in particular, and they are now travelling together in the north, first stop Varanasi. But it was really good just to get to know somewhat a bunch of cool people, further dampening any fears of isolation during my time here. Though some were just starting off their time here like Christoph and myself, others were well into their travels in India, and so had a great deal of helpful, up to date advice about various parts of the country.

Running low on time--this is the problem with writing on the computer, I guess, given how slowly I write. Briefly (and sloppily):

I never ended up making it out to Elephanta Island, as I got caught up in various lunch meetings and the like with my fellow junior artists in my last days in Mumbai. I did get a chance, with Christoph and Thomas, to explore some more or less tourist-free sections of Mumbai, though, including a neighborhood with a long street market that reminded me of the souks so frequent in Syria. As we continued along this street, it went up a big staircase and then became residential and grew narrower, until we could touch both sides at once with outstretched arms. A few times it looked as though we had encountered a dead end, only to find that we could squeeze by a little corner and the pasage continued. A marked difference from Syria was that the houses were brightly colored, and many had open doors, allowing us a glimpse inside. The people we encountered mostly giggled at us, and no one tried to sell us anything, which was a marked contrast from Colaba, where every step you take a new person is trying to make you buy some piece of junk you don't want and people cling to you to try to get you to give them money. Very quickly, this became a bit tiresome. So it was a nice relief to get outside.

Okay, I'm going to have to continue with the rest at a later point in time, but a brief preview: a 16 hour sleeper bus out of Mumbai, a day on my own in Goa, and whatever happens between now and when I write.

I may be out of contact a while, as I think I may be headed to some beaches lacking in towns of any size, but then again I'm not sure, so we'll see.

Josh

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Mumbai-- arrival


Written in the late afternoon of Nov. 9, while in my hotel room in Mumbai. The picture was taken at the Gateway of India, just after sunrise that first morning.
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Well, here I am. In India. In Mumbai no less.

I am in my hotel room here in Colaba, called Maria Lodge, with my new traveling buddy Christoph. Christoph is a German student a few years my senior whom I met at the airport here after our arrival on the same plane from Bahrain, in seek of someone to split the (relatively high) cost of a cab from the airport. I just happened to be so lucky that the one person I ended up talking to was heading to the same part of Mumbai without plans or a hotel reservation. Christoph seems to be quite a kind, bright fellow. He looks like some kind of poster boy for the Third Reich (as he acknowledged himself at one point, in context), and happens to have had a book of short stories he wrote published. We have been operating so far almost as if we traveled here together, sharing this hotel room (after looking at at least 5 other places) and spending the morning wandering about Mumbai together. I expect we part ways in a few days--he plans to start his 2 months here by first going north--which is okay, but he has been great company. Having a companion has made arriving in Mumbai a good deal less overwhelming, I think. In fact, so far, despite seeing many of the things I was told I might find here, I have been almost disappointing un-overwhelmed. But perhaps I speak too soon.

The highlight so far was without doubt arriving at dawn at the Gateway of India, an impressive waterfront arch built by the British some while ago essentially as a monument in honor of themselves (or so it appears, anyhow). After perhaps 45 minutes in the cab from the airport in low, pre-dawn light, during which I witnessed more poverty than I've seen total in the rest of my life (I think we passed through a stretch of what may be the world's largest slums), the driver let us out a block away from the Gateway. And then we were in India. We watched the sun rise over the water (not something I can recall having done before, come to think of it), both of us just sort of standing there in a sleepy awe, laughing to ourselves out of a sort of excited contentment to be where we were in the context that we had arrived.

We've just awoke from a 4-5 hour nap, and are about to head out again, perhaps for some food. Hopefully I'll find some internet, too. I'm thinking that tomorrow perhaps I will visit Elephanta Island, and think that perhaps I'll move on from Mumbai the day after that.

Best,
Josh

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Syria-- farewell

Written on November 8, while waiting to board my flight out of Syria.
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Syria has been excellent. People here tend to be very warm and hospitable, I saw amazing places and things, and it was great to be with Rich. It was enlightening to witness a bit of the Arab/Moslem world first-hand. I'm unspeakably glad to have experienced this part of the world and the people that inhabit it for myself--by and large so misrepresented and poorly understood in the so-called West.

I can't say enough how indebted to Rich for the depth of this experience--nevermind the experience itself, since without his stay here I never would have come. Besides acting as my translator and guide throughout, Rich is a keen observer with an inquisitive mind, and in my brief time he brought me up to speed with the various nuances of culture and life that he had learned in the previous months.

That said, I finally came to appreciate towards the end of my visit just how little can really be grasped of a new place and, more significantly, culture in such a short time. Of course, visiting at all is a big step from hearing about it third hand from often dubious sources, but it isn't remotely enough time to begin to grasp the subtleties or inner logic or workings of the society, especially as someone who doesn't speak the language. I find myself constantly tempted to make generalizations from the experiences I have had, and indeed have done so plenty (including in my previous post). But at the same time I know I am bound to be mistaken in doing so having seen so little. Even in ten days I have seen exceptions to many of the characterizations I am tempted to make regarding Arabs, their culture, etc. On the hand, however, I feel that given the limited scope of our, or at least my, mental capacities, we can't avoid but thinking in general terms if we are to process anything (in other words, I imagine that beings with greater mental capacity than ours, or perhaps humans conditioned to more fully utilize their minds, might not have to do so).

I leave Syria with many wonderful memories of events, people, and places: looking out over the lights of Damascus from the mountain the evening of my arrival; frequent walks through the winding souk in Rich's neighborhood; wandering the Old City at dusk with Rich, Gabe, Theresa, and Jens, sitting on a stranger's lap in a packed "service" in the pre-Iftar rush; holding the hand of a lovely young boy who's family had invited us into their home; watching the old wooden water wheels of Hama; riding down from a hilltop crusader castle in the back of a big tractor; sitting quietly and watching children play in the central mosque of Damascus.

I head to India to today in high spirits. I am a bit short on sleep, but feeling mostly healthy and thrilled to be over my first bout of diarrhea. I expect some lows in the coming days, maybe weeks, but I expect to make it through them as well. I am excited to be going to India!

Josh

Monday, November 07, 2005

Syria-- Damascus and travels north (2 entries worth)

Written Nov. 3, 8 pm, in Hama, Syria, Feels like a while ago now . . . Originally composed (on paper) to be typed up as an email.
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Hey everyone,

Forgive me for the delay in sending out a note. I have been in Syria almost a week now, and things here have been going well. Most of what I have seen and experienced has been quite outside anything I have known before. For those I may not have told, I am here with my good friend Rich (also my roommate this past year of school) who is spending the year studying Arabic in Damascus. I will be here in Syria for just over four more days, at which point I will, after much talk, commence my time in India.

We've been living a manic schedule, some nights staying up until daylight, other nights waking before the dawn, still others sleeping 11-12 hours (and necessarily so). We've spent several days in Damascus, made a day trip to a town called Bosra built in and around the ruins of a Roman town by the same name, and are currently on a several day jaunt to the north of Damascus.

A bit about Damascus:

Damascus is a town of maybe six or seven million (the estimate of a friend of Rich's), covering a large area where the desert stretching eastwards meets the mountains that make up the border between Syria and Lebanon. With most buildings low rise, a bit of sprawl, a dry climate, and mountains bordering one side, I haven't been able to avoid drawing a comparison or two to Los Angeles (did I mention the latitude is just about the same?). But this is no Los Angeles. Not that anyone said it would be. Besides being the capital and largest city of modern Syria, Damascus happens to be the oldest continually inhabited city in the world, or so people say.

Inside the Old City, you find yourself walking past things like the church where Christians hold that Paul regained his sight after his incident on the road to Damascus (which makes sense . . .). Or stepping inside the city's gigantic main Mosque-- one of the holiest sites in Islam today-- built on the remains of what was originally a BIGGER Roman temple before it became a Byzantine Church before it was captured from the Christians in the early years of Islam. To think how long people had been here before the Romans . . . .

Outside walls of the Old City, Damascus is marked by contrast. There are countless shopping drags, meaning wide streets with lots of trendy looking stores with bright lights. Though these were especially busy during my time in Damascus, due to the looming arrival of the holiday Eid at the end of Ramadan--the closest Moslem equivalent to Christmas, at least in terms of consumption and gift giving. But I'm told that shopping is something of a national pastime, and I've been surprised to discover that I stand out here largely because I'm not dressed as sharply as other young people. On the note of "national" this and that, I've also been told that none other than Celine Dion is, in terms of popularity, the sort of unofficial "national singer of Syria," but that's another story altogether . . . Only a block away from these shopping rows, you can find narrow winding streets, some with bustling street markets packed with everyone from those trendy shoppers to men and woman wearing more traditional Moslem dress, with a spectrum of everything in between. Some women wear head scarves and modern dress, others don't cover their hair at all; some are decked out in all black with black veils in front of their faces, or only their eyes showing. The buildings outside the Old City tend to be unadorned cubes more often than not with few windows. Concrete is the undoubted construction material of choice, frequently in the form of cinder blocks. As I understand it, this preference stems from the lack of concern in Arab culture with the appearances of the outsides of their living spaces, instead focusing more on the inside. I've been in one somewhat fancy apartment, and this too was inside a bleak looking cinderblock building. Even on the inside cosmetics seem to be much less of a concern than is found in what I'm familiar with at home; people appear unconcerned with making things "look finished," if you will. Rich explained to me that the lack of many windows--especially transparent ones--is due to the emphasis placed on privacy, and certain beliefs about the significance of seeing into the homes of others.

At least largely due to the nature of the Syrian government, crime simply does not exist in Damascus. Not that I would imagine it gets widely publicized when it does occur. Regardless, as far as crime is concerned, I've never felt so completely safe in my life while in a big city. As far as traffic is concerned, I can recall feeling safer elsewhere . . .

Some travels and encounters

Yesterday we visited Palmyra, the vast ruins of a Roman trading center, complete with a "Grand colonnade", temples, and the like, all made from a whitish pink sandstone of sorts. Highlights included walking through the colonnade at dawn and exploring the insides of the old "tower-tombs," some six or more stories high. It was wonderful how so much of this stuff was just there to explore when you got even a little off the beaten track-- no tickets, no interpretive signs, no one telling us what to do. The least enjoyable element of our visit was the impact of extensive tourism on the people living there--everyone was trying to get cash out of us through one scheme or another. No doubt something I can look forward to in various touristed parts of India . . . We spent a relaxed day today in a town called Hama, famous for its beautiful water wheels as well as a sad chapter in Syrian history that I won't go into here.

Almost all we've done has been made possible by Rich's near-fluency in Arabic. Plenty of people travel in Syria without speaking the language, but every time Rich starts talking to people in his excellent Syrian accent (at least I'm told . . . ), you can see in their facial expressions and body language that their entire conception of him changes. More than once he's gotten comments such as, "Oh, I thought you were a foreigner"; Arab vs. foreigner is a distinction of which Syrians tend to be quite conscious. Many times now Rich's conversing has opened doors for us, such as people inviting us into their homes for meals of coffee. When this has happened, I end up spending quite a bit of time sitting there quietly--which I'm more than happy to do--with Rich pausing the conversation now and again to tell me what they've been talking about. From what I've gathered from this, the Syrians we've encountered seem to love to talk about a few things in common. One is the widespread hospitality of Arabs, usually while demonstrating this to us beyond a doubt. Another common topic is Syrian-American relations, but only after volunteering that they don't automatically associate the recent actions of the American government (not popular in the region as of late) and Americans as people--which as Rich pointed out, we Americans don't necessarily do especially well when it comes to Syrians. Occasionally people we talk with ask Rich questions about me, but it is clear that he is just infinitely more, I guess, real and interesting to them, this American who speaks Arabic almost like one of them. This too is fine. I'm happy to sit and observe, let my thoughts wander, and, in one of our more extended visits, play a bit with the children.

In general, I am very much in Rich's debt for all he has done for me this trip, as besides doing all the communicating for the both of us, he is my guide to the culture and etiquette, and in general my sort of caretaker for everything from buying food to crossing the street--not easy for those used to crosswalks and drivers who pay attention to things like lanes and traffic lights. Rich manages the money, pays for various transportation fares, and asks the guys who make shwarma to leave out the green pepper thingys that I liked at first but don't anymore.

As for how I've been, a few sleep-deprivation induced grumpy spells aside, I've been feeling quite well. It's good to be with Rich, doing crazily interesting things every day. Healthwise I'm less than perfect, already besieged with some sort of mild cold and less mild digestion issues (sometimes called diarrhea), but these are footnotes to the overall experience. My thoughts are frequently focused on my soon to begin time in India, and the various new challenges it will present. A number of these seem substantially more tangible here in Syria than they did in the states, so I get nervous for my arrival there from time to time. That said, I have no less excitement for this project, or any less conviction that it is how I want to be spending my time in the coming months. Okay, this has been more than enough.

I hope you are all well!

Sincerely,
Josh

Saturday, November 05, 2005

Original 'About Me'

Hello,
This is where I am planning to write about what I've been up to, how I'm doing, what I've thinking about, etc, for anyone who might be interested to know.
I've decided to try this in leiu of the so-called "mass email." I guess I'm not exactly sure why this strikes me as an improvement, but somehow it does. Maybe something about not feeling like I'm subjecting anyone to anything, or at least not presuming that they might like to be subjected to my ramblings. And I didn't want to try to guess who would like to receive them.
For whatever reason, I think I'll be more comfortable, and therefore more honest, etc. with this medium. This also probably means I'll be less brief, so by all means skim, skip, browse, etc. As if you needed me to tell you that . . .
I don't know as of now (Nov. 6) exactly how often I'll be writing entries. Once every week or two sounds about right at the moment, but I really don't yet know what my life will be like over the coming months. If I'm aware I'll be out of touch a while I'll try to remember to say so.
Post comments, if you like, and make sure to email me often.
Okay, enjoy!Josh