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Squishy fuzzy yummy thoughts
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Friday, March 07, 2003
On top of Elephant Hill in Lijiang in China, I met up with a family that had brought a picnic lunch up the mountain. They offered me some of it -- I turned them down as politely as I could, since they were offering me the food to be polite. They ate the food with some stiff blades of grass that they broke into pieces and used as chopsticks. I found this idea completely ingeneous.
posted by wtanaka at 3/07/2003 02:47:00 AM
A question that I should remember to ask myself: How can I enable people to do things that they couldn't do before?
posted by wtanaka at 3/07/2003 02:46:00 AM
2003-03-06 1425
Sign at Bangalore Cantonment station:
Urinals for men only
posted by wtanaka at 3/07/2003 02:19:00 AM
2003-03-04
Arriving at the Delhi train station was a half hour full of stress. My friend had been telling me about all of the things that I would need to do on the train in order to be safe. On top of that, the number of people milling around the station didn't make me feel comfortable, given that my bag was stolen from a bus station pretty recently in China. We bought a lock, some tea & bread, and some mineral water. We rushed over to see if my name was on the reserved seat list, and then rushed onto the train in order to secure an ideal spot to chain my bag under one of the wide-side beds. For the next 20 hours on the train, I didn't leave any of my stuff for more than about a minute or to in order to go to the lavatory.
posted by wtanaka at 3/07/2003 02:19:00 AM
2003-03-06 1128
A woman in a green sari walks up to my berth, stopping right in front of it. A girl, about 8 or 10, presumably her daughter, sits in the seat next to mine. An accordion appears in the woman's hands and she starts playing. The girl walks around and taps people on the leg to ask for money.
Now the girl taps the woman. The woman looks over her shoulder, still playing and singing. The music, now embarrassed, slows and becomes quiet.
2 khaki-uniformed policemen walk past down the car. The woman and girl shuffle afterwards, the music still muted.
Apparently, there is a ban of urchins, beggars, and hawkers on the train cars, but it is not rigidly enforced out of compassion.
posted by wtanaka at 3/07/2003 02:16:00 AM
2003-03-06 1113
On trains, busses, and sometimes by foot in India, China and Laos, one passes through villages and sometimes construction sites where the homes are in shambles. In some cases, the home is just a permanent tent, a small shelter constructed from a torn blue tarp or some canvas, or a plastic sheet. Other houses will have roofs made of grass, or weaved leaves, supported with sticks which have been lashed together.
still others are covered with corrugated metal sheeting. to prevent the sheeting from flying away in the wind, the owners haphazardly put large rocks on their roofs.
some walls are built from local clay -- dirt water, and some dead grass from nearby.
those few places madeo f brick or cement are often crumbling
in all these cases, the houses are comlpetely covered in dust and dirt
posted by wtanaka at 3/07/2003 02:13:00 AM
03-03-05 2047
This karnateka express from delhi to bangalore seems like it has about 16 of these sleeper-class cars. The aisle down the train car lengths plits the car, one third and two thirds. The length of the car is divided into 9 sections by floor-to-ceiling dividers on both sides of the aisle.
The wide side hosts 6 hospital examination room blue-brown vinyl beds, 3 hanging on each divider, one above the other. The middle ones fold down to provide back rests for peopel sitting on the bottom bunks during the day. They are held up during the night by two chains attached to the top bunk.
The narrow side upper berth, where I now lie, is also supported by chains. Below is the narrow-side lower berth, actually two chairs facing each otehr with their tall back rests folded down to meet in the middle.
Each side has two windows with a metal shutter to keep out the light and a clear shutter to keep out the dust and the air. Each window also has five bars across it, to keep out the people, I guess.
During long stationless parts of the ride, and presumably at night as well, the train is fairly quiet. People sit and look out the window, or lie and rest.
Other times, the train bustles. As the train pulls into a station, hawkers on the platform start yelling the names of their wares: "Briyani! Frooti! Cold Drink! Bisleri! Chai! Hindi Newspaper! Hindi Books!" Some stand on the platform, some walk past the windows outside, and some board the train and wander down the aisles.
Even after the train pulls out of the station, hawkers wander the aisles selling chains, locks, noise making guns, rattles, tobacco, grapes, indian snacks, zipper pulls, and ice cream. Transvestites beg for money. Little 6 year old children with red makeup spots painted on their cheeks sit in the aisle, play the drumps, dance and do sommersaults and clumb through rings. Adolescent boys scoot down the aisle with brooms or rags, sweeping away trash. Some beggars have preprinterd cards in hindi and english which they hand out in one sweep through a car and then collect again in another sweep.
Adding to the crowd and the sounds are the train's own pantry car staff, during mealtimes as often as twice a minute passing through the aisles with "Chai!" "Coffee!" "Chicken Briyani!" "Ice Cream!" "Veg Meal!" "Veg Breakfast!" or "Cold Drink, Water Bottle!" which are all carried on trays or in plastic tubs or cardboard boxes.
The food, which comes in aluminum trays covered with a piece of cardboard, is good.
The trash, like elsewhere in India, goes on the ground in the most expedient way, in this case, through the window.
The lavatories empty out the bottom of the train. At stations, sometimes goats or boars can be seen below the train through the hole.
posted by wtanaka at 3/07/2003 02:11:00 AM
Thursday, March 06, 2003
2003-03-03
In Dharamsala, I stayed in a dharma center run by one pelghyi lama, a buddhis monk from the UK. Also staying at the center is a tibetan civilian kid, about 12 years of age. Today is Tibetan new years day, and there are fireworks, rockets, sparkling fountains of sparks and firecrackers for sale.
during the afternoon, khyentse takes this kid to buy some fireworks. They get two each of three kinds -- a rocket on a stick, a disk with a fuse sticking spirally out the side, and a cone.
Back at the center, Pelghyi Lama, Khyentse Lama this kid and I go up to the roof, where the kid, armed with matches and Pelghyi's lighter, attempts to set fire to the roof with the fireworks. He tries to hold the rocket in his hand while he is lighting it, which Pelghyi and I think is a bad idea. Apparently he has done this before though. Anyway, Pelghyi finds a place to prop the rocket up, and the kid lights the fuse, at which point the rocket shoots sideways over the edge of the roof onto someone else's roof.
We decide maybe it is better if we let the kid hold the rocket, so that the aim is up instead of sideways. So he does so with the other rocket, statue-of-liberty style as he lights it. But as the fuse takes effect, the rocket stays on the stick and the stick stays in his hand. So for about a second, we are treated to the sight of this 12 year old tibetan kid, screaming in delight, holding a stick in his raised hand, with a massive shower of sparks and flame shooting down the stick and raining down on his head. After a second, he decides that it's too hot for him to hold onto it, and he lets go of the rocket which proceeds to fly straight into some bushes on the other side of the roof, where it continues to jet exhaust for a few more seconds before going out.
Luckily, no forest fire started.
posted by wtanaka at 3/06/2003 06:53:00 AM
2003-03-03 0926
This morning awake at 5am to the sonuds of the center monks's morning prayers. After an egg and some bread for breakfast, a 20 minute walk to namgyal temple, owned by the dalai lama, a wait in line to get my camera confiscated. as the guard was giving me a tag with a number on it, apparently, #3 lama "karmapa rimpoche 17th" in the tibetan world was the one that walked past and up the stairs. I only saw the four army men in fatigues armed with some kind of mean looking submachine guns. hand grip sticking out one way, clip sticking out another way, ventilation holes on the muzzle. then up the stairs to stand, pressed against monks nuns, and civilians alike, for 20 minutes until we got to go sit on the ground right in front of the stage. now the speakers are tuned to a debate about buddhist philosophy.
the sitting lasts for about an hour through some kind of concert, and finally with much fanfare, the dalai lama, karmapa, and some other important looking people appear on stage. the dalai lama speaks in tibetan for about 10 minutes, and then again with much fanfare, he is gone.
posted by wtanaka at 3/06/2003 06:47:00 AM
Sunday, March 02, 2003
We arrived in Dharamsala at about 6 a.m. this morning. The 90 minute wait at the bus station was interrupted by bright flashes of lightning, and monsoon-quantities of rain. I managed to take a picture of one of the lightning bolts, but it is not a very good picture. After a few minutes of trying, I gave up.
The taxi smelled strange, in spite of the two sticks of incense that the driver had burning right above the "No Smoking" sign. After the taxi dropped us off in Upper Dharamsala, we walked to the Dharma center, through the drizzle and past some shops.
The shops are in asian-storefront style, with sheet-metal warehouse doors that the keepers close every night. I believe that some of the shop keepers sleep in their shops on a bed that they set up in the back. In front of almost every shop was one or two cows, standing, awake, watching, under the shelter of the awnings above the shop doors.
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