New Digs

April 28, 2002-Getting There
(photos:Tire change,
Amboseli Serena Lodge)

Jackson enjoyed his time at home last night. He has two boys ages 7 and 9. He said they don’t go to an international school. There are no free schools, but those are too expensive for him. There’s also no compulsory education. I asked him if most Kenyans identify with a tribe. He said they do and that he’s Kikuyu.

The clouds in Kenya are mesmerizing. They loom and hug the ground and mountain peaks. Some of them hover halfway to the hilltops like wispy wraiths. They play hide and seek with the sun and obscure views until they’re ready to move on and reveal the majesty behind them. They’re puffs of pure white, black as ebony, or gossamer whiffs of gray, but they’re ever present.

We traveled south to Amboseli National Park today. It’s Sunday and quieter around the towns. Markets open later in the day, but we were treated to several Masai going about their daily chores. Most still live in the traditional way and wear traditional clothes. We did see one man on a bike and several who succumbed to wearing boots or Nikes with their classically draped skirts and shawls. It’s confusing at first to distinguish the men from the women and identifying the symbols on the rest room doors is tricky. The symbols on the doors show the men wearing a skirt and the women wearing dresses. The only way to tell them apart is that the men are holding a spear and the women have a baby on their back. When in motion the Masai don’t walk, they flow. They resemble stilt- like ebony storks that might have flown into a clothesline on washday and come away festooned with colorful linens. Their beadwork is glorious in its variety although it’s all now made from plastic beads rather than the original clay. They docilely tend their cattle and goats and can easily be mistaken for the benign creatures they are not. They’re renowned for their fierce warriors and were one of several tribes who joined the Mau Mau group in the mid-50’s in a bloody attempt to run the English out of Kenya.

We went from a paved “highway” to a 45-mile stretch of unforgiving road that led to the lodge. The road didn’t forgive us this time either. We got a flat tire. Fortunately we carry two spares. Now we have one. Our diver was relieved that two security guards happened along. I guess there are poachers in the area and he didn’t like the idea of stopping unprotected. These burly men carried huge rifles. I know nothing about guns, but I do know I didn’t want to be on the wrong end of those. The guards joined us as spectators while Jackson changed the tire. Unfortunately, it’s a one-person job. I really wanted a picture of the guards, but didn’t think it would be polite to ask. The tire was in shreds and I asked David to take my photo with it. As I tried to lift it I realized it was hotter and heavier than I thought. Both guards happily helped me and smiled for the camera.

We passed the landing strip that serves the lodge and I was glad we didn’t fly in. It’s at the beginning of the 45-mile off-road ordeal and hardly worth the expense since passengers have to drive to the lodge from there. The 2 ½-hour-long drive took us across what’s still called Lake Amboseli. The lake has filled with silt and goes from dry flat plain to short grassy areas to verdant rich swamp and ends in a tree line at the foot of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Hopefully, the wonderful clouds I described before will move and I’ll be able to see the peak of this incredible mountain. It has fascinated me since I was a teen and read The Snows of Mt. Kilimanjaro and Uhuru.

This time we were welcomed by everything from buffalo, frolicking zebras, and Thompsons gazelles to elephants fresh from a mud bath and wildebeest that looked as if their parts had been assembled by a committee. Since their rears are lower than their front ends, they have an awkward gait that reminds me of a rocking horse. A huge mirage made us question whether or not the lake might have filled with water and flat-topped acacia trees littered the horizon like lonely sentries. It looked like every poster for travel in Africa I’ve ever seen.

New Neighbors

The lodge is beautifully landscaped and features the requisite swimming pool and patio for the sunset animal watch. The reception areas are open to the weather as was the other lodge. Here the motif of the rooms is motel-style with red stucco adobe-like construction. I see a pattern emerging. All the lodges are part of the Serena chain and are predictable. The food is similar with soup to start and a made to order pasta bar as a staple. They even have several guests here so I imagine the electricity will stay on all day. During lunch a woman let out a blood-curdling scream. All the serving help raced to her rescue. It sounded as it she was being carried off by a lion or by gypsies at the very least. Our waiter told us that a monkey had reached into the window by her table and tried to steal her bread. They closed the window. All help is armed with slingshots and use them to keep the smaller critters at bay. They aim to discourage, not to hurt them. This is a sanctuary after all.

Our 4 PM game drive started out with a parade of six vans intent on finding lions. It was Lion Quest Part Four. The wildebeest (perhaps gnu to you) were out in force. They hang out with zebras and I’ve a suspicion there’s been some hanky panky in the past. Wildebeest sport those stripes on their haunches, do they not? Jackson told us that zebras never go hungry. They can subsist on the dried out remains of animal dung that contain undigested grasses. They’re a favorite food of lions, but don’t give up without a struggle. Lions either smother them or try to sever the jugular vein. In either case, death comes slowly and the lionesses (the hunters of the pride) are frequently injured. That’s why the male eats first. When he hears the dying cries of the prey, he heads out to dinner. This allows the female time to recover and literally lick her wounds before she has the energy to eat. The young zebras and wildebeest were feeling their oats today and were really kicking up their heels. They chased each other in circles raising clouds of dust until they were totally obscured by the haze.

All the vans had gone off in different directions and we’d given up hope of finding “simba,” the Swahili word for lion. I was back to taking pictures of trees. We came to a clearing in the brush and slowed to a crawl. Eagle-eyed Jackson had done it again. He had seen a near invisible pride of seven tan lions lying in the yellow sand by the road. There were several young ones, some females and a young male whose mane was just coming in. The male was closest to the road and had his rear end pointed towards us. When I say they were barely interested in us, I mean they were either deaf or indifferent. I’m convinced it’s the latter. We really wanted the male to raise his head so we could get a good photo, but he ignored our attempts. We tried calling, “Here kitty, kitty,” briefly tapping on the horn, making meowing sounds, clucking, and kissing noises. We thoroughly demeaned ourselves and none of the pride so much as blinked. We stared at them through binoculars and enjoyed every detail of their felineness. Finally, the male co-operated and gave a cursory look over his shoulder. That was all we needed. We tore ourselves away and started to spread the word of our find to every van we passed. We couldn’t believe our luck when we came upon two females and three cubs in some tall grass in another location. It was a bonanza!

The vans on parade headed back to the lodge on schedule forming dust devils in their wake. We cleaned up and went to the patio for a drink. There we saw our first waterbuck as they marched purposefully on their way to, what else, water. It was a harem of females with a lone male bringing up the rear. A waiter came to our table and handed David a long stick. He pointed to the trees above our heads and told him that the monkeys were not all asleep yet. I guess David was on guard duty. Cocktail hour passed without incident as we listened to a guitar player segue from Swahili songs saying not to worry (hakuna matata) into Jamaica Farewell, My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean, La Bamba, and Aweemawhey (sp) or The Lion Sleeps at Night. The stars began to appear and twinkle in the sky and David said he felt as if we were at camp. We looked up through the trees at the mostly sleeping monkeys and knew we were not. As I’m writing to you on the laptop, we can hear the strains of ancient Masai songs drifting up through the bush. Yup, this is definitely Africa.

Toby

Sightings Galore

April 25, 2002-So Many To See
(photos:blue balled monkey,
termite mound,
croc dining,
giraffes,
cheetahs hunting)


We had a very successful safari this afternoon. We left the lodge at 4 PM and Jackson was our guide. All safari schedules are the same. There are the 6:30 AM ones and the 4 PM ones. That gives maximum chance of game sightings. Our van had a pop-up roof so we were able to stand up and see unencumbered by windows while being shielded from the sun and protected from the animals.

Jackson proved to be a very enthusiastic and knowledgeable guide. We’re getting used to his accent and are able to understand most of what he says now. We saw an interesting creature at our lodge even before we went out on safari. It was what we call a blue-balled monkey. I kid you not. It was a male and its sex organs were bright blue. We have pictures to prove it. Our first sighting on safari was of impalas and a baboon. We came upon several families of female elephants and babies that were traveling together. The babies came in all sizes and were adorable. The little ones were kept in between the mamas and the aunties. One four-year old male turned towards our van, flapped his ears, and bellowed in a typical elephant challenge posture. He was more cute that ominous, but I wouldn’t want to be in a face-off with him in a few years. We got within a few feet of them. Jackson told us that humans share genes with elephants. elephants live about sixty years and gestation is twenty-two months. Ouch! He told us how they carry the little ones across the river supported with their tusks and bury their dead with branches and rocks. It was such a thrill to see them where they ought to be doing what elephants do. We headed off in a different direction and were cruising around some shrubs when David spotted a leopard (that was an accidental pun) crossing behind us. It was in no hurry and hung around as several other vanloads of tourists snapped photos before it melted away into the bush.
I fell in love with the delicate little dick dicks, the smallest of the antelopes. I decided that the park wouldn’t miss just one and it would fit neatly into my suitcase. We were lucky enough to see a zebra, an Oryx that posed for the camera, and a male kori bustard in full display with white feathers sticking up from his rump like a beacon. We glimpsed a secretary bird striding along with his distinctive halting gait and two crocodiles lurking in the water. We got back to the lodge at 6:30 PM in time to sit on the patio by the river, nibble snacks, and enjoy some drinks.

We waited for the crocodile to come out of the water to get the bait that the hotel leaves for it. It appeared on schedule and was within spitting distance on the other side of a low wall. That wall was all that separated the lodge from whatever lived in and around the river. Two house cats stalked the croc and hoped to snatch some of his food, but they gave up. I understand they were successful last night. We were treated to a rare appearance by a hippo that seemed to be a phantom at first. It was hard to find him on the other side of the river in the dusk, but when what I thought was a rock started moving and splashing upstream, I knew I’d found the hippo. We watched the sun set and the full moon rise as a cheetah took the bait on the platform across the water. These are the only times bait is used to lure the animals out for viewing.

Dinner was served outdoors and we took in the fresh smell of clean air. A curious genet cat with a raccoon tail closely watched us . It was undisturbed by all the people who took flash photos and seemed to enjoy watching us as much as we enjoyed watching it.

April 27, 2002- So Little Time

Notice a gap? I didn’t get to write yesterday. Even though it was Wendy’s birthday and I wanted to mention her in the email, fate was against me. As I was getting ready to settle in at the keyboard, the lights went out. It was 11 AM. We figured it was just a temporary blackout, so we weren’t concerned. When the lights didn’t come on after twenty minutes, David called the desk. They said that since we were the only guests in the hotel, they thought they could turn off the generator for two hours and would that be all right. Tourism is that pathetic now. I’ve heard that some blame the U.S. for bringing 9/11 on themselves. In any case, we took a two-hour nap.

Our bed has mosquito netting around it and I found it quite cozy. The netting isn’t for show, although we weren’t bothered in the room. This is the first place where we really have to bathe in OFF. I don’t think the netting will keep our resident gecko out of our bed but he seems to prefer the space behind the toilet tank.

In the last two days we’ve had great success on our game drives. Jackson diligently searches and stays out past the other drivers in hope we’ll see something special, and we have. There are no night drives because of the security risk. They’re having problems with poachers coming over the border from Ethiopia and don’t want to take the chance.

On our morning drive we hit pay dirt immediately. We stalked a leopard that was stalking some prey. It ended up with the leopard losing the prey and us losing the leopard only to find him in the tree above us. It sounded like he was trying to cough up a hairball, but the guide assured us that wasn’t the case. The cat graciously stretched and posed for us. Leopards travel alone unless it is mating season.

We saw several herds of impala, oryx, Grants gazelles, and gerenuk, a rare antelope with a disproportionately long neck. We saw and heard a bachelor impala that had been kicked out of the herd sound a warning when the leopard was in the area. I thought that was very generous of him since he was on the outs with the other impalas. We watched young male impalas at play. Their horns clunked with dull thuds as they practiced butting heads in preparation for taking over the females of the herd. We hit a dry spell at one point and ended up taking pictures of trees. Actually, it was an unusual palm tree and the only palm that has branches.

Just as we spotted a large monitor lizard on a termite mound, we saw large movements off to the side. It was a huge herd of elephants. They came in all sizes from teeny to the huge aunties. It was interesting to see how the adults positioned themselves so they were either between us and the babies or the babies were between two adults. I just felt like walking up to explain that we meant no harm. The frosting on the morning drive was the giraffes we met on our way back to the lodge. David has a thing for giraffes. I personally find it very flattering that he’s subconsciously attracted to tall spotted animals. We scooted into our compound that has an electric fence on three sides and a river on the fourth, and got ready to dodge monkeys and a baboon on the way to lunch.

After our hair-raising ride to the lodge yesterday, I was curious about one thing. How do they get eggs delivered for kitchen use? A waiter explained it to me. They put the eggs in five layers of cartons to cushion them. They’re trucked in and they only lose about five eggs/shipment. In an emergency, they can fly them in on one of the two daily flights. That brought to mind the prospect of the trip out tomorrow and the pipe dream of going by air. We later found out that it costs $115/person one way.

Lion Quest

The afternoon was devoted to Lion Quest. It’s amazing how many lion sightings turn out to be rocks and termite mounds when viewed through binoculars. We failed to find a lion, but came upon something even more rare. We saw two cheetahs organizing a hunt. They were standing about 100 or more yards away from a herd of impala. The cheetah in the lead was frozen in concentration and didn’t so much as flinch when we pulled next to them. He was a living definition of complete, utter, and total focus. His riveting, unwavering gaze was like the sophisticated radar on a fighter plane. It had fixed and locked on the target. There was no shaking it loose. The cheetah in the rear was aware of us, but unconcerned. It was obvious who was the head cat. We thought they were hoping the impala would come closer, but then the movement began. Suddenly, the second cheetah was with the program as they moved in slow motion to a rhythm only heard by them. They thrust out their heads, extended their necks, and lowered their bodies to the ground. They were two sleek, graceful, speckled killing machines moving on their silent cat feet in a well-rehearsed dance of death. Slowly, they split up in an attempt to cover the herd on two fronts. The impala sentries were vigilant and encircled the grazing herd. They never lowered their heads. Although the cheetahs were definitely downwind, they stayed frozen and peered from behind tall grass and bushes as they waited for the sentries to falter. At this point, Jackson decided to turn the van around and position it for the chase. We were within three feet of the cats and they didn’t care. They were an exercise in patience as we began to squirm and urge them on in stage whispers. David was hoping to see a kill. I was hoping to see a chase, but was rooting for the impalas. There was a tensing of muscles, a sinking of hindquarters, and they were off. Impatience had prevailed and the cheetahs never even got up to cruising speed before the sentry bleated the warning and the impalas were gone. The guide said the cheetahs could have easily outrun them, but may not have wanted to use the energy necessary to do that. There was no kill. There was no high-speed chase. No one had to die today. There were at least two winners. We were privileged to see something that one park worker said he’d only seen on the Discovery Channel, and the impalas got to live.
Diners and Dinners

We turned towards the lodge as the sky darkened ominously and sooty gray storm clouds gathered. We took a picture of the sun setting over the river as we crossed the bridge. We waited while a baboon family drank from a large puddle in the middle of the road and cooed over the new babies clinging to their mothers’ undersides. We got back to the patio at the pool in time for what I called “croctail” hour. Tonight there were three of them to keep us on our toes. We were so intent on the crocs that we almost missed the hippo that came ashore on our side of the river. The waiter told us that if he came too close we should move and that he was faster and more dangerous than the crocs. Fortunately for us, he meandered down the beach in search of more succulent tourists.

After dinner we went to a slide show about the Samburu tribe and learned that they’re a split-off of the Masai. And they say that two Jews cannot agree and need three synagogues. The Samburu are nomads and count their wealth in cows. Since they only eat goats and not cows, they use every part of the cow they can without killing them. They bleed them each morning and drink the blood mixed with milk for breakfast. We were told that it’s like a strawberry shake. I’ll never find out. The blood is digested very slowly and drinking it keeps them from getting hungry when they’re out with grazing cattle all day. I guess they didn’t think of brown bagging it. They use the dung to build houses and they wash their hands in the urine. This last bit of information got me thinking about the probability that the kitchen help might be Samburu. Boys are circumcised at about fourteen years old and become warriors. They still live the tribal life and they defend against cattle raids by other tribes. Girls marry at age thirteen. Polygamy is the rule.

Nairobi Bound

Our entertainment this morning at breakfast was two mongoose and baby monkeys negotiating the slats and slants of the pool lounge chairs. We had passengers riding with us as we left the lodge and headed for Nairobi. A mother and very quiet three-month-old baby boy needed a lift as well as one of the park guards. As we careened away on our return match with the Kenya road department, we passed the largest group of elephants we’d yet seen. It was then that I realized that elephants are to Kenyans as deer are to us. We saw ostrich for the first time and they too were immune to our passing. This is so much better than the zoo. Even though we’re usually searching for a needle in a haystack, we’re rewarded with healthy animals behaving in healthy ways. There are none of the neurosis or obsessive behaviors that are so heartbreakingly common in zoos.

We took a short detour to pick up a bag a tourist had forgotten at the Mt. Kenya Safari Club and got a treat. The manager gave us something to drink and we were able to use email for the first time in three days. He also presented us with a coffee table book on the Club including photos of some of the stars who frequented it. William Holden and Bob Hope were regulars. I think its glory days are in the past but it’s a magnificent place. The road leading to the Club is lined with expensive homes. I wanted to know who owned them and finally figured out how to put it delicately. I asked if they were British owned. They were. All the large farms are white owned as well as most of the large businesses. Blacks may run them, but owners are white. Even Kenya Air is white owned. Kenya is still a British colony.

Today is Saturday and the markets in the towns we drove through were humming. Preachers were out in force and seemed to be attracting a following. They don’t have unleaded gasoline here nor do they have catalytic converters, so we choked and wheezed our way into Nairobi. We worked out a system where the driver, David, and I all closed our windows as we approached a vehicle that was spewing black exhaust and then opened them when it was all clear. I started using my denim shirt as a mask and it did help filter out most of the crud. The Nairobi Serena Hotel came into view. It would be our home for the night. We leave for another game park at 7 AM.

Countdown

We called our kids as soon as soon as we checked in. Civilization at last at $6/minute. I’ve been overwhelmed with our absence from home. I feel as if I’m just not where I’m needed. All our children and grandchildren (I count “the babe”) have gone through exciting and eventful times while we’ve been gone and I’m feeling an emptiness in not being there with them. I’m trying to live in the present and enjoy the moments here as they come. They are precious and we’re privileged to be able to do it. But underneath it all, I sense that I’m running a gauntlet. We have sixteen days to go and two more countries. I’m in a major countdown.

Toby

Up Close and Personal

April 25, 2002-Just Like TV
(photos:Giraffe welcome,
Samburu Serena Lodge)

Dinner last night was average, but the service was too good. These waiters don’t have enough to do and hover in the background watching our every move. If they start calling me “memsaab” and David “bwana,” I will freak.

There was an animal sighting towards the end of the meal and we all ran down to the “blind.” A bull elephant had come to graze on the mud around the watering hole. The mud is mineral rich and the wildlife seeks it out. He came so close to us we could hear him swallow. He was then joined by a group of Cape buffalo and even he gave them a wide berth. The night sounds were magnified as we sat in the dark. It was like watching the Discovery Channel but this time we were part of the show. One of the buffalo was particularly fond of rolling in the mud and another seemed as if he was sure that someone was out there watching, but just couldn’t get a handle on it. He’d turn and stare in our direction, but couldn’t see us at all. The watering area was floodlit at night and we were sitting in a dark room. Two hyenas and impalas joined the group and we forgot our melting ice cream as we watched the activity. I wanted to beak into song. Home on the Range came to mind. I’d take the liberty of changing the words to, “Oh give me a home where Cape buffalo roam, and the deer and the elephant play.”

I woke up this morning as birds and monkeys began to welcome the sun. They sounded as happy to see it as the Hindus on the banks of the Ganges. The cacophony quieted and I glanced out of the window to see a larger herd of grazing Cape buffalo. There was a frisky calf with them this time and it was trying to nurse, but the mother was not in the mood and kept moving away. Perhaps she was weaning it. Birds were perched on the buffalo backs just like they are in any documentary I have ever seen.

Movin’ On

After breakfast we began our three-hour arduous drive to the Samburu Serena Lodge in the national park of the same name. I didn’t know that Toyota made an off-road van, but evidently they do. We weren’t on anything that could be called a road and sometimes the driver drove in the ditch since he didn’t have to contend with potholes there. We bounced, lurched and swayed our way within sight of the peaks of snow-capped Mt. Kenya until I thought our luggage would burst. We heard every bone-jarring shake, rattle, and crash as we frequently became air-born. It felt like we were in a Land Rover commercial.

We stopped for a clever demonstration of how water swirls in different directions on either side of the equator. It was worth the $3 and the demonstrator didn’t even use a toilet. He had a bowl with a small hole in the bottom. He placed two small twigs into the bowl as the water leaked out of the hole. Sure enough, the twigs went clockwise north of the equator and counter-clockwise on the south side. Since this was also a potty stop, we were given the opportunity to shop. I was awake this time and Margaret, our sales woman, was beautiful and charming. I felt badly buying a mask and a painting for 1/3 of her opening price, but I know that if she agreed to my final offer, I had overpaid. Her sister made a last ditch attempt at a sale by saying she would trade a souvenir for an American t-shirt. I resisted.

We were now in an arid part of Kenya and the trash count seemed to have increased. Perhaps it’s a different tribal area with different standards. We thought we were home free when we turned onto the “road” to the lodge, but it only got worse. Jackson assured us he had two spare tires. As the driver stopped for a security check, children with trinkets to sell surrounded the van. Sunglasses are great shield behind which we played deaf and dumb. The ruts on this road added a washboard effect that made the van sound like the staccato of machine gun fire. Three miles and a half hour later, we were given a giraffe escort to our destination. The Samburu Serena Lodge is in a lush oasis by a river in a desert plain surrounded by mountains. A young man holding a basket of wet towels greeted us. They started out white, but it was evident how dirty we were by the grime we left on them. The accommodations are cabins nestled among the trees bordering the river. Tonight we’ll sit on our porch, watch the crocodiles and leopards, and contemplate the sunset. We’ll also contemplate the trip back to Nairobi in two days on the same road. I think this is the point in the movie when the hero and heroine decide to hire an alcoholic pilot to fly them out rather than return by the same torturous route. The lodge does have a landing strip.

Toby

Cultural Learning Curves

April 24, 2002-Up In the Air
(photo:The Ark)

In a country that’s 90% Hindu are we the only ones who can find a Roman Catholic guide to take us to the airport? His grandparents emigrated from Portugal in the early 1900’s and settled in Bombay. He said that being such a minority is hard when it comes to keeping young people in the Church when they marry out. It’s the same old song with different words.

The international airport in Bombay was like a madhouse when we arrived for our 3:30 AM flight. We were surprised to learn we had to pay a new $10 “insurance tax” for all the new security measures instituted since 9/11. It amounted to 500 rupees and we didn’t have enough left. They said we could put it on VISA. A man took our card and said he would go back to the office to validate it. I wasn’t about to let him out of sight with my card and followed him over the baggage conveyor belt. He had trouble getting a phone line out and suggested we change money and pay in rupees. I told him the hotel had just accepted the card for payment, we didn’t want more rupees, and I had three-hours until I needed to board the plane. I could wait. He tried again and got through. When I re-emerged, David said that the Indians just don’t want us to feel bad about leaving India. We filled our three-hour wait by standing in line with 500 people who had to go through immigration and security.

We boarded our Kenya Air flight and hoped they lived up to their slogan, “The Pride of Africa.” During our six-hour flight, we had time to adjust from a veggie world to one that had restaurants called The Carnivore. We were pleasantly surprised by the quality of the airline and service, although it was definitely service without a smile. We’d spent almost two weeks in a place where everyone tried so hard to please. We enjoyed the quirky way Indians inclined their heads to the side as a sign of ascent instead of nodding. In contrast, the flight crew on Air Kenya didn’t crack a smile. Our in-flight movie was Hardball with Keaneau Reeves. It took place in the housing projects of Chicago and made me realize that it’s not only India that has it societal weeping sores.

Journeying

We landed in Nairobi at 6:30 AM, their time and the first thing we noticed was that there were no guards at the airport. We’d flown through the night and left for safari immediately. Safari means journey in Swahili. We weren’t really beginning our journey; we were continuing it.

We had an un-air-conditioned van to ourselves. Our driver, Jackson, who says he speaks English, will be with us for our entire stay. We won’t be meeting up with a group but will travel independently from place to place. The first thing I noticed about Nairobi was that it was wet and green. The second thing I noticed was it was a lot cleaner than India and there were no car horns being honked. India was so polluted this was the first blue sky that we’d seen in twelve days. We passed the new U.S. Embassy that will replace the one that was bombed and remembered that this isn’t a benign country. The new embassy is in a safer neighborhood in the suburbs. We made a pit stop on our three-hour drive to the first lodge. We were both exhausted and I had been falling asleep every time I sat down. I slept at the airport in Bombay, on the plane, and we were dozing when the car stopped. The driver told us we were at a gift shop that let us use their rest rooms for free and it would be nice if we bought something from them. It was our option and we should bargain hard. A saleswoman accosted us and followed us around as we took our obligatory tour of the aisles. After a decent interval of dodging her sales forays we headed towards the van. She followed us and asked if I had any American pens to give her. I was still shell-shocked from exhaustion and told her so as I maneuvered my way to hide in the van.

The countryside is lush and green. It got hilly quickly and soon we could see the backdrop of Mt. Kenya. The roadside and areas around the shanties, shacks, and conical straw-roofed huts were planted and trash free. The rural men and women wear brightly colored cotton scarves around their shoulders adding contrast to the green of the rich farms and landscape. They dress in a conglomeration of Western clothing that looks as if it was assembled at a thrift shop. There’s a big business in second-hand clothing and I would guess that the missions distribute a lot as well. One man was wearing a Re-Max Realty t-shirt. Now, where did that come from? Many people were on the way to work in the fields and carried machetes. The machetes looked a bit sinister to me and brought to mind what went on in Rwanda. We passed loads of Christian churches and I was surprised to learn that most Kenyans are Christian with the minority Muslims clustered along the coast.

Wart Hog Welcome

We arrived at Aberdare National Park Country Club and Resort and were welcomed by a family of wart hogs who loped across our path. We had lunch at an old stone building with a verandah (where I fell asleep) and sweeping lawns trimmed with brightly colored flowering bushes. Peacocks and more wart hogs were on parade as well as some kind of bird that has iridescent blue wings. One of the major problems on the golf course is that monkeys steal the balls. All our food is included in our tour package, but drinks are extra. The prices here are exorbitant. We paid $3 for a liter of water today. It’s a tourist venue and is remote, so they really gouge.

As we went deeper into the park, we came upon a small herd of Cape buffalo and a lone male elephant. The Cape buffalo is the most feared animal in the jungle. Although they’re vegetarians, they’ll ambush people or other animals and kill them out of sheer meanness. I never expected to see so much so soon. They’re in the process of installing electric fencing to keep the animals of the park away from the villages. It takes a lot of volts to discourage an elephant.

So Where’s Noah?

We’re staying at a place called The Ark tonight. It was raining and there were lots of jokes about going there two-by-two. We had to re-pack into an overnight case for our stay since there’s limited space in the SUV that took us up there. We also had to sign waivers about not holding them responsible if we’re eaten by a wild animal or bitten by a snake. I closed my eyes and signed.

The Ark is a lodge built solely to view the wildlife of the park. It sits on a watering hole and has several viewing areas that give differing perspectives. One is an open-air stone “photo blind” where we can take pictures of the animals without barriers yet are protected from them. We’re not permitted out of the building nor are we allowed to leave our vehicle. The rooms are rustic and basic and each has a call button in case of a sighting during the night. There’s no heat in the rooms and the temperature goes into the 50’s. I thought I would have to sleep in my clothes, but each bed is provided with a cozy hot water bottle that’s a wonder and a blessing. The bathrooms need a good coat of paint, but the public rooms appropriately have wood paneling, vaulted beamed ceilings, picture windows, and fireplaces. As I write this I’m sitting in our room overlooking the watering hole. We’ve already watched a male gazelle trying to get it on with a female. She wasn’t having any.

There are only three couples at the Ark tonight. There’s a Japanese couple and one from Nairobi. The Kenyans, Caroline and Nash, are the only ones who speak English so we spent some time with them this afternoon and sat with them at dinner. Swahili is spoken by the majority at home and in business dealings and is taught in the schools, but English is the official language. We learned that “sabba” means “OK” in Swahili. It’s also what Alex calls David. It means “grandpa” in Hebrew. Whenever we hear it, we think of her. Caroline works for an organization that translates the bible into different African languages. Nash is an accountant for a Christian missionary group. They’re celebrating their first anniversary and are so very young. They spoke with passion and sadness about what has become of Kenya. They don’t see a strong political leader in the near future and yearn for the development of the riches and the potential that is possible. Taxes are very high, but it all goes for graft and only the politicians benefit and get richer. They laughed when we told them that our guidebook said we should try not to look like tourists when we’re on the streets. It’s very hard to camouflage our whiteness. They reinforced every negative we’d heard about Nairobi. It’s a corrupt and dangerous place. They said that gangs that roam at night break down along tribal lines and take over the streets. They encouraged us not to leave our hotel in Nairobi and we definitely will take their advice. We’ll only be in Nairobi one night.

Toby

Adventures and Misadventures

April 21, 2002-Art In the Dark

(photos:Varanasi,
dhobi ghat)


As we neared the shores of the Ganges, a parade of elaborately decorated boats floated past. It was the last day of the festival and floats were decked out in lights, some spouted fire from what looked like blow torches, and people were dressed as gods in ornate costumes. Then there was a blackout. The entire city was plunged into darkness. Except for the candles and the swinging trees of fire held by the priests, it was totally black. It was as if we’d stepped back in time to when the rituals began. The sky revealed itself and the moon and stars were visible. I was spellbound as the priests, drummers, and bell-ringers didn’t miss a beat as they continued their dance of prayers. David has always maintained that worship is an art form. These were the masters.

I was also a bit apprehensive about making my way ashore and through the crowds in the dark, but no worries. By the time we docked, and scrambled onto solid ground, the electricity had returned. We were treated to a hair-raising bicycle rickshaw ride as we raced through the streets back to the car. David’s rickshaw came pretty close to an unsavory encounter with the wrong end of cow suffering from Delhi Belly, but the skilled driver swerved just in time. We emerged from the throng and were relieved to see our car waiting. We slipped into our cocoon and were home free.

April 22, 2002-Confessions

We had dinner with Todd and Zane last night and thoroughly enjoyed their company. Todd is from a small town in Minnesota and is a former Catholic who is now a Buddhist. He’s a psychotherapist. Zane is from Ireland and owns a beauty salon in Santa Monica. They wear wedding bands, but I don’t know how long they’ve been together. We discussed our Ganges experiences and they said that when they were on the water at night they just hoped to escape without getting splashed. They blanched when I told them my hand went in when I placed the candle in the water.

They joined us for breakfast this morning after they’d been to the Ganges for the sun ceremonies. We shared our perceptions and experiences and then came their confession. They’d taken the plunge. They’d done the dip. Something overcame them and they felt compelled to strip to their underwear and walk down the steps of the ghat and into the river. They didn’t actually swim or go under the water, but they did pour it over themselves. They felt satisfied in taking that step and overcoming a fear. I detected a cringe when I asked them if they had any open sores. We exchanged travel war stories and they told us of an incredible experience a friend of theirs had. Their friend had been chased down the street by a mob of lepers on skateboards in Delhi. In the perspective of the most depraved black humor, we burst into laughter. Skateboards seen to be a favorite mode of transportation for lepers. Reminds me of Porgie and Bess. I think it’s a bit over the top even for South Park.

April 23, 2002-Friendly Skies

It was so hot (110 degrees) that the government was considering closing the schools a month early. I managed to stay cool since the clothes I had washed out the night before were still wet. I don’t think the heat was the reason why some airport workers were in their bare feet and soldiers were wearing Nikes. We filled out yet another survey of satisfaction for our guide (this country is obsessed with surveys) and prepared for the ordeal of going through check-in and security. We flew India Air to Bombay last night. The airline doesn’t have a fine reputation and it lived up to it. It made the slogan of Sahara Air sound promising: “An Emotionally Satisfying Airline.”

We started in Varanasi where they confiscated our batteries. We had to sign our lives away for them, the batteries were tagged, and they stamped our boarding pass so we could retrieve them with our bags. If you read the following three times, you will get the sense of how our evening went. For each time we got on or off the plane, this is what we had to do: put checked luggage through security, get tags for carry-on luggage (including fanny packs and water tote bags), check in and get baggage tags for checked luggage, go through passenger security and have carry-on luggage x-rayed, opened, and searched, passengers bodily frisked, identify checked luggage, walk out gate to the plane where hand luggage is opened again and passengers are bodily frisked again. Each time there’s a frisk or a bag search, the boarding pass and luggage tags are stamped. All the stamps and boarding passes were inspected as we boarded the plane. We were told these precautions were instituted after 9/11.

Safety demonstrations were done in Hindi first and, since there wasn’t enough time before, demos were done in English after take-off. At each stop soldiers boarded and searched the plane, and we boarded a bus for the terminal. At Delhi, the bus dropped us off at the baggage loading dock and we had to climb over a low wall, step over (what else) rubble, and find our way to the terminal. Two things came to my mind. One was that perhaps all the news footage on TV showing the rubble and devastation in Afghanistan and the West Bank was filmed in India. The other thing was that being frisked was not so bad and I might consider becoming a lesbian.

The routing was from Varanasi to Lucknow to Delhi to Bombay. We were not to change planes. The only good thing I can say is that the flight attendant was marvelous and had a great sense of humor and the food was good. We flew along the Nepalese border and had a great view of the Himalayas. Our routing didn’t change, but after the pilot broke the plane by coming in too fast and landing too hard in Lucknow, it had to be repaired. She seemed to have learned her lesson and the other landings went well. We deplaned and re-boarded. In Delhi, they decided the repair was inadequate so we deplaned and got on a new plane.

They Are The World

It was 84 degrees in Bombay (Mumbai) when we miraculously landed only twenty minutes late. Our batteries were waiting near the luggage carousel with their little numbered tags that the guard carefully checked against our 3rd set of boarding passes. We hopped into our car and were whisked away to the Taj Palace, the finest hotel in India. To get there we actually rode on an eight-lane highway part of the way. There were no cows, but shanties lined the road. I was riveted and stunned by the sight of them all. We asked each other, ”How can this be worse than what we have seen?” Made of paper, tarps, cloth, tin, etc. they were their own cities. I caught glimpses of TVs and electric lights inside. Our guide today said that people from rural areas flood into the city looking for work. Some of them save enough for a government apartment in a slum, but cannot afford to maintain it. They then sell it and move back onto the streets.

We got an upgrade on our room since they didn’t have a non-smoking available. The Taj, overlooking the mammoth Gate of India Arch and the Bay of Bombay, was built in 1903. It’s in pristine condition and is a must see where tourists come to gawk. The lobby is a study in elegance and taste. The people in the lobby reflect that atmosphere. Since the restaurants have a dress code and we travel simply, the only place we can eat in the hotel is the coffee shop. Beef has reappeared on the menus and is promoted as “only Australian” (no mad cow disease). This is the most international hotel we’ve been in. The wealthy and business people gather to trade influence and share economic riches. It ‘s a microcosm of world diversity where Hindus in saris, Arabs in robes, Sikhs in turbans, and Israelis in kippot sit at neighboring tables in peace. Perhaps we should do away with political leaders and let business people run the world. A professor of Davids, Ellis Rivkin, called that Global Capitalism.

We hit a new low in transportation. Our car was a TaTa, and Indian made car, whose A/C didn’t work. Our guide was expecting us to be Italian, but threw a switch in his brain and changed to English with no effort. He was a textile technologist, but prefers the tour industry. Our tour was more interesting than we expected. Our guide was very knowledgeable about the Jewish community in Bombay and had led several Israeli groups. There were 15,000 Jews in Bombay, but there are only 5,000 now. There are eleven synagogues. When Jews first came, they went into the olive oil pressing business since no one else was doing it. They prospered and were respected and, at times, protected by the Hindu regimes. Some, like the Sassoon family have been very philanthropic. We saw a Bene Israel (K’hila K’dosha Tepherat Israel) synagogue, a sephardic type and the oldest group. The small and tired looking sanctuary was built with the bimah (pulpit) in the center. There was a woman’s section and the engraving above the ark was the same as at Temple Israel in Akron. They have 500 families who belong and have services twice daily and on Shabbat. The other synagogue we saw was also Sephardic (Jews from Spain, Portugal, & Middle East) but only had fifty families who belonged. The founders were from Baghdad. It was a larger building painted blue and white with tall columns, mosaic floors, and stained glass windows, but was in terrible condition. They used prayer books that were left by people who visited from all over the world. Some of the books were in Persian and Hebrew and some, donated by the American Joint Distribution, were in English and Hebrew. One that we saw was from the Rego Park Jewish Center in Queens, New York. That’s where my family belonged in the 1940’s-1950’s and where I went to religious school when we lived there.

Getting To Know Mumbai

This area, whose population is around 16 million and is the financial center of India, was originally a series of islands. The British filled them in and the peninsula that was formed became Bombay. The English got this land from the Portuguese as part of a dowry and sold it to the Dutch East India Co. for the equivalent of ten pounds sterling in gold. Most of the buildings we saw were from the 1850s and gothic in style. It was only in 1960 that the state of Mahrashta was formed wherein Bombay is located. The Parsis from Persia arrived here in the 8th century and brought Zoroastrianism. They still have a wealthy and thriving community. Part of their agreement with the Hindus was that they wouldn’t allow non-Parsis into their temples so there would be no danger of Hindus converting. The Parsis don’t bury in the ground or cremate since they don’t want to pollute the earth and they worship fire, so they erected a Tower of Silence for their dead. It’s still in use today. The bodies are laid out on sloped platforms and vultures do the rest. The bones slide into a well where rain washes the residue through a filter so the soil below stays pure. The problem today is that there is a disease devastating the vulture population and the Parsis have had to resort to chemicals. Zuban Mehta is a Parsi.

This is a modern metropolis and cleaner than we expected. It has cleaner rubble. The Malibar Hill mansions of the British are falling down and being replaced by high-rises. Trains run with open doors and people sitting on the roof. And in the middle of this mêlée are three oases. The Hanging Gardens are perched on a hill overlooking the city. They are tranquil havens with red clay paths that contrast with the brilliant floral plantings. There’s always shade and a breeze. Across the street is Kemala Nehru Park that offers the most spectacular view of Chowpatty, the famous beach between the Arabian Sea and the road called the Queens Necklace. The sea is now too polluted for swimming. The third oasis is a grandparent’s garden only for seniors. Each morning tea is served, a doctor is available, and a laughing club meets.

We visited another Jain temple where this affluent community decorated the white marble structure with real gold, silver, gems, and colorfully ornate frescoes to create a wild array of decorative art. We saw them making sandalwood paste to mark their foreheads. When I painted it on, it looked like I just had another freckle. They used rice offerings to create elaborate designs as they prayed and worked their prayer beads. A common design was the swastika, their sign for the sun. It was clearer when they swirled it and made it in a more circular pattern. Several chapels to different gods were around the main altar. Between the chapels, the beads, and the genuflecting, I saw a similarity with what goes on in Catholic churches. As we left, women were setting up for a luncheon in the social hall. Now, that’s Jewish.

On our way to the dhobighat (laundrymens steps) we saw hijras begging. They are eunuchs who worship the goddess Yamana. Only women may worship her so men who are drawn to her or who, as our guide said, “ are born with the tendency to be women,” are castrated so they may enter her temples. They dress like women, are popularly used to bless newlyweds, and are entertainers. Prostitution was a common profession among hijras, but the fear of AIDS has forced many to resort to begging. We stood in the same spot where Clinton stood when he observed the laundry process and I’m sure his pictures turned out just fine. It encompasses a massive area of washing stones, tanks, tubs, vats, and boilers where workers rent space. They collect the clothes (cotton only) on their route, put a laundry mark on each item for identification, soak them in ash water, heat them in water until the water evaporates, add detergent, and beat it to death. Mark Twain said that Indians are the only people who try to break rocks by beating them with clothing.

There are bullock carts in the streets of Bombay, but where have all the cows gone? Not to worry, they have “rent-a-cow.” Since cows are scarce in an urban environment, temples pay women to tie a cow outside a temple and provide cut grass so worshippers can pay to feed it, thus fulfilling a Hindu obligation.

Always creative, Indians also have a variation on “Meals on Wheels.” Office workers have the benefit of a home cooked lunch. A cart circulates to the homes of those who subscribe to this service and uniform pails are provided for packing the meals. Lunches prepared at the homes of the subscribers are picked up, delivered to the workers, and the pails are cleaned and returned for the next day.

Our last stop was Ghandi House. It has an extensive library, exquisitely executed dioramas, and photos of his life and work. He bears a striking resemblance to Ben Kingsley. They’ve kept untouched the room he used when he visited in Bombay. It also has framed letters he wrote to Hitler in 1932 and Roosevelt in 1942. It was very poignant considering how far we have not come. India has been a chore and a pleasure. It’s the most different place we’ve ever been and one of the most difficult. It’s a relief to leave but we may want to come back some day. It’s a country of contrasts, enigmas, and contradictions. It’s a unique place all its own. I would recommend it for any tourist since it can be approached in many ways. There’s no avoiding the depth of poverty, filth, and disease, but we are privileged to be able to retreat from it and regroup in our luxurious hotel/palaces. I have no regrets having come here and will take away rich memories and deep emotions that will continue to enrich my mind, heart, and soul.

We’re off to Kenya at 3:30 AM. We’ll be there for twelve days and don’t know what the email situation will be. I’ll keep on writing and you may get a batch when we reach Cape Town.

Toby

Extending the Day

April 21, 2002-Monkeys
(photos:Monkey Temple,
Jain god with open eyes,
Worn out guide)

The red Dulgah Temple beckoned as we continued through the old city. She was the wife of Shiva. It is also known as the monkey temple for a good reason. Although not as numerous as in the past, monkeys were certainly evident. We had to remove our shoes and Amman suggested we also remove our socks since the tile floor was wet and muddy. We decided to keep our socks on then remove them before we put our shoes on again. The floor was as bad as he said it would be and I was grateful for long legs that could span from one unsavory patch to another. The smell and smoke from burning incense made it impossible to take a deep breath. The crush of the crowd was exaggerated since this is a festival time. But, once again, the colors of it brought forth the lotus from the mud.

Higher Ed

When we left the area of the river and the old city, we headed for the refined air and wide avenues of Benares Hindu University. This was where Amman studied and he proudly showed us around. Since there are 300 languages in India, English is the language of the university. Competition for entry is extreme and young people can be destroyed by a refusal for admission. Once accepted, the fees to this government university are very low. Over 68,000 students attend of which 35% are women. About 25,000 of those students live in dormitories on campus. Founded in 1913, the buildings reflect the colonial architecture of Britain. The maintenance reflects the Indian practice of neglect. Even the houses of the professors were peeling and blackened by the growth of lichen. The schools of Western and Ayurvedic (ancient naturopathy) medicine are well thought of and the latter school has its own herb gardens. The one sparkling clean white building that caught our eye turned out to be the Hindu temple for students. Since it was Sunday, there were several cricket games being played. Perhaps it was an Indian version of padding the outfield, but cows joined the players on the field if not in the action.

Getting Naked

Although not on our program, I’d asked to see a Jain temple and that was our next stop. It’s an extreme form of Hinduism and even they have different sects. In this case, there were two Jain temples next to each other. One was orthodox and the other reform. Even with their irreconcilable differences at least they were neighborly. The temple of the more progressive sect illustrated the affluence of the Jain community. It was a white marble edifice with lovely inlays and heavily carved wooden doors. The ritual of washing the statue of the god in milk was in process. The priests had masks over their mouths so the bad breath of their bodies wouldn’t contaminate the god. The gods of this sect of Jainism were shown with their eyes wide open. The people believed they had to look directly into the eyes of the god when they prayed. Aside from the obvious, the most remarkable thing about this temple was that it was spotless. Evidently money can buy cleanliness. Their neighbors, the orthodox Jains, required that we remove even our socks. For one who does not walk barefoot in a strange hotel room, this was a challenge. But once again, the floors were clean. They don’t permit the wearing of leather and they checked our belts and camera case. Their gods are shown with eyes half closed as in a meditative state. They seem to allow women to be priests. Our guide must have told us six times in as many different ways to prepare us for the fact that some of their more traditional followers don’t wear clothing. They’re stark naked and live that way in the temple and on the streets. Sure enough, a small, skinny, elderly Indian man walked by us as we watched the rituals. It was not a pretty sight. When I tell you that India is a diverse country, I can assure you I have not touched the surface.

We came back to the hotel energized and in a daze. We showered and tried to rub the saffron color of our marigold leis from our necks with little success. Putting on clean clothes was a religious experience as we luxuriated in our five-star world. We went downstairs to eat and I ordered diet Pepsi. I’d been up for so long I thought it was time for lunch, but it was only 8:45 AM. The meal they were serving was breakfast. Talk about losing track of time. We hooked up with Zane and Todd, the guys from L.A. and arranged to meet for dinner. By the time we finished eating, Amman was back and ready to put us through our paces again.

New Lows

The next temple we saw was for Mother India. It shouldn’t have been surprising given the nature of Hinduism. In 1978, a freedom fighter built this temple when the British released him from jail. It’s a tribute to the sub-continent that provides their way of life and sustains them. There are no statues, but a huge relief map of India is the centerpiece and takes up the entire floor.

We knew that shopping was in our future and the future was now. Silk is the main business of Varanasi and Muslim weavers are the ones who manufacture it. The Hindus sell it in their shops and we were destined to see both. I keep saying this, but we once again reached a new low in poverty, flies, and “schmutz” (I’m running out of words for dirt). The Muslim section of town was just plain disgusting. David said it was obvious that this town hasn’t spruced up for the tourists. This could be a city saved by Purell, the anti-bacterial waterless cleanser made in Akron, Ohio. If they could make it cheaper than water, it has a future here. After seeing the glory of the Muslim empires, it was wrenching to see how far they’ve fallen. Perhaps the Imams could spend more money on encouraging the youth to use their minds to create and invent instead of training them to use their bodies as bombs.

We had a break in touring and were scheduled to meet Amman at 5 PM. We went down to the lobby and found him fast asleep. We called his name, but he didn’t respond. We even took a flash photo of him and he didn’t budge. David finally had to shake him to wake him up. I guess we’d worn out our guide.

We headed back down to the Ganges for evening prayers. It was time to say good-bye to the sun and to say prayers for Mother Ganges. Evening prayer was said in unison and led by Brahman priests rather than the individual prayers of the morning. As our car neared the old city, the streets were more congested than before. It was bedlam with a flood of people going in both directions as pilgrims began to leave the city. We drove over the remnants of coconut husks and shells left from the morning offerings to the gods until we could drive no farther.

We walked along a different route of narrow lanes than we took earlier in the day and found ourselves picking our way around open flowing sewers. For the first time in our trip to India, the stench of human feces was apparent. The heat of the cooking fires from the stalls enveloped us and exaggerated the stink. The effluent contrasted with stalls selling exquisite and immaculate silk as the ever-graceful Indian women worked their way through the mire. It’s a wonder how they look so cool, clean, and collected in this environment.

No Shortage Of Temples

There were several small temples with Shiva Linga instead of a statue of the god. The linga is a phallic symbol representing the force of creation in the world. Evidently size doesn’t matter, as some were huge and some tiny. We also saw a small temple to Kalli, a wife of Shiva. She was represented with her tongue sticking out like a Maori warrior. I wonder if there’s a connection. We came upon several soldiers lounging around holding their guns and our guide called us over to the side of the alley. We could see that he was upset about something. He told us that the government spends the equivalent of $800 per month on soldiers and cannot find the money to clean up the garbage. It was the first time the sordid living conditions were mentioned. The Indian people aren’t oblivious to their surroundings, but seem to feel helpless to do anything about them.

We reached the ghat and Amman felt confident enough to let us loose for ten minutes so we could wander on our own. I would have sworn there was a heating system running under those steps. The heat rising from the pavement was that severe. Every once in a while we’d come upon someone smoking a cigarette and the fragrance of it was almost like nectar compared to our surroundings. Pandemonium ruled. Chants were emanating from speakers, bells were ringing, electric generators were throbbing, and dust was everywhere. As my mouth filled with the fumes and dried with the dust I gulped my water and lifted my eyes to take in the larger scene. It was reminiscent of a beach party. There were picnics on the beach across the river and people were flying kites. There was a different atmosphere than the morning.

We returned to meet Amman and were led to a rowboat. It was our safe haven and sanctuary in the melee. As we floated far out into the Ganges, the noise from the shore grew muted and our perspective changed. We were now spectators and looked at it from a different angle. The sun set and backlit the banks in a pinkness that softened the decay and focused the celebrants on the purpose of the moment. The saffron-robed priests began to chant and move as one as they swayed and swung incense burners. The smoke rose to the sky forming a bridge for the prayers. Bells continued to toll their holy sounds as priests joined with their sonorous “ohms.” We could clearly see the crematoria where the fires burned twenty-four hours a day. The central fire was kept as an eternal flame. It was said that it was lit by Shiva and it’s the fire from which all of the pyres are lit. The sun was finally down and candles lined the steps of the ghat. Amman purchased some candles in small bowls made of leaves. The bowls were lined with flower petals in the saffron, red, and white colors of Hindus. We lit our candles, made our wishes and set the little baskets into the river. It was hard to see exactly where the top of the water was in the dark and my hand ended up in the water. I whipped out my Purell immediately, but David said he didn’t think that he wanted to touch me ever again.

Amman summed up Hinduism by explaining that it was a way of life and not only a religion. Hindus worship nature and things that are useful to mankind. The Ganges sustains life. It and all rivers are holy for that reason. The peepal tree that gives out oxygen twenty-four hours a day also sustains life. The same could be said for cows, the sun, fire, and Mother India. They began to make images to symbolize that which is important to them and so statues evolved. He said not to go too deep for meaning in Hinduism. It’s all imagination.

I’ll continue this on the next email since I can only send a limited number of pages at one time without having to send it as an attachment.

Toby

Holiness

April 21, 2002-Sunrise
(Photos: Riverside barber,
our boat)

There is no picture, no movie, and there are no words that can convey the experience of going to the River Ganges in Varanasi at sunrise. We were picked up at the hotel at 5 AM and felt wide-awake with anticipation. The streets seemed empty as we left the hotel grounds, but soon the crush of traffic increased and surrounded us. Our car stopped about 4 blocks from the river and we closely followed our guide as he led us through a mire of people, stalls, vehicles, and animals. We trod carefully around garbage, temples, rubble, and gaping holes that revealed running sewage ditches. We were inexorably enveloped in the flow and became as one with it.
Vendors were selling everything from toothbrushes made from twigs to water containers so that people could bring water home from the river. Flower garlands were sold everywhere as offerings to the gods in the temples after immersion and purification. Music accompanied us all and we found ourselves striding to its rhythm. People have been coming for 7,000-9,000 years to wash away their sins, to seek salvation before dying, to show their devotion to the gods of sun, soil, and fire, bring the ashes of their dead from other areas, and to bring their dead. Houses along the riverbank are provided for those who are waiting to die in the holy City of Shiva, and palaces were erected so the wealthy could wait to die in the style to which they’d become accustomed.

As the sun rose, I could see a space clear in the crowd. It seemed as if the world fell away into emptiness. We’d reached the Ghat, the famous steps and platforms where ablutions are made. The name of the Ghat is Dashaswamedhghat and means, “ten horses were sacrificed here.” There was a festive atmosphere. It’s a sign of mourning to have a shaven head and no mustache. Barbers were set up to provide that service. Candlelight lamps were set sail for wishes to come true and glimmered in the dawn light. Brahman priests sat in saffron robes under umbrellas where they offered prayers for the soul and provided a white sandalwood paste to be spread on the forehead to aid in meditation. The number three with a tail, the symbol of “ohm,” was on everything even the two towers that were used to clean the water of the Ganges and return it to the river. Hindus believe that “ohm” was the first word spoken by Adam and that it’s the sound that bells make when rung. Our guide, Amman said the water is much improved and that fish and dolphin live in it now. I’m sure he has a bridge for sale in New York too. I cannot make fun of their confidence in the purity of the Ganges since I frequently put poison into my body in the form of artificial sweeteners.

The sights, the smells, the sounds, the colors were overwhelming…and the battery in our camera died. Without missing a beat, Amman called a boy over to us, showed him the kind of battery that was in the camera, and sent him off in search of our salvation. I don’t know how he did it, but he found us in the crowd and reappeared bearing the correct battery. We bought two and were back in business.

River View

We stepped into a rickety rowboat and hoped it was sea worthy. Despite what Amman said, the garbage was clearly visible as it floated past us and collected against the shore. The other side of the Ganges was empty in contrast to the side with the Ghats. The far bank isn’t in Varanasi and is not considered as holy by the Hindus. On the other hand, Buddhists go there to collect the sand where it’s said that Buddha walked. As we floated on the water, our perspective changed. We were far enough away to see the whole of it as one piece. It was a living fabric woven with strands from thousands of years ago. Each thread added to the tapestry and melded with another until all the separate pieces and parts became the drama that was on the stage in front of us. The once grand buildings on the hilltops that now housed hostels and houses of the dying bore watermarks where the monsoon rains caused the Ganges to rise to their foundations.


Saffron, a Hindu holy color, was blazing in the robes and marigolds, the white foreheads smeared with sandalwood paste, the red fabrics symbolizing the color of Durgah, the wife of Shiva mixed with the vivid saris and painted buildings as the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated it in an ethereal golden glow. Men and women bathed together, children swam and played, some struck out for the other bank, and several heads bobbed up to greet us. But all had come for one reason. Their concentration was complete as they welcomed the sun by pouring water from their hands or a pot so they could look at the sun indirectly as it reflected in the water and not hurt their eyes. Their faith was palpable. This was not a show; this is their life. It’s the depth of their being and who they are. It was truly awesome and wonderful in the literal sense of those words. I was envious of their ability to find such utter devotion and feeling. I was overwhelmed and couldn’t speak for a while. It was more powerful than the dead monument of the Taj Mahal. This was India. I had found the lotus in the mud.

As our boat changed direction, I became aware of other activities going on. Dhobi wallahs used clay to clean the clothes and pounded out the laundry on washboards made from inclining rocks. It was put out to dry in the sun and added a riot of color to the riverbank. Loudspeakers were shouting out mantras and warnings about pickpockets. Indians from the South were bathing and praying in their own area with their own priests who spoke the language of their region.

The crematoria loomed into view as we floated on. There is an electric one for those too poor to pay for the wood fire, but most prefer the traditional wood and will beg on the street if necessary to be able to pay for it. The wood fires consume 180 pounds of wood for each body. The crematoria are open twenty-four hours a day and process about 115 bodies/day. It takes almost three hours to burn the body. The body is wrapped in a shroud, carried on a wooden bier that resembles a ladder, is washed in the Ganges and placed on an open bonfire. Aromatic spices and sandalwood are added to the pyre and there is absolutely no odor. The skull is crushed with a stick to insure that it cannot be used in black magic. The hipbones of women and the chest bones of men are too heavy to burn and so are buried on the other side of the river. No living women are allowed at the crematoria. Husbands bring the bodies of their wives and sons bring their fathers. The ashes are given to the mourner to be thrown into the water. The mourner tosses the ashes over his head and never looks back. It’s all very official and death certificates are issued on the spot.

There’s no cremation of babies, pregnant women, or people who die from a cobra bite. Cremation is to return to nature the elements that compose the body: air, water, soil, fire, and space. In babies and pregnant women, the elements are not complete. A man who’s bitten by a cobra is said to have had his elements destroyed. Their bodies were weighted and sunk in the river to become fish food. Sometimes they would float to the surface, but this practice has been discontinued.

Interestingly, Brahman priests who must be from the upper caste, are forbidden from officiating at the pyres. Upper caste men wear a white thread across their chests under their clothes at all times and may work at any job they want. But only Brahmans may become priests. Brahman priests may marry and lead normal lives. The Doms of the lower castes do the cremations. There’s now upward mobility in society and the president of India is from a lower caste. Sadhu priests can come from any caste. They grow their hair and beards very long and live naked in the forests. They don’t marry and when they come to the city they stay in Ashrams where they teach and study.

Land Fall

We climbed gingerly out of the boat and thanked every conceivable god that we’d returned to dry land unsplashed by the holy water of the river. We were in a country where 90% of the population is devout practitioners of their religion and I began to think of America. We too have the dedicated faithful who rise at dawn, trudge off into the gloom, and perform their own ritual. They too pursue what they believe to be a noble goal. We call them joggers.

Our walk back to the car took us through the narrow streets and lanes of the old city. If we’d become separated from our guide we’d never emerge. He somehow led us through the maze while keeping a keen eye over his shoulder to be sure we were close. Stalls were on either side selling all the wares needed for cremating a loved one. A body on a bier passed us as we rounded a corner and Amman warned us that we were about to enter a very dirty alley where cows lived. I don’t know what we’d been slogging through up to now, but it was anything but clean. People were vainly trying to sweep the dirt, collect the garbage, and wash the street, but, like purifying the water of the Ganges, nothing could help. In the midst of it all, David stopped in his tracks and started mumbling to himself. I thought the spirit had gotten to him and the rest of my life would be spent married to a Hindu holy man. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. He was reading an advertisement on the side of a building. It was written in Hebrew, of all things, and told of Davids Silk Shop. I guess there really are a lot of Israelis who visit. Amman told us of an orthodox couple who walked from our hotel to the river yesterday because it was Shabbat. We met them in the elevator this morning. They were returning to the river by car this time.

Before we turned the next corner, Amman asked us for our camera and handed it off to a friend of his. The area we were about to enter was heavily guarded and no photos were permitted. Guides and tourists were searched for cameras before entering, but a local could get it through with no trouble. We retrieved it at the other end of the lane. In the days of the emperor who had built the Taj Mahal, Hindus erected the enormous golden domed Vishwanath Temple to Shiva in Varanasi. When the emperors son usurped the throne, he demolished most of it and erected a mosque. To this day, this is an area of conflict and tension between the two communities and is targeted by extremists on both sides. We entered an incense shop where the owner did his best to entice us to buy the fragrant oils. He applied samples to our arms and described each scent. As I sniffed, the only aroma I could detect was Off Insect Repellant.

We made our way past begging women squatting in squalor and refuse as my stomach started to rumble. Amman asked if we wanted to hurry back to the hotel for breakfast or if we wanted to tour some more. If the beggars didn’t know where their next meal was coming from, how could I not put off my breakfast feast for a while? We went on. We found the car, climbed in, and realized how filthy we were. The driver had covered his seats in toweling in anticipation of just how dirty we would be.

Toby