The Girl Who Drew Horses

Edmonton Street News Christmas party

2007-12-15T19:07:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe I started this blog a year ago, but Christmas has rolled around again. I do the layout for Edmonton Street News, often from Indian computer shops. It's one of those tasks a person can do anywhere in the world and I like making a continuing contribution. I sold street newspapers on corners myself. I know that the money people can make doing this, while it may seem minuscule to those in the mainstream economy, is important to those whose lives sometimes hang by a thread, especially in winter. And the chance to tell your story and interact with people who have had the same experiences is therapeutic.

Last year we ran out of food before all the people who came to eat were fed, so this year we rounded up more food and sent off letters asking for donations. The amount of food that landed at the mission, even after we had brought our own was phenomenal.

But people kept coming and we kept on feeding them. The only problem was, we only had the use of the room until five when the regular mission people put on a supper. We were feeding people from twelve o'clock to four o'clock, they just kept coming. Finally we packed up all the leftovers and left them for the mission volunteers and with great difficulty got tables cleared and floors mopped while more people kept coming. It was pretty insane.

The number of homeless people in Edmonton has soared with recent rent increases. My rent went from $475 to $650. $650 is now the bottom line, people on welfare get $395, there is just nothing to rent for that. Even the ones on AISH like me are having to choose between food and shelter now. There were lots of people appreciated a free meal.

But there are lots of free meals at Christmas. Things start getting grim in January and February is the pits. I'm going to suggest we have a Valentines day party for our vendors. Maybe it wouldn't be quite such a zoo. We have about twenty regular vendors. About three hundred people showed up for the meal.

Of course one of our local politicians showed up, Hugh MacDonald and the television cameras. No wonder the Iraqis shoot those guys. They are looking more and more like cyborgs every year.

Curious stuff

2007-11-26T07:15:00.000-07:00

I've been working on a family history. The Great Depression in the 1930's had a huge impact on our parents families so I have been cruising the official archives to get some photos of the era since our family doesn't have any photos from that time.

The Glenbow Archives, the Edmonton City Archives and the Edmonton Library historical website have all pulled their photos and stories of personal hardship and civil unrest from their collections. All you can access from those years are pictures of buildings and military doings. It's particularly noticeable in the Library website where so many pictures and blocks of text have been removed that there are big gaps left on the pages, (some of the text gaps have since been filled since I was in there). No web designer would design a page like that. Looks like the Alberta government has decided to edit the thirties from the history of Alberta. Wonder why? Afraid that people might start remembering that bust sometimes follows boom?

Blogger Blues

2007-11-18T09:23:00.000-07:00

Went to a memorial for my friend Brenda. Pretty sad. Didn't know many people there except her family and an old boyfriend. Her daughter is so young, just 22 and moving out into her own world. I'm pretty sure her grandparents will be supportive but having her mother around to cheer her on would have been better. I'm wondering if the reason her doctors didn't suggest an operation in January when she finally got symptoms unequivocal enough to diagnose the problem was that they had to wait for her to use the MRI machine?

Over on my history blog I have been having nothing but trouble. It doesn't want to load any photos at all and not even any longer text pieces. Been jammed up for the last month. Totally frustrating. I notice on my email account they have upped my storage capacity to 5 gigs, like I really need that much. But email doesn't want to ship jpegs either, takes many tries before they will load. Google seems to be promising more and more and delivering less and less.

Stunned

2007-11-06T03:19:00.000-07:00

Got a phone call that stunned me tonight. A friend who had gone into the hospital for a chest operation died yesterday. The operation she was to have, if performed in time is normally quite effective, but she left it too long. I'm devastated. We used to fight because I was never willing to be quite as negative about allopathic medicine as she was. She had just spent five years training as a homeopathic practitioner. I almost feel as if bloody political correctness killed my friend. I hate it when everything gets so politicized that people put their lives and health in jeopardy because of it.

Making friends

2007-10-14T13:42:00.000-06:00

Well, I guess I've definitely succumbed to those Grandmother vibes. Was thrilled to learn today that my grandson has discovered the beast known to the rest of the family as Psycho Cat. And puss just sidles away when little fingers yard too hard on lush fur. None of that ears back hissing stuff with which she rewards any overture of friendship from anyone else. I've always figured that cats were the very best way to teach young humans to respect other living creatures very early on. But I was worried that one might be a little strict.

Making plans to go down to the coast, happy to learn it's still nice and warm and pleasant there still. We are getting quite a few of those cool rainy fall days now. I'm particularly interested in meeting a distant cousin I encountered on Facebook. She has a book about our shared family name I'm quite interested in seeing. She's the same generation as my daughter so I'm hoping to get Rainbow to come over on the ferry with me so we both can meet her. One thing about the McBryan name, there are relatively few of us, even fewer migrated out west in the early 1900's so with a little bit of effort it is usually simple to figure out which grandfather or great grandfather we share.

Dreamworks

2007-10-02T16:48:00.000-06:00

Was having one of "those" dreams last night where I desperately want to scream or run and cannot. (Cannot remember much about the dream except someone was trying to poke a wire into me.) But this time, first time I can remember, when I did try to scream, I did. Felt wonderful. Of course a couple of seconds later when I woke up I felt embarrassed about what the people upstairs must have thought about a woman suddenly shrieking out at three o'clock in the morning. Ah well, can't have it all.

Back in Canada struggling through the family thicket

2007-09-18T07:03:00.000-06:00

I've been back in Canada for a while and have been very lax about updating this blog. India was as usual wonderful. I was quite swept away by Kashmir.

Since I have been back I have been very busy reconnecting with my family. First with the newest arrival Martin Noel in North Van.

Then an invitation from my daughter opened up a whole new vista. There are other McBryan's on Facebook of another lineage than ours. Of course we are all interested in figuring out how we are all related. My brother Mike and I have been working on sorting out the family thicket. It's quite fascinating because my father was very reticent about his background and it was only after his death that we got access to information as simple as what his father's first name was. So, for the interest of siblings and children and any other interested parties Mike and I are bit by bit getting pictures and old documents online.

Check out: Profile Theresa McBryan Facebook
and
Blogspot Address: McBryan Historical documents

Lots more links, photos and interactions with the clan for anyone who is interested.

Home sweet home

2007-07-15T09:56:00.000-06:00

Left India on the 17th, finally in Edmonton on the 16th. Been visiting relatives on the coast, two weeks in Cow Bay with my brother and two weeks with my daughter and new grandson in North Van. Got lots of photos in my camera I haven't downloaded yet, (didn't even take my laptop out of it's bag for a month, too lazy to hook it up to anyone elses connection). Will do a quick retrospective soon with photos of some of the people who made this trip memorable. Ram and his wife have moved into another apartment in this building, they saved my life with a lovely supper when I was just too whacked from the bus ride from Vancouver (those monster suitcases again) to move.

Home again , home again jiggety jig

2007-06-25T12:08:00.000-06:00

It has been a very busy month. The complications started in Srinagar. I had to make a last trip to Puttaparthi to pick up my huge bags and ferry them to Delhi. I planned to fly to Bangalore, take the bus to Puttaparthi and then train it back up to Delhi again. The air tickets were easy but the train tickets something else. Late in May I tried to book a train berth online. No luck, the site is down for maintenance until June 1st. June 1st you cannot book a seat online because there are only wait listed seats available. So I emailed my friend in Edmonton and asked if his Dad could go down to the train station, (in India) and buy me a berth. Then his Dad sent me the train ticket and some other stuff they wanted to send back to Edmonton to my hotel in Bangalore. I was 25th on a wait list at this point, but everybody seemed quite confident that I would get it confirmed. A friend in Srinagar had told me that travel agents buy up blocks of tickets for their customers every day and then roll them over shortly before the train leaves. Crazy system.

Anyways despite the worries about train tickets everything went very well. Landed in Delhi just before a heatwave, but I only had to hang out for two hours on the hot pavement (40), before they would let me in to catch my Bangalore connection. Bangalore was cool and overcast, (around 30), the monsoon was starting, and I got my rail ticket and care package without problems. Then off to Puttaparti. No problems there either, cool and overcast, swept up the desiccated cockroach corpses in my apartment and sealed everything I was leaving in plastic bags and got my big bags down to the train station to find out if I had a confirmed reservation yet. I did! Wow! Very happy to not to have to pay those overweight air charges all the way back to Delhi. Weighed my bags in the Puttaparthi station and found out I was at least 10 kilos overweight on each of them for Singapore Air, so I had to make plans to do something about that. Luckily I would have three and a half days in Delhi to get that sorted out.

Arrived in Delhi just as the heatwave ended, it had been over 50 degrees the day before I got off the train. A friend in Srinagar got his nephew to put me up in his Delhi apartment. That was a life saver. Had a look at his brother-in-law's shawl warehouse, that's definitely where I am buying shawls from now on, great selection and amazing prices. And had a small taste of monsoon weather in Delhi. It started raining about noon on the day after I arrived. The mornings were best. Around seven thirty eight o'clock these deep black clouds would start lashing the trees about and slowly march across the city. When they arrived overhead the skies would open and a solid wall of water would fall out of the sky. Then the sun would come out and the puddles would steam away in the streets and life would resume. But it never did get as hot again after that first day I got there. Very interesting thing to see.

Took the overweight stuff out of my bags, sent them off on a sea voyage and got myself down to the airport in good time. I was so much nicer to spend the time a some one's house than to try to operate out of a hotel. And my host's estimates on the weight of my bags worked out. I was allowed no more than 32 kilos per bag. One of them came out at 30K and the other at 31K. Of course my carry-on was grossly overloaded, but isn't every body's?

Anyhow, the flight was the usual ordeal, my back gets so sore from all that sitting and I can't sleep sitting up either. Then another bus and ferry trip to Victoria. Met my daughter and brand new grandson for the first time. And then up the Island to catch up with my sleep deficit at my brother's. My apartment sitters won't be into their own place before July 3rd, so I'm just hanging out on the coast for a while.

Got a bunch of photos I haven't processed yet, will post them when I can get on my own box. Looking forward to getting out there and flogging some Indian trinkets. Picked up some painted balls I'm going to try to sell in volume to some of the Christmas stores in Western Canada. Definitely politically correct, unbreakable, made from recycled material, unique hand painted craft and inexpensive enough to sell at wholesale prices and still make a bit of profit.

All in all a great trip, learned a lot, fell in love with Kashmir. Can't wait to get back.

I'm a Grandmother!

2007-05-29T04:02:00.000-06:00

May 28

Ayoub's wedding ceremonies continued on the next day. A big meal of course, and then everybody into cars and a school bus for a tour around the lake visiting shrines for the groom to pray for the success of the marriage. I dropped out and made my own way home as all the groomsmen headed off in a long cavalcade to pick up the bride at her families home and bring her back to her bridegrooms house. Auyoub was relaxed and loose during the first part of the day, despite the disaster of his heena night, but as zero hour approached and his family began to robe him for the event he had stiffened up into a wooden statue. Very involved proccess for the groom. Don't know what the bride does waiting for him to get there.

That blast of wind the night before turned out to be very destructive. It overturned shikaras all over the lake and lifted the roofs right off houses and ripped off brickwork from exposed upper stories. Many houses use the top floor of the houses for food storage for the winter and that floor is ofter left with large uncovered areas in the walls. The attic is basically just a steeply sloped roof perched on posts. The wind got underneath five of these structures just in the small area Ayoub lives in, including Ayoub's parents house and popped the roofs off and dropped them back down on the house. A real mess.

I'm getting ready to pull out of Shrinegar, packed up a bunch of extra clothing to mail home. I have two very large suitcases to shepherd to Delhi on the train so I don't want a whole bunch of little ones as well. I'm planning on taking a shakira ride over to see some of those floating gardens with something growing in them. I'm going to be flying out in ten more days.

THis is so annoying, I don't know why pictures sometimes come up with colours inverted. By the way, you can click on images and get a larger version.

May 18

Was supposed to go to a wedding party, a Heena Night for the groom before he goes over and claims his bride. I got out to the neighborhood shopping centre near his house, there are a couple of blocks you have to do on foot because the road bed hasn't been surfaced yet and I need a guide to get there. Anyway, while I am waiting for the ride to come, a strong wind blows up, lots of lightning, scatter of rain. I'm waiting and waiting, nobody shows so I phone again. The wind has blown the roof off the shelter where they were preparing food. Everybody is crying, everything is a mess. So I say it doesn't sound like a good time for guests. I'll just get a rickshaw back to Dallgate and try to hook up tomorrow. Branches of chinar trees down all over the road and many signs hanging by one nail. Nasty little gust.

Maybe some nice photos tomorrow.

By the way, I'm a grandmother now. My daughter had a big baby boy, no name yet but mother and babe home and doing well.

May 17th

I have only a voice to undo the folded lie.
The lie of authority whose buildings grope the sky
The lie of the sensual man in the street.
Hunger allows no choice to the citizen or police.
We must love one another or die.

In the days after 9/11 I searched for that scrap of Auden to comfort myself. In Srinagar I found myself reaching for that scrap of comfort again. People have been telling me about their experiences of living in Kashmir through 3 wars and a never ending guerrillas assaults by independent jihadic militants over the last 18 years. Pretty wrenching stuff.

I wrote a long post for Indiamike.com (Reflections on Kashmir, if anyone is interested.) India Mike is a forum for travelers in India. People responded that my views were one sided because I had only talked to one group in Kashmir. Actually human pain is pretty universal and no respecter of any person. I suspect those others I have not had the opportunity to speak to would tell me almost the same thing. A lot of pain here in Kashmir. A lot of war wounds.

As far as Kashmiris are concerned, militants and the army are equally bad news. To the army there's no way to tell the difference between Kashmiris and militants, and strong suspicions that all Kashmiris are militants. Most of the Hindu population got the hell out one way or another. They are mostly in Jammu.

So it's a pretty tough little town. The war that is going on is actually far more psychological than physical despite all the bullets rattling around. The soldiers want some sort of dominance, you can see it in their attitudes toward even tourists. It's been going on for eighteen year and the Kashmiris have not backed down an inch. They don't argue with men with guns but they don't necessarily respect a man just because he has the gun either.

I experienced a little of that fear everybody around here lives with. I walked into a friends shop for our evening ritual glass of tea and there was a whole patrol of soldiers on the stairs leading up to and in his shop. Just a happy little chat with the captain of the group charged with making sure that no incidents happened anywhere in the tourist zone. Showed me his scar too. This is the evening after I had posted on India Mike. Could actually feel beads of sweat break out on my forehead. These guys are fast or God bless Google. Anyway he spent some time trying to convince me what bad guys Pakistanis are and left when I didn't appear to be all that convinced. Have never been to Pakistan. Don't know anything about them.

Of course that big army, a lot more men than the Americans have in Iraq, is not there to deal with the handful of raggedy assed Afghanis looking for somewhere to punch their ticket to paradise. They are there to deal with that armoured column that Pakistan may send down the pike someday. Meanwhile India has the same problem that Rome always had. Where do you park an army when you are not using it? Well in Gaul or Spain of course. What else can India do, put them in Anantapur to chase Naxelites? Back in Dehradun for more combat training? Not many Indian cities would want that lot on their doorstep. Why not in Kashmir? India owns it now after all..

Anyway, that's what I've been up to lately. Read a great book Ghosts of Kashmir by Shanka Vedantam.

Gulmarg

2007-04-25T04:57:00.000-06:00

April 22

Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!

I woke up this morning in serious pain. Went for a day trip on Sunday up to Gulmarg, the local ski resort and forgot my sunblock. Got the worst sunburn I have had for years all across my forehead, nose and cheeks. Even the place where my hair parts on my scalp hurts. The cool mountain air was very deceptive, should have brought my umbrella.

We had another misty day to be going up to another hight in the hills above Kashmir. However it was clear enough as we wound our way higher and higher up the mountain's base slopes to see that the ridges surrounding the valley on three sides are the smaller petals of the rose. Beyond them great snowcapped peaks rear impossibly high into the blue distances, with just a tantalizing glimpse through blue haze every now and then of a splash of sunlight reflecting off a distant slope.

The entire mountainside is forest preserve, with many soldier guarded check stops. You can see as you drive up that the tall straight pines and spruces have been very carefully logged, between the trees are the stumps of other trees individually harvested one by one. All the slopes we saw were fully covered with healthy looking trees, no clearcut slopes anywhere. The under story is very clean and grassy. We saw groups of women carrying out bundles of branches and the odd dead fall log segment balanced on their heads, a few cows balancing on steeply angled pasturage and a large flock pf sheep with many young lambs grazing under the forest canopy. There is almost no dead fall at all on the whole mountainside the road switchbacks up. It was almost uncanny, a whole mountainside groomed like a zen garden.

The resort is built on a high saddle about 6000 meters above the floor of the vale of Kashmir directly below a snow covered mountain ridge. It's off season now, the snow is gone except for a few patches underneath the trees. But there were hoards of Indian youngsters gleefully rolling about in them. We got there early in the morning which was a good idea, because by noon the parking lots were filling up with tour buses and private cars and taxis. Hundreds of Indian families were taking advantage of that intoxicating combination of warm sunshine and cool mountain air to have pick nicks on the new grass of the run out areas of the bunny and beginner slopes and going off for trail rides on the hundreds of Kashmir mountain ponies gathered for that employment.

There is a chairlift that continues up past the brushed out ski run all the way up to the snow covered top of the ridge. We didn't want to go up because it was rather expensive, about $20 to get all the way to the top, but I would sure like to get up there some day when visibility is a little better and take some photos. It's still spring here and melting snow on the upper slopes means there is almost always a blue mist in the air. Maybe before I leave we will get some clearer days.

The ponies were the best part of the experience for me. Hardy little beasts, they are left out to forage for themselves in winter. Some looked like they could have used a little better feeding during the winter. They were thin and boney and still shaggy. They hadn't been able to shed their winter coat due to poor condition. Many however were in top shape, muscular and glossy with good health. This local breed is a beautiful dainty animal with fine boned legs and hooves, lovely shapely heads and a very spirited disposition. They are quiet and obedient enough when being led along with large heavily garbed tourists aboard, but I saw a lot of curveting and horseplay with their handlers as they cantered back to the starting place.

New house, new neighbourhood

2007-04-20T00:01:00.000-06:00

We have moved into new accomadations, a little guest house in the warren of tiny streets behind Dall Market. I'm a bit of a curiosity to the women of the house, especially since I have spent most of the last three days processing photos and catching up with my blog. They want to know a lot of stuff about the west, centering as usual on the eternal Indian question, why are you not at home with your children?

Remi told one Kashmiri man that meeting Kashmiri women was the best part of the trip for him. The guy looked a little sceptical but I know what Remi meant. Most of the ladies we have met have been well educated, open, friendly and very straightforward and forthright. They speak their minds quite openly and eloquently.

The guys are cool too, the familiar Kashmiri charm. I'd love to import a little of that to sell some of my goods. These are photos of a couple of merchants down at our favorite internet corner.

Around and about

2007-04-19T23:58:00.000-06:00

I've had the opportunity to explore a lttle more of the Shrinegar area. Went off on a shakira ride across the lake with the oldest paddler on the lake. He told me his father had paddled a shikira, he had started as a boy and was now 63 years old. We took it pretty slow. I talked to lots of waterbourne salesmen on my way down the gauntlet in front of the houseboats, might as well let their paddlers do some of the work for the old geezer.
First stop was Silver Island, a little patch of ground half way across the lake. Stopped in for a cup of tea in a houseboat moored to the shore. Got a closeup look at some of those fabulous walnut carvings.

2007-04-19T23:52:00.000-06:00

Then on under an aquaduct built by the munghals to bring cold mountain water to their summer palace across the lake, to Nisat park. This is one of three mughal gardens on the lake shore across from Srinegar. It's mostly just a series of teraces down which leaps that mountain stream through a number of ornamental pools and fountains before it enters the aqaduct to cross the lake. A merchant with a shop just up the road latched onto me like glue, I ended up getting back on the shakira just to ditch him.

2007-04-19T23:48:00.000-06:00

We took a very liesurely trip back, through the floating gardens and around behind the houseboats. Those gardens are huge, got no idea at all of the size of them from the last trip I did. And what do you know, there are cops patroling in there too. These guys are really laid back.

2007-04-19T23:46:00.000-06:00

A couple of days later I had the oportunity to go up to the top of another mount and take some photos above Srinegar. Again, a little too misty for really good photos but at least from this one you could see a lot of the countryside and they only prohibited video cameras, not still cameras.I refrained from telling anyone my camera could also do a few minutes of low rez video if I wanted it to.

Slum clearance

2007-04-19T23:44:00.000-06:00

Our hotel is just across the way from a canal or river. There are a few houseboats moored on the bank and a few sheds and shanties built under the massive maple trees the area is famous for, called chinar in these parts. I took some photos, it was such a beautiful peaceful setting and it reminded me a little of the banks of the river in Duncan on which my brother Pat parks his trailer. I also took a few shots of the tiny little squatters cabins that sink posts into the two feet of dirt on the near side of the canal and sit out over the water on the near side.

2007-04-19T23:41:00.000-06:00

One morning I notice some unusual activity along the bank of the canal, many many police standing looking over the bank. Some of them have riot helmets and bamboo shields, traffic is totally jammed on the road. As I make my way into the thickest part of the jam I see that it is a big bobcat that is causing the problem, backing up into the traffic lane. The driver is dropping its big front bucket over the side of the canal to crash into the flimsy roofs of these little box like cubicals and crush them, while the inhabitants struggle to pull out sleeping mats and bedding. It was all over in about a half hour or so.

By evening some inhabitants who had pieces of sheet metal and larger sheets of wood left to work with had reconstructed an approximation of their dwelling. Others had constructed tents of builders plastic to shelter themselves on the bit of floor remaining in their dwelling. I guess the bobcat couldn't get its bucket down far enough to punch through the floors of these dwellings so people were rebuilding on them as fast as they could get the framework back up. A sidewalk vendor helpfully pushed his cart up the street from the market and offered useful things like twine, hammers and other kind of building supplies and tools for sale just across the road.

2007-04-19T23:39:00.000-06:00

I went back and took some more photos 4 - 5 days later. The local story about these people is that the were offered land somewhere in the Kashmir valley, they sold it, pocketed the cash and are back rebuilding on the same spot. I suspect there is more to the story than I am hearing.

Paper mache and walnut

2007-04-19T23:30:00.000-06:00

There are paper mache items from Kasmir all over India, but you really do have to come to Kashmir to see the whole range of items produced in this flourishing home industry. The items are made from pulped paper, wood and fabric scraps, patted on to a form to dry and then cut off to leave a hollow shape. Most are finished off as boxes with a raised inside rim to hold the top on, but there are many open topped canisters and vases. Some are lined with brass to hold liquids or as trim. Once they are sanded a final single layer of paper is glued over top to give a smooth surface to paint on. They are diven a base coat, usually black and then painted all over with intricate designs in coloured enamel, finished quite often with gold paint and sometimes real gold. The items are then given three coats of varnish. They are waterproof in hot or cold water but have to be handled carefully to avoid scatching or chipping. I'm going to bring back a bunch of balls for Christmas tree ornaments. They are perfect for people who like ecologically sustainable crafts, light, unbreakable for childproof Christmas trees and each one an individually handcrafted item. The owner of the shop I visited said he employes 190 home based crafts people. He brings the forms over, with a sample of the design he wants and gets them to do them.

2007-04-19T23:28:00.000-06:00

Next door Mr. R 's son sells walnut products.

Dalgate market

2007-04-19T23:25:00.000-06:00

Dalgate is named for the nearby Dall Lock that connects Dall Lake to the inner city waterways. The market, the street fronting on Dall Lake, the rows of very expensive houseboats, the shakira loading docks and the bridge over the lock itself were all very heavily guarded by police when we first arrived. I didn't think much about it until my friend in Canada sent me an email saying she hoped I would be O.K. in such a disturbed area. I hadn't seen very much in the way of disturbance since we have got here, lots of police/soldiers with long guns hanging about, sometimes frisking the odd young man up against a truck, nothing more exciting than you would see on any weekend night on Whyte Avenue.

So I wondered if she knew something I didn't. I googled for recent news about Kashmir, and what do you know, big dust up in the big market downtown three days after we got into town, six people injured and one killed when a group attacked a machine gun post. I asked one guy about it and he said that people in that neighborhood were getting very angry about the mess the Indian police were creating in the roadways with their coils of razor wire, garbage and broken brick left lying all over the roadway. Srinagar is not like other cities in India. It's very clean, no garbage at all left lying around on the street. The narrow flagstone side streets are washed everyday by the people in the houses alongside them. The air is wonderful, very little of that stench of human and animal excrement and rotting vegetables in every unused nook and cranny that is such a feature of southern India, nor so much vehicular traffic that car exhaust is noticeable and no plastic bags. About the only place I noticed Indian style garbage tips was over the side of the canal that runs along Dalgate street, beside the little squatter cabins. However, attacking a military type stronghold seems a little extreme protest for civic cleanliness. Couldn't get much info about it though, the Kashmir News Agency website was off line when I tried to access the story.

Anyway, the police must have known what was planned, the security around the tourist section of town was very extensive when we arrived, they have since stood down a bit, not so many guys with guns standing around now. However it's obvious they are looking for someone, we keep encountering groups of them standing around odd corners of otherwise quiet streets prepared and waiting for someone.

2007-04-19T23:23:00.000-06:00

Many of Srinagar's buildings are scarred by fire. The one in the photos above was just across the narrow street from a completely burnt building. All over the city there are signs of fire, damaged roofs and broken panes of glass on the third and fourth floors of otherwise very handsome brick buildings. The loss of it's tourist industry in the early eighties devastated the city's economy. Some people moved away and just abandoned their property. Other owners just use the floors that are still habitable, like my favorite bakery.. Business from Indian tourists is slowly recovering but foreigners are still staying away. There is high unemployment for educated young Kashmiri's and not much money in the private sector for infrastructure repair. Srinagar makes me think of a still beautiful woman with broken grimy nails and hands stained and scarred from digging her food out of the ground.

2007-04-19T07:10:00.000-06:00

Dalgate is very much "the" tourist centre of the city. Dalgate market and all the shops along the boulevard that faces the water are there to service the houseboats and the hotels. Our hotel is along a street that runs at right angles to the boulevard facing the houseboats up at the end of the lake. I guess all those hotels have been built on landfill pushed into the lake to create more dry land to build on. Lately the government has accepted a large loan from the World Bank to clean up Dall Lake and some of those buildings next to the water are scheduled for demolition. Dall Lake is a rather small, very shallow lake and pollution from the large numbers of buildings on the shore, the many houseboats floating in the middle and the floating gardens behind them are endangering it. I noticed a great deal of blue green algae blooms just under the surface waiting to pop up on shakira rides around the lake.

John's house

2007-04-19T07:05:00.000-06:00

One of the first things I did when we reached Srinagar was phone up the contact number a friend of mine in Puttaparthi had given me to reach his relatives. After a few frustrating conversations with people who only knew enough English to tell me they did not understand English, I finally go a hold of John, still sweltering in Puttaparthi and told him what was happening. Later that evening his brother and the guy who works in his store, Ayoub came over and took us out to the far end of town to introduce us around John and Ayoub's extended family. I took some photos from the function room on the top floor of the house.That is John's brother with the deer in the headlights look..

2007-04-09T01:04:00.000-06:00

April 4

We went up to a shrine on the top of hill that rises from the shores of Dall Lake. Remi calls it Solomon's Tomb, the locals have a different story. You can see the geography of the area very clearly. Legend has it that Shrinegar was once a lake, I can believe it. It lies perfectly flat on the floor of a large valley, threaded by waterways, some of which look like big meandering oxbows some are the die straight rulers of canals. It was an overcast day so it was hard to get good photos. I'll go up again on a clearer day and try again.

The most entertaining part of the trip were the guards. The whole mountain is in the Indian Forestry Preserve so the entrance is guarded by a sand banked machine gun emplacement and sentries to check your id. Big signs at the entrance saying no inflammables such as cigarette lighters so I offered the guy at the bottom mine to hold until I got back down, he waved it off. At the top just before the steps up to the shrine, more soldiers and machine gun and a ladies check room. You cannot take a camera up there. The army ladies fondled my tits, crotch and butt, searched my purse, camera bag and pockets and confiscated my camera, cigarettes, lighter and extra camera chip. When I got back down from the shrine there were only four cigarettes left in my almost full package.

Hmmm! Interesting. So the gals in the Indian Army are cigarette smoking dykes. Guess sex with the guys might be a little dangerous. Or it might have been my clothing. I was wearing khaki coloured cargo pants, a tan coloured bush shirt, a dark burgundy long sleeved man's shirt, carrying a black trench coat and wearing my cheap as dirt Amritsar machine woven shawl. Maybe they were trying to figure out if I was a man or a woman.

Remi's entertainment for the afternoon was arguing with the rickshaw driver. We had used this guy before, he had overcharged me for a run across town and back to deliver Manzoor's package so I would not have hired him again, but Remi called him over. He agreed to take us up and back down the mountain for 150 rs, our hotel keeper had said that 100rs was the standard. When we got back down we gave him 200rs but he demanded 400rs. Followed us right into a restaurant and cried the blues to the restaurant staff, had a waiter coming over to the table to tell us we should give him 50rs more. Very loud and embarrassing event. Remi loves this tussle with rickshaw drivers everywhere he goes.

2007-04-09T00:59:00.000-06:00

April 3
New Shrinegar is a stone city. We went to visit the family workshop of one of the merchants Remi knows from Puttaparthi. He recognized him on the street. Remi is much happier today. Mustafa's family lives in an area of the city where every house and yard is surrounded by a high stone fence. Block after block of gray stone bordering seriously potholed lanes. Only the cemeteries have low walls you can see over. There are a lot of them.

The young merchant from Puttaparthi gave us tea and cookies and told us about all the work involved in creating a fine shawl. His brother takes almost a day to weave a cloud soft pashm wool on a hand loom, then his father, a master embroiderer spends three months painstakingly embroidering the delicate all over patterns that has been drawn on the fabric by another craftsman. I have seen these shawls selling for 10,000 rs in Puttaparthi, that's about $275 Canadian. He showed us one masterpiece of solid embroidery that looked like it should really be in a museum. Three years work The family also owns machine looms,100 shawls a day, any thickness or quality of wool you care to specify on about about eight or so looms that look like they came from eighteenth century Manchester. This is what I came to Kashmir to see.

I even held in my very own hands a shantoosh shawl, the queen of wool. They start at $1000 American before embroidery. I would never buy one though even if I had that kind of money. They are made from the belly and neck hair of a wild mountain antelope. People used to just collect the fiber that pulled off the animal on bushes during the shedding season in the spring. It is priced in grams. But there is so much money in the wool that greedy people are shooting the animal and driving it over the brink into extinction. I'll stick with wool. Now if I can only find people willing to pay more than twenty dollars for a piece of weavers art back home.

2007-04-09T00:49:00.000-06:00

April 2

We went for a shakira ride today and I saw why the TourPolice were so hard nosed about us getting accommodation on a houseboat. These floating dwellings do not have roadway connections to the land. The only way off one of them is by a set of stairs going down to the water to board a shakira, and the owner controls which shakira approaches. They comprise a virtual tourist ghetto. All the landing spots on the shore for shakira are guarded by men with rifles. It's a very effective way of keeping possibly disruptive foreign elements away from the metropolis proper. Very neat. I was glad we had managed to avoid that particular box. Probably would have been pretty boring too, it's very early days for the tourist season, hardly any of them looked occupied yet.

The waterborne salesmen were out, though probably not as many now as there will be when it gets warmer, peddling jewelry, shawls and eatables on the waterway. All the houseboats look pretty worn, no new varnish on the elaborate carved walnut friezes for quite some time, though I am sure they are quite magnificent inside.
Remi was in crybaby mode the whole trip. He was cold, he was leaving almost immediately, he wasn't going to adapt again to a new environment, he was going to Dharmashala where at least he knew where to buy toilet paper. As far as I was concerned, he could leave anytime he wanted, just quit telling me about it and do it. I was reveling in the sounds and smells of springtime freshness, relishing the delicious warmth of the sun after the chill of the night. The temperature was just about what it is at the beginning of April on the coast, with less rain. The fruit trees are in bloom everywhere and birds are singing their hearts out. I just love it here right now.

The food is great too, wonderful cooks these munghals.
I had a small delivery to make for a friend from Goa which took us on a long rickshaw ride across the city away from the tourist section into a neighborhood of small twisty alleyways. On the way I saw that there are many many channels traversing the whole city. No part of Shrinegar is very far from water. I want to hire a shakira to take me for a ride through some of those old canals in the heart of the old city. Old Shrinegar is a wooden city, two and thee story buildings with steeply pitched roofs of weather worn wood raise straight up from the water. It made me think of some of the sets of Ghormangast. I want to do a little more prowling off the beaten path and take some photos.

2007-04-05T02:34:00.000-06:00

April 1

Srinegar
Both Remi and I were fairly groggy from lack of sleep when we dove down into the mountains and landed at Srinegar. We were not ready for the Tourist Police. They were charming but very determined to put us on a houseboat. They even found some houseboat owners who were willing to rent for the 200 rupees a night we were willing to pay. They surrounded us on the bus and ushered us into the Tourist Police Station in town. One guy was very hard nosed about it, but I just kept telling them there was no way I was going on a boat, I was afraid of water, I wanted solid earth underneath me. We insisted on a hotel. Finally after many hard stares the guy gave up and one of his men escorted us to a land based lodge. Pretty basic accommodation, no central heating or hot water, but at least we had the freedom of the city. I had been warned by Kashmiri's to stay away from those houseboat owners, they even scare Kashmiri's they are so rapacious, and there are stories about houseboat owners refusing to let tourists off the boats until they accede to whatever demands the owners want to make. I don't like that kind of situation.

March 30-31

Delhi
If the trip to Goa and my stay there was stress free and uneventful the trip to Delhi certainly balanced it in the other direction. For starters the plane took off half an hour late, so my friend who had been waiting for me at the airport had already taken off by the time I got out of the departure area. I had to get some money from a Citi Bank ATM machine so I took off in a rickshaw to find one. Just outside of the airport the driver made me transfer to a cab. I guess a way to get past licensing arrangements at the airport. I wanted to get my money and find a 400 rupee room, I've found them before at Paragangi down by the railroad but he talked me into trying a hotel five minutes from the airport that he claimed cost 1200 rupees. By this time we had been through so many twisting Delhi streets I was getting seriously paranoid and just wanted out of this vehicle. Turns out the hotel will not rent anything for less than 2800 rs, and the taxi driver wants 1500 rs. Got the hotel bill down by 800 by simply not registering or getting a receipt, it was pretty late and got a few bucks off the taxi by showing him I didn't have any more money in my purse. Still cost me almost a hundred dollars for the night. Meanwhile my friend has gone over to the departure terminal and checked into a 500 rs retiring room I didn't know anything about. My Internet connection worked in the hotel so I left him an email saying I would meet him on the plane in the morning.

When I got there in the morning I learned my flight to Srinagar had been canceled. I got a new reservation for the next day and decided to just settle in for a twenty hour wait at the airport, I certainly couldn't afford another hundred dollar night in Delhi. It was not a comfortable wait. Delhi Domestic terminals do not have an air conditioned public concourse like Canadian airports. Once off the sidewalk and inside you are in a security area and cannot leave the building again. No smoking inside of course so I just settled down to wait in whatever shade I could find outside. It was hot, but not as hot as Puttaparthi and dry so at least I could dry out every now and then, unlike Goa. All day long I hung about outside until as evening approached the security people began to ask what I was doing. Waiting for a plane I told them. The airport manager decided to fire up the scanning machine and run my bags through that and let me stay inside for the night. Just then Remi shows up. He had left his luggage in the retiring room and headed off into town to do some sightseeing and was just returning. So we spent a restless couple of hours inside being eaten by mosquitoes. I managed to talk the guards at the door outside to let me out and back in again for the odd cigarette. There were as many people flaked out on the concourse waiting for flights as there were stretched out on the benches inside.

It was very interesting watching the daily operation of this airport. It's not a large terminal, something you might find in a small Canadian city like Abbotsford, but it pumps more people through in an hour than Abbotsford would see in a month. Very efficient. The last flights leave about 1:30 am and start departing again about 3:00 am. I looked out on to the loading area behind the building, it was like a parking lot for planes, hundreds of them sitting wingtip to wingtip as far as a person could see.

Then they started loading up and taking off. They must have been leaving that runway every thirty seconds or so. There was about ten minutes to get on the plane before it was rolling into the takeoff queue. The pilot announced that there were 27 planes ahead of us. It didn't matter to me. There were no mosquitoes in the plane. I was sound asleep.

Layover in Goa

2007-03-26T12:43:00.000-06:00

We had to shut the windows of the car as we drove out of Puttaparthi to Bangalore. The wind coming in was so hot it was like a blast furnace. I left behind a town that was already three quarters shuttered down. Baba was rumoured to be leaving in just two days so all the Kasmiri merchants in particular were champing at the bit to race off to Kashmir despite numerous phone calls from home telling them that the massive late season snow dump of the week before had people paddling boats in the streets of Shrinegar.

Bangalore was much cooler, my little thermometer only got up to 30 while I was there. I had to go in on the Friday to get the crowns installed on my back molars, so that left me with nothing to do after I found a post office and mailed a parcel but lounge in my large, comfortably airy and cool hotel room reading "The Last Mohgul" by William Darymple for most of Saturday and Sunday. First time I have ever actually had a relaxing visit to Bangalore. Stayed at the Race View Hotel, my favorite Kashmiri shopkeeper sugested it. Great value for 600 rupees, butI woke up too late both days to see the horses excercising in the morning.

Anyways, did a very short flight to Goa, arrived early evening as the sea breeze was banishing the heat of the day. Ah what a delight. Lots of people still enjoying the balmy evening air, shops and restaurants and even computer shops open till 11 oclock. Felt like a grown up again after Puttaparthi's 9pm lock down. That place is getting more cultish and treating people more like children every year.

I spent a lot of time talking to Kashmiris while I was in P. They have a very nervous existance in town. The local Telagu speaking Hindus who run the small convience, home furnishing and repair shops and man pushcarts out on the streets are pretty hostile to the mutton and chicken eating Muslim shop owners who occupy the prime real estate directly outside the Ashram walls and sell expensive luxury goods like clothing and jewelry. Muslim merchants go directly from their shops to home, no walking around on the streets alone after dark for them. The Kashmiris like to stay up late and eat and watch television till after midnight. The Hindus like to be asleep by 9 and start singing bajans at 4 am. The Baba devotees from all over the world are getting more and more insistant that the whole town, not just the Ashram toe the line in matters ranging from diet; pressure from the Sai Trust got rid of the only two non-veg restaurants in town and decorum; the police told one shopkeeper to get out of town because a German lady accused him of fooling around with some Russian women. As I said, it's all getting pretty cultish. Too bad it's a so much more economical place for a lengthy stay than Goa.

The Darymple book was interesting in that it described very much the same sort of differences in daily routines between the Mughal courtiers in the Red Fort and the Hindu merchants in Delhi at the turn of the century. And there again you had a third group, Christian Britishers taking administrative control with a totally different time table and agenda again. In Puttaparthi the foreigners are not quite so overwhelminly British, but there is a very strong Northern European presence and public morality emerging. Interesting to see that these dynamics are not new in India. The Russians don't seem to be toeing the line though. My friend Manzoor in Calangute tells me that some Russians have just arrived in Goa complaining about their stay in P. Wonder if they are the same bunch rumoured to be caught in naughty activities with the Kashmiri who was told to get out of town?

Three billion people and small town politics can still cross the width of the continent at the speed of an airliner.

I'm heading up to Delhi on Friday, suposed to meet my friend Remi there and continue on to Shrinegar the next day. He invited himself on my Kashmir trip last year and insisted on when we had to go this year. (I would have prefered to hang out another week or two in Goa to let the late winter early spring stuff blow itself out, but he had to get out of P before Baba, didn't want the expense of a layover in Goa and Delhi is also sweltering right now, so he doesn't want to stay there any longer than necessary). Now he tells me that he may not be able to make it to Delhi because there was a bad derailment on the mainline from Bangalore to Delhi that he is suposed to take in two days. I think the stories of people boating in flooded Shrinegar are spooking him.

I don't care, I have my winter boots and coat from my January arrival from Canada. Arrived in Canada during the last of the winter downpour in BC this time last year, by the last week in April it was beautiful, so I'm not worried about a little early spring mountain weather in Kashmir. I may indeed be going up there alone after all. That's ok. Got an invitation to a wedding in May and recomendations of good cheap guest houses rather than houseboats so I'm looking forward to the experience alone or with company. Meanwhile Goa is beautiful, a little bit hot during the middle part of the day, but beautifully cool and fresh morning and evening, especially out on the beach. And the food, as always, absolutely wonderful. Those Goans sure know how to cook.

Winding down in Puttaparthi

2007-03-12T10:34:00.000-06:00

The dying season has begun. Three times in the last three days the thrum of flat hand held skin drums. Twice a flower mounded body with tiny wizened face poking out of the flowers paraded past on the way to the Hauneman Temple. It's getting hot. Up around 38 C to 40 C every day. Old people are dying. I feel very sorry for those impoverished oldsters, sweltering in tiny dark places with no electricity. Two and a half more months of heat to go for them.

My flat isn't too bad. Put up foil coated mylar sheets, sold as "space blankets" to Canadian drivers in the winter for emergency protection, on my south and west windows. Switch on my ceiling fan before the lights when I get home. Keeps the place around 34 C. Jump into the bathroom every time I get home. The warm water in the shower around noon that was such a delight two months ago comes out of the tap too hot to stand under any more. I fill a bucket with cold water every evening and mix the hot into my pouring cup for a nice tepid sluice and a dry off under the ceiling fan. The walls stay slightly warm all night now.

I've got two more weeks to go. Getting on a plane for a five day visit to Goa the Sunday after next, then on to meet Remi in Delhi and the flight to Shrinegar up in the mountains of Kashmir. Looking forward to some cool mountain air.

Puttaparthi is emptying out. The once crowded restaurants are almost deserted at night now. Many close early. During the daytime the streets are quiet and dusty.

Baba is supposed to be going to Whitefield on the 22nd, the whole town will shut down then, shopkeepers are packing goods away, getting ready to roll down their shutters for the two months or so Baba is expected to be away. I'm going up to Bangalore on the 23rd to finish off my dental work and catch a plane. Remi isn't booked out till the 28th, it will be an interesting experience for him to be in a completely quiet Puttaparthi. His friends Denis and Sherrie will be around all summer so he will have a place to hang out until the train leaves.

I'm getting my business sorted out, organizing receipts for customs, indexing, pricing and cateloguing goods I picked up during my stay.

Had a hilarious day, (in retrospect, wasn't all that much fun while I was in it) in Bangalore on Friday. I went in on the early train for a dental appointment and had with me a claim form I am sending back to Canada that needed to be notarized. Things started to go bad at the train station. The train was three quarters of an hour late. Got into Bangalore an hour late at the beginning of the afternoon rush hour. Fidgeted all through the crawl across town. Arrived an hour and a half late for my appointment. The dentist had just gone home. She was very nice about it, I apologized profusely, her resident poked at my tooth, no pain anymore, filled up the hole with a temp dressing, made me another appointment. No more trying to do this same day thing. Next time I'll come in on the Friday and get to the dentist early Saturday morning before the streets fill up.

On my way to my second assignment. I have to find a notary to stamp this document. Someone in Puttaparthi had suggested going to a police station and asking there. Police have a lot to do with lawyers, seemed logical. Got a rickshaw, the driver looked scared when I asked to go to a police station, any police station. Around and around and around we go, must have passed the same damn park three times, asking, asking, asking for directions. Maybe the driver was just trying to find a station where no body knew him by sight. Eventually we found one, and after many false attempts I finally connected with someone who could tell me where the lawyers hang out. Mayo Hall looks like an old courthouse out of a forties movie. But the halls were lined with desks with signs saying "Notary" So and So. Ah ha, just what I have been looking for. A short wait and I have what I came for, half a page of brightly coloured stamps and an impressive big red seal. These Indians know how to do it up right. Had to laugh when the notary told me that he was going to charge me 150 rupees but he was only going to put 15 rupees on the receipt. The guy who is verifying that I have sworn to tell the truth is lying himself. So India.

Anyways, back into the traffic, mad dash to the railway station in hundred yard bursts between jam ups. It's almost train time and I still have to stand in line for a ticket. One short angry burst at the taxi driver who is trying to gouge me for another 300 rupees. I've already given him twice what shows on the meter to pay for wait time. That train is getting ready to go, I have no time for this. I push a hundred rupees into his face and say, "take 100 rupees or take nothing, I'm leaving." He took the hundred rupees. So back on the train again with seconds to spare before the station starts to roll past. I realize I'm becoming an Indian. Other people are running across the platform to leap for the handrails of the slowly moving train. Beginning to understand how this happens. I have no small bills, I haven't eaten all day or stopped for a minute. I can't get a snack from any of the vendors because I know none of them can change a 500 rupee note.

Then the conductor comes for the rest of my fare. He doesn't have change for 500 either. A nice young man sitting beside me offers to change my bill and shares a spicy omelet wrapped up in a chappati with me. Also so India. Turns out he has a very English name to go with that unusual accent. What do you know, another Anglo Indian. They seem to like letting westerners know that they share some heritage. My Great grandfather served in India, didn't marry anybody over there though. Interesting encounter, neat to know that the descendants of those few marriages still value the western side of their heritage also.

Up and about again

2007-03-05T22:17:00.000-07:00

Well, hi everyone who is still looking me up. It's been a while.

Have had a very tense month in Puttaparthi. Got my banking stuff sorted out, income coming into a bank that can't eat it without a court order. That was very scary because Ram didn't get back in time for the Canadian pony express mail service to get word to my income sources to change banking info before they fired off March's cheques. Luckily the "no entry" command I requested on my accounts at the first bank held and they were sent back to sender. So they are a bit late but that's a much better outcome than just gone.

Then I went to see a dentist in Bangalore to get a cavity filled. That turned into two root canals and three crowns, seven hours on bus or train and ocasional overnight hotel stays for each appointment. Still chugging my way through that. Did two trips into B'lore last week. Spent most of Sunday sleeping to catch up with my sleep deficit. Getting it done in India is the only way to go. I have enough dental coverage in Canada to get the root canals and fillings done, but not the crowns. That's $2400 dollars right there, about a $350 cost in India. Pretty much justifies the cost of the airplane ticket over here. And the office where I am getting the work done is in a very modern, totally state of the art facility. I like the dentist too, a very gentle, considerate and thorough lady, Dr Rita. One nice thing about going into Bangalore regularly is that it is about five degrees cooler than Puttaparthi, very refreshing break.

Now I'm working on how to get the hell out of here. It's getting very hot, up over 36 C pretty much every day now and rising. I guess it got up to 55 C in May one year. However, I still have to get to Goa to do some business and Remi wants to come to Shrinegar with me also. So I'm trying to explain to a travel agent that we need tickets for two separate itineraries that end up on a plane bound for Shrinegar on or about March 31st.Have to see how that all works with the number of appointments I need with my dentist. Will probably have to change my Singapore Air flight back to Canada in the middle of June also. I thought it would be easier to fly from Shrinegar to Delhi then home than come all the way back to Bangalore. But I didn't count on the two huge suitcases of Indian stuff I would have to lug all the way to Kashmir and back to Delhi to do that. I'm going to cost the difference between changing my Singapore Air ticket and paying excess baggage rates on Indian domestic airlines.

There are times when Indian beurocracy can drive you nuts.

One example. I want to get a Commissioner of Oaths to notarize a claim I am sending back to Canada under a class action brought against the Alberta Government last year. I go to this guy who has a sign on his door saying he is a notary. He wants to vet the document and keep a copy of all sorts of my private data for his files, to make sure I'm telling the truth. Such bullshit, he only has to witness that I am swearing that I am telling the truth, not investigate me. He wants to charge thirty dollar to boot, and refuses to give me a receipt for the service. That's a frigging fortune in India. I'm pretty suspicious that he isn't even the notary, didn't have a stamp to do the deed right then, wanted to send it to my home by messenger. Got to wonder what some people are up to. Anyway I'm going to try to find someone else.

And then back to Bangalore for more rooting around in my mouth on Friday. Got a busy week ahead of me.

Promises promises

2007-02-14T11:26:00.000-07:00

I brought back a miserable sinus cold from my trip, practically guaranteed if you travel anywhere on public transit these days. Have spent four days going through boxes of tissues and my pack of Dristan, my only absolutely critical medication. It's getting hotter here, not much fun with a bit of a fever, about 32 to 34 C most days now. But my apartmentis still very comfortable.

Will get some photos put up soon.

Think I might have a handle on the banking crisis, sent Ram home with important letters, got my son to send me emergency cash via Western Union. Thanks guys.

Catching up

2007-02-14T11:19:00.000-07:00

Feb 6

Lands of fire, Lands of water.

Ram's wedding celebration got back on track early last week. His e-mail came to late for me to get a train reservation so I took the only bus going that direction, the High Tech bus from Puttaparthi to Vijayawada. I wondered at the name. Turns out High Tech means the bus has a TV screen on which to show movies. I would certainly have traded that for a decent suspension.

Thanks to my trip of the previous week I knew that it was just a short local run from there to Tenali, scene of the function. We left at dusk and headed straight north up the centre of India towards Anantapur the state capital. The air was very murky, more smoke and pollution than usual, and I soon found out why. We passed an entire mountainside ablaze, shedding great clouds of black soot into the air. I had always wondered why the Norse called dragons worms. Worms have always suggested more water than fire to me, till I saw this entire mountain infested with crawling fire worms. In the gathering gloom and heat the dry Andhra Pradesh landscape was like something a medieval painter might have used to suggest the environs of hell.

I dozed off and when I woke again, we were climbing and climbing, steep switchback turns on a narrow track where the bus had to slow right down to negotiate a passage with every other goods truck and bus on the road. We were hemmed in on both sides by deep impenetrable forest and from what little I could see by the light of the full moon long forested ridges stretched out as far as I could see. Soon we were over this escarpment and as dawn lightened the sky I could see the land had flattened out. Mile after mile of deep green lush paddy fields interspersed with coconut palms. We are in the wet, rich part of Andrha Pradesh.

I realized later we must have crossed the Eastern Ghats and that these cast a long rain shadow across the centre of India and the western part of Andrha Pradesh in particular. Going east toward Bangalore from Puttaparthi there is a substantial rise in elevation that lowers the temperature by measurable degrees but not these craggy bluffs. I'd like to find a way to get there in daylight sometime, both bus and train go through at night.

Feb 8

Tieing the string.

Ram's wedding was scheduled by the local Pandit who determined that 1:14 AM was the most auspicious moment to begin the ceremony. First there was a short Bride's pooga where the brides family presented Ram with gifts and anointed him with perfume in the grooms preparation chambers. Then the whole company went outside onto the patio and had dinner. Attendants decorated a three sided structure like a large puppet theater stage with strings of blossoms. Ram and Jostnah sat in this structure and people brought them presents.

As the appointed time approached, tables were cleared away and people moved their chairs in front of the stage. The bride and the Pandit and his associate seated themselves in the theater. First the brides relatives came with a big box filled with jewelers cases and hung strand after strand of gold chain, necklaces, rings and golden bangles on the bride. They filled her lap with every agricultural product the region produces and gave her clothing and other presents. Then when she went off. Ram came onto the stage and the brides parents held a loop of string which Ram slipped over his head and arm. Ram's father passed up another silver string and Ram slipped that on too. The bride came back in another magnificent sari and the gift giving and chanting of prayers continued. Both Ram and Jostnah had a thick paste of turmeric pressed down on the top of their heads. Then both left the stage again and after a short while, to a fanfare of trumpets Ram arrived back, looking like a mogul princeling in his gold striped caftan and Jostnah soon afterwards in another amazing sari of white cotton.

The first part of the ceremony appeared to have more to do with the relationships the two families were negotiating with each other. The second part was about the bride and groom. They poured buckets of rice and flower petals over each others heads and then plates of different kinds and colours of foil confetti and light plastic balls until the stage must have been at least an inch deep in all this colorful melange. Wedding guests tossed handfuls of rice on the newly wedded pair. Then they were both adorned with the large traditional bridal garlands. After many photos and prayers a fire was lit in a shallow metal basin and Ram lead his bride in the traditional seven steps around the fire. It was a very moving moment. Space was so tight in that little puppet stage that Ram had to bend far forward to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling and Jostnah had to keep her sari skirts very tightly gathered to avoid dragging them into the fire in the tight confines of the stage. You could see how tightly they were holding on to each other as the flimsy floor of the structure flexed under their weight. Seemed the very metaphor of the perils of modern marriage to me. Young people do have to hang on very tight to each other in these times. All this took until after four in the morning. I considered it a great privilege and honor to have been invited. I began to sense something of the depth and age of Indian culture. Any one of these rituals could have been "the" ceremony at one time, but like everything in India the present is constantly layered over the past and all exist in the present in complex and subtle interrelationships.

The next day the company met again for another papoose with the grooms parents and the newly wedded pair, breakfast and farewells. Many of the overseas guests who had originally come for Ram's wedding had run out of time off from their jobs when Ram's wedding had been preopted for Grandmothers funeral, so Ram and his family had canceled the formal reception and opted for some simple family time at the family home in Tiruputi, before Ram and Jostnah had to go to Delhi to finalize Jostnah's Canadian immigration application.

Feb 9

Journey home

I contemplated taking the local train to Gunter that evening and seeing if I could catch the high tech bus I came on, on it's run back to Puttaparthi, but I liked my hotel room in Tenali so I decided just to get an early start instead. I asked for a five o'clock morning call so I could catch the 5:30 train to Gunter. Bad call. Seven o'clock I wake up. No wake up call at five. Oh, well, I'd go down to Gunter anyway and hang around. There would be some bus leaving in the evening, to Anantapur if not to Puttaparthi. It would be easy to get local transportation from Anantapur. So down to the station, quick stop for chai at the tea stall I had scoped out the previous evening, and on to the train station. Then things get weird.

I plunk down my seven rupees and ask for a ticket to Gunter. The guy behind the glass says it costs 21 rupees because this one is express. He directs me to track four. The train will be there at 8:00. I wait by track four and sure enough a train comes along. Sardine time, morning rush hour, barely room to breath, but that's ok, this is an express and its a short run. Only, it is stopping at every two bit local railway shack, and there seem to be a lot more of them than I expected. Can't see much, I'm standing and the view from the window doesn't show much more than a bit of gravel. Then the view from the window shows me water through rail trestles. Water for a long, long way. This is not Gunter. This is Krishna Canal just outside of Vijayawada! Asshole ticket seller and his crummy practical jokes. Oh well Vijayawada will work too. Just get a bus to Anantapur from here. So that's what I do, reserve a ticket with one of the independent companies running luxury Volvo buses, because after my trip up here I have a real craving for Air Suspension, hold the movie. I get lunch and hole up in a cheap but seedy hotel room for a couple hours of sleep because I know I won't be able to sleep on the bus. Then back through what I am beginning to think of as the enchanted forest in the cool dark night. At least on this bus the window doesn't rattle open with the vibration. I don't have too jam a folded up magazine between the panes to keep it closed. The air is quite cold out there. By morning we are out of the hills and stop to unload most of the passengers and the several tons of stuff the bus is carrying on it's roof in the only major town between Anantapur and the forest.

As I expected the local bus to Puttaparthi from Anantapur is easy, the guy behind the counter sees my white face and cheerily chirps "Puttaparthi, right?" Right. The bus is leaving in an hour. I'm surprised by how ramshackle all of Anantapur I have been able to see is. State Capital, you would expect some impressive public buildings at least, some paved streets maybe.But not here. This dusty place reminds me of something out of an old western film, a broken down collection of buildings at the end of a long dusty road. Even little Tenali was more impressive than this. I am in the fire lands of Andrah Pradesh again.

The day before I left to go north the first time all the merchants in Puttaparthi had staged a general strike and rolled their steel shutters down for the morning, turning the town into a ghost town. When I asked what was happening I was told that there is a lot of pressure in Andhra Pradesh to split apart. Rich Andhra wants to shed it's responsibility to poor cousins in the rain shadow. I can understand why now. Sai Babba spoke out against partition. Some people were quite incensed at his temerity in involving himself in politics. Putaparthi is an anomaly in this part of India. It is India Disneyland, a frothy pink theme park perched in a semi desert of dry arroyos; an oasis of wealth and plenty in the middle of the poorest part of the most poverty stricken state of India; or perhaps it is quintessentially Indian, an Indian wedding in a ruinous old temple, bright silks against broken stone. Twenty years ago it didn't exist. Baba is eighty two. How long will it last when Babba isn't in residence at the Ashram?

Nevertheless I am very happy to get back to my cool clean bare apartment again, such a relief to just stop vibrating at last.

When all hell breaks loose

2007-02-03T23:24:00.000-07:00

No sooner do I get back to Puttaparthi and get my Internet connection re-established than I find that CIBC bank account has been raided. I don't like doing banking on other peoples machines so I hadn't checked any of my accounts for the time I was away. Very unpleasant surprise.

Anyways, I only had current income in that account, I keep my investment and savings in other banks so they only got one month's income and I've got the necessary processes underway to direct my income to other banks and set up other ways to access funds in India. Amazing what you can do on line these days, both good and bad. Luckily I had sent money to Remi for my trip so they didn't get that. The only real problem other than loosing the money is; that was the only Canadian ATM card I had found worked in any Indian ATM, sometimes, otherwise I would have closed that account long ago, CIBC is the pits when it comes to customer service..

So it's been a busy time slaving over the old Internet and firing off frantic e-mails to my son to go over to my apartment and give the super some cash because the rent cheque was about to bounce. Worst possible time for it to happen. Ram is in India too or I could have had him sort it out. Anyways, done the necessary to cauterize the wound. Now I just have to figure out how to get some cash into India for this month. State Bank is probably going to be slow, India doesn't do Internet banking yet and it takes a long time to get bits of paper across the ocean. Hate to do it but I'll probably have to get my son to send me some money by Western Union. Remi got a little warning that they are going after his account also, his son Mark had some really good suggestions for things that you can do on the Internet. The guy is quite the resource. Remi is a lot more vulnerable than me, he doesn't have very much income even by Indian standards.

So his paranoia has substantial grounds in fact. I still think it's a waste of good energy to grouse about it all the time.

Anyways, despite the money hassle it's been good to get back, hang out with friends, go to the library. Been trying to find venues in my home town where I can sell my stuff for the summer, a couple of music fairs will do, instead of just relying on word of mouth, e-bay and home sales. Want to pick up the pace a bit. Found some lovely soft and warm wool shawls in lovely pastel shades at a reasonable price for my Canadian customers who are not in the least impressed with super thin pashminas, not even if they are very nicely embroidered. Even in summer evenings get cool.

Home again, home again, jigitty jig

2007-01-31T22:53:00.000-07:00

Feb 1

It's dark. Something has changed. The train has stopped moving. What time is it? I peer groggily at my clock. 6 AM. Oh my God, it's Preshanthi Nilayam or maybe not, maybe its Anantapor. I struggle my bags down the passageway and peer out into the darkness. There is a sign there, but I can't read it. My glasses, under the pillow, rush back, try to locate my compartment, if this is Puttaparthi it's a very short stop. Find the glasses, rush back, still can't read the sign, it's all in Hindi and Telegu so I call out to a guy on the platform, is this Preshanti Nilayam? Yes, it's the conductor, good, the train won't move off until he gives the all clear. I can get my bags off without breaking an arm. Of course there are no porters, they are all up at the entrance gossiping with the taxi drivers. The little wheelie is fine but that big bag won't steer worth a damn, I make my wavering way up to the entrance and all the porters and taxi drivers wake up and mob me at once. I'm back.

Good to have my own apartment to come to and not have to get off the train all buzzed out and groggy and try to find a hotel.

Well, that was interesting, not at all what I expected. And I still have to get up to Goa and do some business in the near future but I'll do it the easy way and just fly out of Bangelore. Meanwhile, back to work here in Puttaparthi. I have to get a bed and mattress to put my new sheets on.

My internet connection works again. Have to go down to the shop and ask why it would not on the road. Suposed to have a roaming feature. Have yo find out why that is not working for me.

Train time

2007-01-31T22:45:00.000-07:00

Jan 31

I head down to the railway station two and a half hours early determined that if that wait list ticket can't be confirmed I am going to head out to the Volvo bus stand and book on to the next bus to Bangelore even if it doesn't leave until evening and I have to rent a hotel room for the day. I need some sleep. People were partying, loud voices, feminine squeals, loud TV until after four in the morning. I just wish they had been doing that the night before when police came waking me out of a deep sleep to check if I had a man in my room. Get it all over at once. Not a great hotel.

Anyways, enough said, I am in a foul mood. I guess it shows, even the guy at the ticket desk looks first abashed when I ask if I am going to be taking this train or getting my money back and then relieved when he checks his terminal and finds there is a berth for me. Glad I'm there early, have to wait for the train doors to be unlocked, but I am first on the carriage and have space and time to haul the little wheelie out of the big bag when it turns out it is too fat to fit under the seat.

I'm alone for a while, then while I am eating lunch the conductor puts a young couple with a baby into the compartment. Works out great. I finish lunch, baby finishes bottle, I crawl up into my berth and sleep, baby sleeps, parents sleep. Turns out they had a late night too. They are a young NRI couple in Visag for the lady's sister's wedding. They live in California. So odd to hear that soft American accent in India. Such a nice little baby, so quiet and content, five months old. The baby in the next compartment is the exact opposite, the journey is punctuated by frequent shrieks of childhood outrage. When the father brings her for a visit I can see why, bouncy bouncy, push her face up into strangers faces, squeak squeak with the toys, this poor kid is so overstimulated she doesn't know whether she is coming or going. Can't be still for a second, wiggles and squirms like a eel non-stop. She even falls off the seat onto the floor in the next compartment. I wince. Serious wails when she finally gets her breath back from that one. Meanwhile the little boy just smiles and gurgles, waves his legs about and snoozes through everything.

Chance Encounters

2007-01-30T06:39:00.000-07:00

One way or another it is my last evening in Visag. Went down to the Train station the morning to check the status of my ticket. Still waitlist 1, no one has dropped out yet so I have to start thinking of alternate strategies. If I'm still waitlisted an hour before train time tomorrow I'll just get my money back and go book on one of the Volvo busses, I'm tired of waiting around.

Kind of frustrating day today. Got a lift down to the beach, far end near that sub parked on the beach, wanted to do a tour of that. No chance, the exhibit doesn't open until two. Then lunch at the Dolphin, another five star I like to stop into for a beer, a bite and some serious air conditioning at noon. Waiter asks me if I am free tomorrow evening. He's starting a new hobby, taking people on tours of Visaskhapatnums local attractions. Would have done it anytime this week end but I'm going to be on a train or bus tomorrow. I'll look him up next time I'm in Visag.

Did have a couple of interesting conversations down on the beach. A young man came by with a group and approached me. He told me he was a Christian minister and was coming down to the sea to do some baptisms asked if he could come back and talk to me afterwards. I said sure and soon he came back to tell me his tale. He used to be a Hindu, worshipped false idols, hung around this Christian church and criticized the music. Eventually he went into the church became a convert and started his own ministry. I told him I'm not religious; I believe it creates disunity by focusing on differences instead of what is common to all humanity. I was however impressed by his quiet, simplicity and obviously joyous involvement with his local community so I gave him 500 Rs just because I liked his aura.

A little further down the beach another man approached me. He had a scrap book of photos and text documenting his involvement with several gurus in the Himalayas and asked me if I wanted to become his family friend. I wondered if his wife would be quite as enthusiastic about dragging a beer drinking, cigarette smoking foreign woman in as a family friend without a little discussion first so I graciously declined, but promised if I knew any groups in Canada who needed workshops in meditation and yoga techniques I would recommend him. Two faces of Indian spirituality, the contradictions are always in your face here.

I'm getting myself a decent bed made as soon as I get back to Puttaparthi, I'm always afraid I'm going to fall off that skimpy little cot I'm using now. So when I noticed a big household linen supply place I went in and bought some sheets. The salesman tried to talk me into a poly/cotton blend because they don't need ironing but with dobie fees at 3 rupees an item I feel quite all right about indulging my love for the feel of crisp freshly ironed white cotton sheets, just like when I was a kid. $30.00 for four double bed size sheets and two single sized sheets, 100 % pure cotton, solid and substantial. Cut them right off the bolt, the in-house tailor ran up the hems while I waited. I like the way some things are done in India. Visnakhaputnam may not be well known for cotton but you can sure get some nice stuff here.

Out of the woods (I hope)

2007-01-28T05:42:00.000-07:00

Railway station again today. Got down there about 11:15 and experienced this sinking feeling as I saw the line to the token counter snaking away across the parking lot, a feeling not enhanced by the big sign over the door saying the ticket office closes at 14:00 hours on Sundays and holidays. Surprise, ripped through the token line with minutes to spare before they shut down that window at twelve. Indian officials can be such sadists. Ten minutes before twelve I was the second in line when the lady behind the counter took off to enter a lot of stuff on a computer, leaving us all to wonder if she was going to come back before shift end. Indians cannot handle this sort of stuff. The ones behind me became frightened and started cramming their arms and fistfulls of paper under the glass, waving them at her frantically. Luckily I was one of the few others she gave numbers to before slamming down the wicket.

And luck it was, only forty people in front of me this time and a whole two hours to go before they shut the place down. Piece of cake. Took waitlisted ticket one, I felt it was pretty good odds at least one person would bail before traintime. Now I can figure out how this business of changing a waitlist ticket to a confirmed ticket works.

And I have finished the newspaper. Gives me two days off to do tourist things and go hang out on the beach in the morning, take some photos.

I suspect the whole railway station scramble had a lot to do with the celebration of Republic Day on Friday. Probably a lot of people using the stat to grab a long weekend with relatives.

Now I have my own India train booking story

2007-01-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

So far I have been lucky. When I want a train ticket I just go down to the station and buy one. Today I had one of those experiences other people talk about traveling in India.

Went down to the station to get my ticket. Stood in a very long line to get a token to go up to the window and submit my requisition. Waited watching little green numbers flicker on a television monitor while the guys behind the counter chewed through the 350, (I'm not kidding) people ahead of me, over lunch hour and into the afternoon. I already had found out that I had to travel down the coast and catch the train to Vasco de Gamma at Vijidawada. I was quite loking forward to a cross continent drive behind that salt encrusted behemoth. Alas, it was not to be. After much to and froing between three different counters it was finally established that the only ticket I could have was waitlisted with eleven people ahead of me, or I could wait until the fourteenth. Didn't want either, will fly from Bangelore, but might as well go all the way to Puttaparthi and drop off my very large new Indian style suitcase first. (It's got my snazzy little airline wheelie inside it.)

Left the hotel at 10 am, reached a bar and downed a Kingfisher by four thirty. I needed that, buying train tickets is thirsty work. Tomorrow, something simple, one train, already know the name and number or else I take a bus. I like Visag fine but I don't have any relationships going here so it's not someplace I want to stay for a really long time.

One good thing, decided to get serious about the ATM issue. Wrote down a list of all the different bank ATM's I have used in India and told the rickshaw driver,

"I want to visit every ATM in town till I find one that works."

Disapointed him terribly that I hit paydirt on the first try, and found a new brand of ATM that works, and in Vishakaputnam, bonus. So my card is ok, it's just the Syndicate Bank machine in Puttaparthi that is wonky. That's good to know.

Onward!!!!!!!!!!!

Onward to Visag

2007-01-27T06:56:00.000-07:00

Jan26

Bit of a panic this morning. I could not get on the train I wanted at Gunter Junction, had to catch it one more stop up the line which meant catching another train at Gunter to go intercept it. Buying the ticket was easy enough, 13 rupees, and the directions were simple enough. Show up at 4:30 am. That was where simple ended. Got there at 4:30 and the helpful guy at information looked non-plussed when I asked what track to go to to catch a train to this one stop up the line. He said that the express to Vishakaputnam had gone by at 3:30. I pointed out where my ticket instructed me to board at Vijayawada at 6:55.

A by-stander suggested track three and he agreed. I went to track three. There was a completely dead train sitting there all locked and dark with numerous Indians attempting to gain entrance through every possible door and window. Finally a group did find an open door and got on to sit in the dark. This seemed like an odd way to do business. I guess I looked non-plussed enough that a guy asked me if I knew where I was going. I told him Vijayawada Junction, to intercept the Presanthi Express. He said this is the Golkerna Express, the train you need is on track four. So off I go to track four, where a train coming all the way from Vasco de Gama over on the other coast in Goa is just pulling into the station. Indian rail officials are like cops, thick as theives when I am trying to sneak a cigarette but never there when you need one. Finally I went way down the train to the reserved section and asked a guy hanging about catching a quick puff if this train was going to Vijawada Junction. He said, that's one stop up the line, just grab the porters seat and come along. A few other guys with brief cases got on and stood in the passage and off we went. Nobody to check tickets or anything. Got to the stop 20 minutes before the Preshanti Express pulled in. The Golkerna train came in ten minutes later, so the dead train would have worked as well. There was a notice by the door that a special train had come through at 3:30, express to Visag, but not the one I was catching so I guess that was what the confusion was about. I did a little praying that the train would come in on track one so I wouldn't have to haul my luggage up and down more steps, and merciful heavans, my prayers were answered. After that it was a pretty uneventful journey. Nice chat with an Indian real estate mogul in Houstan Texas. 150 apartment buildings, can you imagine? Then caught a few hours of catch up sleep before Vishakapatnam.

I like Visag. 250 rupee rooms are easy to find and it is an interesting town to go for a walk in. It's situated on both sides of a rocky hump sticking out into the sea. One shore line is naval base and container ship port and the other is public beach. The city streets run up and down and over this promontory.I always get lost. You can go do a little beach time if you want. It's a city beach, not a resort beach, no swimming because of the rocks and undertow and the beachside ammenities run to lots of statues of famous Indian's and some odd fantasy creatures rather than beach shacks and restaurants. They even have a submarine beached on the waterfront you can tour. Not a lot of lounging about on the sand slurping down beer on this side of India. But the sea air is still lovely and it's wonderfully cool at this time of year. No, I didn't take all those photos today, I'm not that much of an overachiever. Those are from last year.

There is an emporium there that has the most wonderful hand woven and hand printed cottons. This is the only place I have seen selling them, bought a whole bunch of huge bedsheets for 350 for the doubles and 150 for the singles. The guy remembered me from last year, gave me his card if I ever want him to ship me some. Got some wonderfully embroidered cotton dress goods and short and long men's kurtas in that wonderful cotten. I has so much character and texture in the hand. I love it. Then I went down and splurged 550 rs on a meal at the Taj, one of India's five star chains. They have amazing food and world class service. Even their coffee is wonderful, wish I could afford to check in one day.

Wanted to find out what it would cost to fly to Goa, guy at Air India told me, forget it, the airport has been closed for seven days because of fog with no end in sight. So I guess it's the train again for me.

And so, back to my cubical to work some more on the newspaper.

Tomorrow I am going to grab a rickshaw and hit every ATM in town and see if any of them will give me money after I figure out the train stuff. I'd love to buy more cotton, and the huge Indian suitcase I'm going to need now to carry my prizes, but I don't want to arrive broke in Goa, still have to get back to Puttaparthi.

In Transit

2007-01-27T06:47:00.000-07:00

Jan 25

This morning I went to get tickets onward from Gunter. Glad I was not trying to do it in a hurry or with luggage. They have an odd but effective booking system. The local booking and information system is on the east side of the tracks. It is an incredible zoo with hundreds of people pushing and shoving to get their tickets for the local comuter services.To get bookings for the long haul trains you have to cross the tracks via the underground concourse, up out and way down the street, past the post raj palatial splendor of the Section chiefs quarters and to the other booking office on the western edge, of the station property. It is effective, if you are not carrying luggage, because that booking office is quiet without much in the way of lineups, unlike the scrum on the local platform.

So, I can get a train tomorrow, same one I got off yesterday, but that berth isn't vacated until the train reaches another station about an hour down the line. Back all the way across the tracks and buy a twelve rupee ticket on the same train I took up to Repalle leaving at 4:30 am tomorrow. I booked A/C 2 tier even though it is just an eight hour ride during the day and I could do it in a chair car or bus because in A/C 2 tier there is a pretty good chance I can lie down and get some of the stress off the old coccux for part of the journey, (and catch a little snooze to get over that 4am wake up call before the whole train switches into day mode.) If I had known how this was going to play out beforehand I would have been able to do the whole stop over on a break-of-journey ticket for much less money.

I find that the local people have as much trouble understanding my accent as I do their's, so am writing my questions down, makes for much faster comprehension. Everybody, even railway people are very patient and helpful. That is unusual, they always seem pretty stressed out.

Well, off for my day of exploring Gunter.

Did my usual random walking tour. Ended up circumnavigating the railway station instead of bisecting it as I did earlier this morning. Very strong Christian presence here. Big Cathedral, lots of different Christian themed institutes. Looks like they have been around for a while, an old building reminiscent of Goan churches now houses another institute. tried to take a photo of some roadside dhabbas and had the usual street urchins pop up and demand to be in the photo.

I was looking for a restaurant where I could sit down under a fan. Found two but I was half an hour to early for them, lunch at twelve. Decided when I got to a familiar corner just to send room service out to get me something and eat it under the fan in my hotel room.

I think I will spend the afternoon working on Edmonton Street News, take a nap, and head out for dinner when it gets a little cooler.

In India anything can happen, and usually does.

2007-01-27T06:39:00.000-07:00

Jan 24th

Finally got some rupees in hand. I e-mailed a money transfer from my bank account in Edmonton to my friend Remi, a commonplace procedure I have done many times before. He took rupees out of his Indian account and gave them to me. Remi is really into doomsday and conspiracy stuff so over and over again he warns me,

"You trust technology too much, you are going to loose your money!"

Sure enough, he checks his email twice that day and still the email he has to respond to to be able to put money into his account has not arrived in his in-box. It's gone from my account and I get to hear many warnings that all this teck stuff will soon pass away, Shiva is rising to destroy the world.That is what Babba is doing in Chennae. Next morning I check the status of that transaction, my bank tells me that the email has been recieved but noty responded to, so I check his e-mail account myself. Nothing in the in-box but there the little bugger is, hiding in Junk mail. Funny how the universe sometimes tries very hard to give you exactly what you ask for. Anyway, finally get it sorted out, I don't loose my money and the world doesn't come to an end. I don't know if Remi is happy or sad about this.

I still do not know if the problem is with my card or the machine. Talked to another Canadian, her Royal Bank card stopped working, perhaps all of us canucks are being frozen out by changes in banking protocol or some sort of financial treaty. Hard to understand some Indian processes. Will try the card out in Vishakaputnam in some banks that have worked before that they don't have in Puttaparthi..

Have an uneventful train ride and transfer to local train up to where Ram's wedding is to be held in Repalle. Ram meets me at the station.

"Did you get my message? My grandmother passed away yesterday".

The wedding is now a funeral. Wow! That's harsh! I say what I can to offer comfort to the family and try as much as possible to just stay out from under foot. It's not a good time for visitors.

So I will continue on my planned itinerary, go up to Visnakaputnam and then to Goa a little earlier than planned. I can zip back up when Ram's wedding finally is celebrated, now I know how to get here.

And my internet isp is not picking up. This account is suposed to have roaming but neither Ram's text message arrived or my internet connection connected. We may just be too far away from a microwave tower here. Or I may just be out of time, though that's hard to believe.Will try it later at Gunter and find a Reliance shop and ask what the problem is.

Andrah Pradesh is often called the rice bowl of India. In this part of the state you can certainly see why. The fields are flat, lush with crops, rich with water. The green is incredible, soft and lush and rich. In the evenings sea mist rolls in from the Bay of Bengal The air is soft with moisture.. Hundreds of large haystacks dot the cleared fields, not those rocky stupas that give Puttaparthi it's name, "Anthill".. The cows loll in the street plump with water and sleek. The little town of Repalle is beautifully clean with totally reasonable traffic. It's a beautiful, colourful, prosperous looking little place, mainstreet about a mile long I'd estimate. Ram says his extended family loves coming back to their native place for holidays with the family. It is his mother and late grandmother's home.

At the train station people came over to tell me that they believed in Christ and ask if I was a missionary. It was spooky, they were standing around two deep. I felt very self concious about all the attention. Hey Rainbow, one lady asked me to take her back to Canada to peel vegetables!

Ram told me I should be able to get a good hotel room in Gunter for 100 rs so I decided to splash out and get one for three hundred. very nice room, just perfect for my needs. Now to find out how long it's going to take me to get a ticket to Vishakaputnam.

New India

2007-01-20T19:57:00.001-07:00

Yet more adventures with Indian technology. Went to the bank day before yesterday to try to get some cash for my trip with my bank card at the ATM machine. No luck, transaction times out. This can just be an international connectivity issue, happens sometimes, but I have a secret fear. Brousing through the support material for my new phone I have seen a warning to not carry it in the same place as bank cards or anything else with a magnetic strip with data on it. Of course I read this is after carrying my phone in the same purse as my bank card.

No panic yet, another lady tells me the machine wouldn't respond to her credit card. But it could be a real hassel. Lost my card to purse snatchers last trip, had to get my daughter to send me cash via Western Union for the rest of the trip, very inconvienent and expensive for both of us. My bank is so paranoid about identity theft they will not issue a card unless I go to one of their bank tellers, and it better be at my home branch because it takes them days and days to validate a request from out of town. Went through all that in North Vancouver when I got back last time! No chance of them couriering a new card to India.

Next day, back to the ATM. Same result. Now I can start to panic a little. I have a low daily limit on my card so I was planning to take out that limit for three days prior to the trip because where I am going is pretty rural and there is a good chance that there are no ATMs. So I have lost one of those days now and it's the weekend, not much chance of anything being done to the bank machine until Monday, if that is where the problem is.

It's a bad time for this to happen. Remi took off for a yatra in Chennae yesterday. He has an account in the same bank as I do in Edmonton, an interbranch transfer on the internet would be easy and he could just get me the rupees with his card, but he is out of town and won't be back until after I leave. I haven't found any machine yet which will accept my card from another Canadian bank. I don't have a credit card and basically only enough cash for food and walking around money till I go on the train.

It's not really the end of the world. I have my rail ticket and can probably buy a few rupees from Ram via a Canadian bank transfer when I go up to his wedding, but I may have to scrub my trip to Goa. I can just come back to Puttaparthi and set up a State Bank of India account I can transfer Canadian funds into via Paypal and get an ATM card from them. There are State Bank ATMs all over India and they even pay interest on depositors funds. Bonus. But it takes weeks to get the card so I will have to get Remi to get me some funds with his card to tide me over or just go in and make a withdrawal at the counter. That should be ok, he'll be arriving back here a couple of days before I get back. It's all just nerve racking. Here I am again in a third world country with $40 Canadian in the local currency in my pocket and machines blandly telling me "operation cancelled", on a weekend.

Anyway, I'll go down to the ATM and try again today.

PS: a note to those with limited vocabularies, comments are moderated.

New Link

2007-01-19T14:24:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody, (especially you Bren and the gals in North Battleford), if you want to really motivate yourself to get to India check these tales out. See Linda's Yoga Journey on the favorite sites list below.

It's official- I'm an addict

2007-01-19T05:16:00.000-07:00

My euphoria of last night was short lived. Half way into downloading the files my editor was sending for February's issue of Street News my connection was abruptly terminated. In the morning I went back to the shop. As I thought, no minutes left in my account. Not good, because I had already paid for 1000 Rs worth. The guy explained that he had been worried that maybe the handset was what was jamming up so he had replaced it with another. Fair enough. Then he had sold the original handset to someone else with the 1000Rs attached. Not so good. He put more rupees into my account. Then before I fired up again I checked my balance. I now have 1000 more rupees than I paid for, and the moral dilemma of whether I should go back to the shop and pay for the windfall. Oh my, after all the hassle and aggravation of the last week getting this puppy to work am I not entitled to just a little bit? About $27.00 Canadian? But 1000 Rs is half a months salary for some of the white collar working stiffs around here. Arrrrggghhhh!!!!!!!!

I cannot believe the absolute sense of relief to have my own connection ready and waiting for me any old time of day or night, though night is much cheaper, and the luxury of a great big fan to keep me and my baby cool while I check out all those sites that I routinely cruise daily, especially India Mike. Not having a live connection in my own room makes me feel so totally cut off from animportant part of my life. I am an addict, just no way to get around that.

But even addicts have to eat. Got to go get supper now. I'm looing forward to a long, inexpensive prowl through cyber space in the wee hours again. What luxury.

Back on the air

2007-01-18T08:36:00.000-07:00

Well, it only took seven days of running back and forth between the telephone shop and the computer place to get my new, very expensive phone modem to work. That CD that was suposed to load a driver to activate the USB device that connects phone and computer was not in the folder with the name of the handset I bought. It was in a folder for another handset, some sort of programming gaffe in a backroom in Delhi I suspect. Boy did it take a lot of tech time to find that puppy.

It's dial up, it's slow, but it's mine. Yes!!!!!!!!

Now I can get back to having some sort of life and let my aching shoulder heal, cheap laptops are not light. I think if I rent this apartment for a year I may leave this one here as my Indian computer. Almost time to upgrade anyway.

A nice massage, with lashings of warm oil to sort out the tension is my next project. I think I need some pampering , especially before I head out on the train to Ramu's wedding on Tuesday.

Good Idea, Wrong Day

2007-01-10T23:47:00.000-07:00

Remi's favorite driver approached me on the street the other day and asked me about taking pictures. I thought he wanted me to take pictures of his family, so I said sure, bring them along in the morning and we can find a nice backdrop and do some photos. He didn't show the next day, so I forgot about it. Showed up this morning. Turns out he just wants to take me out to take some pictures, and go up to where Remi is painting murals at the school. All this would be still ok, except that I foolishly had taken a glass of freshly blended grape juice the night before and had a lot of rumbling in the tummy stuff going on and the odd rather painful cramping. Enough said. Right in the middle of taking photos in a potters village I struck down by Ganesha's Revenge in the middle of the street and had to tell the driver to take me home right away, I need to change my clothes. What fun!

There is a lake to the south of Puttaparthi, usually dry cracked mud, and a road that goes around it and up to Pondicherry just to the east of Puttaparthi, makes a nice circle tour. I particularly wanted to see a small roadside shrine just on the lakeside, seems to be the earthworks of an old bridge or pier abutment with steps climbing up to the flat top of the platform. Last time I had been very charmed by the spot, very beautiful view out over the lake bed under the dappled shade of huge old trees. This time there was a little water in the lake, they have had a few good monsoons in the last couple of years, but someone had cut down the big trees and reft the spot of all beauty, grace and magic. Looks like it is used more as shrine again, lots of white paint splashed about, but I mourned for India there.

It reminded me of what my daughter has told me about the dangers of dieting. When the body is in a starvation situation, more calories expended than coming in, the first place it goes to rob cells to meet the deficit are from the muscles and organs. It does not use fat cells until those resources have been used to the point of danger. In the starvation condition that India as a whole exists in, the resources that people go after is not the fat of the rich or super rich, but the heart and lungs and organs of the land itself. Wood is very expensive in this part of India, hardly any trees left on the hills, all gone for firewood and the construction boom in Puttaparthi. Their other functions of creating oxygen, moving water from underground into the atmosphere and blessing us witheir shade and long lived patience are nowhere near as important as fueling the money economy.

Around on the other side of Puttaparthi Sai introduced me to a potters village. I was fascinated by the big pit kiln the potters were firing their ware in. I had done quite a bit of primitive type firing back when I made pottery. The sawdust firings in barrels worked pretty good, but the pit firings just took off and flared up in the wind and gave the pottery thermal shock right when it didn't need it. Clay is very temperamental. There are two places in the process where it is critical to keep the temperature rising very smoothly. Right at the beginning while you are driving the last of the water out of the pots and in the middle of the firing where the alumina-silicate bonds begin to break and the silica melts and starts to migrate into the pores of the clay. We could manage to keep the fire smoldering along quietly enough for the first part but eventually that prairie wind would whip up great gusts of flame and crack most of the pieces we were firing at this critical juncture. I saw how the design of this kiln was so much better. There was a large basin of rock constructed with pots piled in a heap at least as high again with a thick layer of thatch on top. But enclosing the whole was a stone wall higher than the whole kiln, to keep the wind out. The stone basin collects heat, lets some air in from the bottom, and additionally along the sides broken pots were set onto the walls to vent additional air into the stack. Very nice design. Can see how they would have a far higher success rate than we ever did with our heaps of straw out on the bald prairie.

Pity the ubiquitous green and yellow plastic water jugs people use now have almost destroyed the business of Indian potters. You mostly see these clay jugs hanging tied to balconies. Soak them down with water, put your fruits of vegetables and milk products in them and the water evaporating out of the clay will keep your food cooler than the ambient air temperature.

Smells of India

2007-01-08T22:15:00.000-07:00

It's the smell grabs me everytime I walk out the door. You would think with so much shit and garbage around that it would smell bad. Actually when the steet sweepers burn piles of plastic bags on the corner it does. Other times though you can almost tell the time of day from the smell in the air. Each meal smells different, evening the scent of insence is is everywhere. It's a heady perfume of animal and people odours layered with fruit and perfume from the trees and the burning offerings. I love it.

I like my new apartment. It's on the cool side of the building, got great cross drafts, the veranda ends at my doors so no-one is looking in my windows, very clean, good water and more than enough room for my needs. I'm thinking of renting it for the whole year. At $650 for the year it is cheaper than a storage locker in Canada. I can put a padlock on the inner room door and leave my India stuff there. Let Remi have a key to the outer rooms and while I am away let the pilgrims in distress who are always coming to him for help have a little temp shelter till they find their own place. It's always those first few days in a new place that cost the most. Hotel keepers really soak you for last minute rooms.

I'll make up my mind by the end of March.

Freebee programs are so frustrating. Been putting photos up on Flickr. Putting them in sets that open reasonably quickly. Then I find out that free service only allows you three sets. Arrrghhh!

Tried putting all my trip photos in one set but here in India I cannot even get the slideshow to open. Perhaps those with broadband connections will have better luck. Piss, I'm going to have to pay that thirty dollars or so for a paid account. Wonder how long before they start trimming back on that too? Anyway, enough time messing around with these slow upload speeds for today.

Beginning to get the urge to take some photos finally. There is such a cute little baby just down at the end of the block.

How do you put a Giraffe in the Fridge?

2007-01-04T21:46:00.000-07:00

Jan 4, 2007

Went down to the train station and bought train tickets for Remi and myself. The process reminded me of a quiz my friend Ken presented to a group of us one time.

Question one:
How do you put a giraffe in the fridge?

Answer:
You open the door and put in the giraffe.

Remi wanted me to perform some sort of legerdemain on the Internet to order tickets and pay with a credit card. When I said "I'm just going to take a rickshaw down to the station" he started questioning. Would there would be anybody there to sell tickets, (it's quite a quiet station, only a few trains come through); didn't I want to telephone first at least? He has had some harrowing experiences with paying for tickets that turned out to be waitlisted, which was not explained to him clearly. No, I'm not going to phone, I hate telephones anyway. I'm just going to go down to the station and buy tickets. This I did under the fascinated regard of half a dozen hangers on pressing up to the counter to closely watch the foreign woman buy train tickets. Doesn't take much to amuse some people in India. Open the door and put in the giraffe.

Question two:
How do you put an elephant in the fridge?

Answer:
You open the door, take out the giraffe and put in the elephant.

Told my friend Ram I had got a ticket to come up for his wedding but the line I was on only went as far as Gunter, I would have to take a bus or taxi to Repalle. He is sure the Puttaparthi guy is wrong, there are four or five trains go from Gunter to Repalle. Doesn't matter to me. If there is a train leaving in a reasonable amount of time I'll take that, if not if there is a bus also leaving in a reasonable amount of time I'll take that or I'll just hire a taxi. Figure it out when I get there. Open the door, take out the giraffe and put in the elephant.

Question three:
All the animals are at a conference in the forest except one. Which Animal is missing?

Answer:
The elephant is missing. The elephant is in the fridge.

I'm already way ahead of the game because I haven't wasted any of my emotion on worrying about stuff before I have any hard information. The elephant is in the fridge.

Question four:
There is a river that is full of crocodiles. You want to cross the river. How do you do it?

Answer:
Just swim across, the crocodiles are all at the conference.

Don't know how that one is going to work out yet.

India is so chaotic I find it really a waste of time to worry about stuff. None of your plans are ever going to play out exactly the way you plan them anyways, so it's best to just hang loose and go through the doors that open, not drive yourself nuts worrying about the ones that don't, especially before you try them.

Having fun posting all my photos to Flickr. Going to put all my collection of family snaps up too with a password for family members. Driving the guy at the computer shop crazy uploading twelve to fifteen Megs a day. He's hoping the extra rupees he's charging me will pay for the increased bandwidth charges at the end of the day. I hope they do also.

Above, my roomate.

Anything Can Happen In India

2007-01-03T00:06:00.000-07:00

I've started uploading pictures and narative from my first trip to India, have never shown them before. It will take a while at these upload speeds but sometime I hope to get all my photo files sort of organized. Looking forward with great anticipation to taking the train across country to attend Ram's wedding at the end of this month. Getting that train reservation is my project for today.

Collecting the household bits and pieces I'll need while I am here.

Something about starting from scratch......

Very energizing.

Have Computer will travel

2007-01-01T20:53:00.000-07:00

Happy New Years everyone

Jan 1, 2007

Best New Years Day I have had in ages. Moved into my new apartment, very happy with it. Found the correct bank ATM, ran around picking up a few household esentials, met some old aquaintances. It's eight o'clock at night and the thermometer says 28 degrees C. Frabulous joy. Got to get an umbrella tomorrow. I'm already sunburnt.

I'm tempted to rent this place for a whole year, cheaper than a storage locker at home, then I wouldn't have to keep buying all this household junk over and over every time I come.

New Years Eve is not a good day to try to get a bus to Puttaparthi

2007-01-01T20:51:00.000-07:00

December 31

Feeling so laid back, I'm in India and feeling groovy.

Well India has a cure for that.

After a breakfast of puri, curry and chutney, my favorite high calorie guilty treat in India I'm off to the bus station feeling pretty on top of things because I managed to get the rickshaw driver to turn on his meter.The Super Delux is loading, no chance, completely full, there is an Andrhra Pradesh bus leaving in an hour and a half. Go to buy a ticket. All booked till three. Decide to try my luck with the one o'clock one anyway, someone might have given up. No such luck. The bus driver kicks us all off and decides to load from his handy dandy printed list. As I'm struggling to get my bulky bags off the bus again a beautiful young Indian girl offers to help me and asks me if I would like to share a taxi.I don't want another two hours in the midday Indian sun.Split four ways the fare is reasonable. So off I go with a very nice young couple from Kerala and the lady's father. Thank you so much Sneha and Vipindas.

The taxi driver is young and very modern, India Shining, you can tell by the elaborately embroidered racing jacket he's wearing. But he hasn't been to Puttaparthi before, keeps asking every one at cross roads the way to Puttaparthi. Bet it sounded like a pretty good fare when he started out. Out past the airport the roads are pretty good, fast four lane asphalt, but pretty soon things narrow down to where those big busses have to negotiate a peace treaty with each other to pass going opposite directions. And of course everybody has to weave around those guys carrying a goat on a moped, cyclists, bullock carts and odd constructions of rocks and marigold petals in the middle of the road. The other taxi drivers are all giving the newby a crash course in Kamakazi driving techniques, horns blaring as they bull on by. It was a fun drive.

Anyways we made it. I had hardly any rupees left, I was planning to go to the ATM on the edge of Puttaparthi that I usually use to replenish because I hate the money changers exchange rate, my own bank gives the going international rate. Anyways the machine tells me my card is invalid, that bank has stopped honoring Cirrus. What fun. To make a long story short, got it all sorted out with only the usual amount of hassel a person can expect in India.

Found Remi in the usual place at the usual time. He had found me an apartment till April, 2000 Rs, about $55 a month. Signed the papers for that. Got a little bit of running around to get settled tomorrow, but I'm basically here.

Love one cultural difference. Remi is promising to make me run up and down a lot of stairs to help loose all that unsightly fat I put on eating Ram's delicious cooking for eight months. My Indian gentleman friends are happy to see me looking fat and healthy and sexy again. Cool. I like that attitude.

Anyways, quite enough running up and down stairs and lugging heavy bags around for one day, I feel those leg cramps coming on already.

Bangalore the Town I Love to Hate

2007-01-01T20:47:00.000-07:00

December 30

Finally here. Usual hassle at the airport. At least an hour at the baggage pickup waiting while suitcases big enough to smuggle a small pony or at least a donkey go by. One guy beside me keeps stretching forward and lovingly caressing different bags. And I mean different. Everything from hard red plastic to sleek black wheelies. Wonder if he remembers what his bag looks like? Or would he just rather have someone else's? That grab your own bag off a carousel process is really hard on Indians, lots of nervous faces. Bet they would much rather line up and present a ticket stub to make sure no-one else grabs their item and makes a dash for it. Or maybe it's just the airport lottery we all play. Did my bag make it on to my flight or is it in Hyderabad?

Big change, Bangalore has carts now and a couple of dispirited porters offering to push them for people. The coolie-man business has been trashed in one swell foop. Airport is definitely getting more organized and easier to negotiate physically. It wouldn't feel like the same place at all if they were to break down and slap on a new coat of paint. I love landing in a major international airport that has all the amenities of Abbotsford. That Singapore airport is a city center in it's own right.

Psychically there is the same damn run around. Hotel guy tells me nothing less than 1100 Rs available. The government doesn't want them listing cheap crumby places, it's all for the travelers own good. Grrrrr!! I don't want to pay more than 500 Rs. Take a taxi, visit three hotels down near the bus station. Get a 200 Rs room for only 712 Rs. Tired of running around and if I don't take something soon I'm going to start feeling guilty about not giving the taxi guy a bigger tip. Enough!

Such a relief to be back on my own timetable. I start decompressing. A big glass of Irish whiskey with enough water to make it taste sweet. Ah! Lovely!

Break open that big punishing heavy bag. Haul out the smaller one on top. Four bags now instead of three but at least I can finally lift each of them. Stash the boots, have a feeling they will be handy in Kashmir and haul out my sandals. Find my nightgown instead of the slip I've been sleeping in. No more air conditioning, ceiling fan. Hand held bidet hose instead of toilet paper. Wish I could have one of those at home. The room boy has sweet smile and isn't worried about waiting till tomorrow to get his tip. It's the little things make the difference.

One more leg. Bus to Puttaparthi tomorrow. I think there's a Super Deluxe with air suspension around ten.

More Singapore

2006-12-30T00:17:00.000-07:00

Well, no tours for me. Everything shut down for lunch and the two o'clock batch not gettting back until six, and the concierge won't store my laptop.Walking tours are not much fun lugging this heavy mother about. So no help for it I guess. Find a place where I can buy a beer and and put-put away on the box for a couple of hours. Got some pictures to work on. Even found an unguarded wireless port there for a few moments, but those seem to dry up pretty quick. I'll be glad when I can get to Puttaparthi and just take my little portable harddrive in to the shop. I try to carry this thing around as little as possible

Singapore is pretty and clean, the people I've had reason to speak to have all been impecably polite. Still don't hesitate for a minute to rip you off if they can. That beer I ordered for $8.00 on the restaurant menu ended up costing $12.68 at the till. Might still be a reasonable place to stay, asked a guy at the smoking place around the corner how much it cost to rent an apartment, $300, $400 he said. Still would rather be in India. Things are more out in the open there.

Well, low battery warning, so I'm off now.

2006-12-29T20:35:00.000-07:00

Dec 30

Singapore

Ah Blessed warmth. Not too hot, just right.

Bought myself some Internet time.

Haven't seen much of Singapore yet. From what I can see from my hotel room they do seem to like large pastel coloured high rises. A couple pictures from the street in front of the hotel. They advertise as being on the edge of the historical district. Looks sort of what India could look like if they ever cleaned up, put down some asphalt and reclaimed the sidewalks. I have to check out by noon but my bus to the airport doesn't come until five so I think I will stash my bags go for a little Maybe a boat ride. Got a place down in the lobby selling tours.

Dec 29

Singapore

I like this business of breaking for an honest to God lie down. My poor cracked coccyx just does not like twenty hours of sitting. Thirteen to Seoul, an hour and a half to drag my bags through Korea's security then back on the plane again. Really felt like we were “Inching-on” from there, another six hours to Singapore. My bus to the airport leaves at five ten tomorrow, can't keep the room past two so I guess I'll just stash my bags and take my camera out for a tour. Interesting neighborhood. Arab Street. Little India isn't too far away. Will see if I can find a bookshop and some triple A batteries.

Couldn't get the hotel Internet connection going so I guess I'll publish this from a cafe somewhere out there in the neighborhood tomorrow.

So now for that bed.

Just a little bit South of Nome

2006-12-29T20:31:00.000-07:00

Dec 28:

Dusk is catching up with us, high, high up here in air, heading over the Pacific to Seoul. I'm deliberately sozzled, because this first bit over the Pacific is so darned long.

Leaving behind a lot of questionable shit. My youngest son has not acknowledgedly my existence, so much as by a Christmas card or email since his marriage this fall to a woman I merely dislike, (nowhere near as strong as hate.) What more can you say about a broad who scams me for $2250 then tries to dye my hair brown for her wedding. (Don't ask, I don't understand it either.) The son I asked to attempt to function as a go between made a lot of promises and then bailed. My extremely pregnant daughter stuck all the totally non-negotiable items she owns, (including of course her cat) in the back of her van before she drove me too the airport, because she is leaving the guy she is living with and does not want to take the chance, again, of being locked out of her home and being ripped off for all the items she brought to the relationship

She's got three Uncles and two Aunts who think she's really sweet living on the coast at the moment. They can help out.

I don't know. Maybe it's a good time to be just a little bit south of Nome.

This is according to the little green screen on the back of the seat in front of me. This is my fifth intercontinental flight and I still haven't figured out how to do things with that click button thing on my chair arm. Guess it helps if you have a tv and that control thingy at home.

Just finished reading Anne Rice's Merrick. Think she's been mining that seam long enough. So, ok, an old fart in a young fart's body is still an old fart and the girls know it. We have all suspected it's more a matter of mind than matter. Now, how do we celebrate the undeniable advantages of old fart hood?

Later

Christmas 2006

2006-12-25T23:27:00.000-07:00

Lovely quiet Christmas Day, another year winding down to it's close, safely negotiated the great dark once more. Talked to my youngest brother on the phone, great meal with Mike and Chris. Sort of sad neither of my sons made any effort to contact me but Rainbow did like her little bits of sparkle. Back across the water again day after tomorrow, my flight to India getting closer and closer. I'm really looking forward to stepping out into warm dry summer, and finally ready for it.

A sleepy looking Pat and Michael getting ready to drive me to the ferry.

So the best of all good wishes to all my friends and family out there.

Meditations on Christmas Eve

2006-12-25T12:33:00.000-07:00

I'm reading Kiran Desai's Inheritance of Loss at my brother's place on Vancouver Island. It's a perfect match for the time and place. It is so wet. Rain falling hour after hour, running in rivulets down the driveway. The bark of trees is dark and sodden, puddles are growing on the lawns. All cold, cold, cold. A cold monsoon. Twice as much rain as last year, and this a month before the usual rainiest month of the year. I went over to my brother Pat's trailer for a while this afternoon.

The outside weather is more apparent there, the fragility of life sustaining itself against the great elemental furies of the natural world more directly appreciated through his thin trailer walls. The river running a hundred yards away from his doorstep is surging past full bore barely foot below it's banks, and the grassy flat the parked trailers sit on. Fifty year old trees stand half way up their trunks in the water. Over on the other road that goes down by the river mouth, the ocean is at high tide, chunks of sodden banks shedding away into the surge that roars over the wide swampy estuary. I feel a little nervous we are parked so close to the edge.

The weather has been strange and violent this year. Great gobs of snow dropped all over Vanvouver and Victoria weeks ago, gale force winds battered the shores last week. People nervously watch barometers and listen on the radio for hints about another expected gale. A cold hurricane. The slopes above the roads on the North shore are spiked like porcupines with shattered spears of orange cedar. Not quite so much damage on, the Island where we are, the rise of the Malahat channeled the blow toward the mainland. Only a few dropped sprigs of green, the odd upended pine tree.

It's not very cold. The thermometer on the porch is a hair below -5 C. So lovely to come back inside the house, the air warm and still, full of the smell of burning cedar logs in the fireplace mingling with the smell of Christmas baking. My brothers live in such different worlds, Pat so close to the edge of everything. Michael's house so still and quiet and buffered against the elements.

Things disintegrate in the northern rain forest dampness. Everywhere wooden structures molder into the ground. Roofs grow green fuzz, lichens coat the branches of apple trees, everywhere drifts of sodden brown leaves melt back into the ground. It takes constant applications of heat to dry everything out and keep it from dissolving away into the rain. Pat tells me he found himself telling himself that jumping into the river would be a really stupid way to kill yourself. He was surprised by the very thought.

Got a phone call from Rainbow. She wanted to come over with me on the ferry yesterday, but instead she had to go to the emergency room to get an awfully infection of the skin on and around her earlobe a looked at. Very frightening stuff. It just got so bad overnight despite courses of antibiotics she needed an intravenous pump. They don't want her anywhere near the hospital with such an obviously resistant staph infection. Seems like nature is beginning to fight back on a lot of fronts at once. Christmas Eve and I'm worrying about how many of these cold damp winters my brother is going to be able to make it through in that biscuit box of a trailer, what kind of world the child my daughter is carrying will have to negotiate? Maybe the Peace on Earth we need to make is with Mother Earth Herself.

The Christmas Carols singing softly in the background, candlelight glowing on reflecting surfaces, the beautifully decorated tree, it's all so much the perfect image of a traditional Christmas. Why do I hear the soft tread of a tiger behind me, the future stalking up from behind on silent feet while I gaze mesmerized into the past?

Lunches

2006-12-21T22:11:00.000-07:00

Having some very nice lunches lately.

Yesterday I went out with two really old friends, companions from my elementary school days, Alice, Bob and Bob's wife Susan. Alice is also going on a trip to Hong Kong, China, Korea and Japan for six weeks this spring. Bob is very happy with the Nikon DSLR he got with his retirement present. And Ken phoned from Calgary while we were dining. It is nice to see the people I spent so many formative years with at the same point in their lives trying to make choices that will give their retirement years meaning and pleasure. We all have had different lives since the old days at St Andrew, but we are all at much the same place in our biological destiny. We all have a few good years left and want to make the best of them.

The luncheon today was very different.
Ran down to Whiterock with my daughter Rainbow to see my sister-in-law Holly. Went out for lunch with her sister Heather and her niece Eve. Both Eve and Rainbow are pregnant so it was very nice to see the future unfolding as it should. Whiterock is a really attractive town, had a great slab of Pacific salmon in a Greek restaurant right down on the oceanfront.

Paid for our treat on the way back, got caught in rush hour gridlock at the approach to the Mann bridge over into Coquitlam, and then again on the northshore highway at the approach to the Lionsgate. Rainbow actually fell asleep at one point waiting for the traffic to inch on down the road. There are way too many cars on the road. Luckily the roads are are only wet around here, not clogged with snow also. (That was two weeks ago.)
Late to pick up the kids, but they walked over to their Grandmothers house, and Grandmother and Auntie took them to the Mall. Fun to spoil kids at Christmas. Tomorrow, off to an evening with the relatives of Rainbow's signifigant other.

Then on the ferry and off for Christmas with my brothers on the Island.
I hate just getting on an airplane and ending up somewhere else. I feel journeys should have more substance to them. I'm really enjoying taking two weeks to get to India.
Took me a month to get back to Edmonton after my last trip.

Wish it was easier to dopage layout on this program.

On the road.

2006-12-19T22:01:00.000-07:00

Doing my usual struggle with the touchpad, too lazy to find where I have hidden my mouse. Testing my laptops battery.
Lovely visit wih my sister over the weekend. She and her family are struggling to reclaim a little Christmas joy after the tragic death of her son last year. I found it so hard to get moving this trip. Finally had to shorten down my to do list to what was really necessary to do for the trip itself. We had a good talk about the black dog, an old companion of mine but one she has only lately encountered. Sometimes it's good to talk about stuff like that, I found my heart lightening as we hung out together. I don't think I want to live in Edmonton for too much longer, find it hard to get myself motivated there even during the summer. It's just such a success oriented place, everything is so go-go-go with the oil boom, bigger and better and higher and faster. Tires me out just to think about it. I'm not all that interested in higher and faster anymore.
In Vancouver right now visiting my daughter, just got back from one of the kids Christmas Concert. Haven't been to one of those since my youngest was one of those little guys on stage. The star is still zooming about the house like a demented comet. Can't believe I used to have a household with that much kid energy bouncing off the walls.

Basic panic sets in

2006-12-12T09:15:00.000-07:00

Five days to get everything sorted out. Usual panic starting to set in. I don't know why, this is my third trip, I should be getting used to all this. I never write lists. I've got a list, it keeps getting longer rather than shorter.

Art from the Unknown II

2006-12-09T17:29:00.000-07:00

After a three year hiatus, the Art from the Unknown show last night was like a tiny Persian miniature compared to the huge sprawling canvas of other years. Paintings were mostly from I-Human a youth oriented arts program and the Nina Haggerty Centre for the Arts for special needs artists, rather than the huge cattle call for just any non-gallery supported artist the way it was done in the past. It was held at a smaller venue, the Catalyst Theater, a very small and intimate live stage instead of the Arts Barn, a huge, drafty barely renovated bus garage. There were a very limited number of paintings and artists. Also like a Persian miniature, a perfectly done, short program including a speech by Raj Pannu telling us how hard it was to get his Constituency Association to accept funding such a radical project, and a couple of hip hop ballads.

2006-12-09T17:28:00.000-07:00

I did see some familiar faces from my Our Voice and demonstration days, had the opportunity to talk to Raj and thank him for all he has done to humanize the Alberta Government. It was an enjoyable evening. I hope the two organizations who showed work see the value of hosting the event and continue under their own steam in the future.

2006-12-09T17:23:00.000-07:00

Lovely paintings. Click on them to see them larger. All images copy right of the artists. There is contact info, if you want to use them in any way ask permission. Better yet, buy some.

Raj Pannu MLA Edmonton Stratcona

Keith Turnbull

I-Human

Nina Haggerty Centre for the Arts

Lorraine Shulba online Gallery

Chris Zaytsoff

Chris Zaytsoff has work showing at the Front Gallery on 123^rd Street and Jasper Avenue.

Chris Zaytsoff: purposeofstars@yahoo.com.

Darren Woloschuk has been involved in the “Painting Peace” project with Change for Children.

Darren Woloschuk can be reached at nyktheme@hotmail.com

You can contact Jillian Boothe at jib55@telus.net.

I come out of my cave

2006-12-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

That perishing Siberian high has blasted off across Canada, (the rest of Canada was calling it the Alberta Express) and out over the North Sea to flash freeze Reykjavik, leaving ankle deep piles of soggy frozen latte coloured slush on the unplowed streets and parking lots of the city. The air feels positively balmy after the deep freeze. So it was with quite a bit of pleasure I finally ventured out of my messy little cave for an evenings entertainment.

Tried to take some photos of the Christmas decorations in Churchill square, was reminded yet again of the folly of trying to do long exposures without a tripod.

Images from Art from the Unknown as soon as I can get artist permissions and contact info.

Beginning to get a little nervous. I start off on the first leg of my journey to India in exactly one week. First stop Calgary to visit my sister. Ramu made me a little nervous. A Canadian guy from Montreal told him that the Montreal office is not taking walk in visa applications, they have to be mailed. I have a five day window to get my visa in Vancouver so I'm hoping there is no problem. At least forewarned is good, I'll call them up tomorrow and find out what the system is.

2006-12-08T19:42:00.000-07:00

Caregivers

2006-12-08T19:38:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the Edmonton Street News Vendor Christmas party, ate too much of the obligatory overcooked turkey and way too heavy donated cheesecake. Feel totally bloated and yech. Serves me right for being a pig.

I don't really have too much to do with the day to day activities of Edmonton Street News. I just do the layout because I believe if everyone would do something, even a small something, the world would be a better place for everyone. I sold papers on a street corner for four years and worked in the office doing distribution for another street newspaper so I'm no stranger to the environment. But sometimes I just get really irritated at some of the bullshit that goes down on the street.

For instance, two hours after our little event, while we were cleaning up and getting ready to go home, about ten people, not vendors or in any way connected to the paper, walked into the Mission. We told them, “we're sorry, lunch is over, foods all gone, closing up now.” Linda told them, there are a few sandwiches they could take with them. Instead they sat down at the tables and settled in. Half an hour later we are still asking for them to let us close the mission up, when this woman started yelling at me.

“I sleep in a dumpster, it's cold out there, we need a place to get warm, you don't know what it's like! You don't give a damn.” etc etc.

Just about lost it with her, the other volunteer ladies were beginning to look nervous. It's not that I expect people to grovel because I'm willing to donate a few days work every month to the cause, but I do feel that I can ask for commonplace good manners from everyone, everywhere. We didn't advertise we were running a drop in and warm up centre for the afternoon, we invited people for lunch. I think that's the hardest thing about doing any kind of volunteer work in the inner city. The lack of simple politeness. I really admire the people who stay out there on the front lines for year after year. Takes a special kind of forbearance to put up with abuse like that every day. I made sure I brought enough scarves for the volunteers too as well as the lady vendors. Sometimes the care givers need a little care too.

Art from the Unknown

2006-12-06T19:13:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago, in an excess of social justice zeal, I challenged a ruling of the Alberta Social Services Appeal Panel in Queen's Bench. With the help of a lady friend far braver than I, The Edmonton Social Planning Council and a lawyer willing to work pro bono for media exposure I took my complaint about what I considered unfair treatment into Provincial Court. It was pretty wild, the newspapers and TV loved it. My friends and people in the local Social Justice Community tried to help me raise some funds to pay the filing fees and other court related expenses by setting up venues where I could put up artwork for sale. These sales were not particularly successful.

Pam Barret head of the NDP Party party at that time, was very supportive in issuing press releases and letting us use their photocopier. Then Raj Pannu, the NDP MLA from Edmonton/Strathcona, gadfly and goad of the Conservative hegemony, decided to host an art show featuring not only my work, but also the work of any other artists in the community who were not getting any gallery action. The response was phenomenal, in the numbers of people who submitted work, in the quality of the work and in the number of people who came to the showing. The show Art from the Unknown became an early winter tradition for many years thereafter. Then Raj stopped doing them and shortly thereafter announced that he would not run for office in the next election. This year I will be able to attend another installation, tomorrow evening. I'm looking forward to seeing Raj Pannu (Raj Against the Machine), Strathcona's beloved MLA one last time, maybe get to thank him for ten years well spent in public service. Only politician I ever liked, and I never voted in his riding.

My challenge in Queen's Bench didn't accomplish much. The first judge looked at the case and told the Provincial lawyers, this decision is no good because you have given this lady no reason for your decision. She is entitled to know why the Appeal Panel reached this decision.

Went back to the Appeal Panel. The program designer wailed,

”She wrecked my program!”

They came up with 13 pages of reasons why it was appropriate to turf me out of the program. We went back to Queen's Bench again, the second judge came up with nine pages of circular arguments about why the Appeal Panel was right. I guess I could have appealed that judgment at a higher court, but I figured I had gotten as much justice as I or my friends could afford to pay for by this time. My therapist estimated by the time they had paid all those billable hours for the Provinces lawyers I had probably cost the government at least $10,000.00. Drop in the Alberta oil bucket.

Anyway, I'm so happy that Raj, (or rather his fabulously creative Administrative Assistant) did the Art from the Unknown show. That is the single most valuable and useful positive energy that came out of my whole Quixotic joust with the powers that be.

I even met an old friend I hadn't seen since the early sixties at that first show. We used to drink cheap wine and listen to Barbara Streisand together when we were teenagers. She had some paintings in the show. That was magic.

I hope to bring back a sampling from this years show. Maybe I'll run into some other old friends.

Sea Changes

2006-12-04T16:59:00.000-07:00

Ramu flew off to Singapore again today. I got up early to see him off. We are both a little sad. I will be taking off on the start of my journey to India the day before he gets back from Singapore. He will be going to visit is brother in SF and then to India to get married in February. I expect to go up to his wedding. They are doing it in his native place, the little village his grandmother lives in. I'm looking forward to that, never spent much time in India yet in any but fairly busy metros.

He and his wife will come back to Canada in March. They will stay at my place until they find a place of their own. So I will be coming back in June to an empty house again. Feel a little sad about that. I've really enjoyed having Ram around, such a very gentle and considerate young man. Totally tolerant about my peculiarities especially my strange sleeping patterns. Much nicer to me than my own smart mouthed brood.

But, can't complain, I raised them that way.

He would like to find an apartment in this building or in the neighborhood. I hope he does. It's very convenient for him, just a brisk walk to work in the morning. So I hope to be able to see him and his wife every now and then. It's been a good experience.

Christmas Plans

2006-11-30T18:09:00.000-07:00

Lots of chatting on messenger these days. Christmas plans are heating up. I'm planning on descending on my daughter first in Vancouver, get my Indian visa and then go over to the Island and visit my brothers and sister-in-law over there before I head off across the Pacific. Sounds like both my daughter and one of my sons may make it there more or less the same time. Nobody ever wants to commit to dates to far in advance, but it sounds like fun so far. (Wonder if my brother will agree after another Irish family shindig!) Seems like I never see my kids in town anymore, we are always flying in from somewhere. West Jet fares to the coast are a lot cheaper and mega faster than the bus.

Have to start thinking of Christmas presents, luckily I have lots of options.

My hard drive was making growling noises earlier today. I had a ridiculous number of applications open and was really overworking it, but I still don't like that at all. I'm going to go down the street and buy another portable hard drive and copy an image of my operating system onto it. I had one the last time I went to India, found it very handy, but purse snatchers got it. This one I'll put in a pouch and carry it around my neck.

I'm also busily putting a lot of files up on my Google mail program. Nice to have backup you can get at from anywhere in the world

I got an email from a friend who had tried to leave a comment but it didn't work. I tried it out, worked for me but I saw where some things about the process could be a little confusing. I'm moderating comments because a nice person warned me that she had gotten some very nasty remarks on her blog when she had listed it in the same place I did, so I took her advise and put in a moderating function to head off anything offensive. No need to leave an email address unless you would like an answer, and I'll delete any that show up in the comments. If you have a blog of your own please feel welcome to leave a url and I'll come for a visit.

Katrina Rant

2006-11-27T08:08:00.000-07:00

Watched a rare bit of television this summer. It was a movie in which cyclonic winds sucked super cooled air down from the troposphere and froze New York. In Alberta we have our local version of that almost every year. Happening right now. Alright, alright, so it only goes down to forty below, not sixty and freighters hardly ever get frozen in on the North Saskatchewan River and our coyotes look a whole lot better than those wolves in the movie. Those kind of temperatures are still deadly to unprotected human beings And we have way too many of those in this supposedly rich and developed country.

Calgary is doing the Katrina Disaster thing this weekend, putting people up in Stampede Grounds Concourse for the duration and local drop ins and homeless shelters are letting people sleep on the floors and the hallways in both Edmonton and Calgary. This is just not good enough Alberta!

There was a tiny tiny bit of space left in Edmonton Street News so I wrote a tiny tiny little rant in honour of the beastly weather.

I am on the homestretch of putting together the last bits of Edmonton Street News this month. Too bad it's so damn cold nobody can stand out there and sell it for more than fifteen twenty minutes at a time. I'm going to see if I can get this program to mount a pdf file after I get the thing finished.

Having a lot of fun playing around with the blogger program, seeing what it will let me get away with.

Well couldn't load pdfs directly, set up a second blog for the paper and put up jpegs of the pages, Pretty small but if you click on them twice they get a little bigger. Not really the solution I'm looking for but will have to do till I figure out something better.

It finally sinks in

2006-11-23T23:19:00.000-07:00

It's winter. Every year I experience this period of denial. Maybe it will go away again. This year it snowed before Halloween. It has snowed before Halloween before and then melted and given us back a few precious more days of sun. No such luck this year. That Siberian high threw itself down across the prairies and winter settled down on that comfortable couch for the duration. I'm so glad I am heading for the sun in three more weeks.

Still so much to do. I brought back a bunch of Indian goodies last trip, want to sell enough to pay for my airfare in the future, this is my last freebie. It wasn't too sucessful a venture. I don't want the expense of a shop that I will not be in for six months a year. I got back too late to apply to sell at any of the large summer festivals. Too late also to get a table at the local downtown farmers maret.

There are problems with that also. I haven't owned a car for ten years and do not want to drive again much less pay for the feed and care of another automobile, so the logistics of getting boxes and bales across town every Saturday are formidable. Finally I have tried what I am good at, playing on the computer. Sold some stuff on Ebay, that works for me, except that Ebay fees are insane. So now I have spent the last couple of weeks photographing my goods to take the files to India with me and work up both applications for the big festival sales in January and my online store. My sublettor Ramu will be bringing his wife back from India in March. As fortune will have it, she does websites. So I am going to work up up a website while I am in India this time and employ her to mount it on a website. Always good to have a bit of a project to work on in the cool of the house during those long, warm dusty afternoons.

But first the photos. It's winter. I live in a basement suite with north facing windows. I have to wait for those rare moments when the sun breaks through the icefog, then gather up all my table lamps to get enough light on the subject to photograph anything. Little by little I'm chewing my way through it. Why not do it when the sun was out for fourteen, sixteen hours a day during the summer? Who knows, maybe just that vain hope that this year winter will not come.

I took this photo from my window to send to Ramu when he was in Singapore to warn him what he was coming back to.

The girl who drew horses

2006-11-23T23:17:00.000-07:00

I went to a school reunion several years ago. When one lady heard my name she exclaimed, “I remember you. You are the girl who drew horses.”

I was a tall kid so I was always put at the back of the room so as not to interfere with anyone else's view of the blackboard. It wasn't until I was about twelve that teachers realized I was also very short sighted and had no idea what it was they were doing on the blackboard. Everything I had learned had been from oral information. Visually isolated from the rest of the class, and safe from observation in the back row, I entertained myself by drawing on the margins of my texts and exercises while I listened to the lessons. Horses, horses, always horses.

Never horses and riders. Just horses, leaping and soaring. Soaring out the window and galloping over the lawn and up, up front hooves neatly tucked up, over the school yard fence and away. “Theresa, can you tell us what is the Pythagoras's Theorem?” Oops, lost track there a bit.

I wonder now how much all those hours of visualizing leaping over barriers and cantering off into the unknown contributed to the life I am living now. I am heading off on my third trip to India the day before my birthday this year. It will be my sixty first birthday. I'm looking forward to spending it in an Air Singapore jet high above the Pacific.

My first trip I sent back photos and accounts of my adventure every month or so. I had planned to do it on the second trip but found myself getting bogged down in some depressive circumstances that I didn't really want to write about. But friends and relatives told me that they missed my stories and photos so I'm getting a bit more organized this time, setting up a blog and not limiting myself to travelogue type stuff. I wrote a lot of opinion pieces for Our Voice, a local street paper in Edmonton for a number of years so expect some of that stuff too.

The count down has started. Got my airplane ticket sitting on the nightstand. Consolidating and packing away my personal bits and pieces to leave my sublettor some breathing space. Cleaning up and throwing out, considering what to take with me this time.