Wednesday March 26th
Vrindavan India
Immersed in a swamp of internet dis-connectivity here in the holy land of Lord Krishna’s youthful adventures—haven’t even been able to post from last week’s arrival into Delhi and the street protests for a Free Tibet, much less stay current here. I’m now officially just going to post some words and forget about bandwidth-hogging ideas like photos and videos…
Vrindavan is truly a lovely place—an entire world of temples and sadhus and devotees and, yes, cows. And while I did do a day or two of sourcing work—all of my malas come from here, as well as a few other goodies-mostly it’s been a chance to recharge and explore the sacred realm. Yesterday we went for a parikrima, or holy walk around Govardhan Hill, with Shyamdas and a few other friends and folks visiting from the USA. A barefoot tumble through temples villages and road dust around what is said to be the most circumambulated hill on the planet—the site of all kinds of miracles and adventures from eons past. A cool place, for sure. I got some great photos but I guess sharing them will have to wait until a real broadband connection and some regular juice from a functioning grid.
Today the plan is to gather with Shyamdas and friends again and then head over to Neem Karoli Baba Maharaj ji’s ashram, hopefully enjoy some darshan with Siddhi Ma there, and soak up the good energy. My mind, however, will also cycling through the day’s major challenge—purchasing our air tickets to Kabul before we get inside the 7-day time window. That is already looming as a bureaucratic effort of mammoth proportion, but I’m crossing my fingers. More later.
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Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Free Tibet ~ Beijing Out of Lhasa
Tuesday March 18, 2008 9:30 p.m.
Delhi
Arrived last night back in Delhi. The street just outside my little guest house here in downtown Delhi is, same as last year, ripe with street protests about all manner of social ills. Today’s vibrant protest reflects what has, here in India, been the top story on the front pages of every national newspaper: China’s violent crackdown—or “people’s war” as the Chinese government’s oh-so-1984-speak puts it—on the Tibetan people and city of Lhasa. Words fail to express the basic outrage of working to extinguish a people’s religious and cultural identity, all in the name of “freeing” them. The Chinese government has shown itself, repeatedly, to be capable of vicious repression against their own people as well as their neighbors. I feel so blessed to live in America, where the idea of the government working against the interests, needs and wishes of its own people is simply unthinkable.
Here are some photos from this morning's streets protest.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Saturday, March 15, 2008
My Film-wali / Producer Sara Karl
Saturday March 15, 2008 4:20 p.m.
Bauer has been remiss of late: I haven’t really made it easy for people to find my producer/film maker wali, Sara Karl, and her various online incarnations. So, let me redress that lapse. You can catch some of her other blogging and especially producing action over at the northeast corner of Karl and Blogistan:
http://www.sarakarl.blogspot.com/
www.youtube.com/sarakarl
I’m telling you, the girl’s got game!
Episode 2: Electronics vs. Electricity
Saturday March 15, 2008 11:56 p.m.
The Ides of March
Jaipur Rajasthan
“Daily podcast,” eh?
Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time…
The Ides of March
Jaipur Rajasthan
“Daily podcast,” eh?
Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time…
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Govind devji Temple
Thursday March 13, 2008 11:11 p.m.
Jaipur Rajasthan
Yesterday morning, finally, we made a pilgrimage to Sri Govind devji temple, in the heart of the Pink City. I love, love, love this place. That simple hour of temple immersion is, so far, the pinnacle of this year’s time in India.
Govind devji has some of the earmarks of a scene I would generally consider avoiding—especially, very large crowds of people. I guess it is “the” town temple of Jaipur—certainly it is the Jaipur royal family’s personal worship ground, located as it is directly within the extended palace complex, nearby the amazing several-acre Jantar Mantar astronomical observation site. I asked my candle wala yesterday, does he ever go to have darshan (sacred view) at Govind devji? He smiled at me with that soft twinkle dancing in his eyes, and replied simply, “Of course—all of Jaipur goes to Govind devji.”
Despite the crowds, it is an ecstatic bubble in space and time. In fact, because of the crowds, its sacred nature blooms. A large covered area, it can hold maybe one or two thousand people comfortably, and hold them it does. We arrived yesterday to the sweet chants of hundreds of devotees, voices rising in a gentle cacophony in grateful praise of the source of their devotion. There are women and men in their 20s in western dress, some holding aloft their tiny children, and middle aged folks of all stripes. But mostly it seems the crowd swells with the ancient, shrinking bodies of old devotees. Gnarled old men with thick glasses that may never have been in their prescription, feet deeply cracked from a lifetime of dusty barefoot ambulation, bright eyes and beaming smiles; tiny radiant grandmothers in all manner of colorful saris, skin patterned with a living map of weathered cracks, all engaged in the dance of giving and receiving the nectar of the moment. Prasad, sacred offerings of blessed food, sweets or holy sacraments of tulsi leaves mixed in sandal paste, are given by the temple attendants and quickly re-offered to one’s fellow pilgrims in an instinctive, gratitude-soaked ritual of generosity and receiving. Each little gesture seems to effortlessly be brought into the heart simply and completely, social tiers apparently obliterated in the commonality of the shared appreciation of what it means to be alive, and alive together in one human community.
I don’t know, it’s a lot of words. In essence, what I love best about India is present here: genuine kindness and a sense of common human inspiration, a heartfelt feeling of instant acceptance and welcoming, a deep resonance and transcending of our feelings of separation and a merging into oneness that evokes a vibrant feeling of spontaneous and unorthodox love and devotion. It may sound a little woo-woo for some, but sitting in the presence of the Govind devji temple community, it all feels just very down to earth and impossible to resist. I don’t want to resist, in the least. I feel profoundly grateful, and deeply moved, to feel so invited and welcomed here. A warm and abiding thanks to my friend and soul-brother Raju for being my conduit to this holy place.
I turned around at one point and walking toward me with a huge beaming smile was a half-toothless ancient old devotee I recognized from the last year or two of my visits here. He hadn’t seen me here in almost a year, and we never shared any spoken language (except maybe a “Radhe Radhe!” here and there), but he came over and just gave me the warmest, most intimate and delicious welcome back smile and just showered me with love. I felt so happy and so, I don’t know, home.
I love Govind devji temple, and all the lovely people who congregate in love there. May it always be so.
Jaipur Rajasthan
Yesterday morning, finally, we made a pilgrimage to Sri Govind devji temple, in the heart of the Pink City. I love, love, love this place. That simple hour of temple immersion is, so far, the pinnacle of this year’s time in India.
Govind devji has some of the earmarks of a scene I would generally consider avoiding—especially, very large crowds of people. I guess it is “the” town temple of Jaipur—certainly it is the Jaipur royal family’s personal worship ground, located as it is directly within the extended palace complex, nearby the amazing several-acre Jantar Mantar astronomical observation site. I asked my candle wala yesterday, does he ever go to have darshan (sacred view) at Govind devji? He smiled at me with that soft twinkle dancing in his eyes, and replied simply, “Of course—all of Jaipur goes to Govind devji.”
Despite the crowds, it is an ecstatic bubble in space and time. In fact, because of the crowds, its sacred nature blooms. A large covered area, it can hold maybe one or two thousand people comfortably, and hold them it does. We arrived yesterday to the sweet chants of hundreds of devotees, voices rising in a gentle cacophony in grateful praise of the source of their devotion. There are women and men in their 20s in western dress, some holding aloft their tiny children, and middle aged folks of all stripes. But mostly it seems the crowd swells with the ancient, shrinking bodies of old devotees. Gnarled old men with thick glasses that may never have been in their prescription, feet deeply cracked from a lifetime of dusty barefoot ambulation, bright eyes and beaming smiles; tiny radiant grandmothers in all manner of colorful saris, skin patterned with a living map of weathered cracks, all engaged in the dance of giving and receiving the nectar of the moment. Prasad, sacred offerings of blessed food, sweets or holy sacraments of tulsi leaves mixed in sandal paste, are given by the temple attendants and quickly re-offered to one’s fellow pilgrims in an instinctive, gratitude-soaked ritual of generosity and receiving. Each little gesture seems to effortlessly be brought into the heart simply and completely, social tiers apparently obliterated in the commonality of the shared appreciation of what it means to be alive, and alive together in one human community.
I don’t know, it’s a lot of words. In essence, what I love best about India is present here: genuine kindness and a sense of common human inspiration, a heartfelt feeling of instant acceptance and welcoming, a deep resonance and transcending of our feelings of separation and a merging into oneness that evokes a vibrant feeling of spontaneous and unorthodox love and devotion. It may sound a little woo-woo for some, but sitting in the presence of the Govind devji temple community, it all feels just very down to earth and impossible to resist. I don’t want to resist, in the least. I feel profoundly grateful, and deeply moved, to feel so invited and welcomed here. A warm and abiding thanks to my friend and soul-brother Raju for being my conduit to this holy place.
I turned around at one point and walking toward me with a huge beaming smile was a half-toothless ancient old devotee I recognized from the last year or two of my visits here. He hadn’t seen me here in almost a year, and we never shared any spoken language (except maybe a “Radhe Radhe!” here and there), but he came over and just gave me the warmest, most intimate and delicious welcome back smile and just showered me with love. I felt so happy and so, I don’t know, home.
I love Govind devji temple, and all the lovely people who congregate in love there. May it always be so.
Priceless!
Thursday March 13, 2008 2:36 p.m.
Jaipur Rajasthan
Time Between Calling for Doctor and His Arrival at my Bedside: 30 minutes
Total Cost of 5-day Course of Medicines to Combat Illness (including Antibiotics, Fever-Reducing Medicines, and Antihistamines): $2.50
Total Cost of Doctor’s 30 minute Housecall: $10
Overall Feeling of Satisfaction and Superiority Knowing That the US Health Care System is the ‘Best in the World’: PRICELESS!
Sunday, March 9, 2008
The Places in Between Jaipur & Kabul
Sunday March 9, 2008 5 p.m.
Jaipur Rajasthan
I have just today finished reading Rory Stewart’s fascinating book The Places in Between, about his highly dubious undertaking of following the Emperor Babur’s epic trek from Herat near the border of Iran across central Afghanistan’s high mountains into Kabul, alone and in mid-winter, just a few months after the USA’s invasion of that country in the fall of 2001.
One could be forgiven for thinking such a solo winter journey suicidal under the best of times, even if one does speak Dari, the Afghan dialect of Persian, well enough to get by. Doing it as a solo white man, right after 9/11? Dicey at best, I’d think.
Some of my friends—including serious world travelers like my buddy Chris Kilham, the Medicine Hunter—have expressed their own reservations about my upcoming jaunt into Kabul. Chris was in the Peruvian highlands recently working with an intrepid group of international travelers who themselves had spent time in Afghanistan some years back. He spoke with them of my coming exploits and returned to report that these guys—clearly no strangers to the perils of the road—had raised their eyebrows and basically said: ‘Afghanistan? Not these days, man—too dangerous!’
How then to explain why I still plan to go? I hope I’m not kidding myself when I say I am not doing it out of some misplaced desire to demonstrate the stature of my cojones—though I certainly wouldn’t be the first to kid myself in this fashion. Sure, I love a good adventure as much as the next guy. And I have to say, I’ve never had quite so good an invitation to a war zone as this—which makes me feel I should accept simply on principle. But that’s the key, I guess: the invitation. Invited to visit and perhaps make a small but meaningful contribution to some decent work being done there on behalf of the local people, I’m inclined to accept.
(Stewart’s website describes TMF’s work as ‘investing in the regeneration of the historic commercial centre of Kabul, providing basic services, saving historic buildings and constructing a new bazaar and galleries for traditional craft businesses.’)
Besides, if my friend Jenny, the extender of the invitation, can survive the better part of a year there, isn’t it fairly likely I can survive a week or two? (Although, she is from Maine, and therefore built of stronger stuff than I, I’m not afraid to admit.)
True, the re-grouping Taliban are claiming they will retake Kabul by summer, but shit, that’s months away! Seriously though, my understanding (fractional at best, it must be said) is that there is a serious distinction to be made between going to ‘Afghanistan’ and going to ‘Kabul.’ Road trips down to Kandahar, the former Taliban capital? Mm, don’t think so, thanks. But a little time staying in one of Kabul’s 14th century forts and contributing a little time and energy to Rory Stewart’s Turquoise Mountain Foundation, where Jenny is working? The invitation seems difficult to turn down. After all, from here I’m only a few hours away by plane.
I asked Jenny, again, about the dangers and the overall security situation. She just replied thus:
Re. security -- I would still say come -- The chances of anything happening to you during a week in Kabul are very slim. Sure, you COULD be unlucky and get blown up, but is it likely? No. Particularly since you'll be staying here and have general supervision while you're here -- you're not just going to be wandering around.
Besides, I’m on a mission to see the world, meet the locals, and find amazing treasures. And I’m a growing believer that fair, respectful and sustainable trade—even more than ‘charity,’ as critical as that can be—is one of the best ways to build and grow a better world for everyone. If my time in Kabul can yield a chance to help the people there, and at the same time educate people back in the West, by engaging in a little fair trade of traditional Afghan crafts and textiles, that seems too good to pass up. Especially if this trip can turn into an ongoing opportunity to trade and engage with the local artists and craftsfolk.
Well, we’ll see: one way or another, the time draws nigh. Looks like we’ll likely fly April 2, and to do that I need to buy plane tickets at least a week ahead. Meanwhile, my flu is slowly clearing, and I’ve got a mountain of work ahead of here in Rajasthan before I can even think of going anywhere…
Jaipur Rajasthan
I have just today finished reading Rory Stewart’s fascinating book The Places in Between, about his highly dubious undertaking of following the Emperor Babur’s epic trek from Herat near the border of Iran across central Afghanistan’s high mountains into Kabul, alone and in mid-winter, just a few months after the USA’s invasion of that country in the fall of 2001.
One could be forgiven for thinking such a solo winter journey suicidal under the best of times, even if one does speak Dari, the Afghan dialect of Persian, well enough to get by. Doing it as a solo white man, right after 9/11? Dicey at best, I’d think.
Some of my friends—including serious world travelers like my buddy Chris Kilham, the Medicine Hunter—have expressed their own reservations about my upcoming jaunt into Kabul. Chris was in the Peruvian highlands recently working with an intrepid group of international travelers who themselves had spent time in Afghanistan some years back. He spoke with them of my coming exploits and returned to report that these guys—clearly no strangers to the perils of the road—had raised their eyebrows and basically said: ‘Afghanistan? Not these days, man—too dangerous!’
How then to explain why I still plan to go? I hope I’m not kidding myself when I say I am not doing it out of some misplaced desire to demonstrate the stature of my cojones—though I certainly wouldn’t be the first to kid myself in this fashion. Sure, I love a good adventure as much as the next guy. And I have to say, I’ve never had quite so good an invitation to a war zone as this—which makes me feel I should accept simply on principle. But that’s the key, I guess: the invitation. Invited to visit and perhaps make a small but meaningful contribution to some decent work being done there on behalf of the local people, I’m inclined to accept.
(Stewart’s website describes TMF’s work as ‘investing in the regeneration of the historic commercial centre of Kabul, providing basic services, saving historic buildings and constructing a new bazaar and galleries for traditional craft businesses.’)
Besides, if my friend Jenny, the extender of the invitation, can survive the better part of a year there, isn’t it fairly likely I can survive a week or two? (Although, she is from Maine, and therefore built of stronger stuff than I, I’m not afraid to admit.)
True, the re-grouping Taliban are claiming they will retake Kabul by summer, but shit, that’s months away! Seriously though, my understanding (fractional at best, it must be said) is that there is a serious distinction to be made between going to ‘Afghanistan’ and going to ‘Kabul.’ Road trips down to Kandahar, the former Taliban capital? Mm, don’t think so, thanks. But a little time staying in one of Kabul’s 14th century forts and contributing a little time and energy to Rory Stewart’s Turquoise Mountain Foundation, where Jenny is working? The invitation seems difficult to turn down. After all, from here I’m only a few hours away by plane.
I asked Jenny, again, about the dangers and the overall security situation. She just replied thus:
Re. security -- I would still say come -- The chances of anything happening to you during a week in Kabul are very slim. Sure, you COULD be unlucky and get blown up, but is it likely? No. Particularly since you'll be staying here and have general supervision while you're here -- you're not just going to be wandering around.
Besides, I’m on a mission to see the world, meet the locals, and find amazing treasures. And I’m a growing believer that fair, respectful and sustainable trade—even more than ‘charity,’ as critical as that can be—is one of the best ways to build and grow a better world for everyone. If my time in Kabul can yield a chance to help the people there, and at the same time educate people back in the West, by engaging in a little fair trade of traditional Afghan crafts and textiles, that seems too good to pass up. Especially if this trip can turn into an ongoing opportunity to trade and engage with the local artists and craftsfolk.
Well, we’ll see: one way or another, the time draws nigh. Looks like we’ll likely fly April 2, and to do that I need to buy plane tickets at least a week ahead. Meanwhile, my flu is slowly clearing, and I’ve got a mountain of work ahead of here in Rajasthan before I can even think of going anywhere…
Saturday, March 8, 2008
The Slough of Despond
Saturday March 8, 2008 6:15 p.m.
Jaipur, Rajasthan
How else to put it? Today was simply a bleak trough of chills and fever—just the sort of thing that reminds me what a wimp I am when it comes to being sick as the proverbial dog. It began with a largely restless night, though I thought I survived OK as the day dawned. Somewhere in the midday, however, I felt myself slipping down the slope of delerium. The aches became overwhelming, the fever debilitating, and my brain loosened its already tenuous grip on my surroundings. Not sure it was belly-related, still my belly hasn’t felt quite right in days, and now my whole world was beginning to spin out in a bad direction.
In any case, I went ahead and took the allopathic medicinal plunge, leaving behind the ginger tea and zinc throat spray and gobbling down some of the Cipro stash it is always wise to have handy on the road. Followed that up with some Indian-style ache-relief, paracetamol, and then piled under the covers to ride out the deepening fever and chills, praying for relief. Which, luckily, seems to have come a bit—I think the worst is over. Still feel like warmed over sludge, but with a human face. After the last couple days, I’ll take it!
And finally, there is good news on the budding road videos front—see the most recent post.
Jaipur, Rajasthan
How else to put it? Today was simply a bleak trough of chills and fever—just the sort of thing that reminds me what a wimp I am when it comes to being sick as the proverbial dog. It began with a largely restless night, though I thought I survived OK as the day dawned. Somewhere in the midday, however, I felt myself slipping down the slope of delerium. The aches became overwhelming, the fever debilitating, and my brain loosened its already tenuous grip on my surroundings. Not sure it was belly-related, still my belly hasn’t felt quite right in days, and now my whole world was beginning to spin out in a bad direction.
In any case, I went ahead and took the allopathic medicinal plunge, leaving behind the ginger tea and zinc throat spray and gobbling down some of the Cipro stash it is always wise to have handy on the road. Followed that up with some Indian-style ache-relief, paracetamol, and then piled under the covers to ride out the deepening fever and chills, praying for relief. Which, luckily, seems to have come a bit—I think the worst is over. Still feel like warmed over sludge, but with a human face. After the last couple days, I’ll take it!
And finally, there is good news on the budding road videos front—see the most recent post.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Crash Landing
Friday March 7, 2008 10:37 p.m.
Jaipur, Rajasthan
Ouch. Days like this are hard, especially on the road. Yesterday afternoon’s woozy aches and slight tickle in the throat became today’s total crash and burn. I never even thought about leaving my room today. Sampling various medicines that I’m now especially happy made the journey with me from the States, I spent the day juggling zinc throat spray, ginger lemon tea and Cold-eze lozenges, washing it all down with some Robitussin for good measure. A suitable cocktail for a truly craptacular day. Hopefully the worst is over, though it’s pretty hard to say from my current achy perch.
Thankfully, Sara is now better enough that she is able to function normally—even eating a real meal (her first in several days) and making her first solo foray into the madness this afternoon. She managed to take a little ride on an elephant on her way to finding where Sri Amma ji is giving darshan tonight as part of a Global Peace Initiative of Women gathering being held here in Jaipur this week. My friend Sharada (the former Mrs. Krishna Das) was invited here to offer some kirtan chanting for the gathering, and we’ll connect soon I hope here in Jaipur. As ridiculous as it seems to be so close to, and yet miss, receiving Amma ji darshan here in India, I just feel too lousy to be waiting in line for hours in a large crowd—I’m barely making it through a day of lying in bed, much less hours of full-on Indian-style chaos.
Until I feel better, it’s real hard to imagine beginning my rounds here in the Pink City. There’s not a lot of down time built into these trips for me, but being sick has a way of trumping all else, no matter what my calendar says. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll feel better enough to take Sara to Jaipur’s famous lassiwala, visit my friend Raju and make a pilgrimage to Govindevji, one of my favorite Indian temples, nestled near the several hundred year old Jantar Mantar astronomical observatory within the pink-walled palace complex.
Meanwhile, I’m now deeply into The Places in Between, Rory Stewart’s book about his 2002 walk across Afghanistan, following Babur’s historical journey from Herat near the Iranian border across the inhospitable mountains of central Afghanistan and down into Kabul. Stewart’s Turquoise Mountain Foundation is the group I plan to visit with in Kabul next month, on the invitation of my friend Jenny Hartley who is living there until May. It’s probably crazy to travel to a place like Afghanistan without being much more steeped in its history and culture than I am—but time is short and all I have is a couple of books between now and then…
Jaipur, Rajasthan
Ouch. Days like this are hard, especially on the road. Yesterday afternoon’s woozy aches and slight tickle in the throat became today’s total crash and burn. I never even thought about leaving my room today. Sampling various medicines that I’m now especially happy made the journey with me from the States, I spent the day juggling zinc throat spray, ginger lemon tea and Cold-eze lozenges, washing it all down with some Robitussin for good measure. A suitable cocktail for a truly craptacular day. Hopefully the worst is over, though it’s pretty hard to say from my current achy perch.
Thankfully, Sara is now better enough that she is able to function normally—even eating a real meal (her first in several days) and making her first solo foray into the madness this afternoon. She managed to take a little ride on an elephant on her way to finding where Sri Amma ji is giving darshan tonight as part of a Global Peace Initiative of Women gathering being held here in Jaipur this week. My friend Sharada (the former Mrs. Krishna Das) was invited here to offer some kirtan chanting for the gathering, and we’ll connect soon I hope here in Jaipur. As ridiculous as it seems to be so close to, and yet miss, receiving Amma ji darshan here in India, I just feel too lousy to be waiting in line for hours in a large crowd—I’m barely making it through a day of lying in bed, much less hours of full-on Indian-style chaos.
Until I feel better, it’s real hard to imagine beginning my rounds here in the Pink City. There’s not a lot of down time built into these trips for me, but being sick has a way of trumping all else, no matter what my calendar says. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll feel better enough to take Sara to Jaipur’s famous lassiwala, visit my friend Raju and make a pilgrimage to Govindevji, one of my favorite Indian temples, nestled near the several hundred year old Jantar Mantar astronomical observatory within the pink-walled palace complex.
Meanwhile, I’m now deeply into The Places in Between, Rory Stewart’s book about his 2002 walk across Afghanistan, following Babur’s historical journey from Herat near the Iranian border across the inhospitable mountains of central Afghanistan and down into Kabul. Stewart’s Turquoise Mountain Foundation is the group I plan to visit with in Kabul next month, on the invitation of my friend Jenny Hartley who is living there until May. It’s probably crazy to travel to a place like Afghanistan without being much more steeped in its history and culture than I am—but time is short and all I have is a couple of books between now and then…
Wi-fi Jai!
Thursday March 6, 2008 9:40 p.m.
Jaipur, Rajasthan
Well, the good news is that we have finally emerged from the rather bleak confines of Paharganj’s Hotel Shelton, making our escape in the dead of night via Toyota Qualis and arriving at 2 this morning to the Arya Niwas hotel in downtown Jaipur. My travel partner Sara, who gamely absorbed a week in Paharganj professing satisfaction with our living arrangements, is convinced she has died and gone to heaven.
The Arya Niwas environment, while not giving the Taj or Oberoi a run for their boutique 5-star money, feels open and spacious and airy and quiet and most of all: clean! The price has risen from 900 rs/night last year to 1200 this year—an even more noticeable increase given the dollar’s 10-15% crash relative to the rupee in this last year—but after a week of Delhi’s relentless noise and grime, I’d gladly pay twice as much. Plus, they’ve now got wi-fi! Yeah, internet from bed, my fave.
And, Sara feels human again, post ‘Delhi belly’ which is always delightful. And, as she mentioned during the five hour midnight drive last night, this is the first trip she’s ever taken where she has not been responsible for the travel logistics—she’s loving not dealing with anything and watching me handle all the details. As for me, it’s not much different than doing all the logistics on my own, as I do every year.
The bad news is, I’m beginning to feel a tad piqued myself—slightly achy and almost feverish and just plain old tired and wrung out. I didn’t want to have such a long day today but I needed to pow-wow with my beeswax candle walas before they launched up to Punjab for the weekend to celebrate a family wedding, so we spent the day with them, which was actually quite sweet. We were working on some new ideas, including adding pure plant essential oils to the candles in a new ‘chakra’ line I’ve been working on, and exploring some non-seeping terra cotta pots in the nonstop effort to improve and upgrade the line. Towards the end of the afternoon, I began to fade and laid down on a cot for 45 minutes as they assembled pricing info etc. I still have that heavy feeling and am about to crawl under the covers and crash. Hopefully I can beat this thing with minimal down time. No firm plan yet for tomorrow which is a rare luxury. I am turning off the alarm and allowing nature to take her course tomorrow morning—usually a good idea, though too easy to plow through en route to exhaustion.
Anyway, I’m beat, so I’ll upload this bereft of any pearls of local wisdom. Hopefully I will be more on my game tomorrow…
Jaipur, Rajasthan
Well, the good news is that we have finally emerged from the rather bleak confines of Paharganj’s Hotel Shelton, making our escape in the dead of night via Toyota Qualis and arriving at 2 this morning to the Arya Niwas hotel in downtown Jaipur. My travel partner Sara, who gamely absorbed a week in Paharganj professing satisfaction with our living arrangements, is convinced she has died and gone to heaven.
The Arya Niwas environment, while not giving the Taj or Oberoi a run for their boutique 5-star money, feels open and spacious and airy and quiet and most of all: clean! The price has risen from 900 rs/night last year to 1200 this year—an even more noticeable increase given the dollar’s 10-15% crash relative to the rupee in this last year—but after a week of Delhi’s relentless noise and grime, I’d gladly pay twice as much. Plus, they’ve now got wi-fi! Yeah, internet from bed, my fave.
And, Sara feels human again, post ‘Delhi belly’ which is always delightful. And, as she mentioned during the five hour midnight drive last night, this is the first trip she’s ever taken where she has not been responsible for the travel logistics—she’s loving not dealing with anything and watching me handle all the details. As for me, it’s not much different than doing all the logistics on my own, as I do every year.
The bad news is, I’m beginning to feel a tad piqued myself—slightly achy and almost feverish and just plain old tired and wrung out. I didn’t want to have such a long day today but I needed to pow-wow with my beeswax candle walas before they launched up to Punjab for the weekend to celebrate a family wedding, so we spent the day with them, which was actually quite sweet. We were working on some new ideas, including adding pure plant essential oils to the candles in a new ‘chakra’ line I’ve been working on, and exploring some non-seeping terra cotta pots in the nonstop effort to improve and upgrade the line. Towards the end of the afternoon, I began to fade and laid down on a cot for 45 minutes as they assembled pricing info etc. I still have that heavy feeling and am about to crawl under the covers and crash. Hopefully I can beat this thing with minimal down time. No firm plan yet for tomorrow which is a rare luxury. I am turning off the alarm and allowing nature to take her course tomorrow morning—usually a good idea, though too easy to plow through en route to exhaustion.
Anyway, I’m beat, so I’ll upload this bereft of any pearls of local wisdom. Hopefully I will be more on my game tomorrow…
Monday, March 3, 2008
Bunty ji
Monday March 3, 2008 10:04 p.m.
Paharganj, Delhi
Bunty runs a little roadside restaurant on one end of the Paharganj Main Bazaar called the Madan Café. He can be seen above while accidentally walking into the frame as I was trying to shoot the beautiful blue and white cotton-clad cow who was pulling someone down the road right in front of his place. Over the last couple years, as I’ve spent various weeks-long stretches working Delhi from one or another base camp deep in the grimy, relentless scam-o-rama that is the colorful but stark neighborhood of Paharganj, Bunty has felt like a good natured friendly connection, nourished over many meals eaten at his establishment.
Last year, Bunty bailed me out of a really bleak late night drive to Rajasthan, when my pre-hired driver showed up in a rickety rice-rocket with broken windows exuding all kinds of sketchy—not exactly a confidence-builder while embarking on a six hour overnight journey on the Delhi-Jaipur highway. I had stopped by Bunty’s to grab some road food, and he saw my predicament and hooked me up with a much safer ride on the quick, and saved me a few bucks to boot. (I paid the other guy a few hundred rupees for his brief cameo, and advised his boss to fix the car and take away the driver’s beer privileges if he wanted my business.)
This trip, Bunty seems to be evolving even more into a fixer of sorts. When today (in Chapter 8 of the India Electricity Follies, for those of you keeping score at home) I discovered that my Apple MacBook’s power supply had apparently fried. First I was grumbling about the suddenly dead wall sockets, then after the hotel guy came and scoped it out, it dawned on me that my problems were deeper and harsher: I checked all the combinations of adaptors and lo, it is my poor power supply itself that is illing. My brain can scarcely imagine the productivity-crushing results of trying to do all this work without the benefit of all the data, spreadsheets and history I have in my laptop—no power supply = doom.
Guess I’ll swing by the Apple Store and grab a fresh supply—d’oh! Well, maybe not—no Apple Store in India. But get this: Bunty was the first person I thought to ask, as far as possible technicians or repair solutions; he dropped a dime to a computer wallah friend of his, and he thinks I can get an actual, OEM Apple-made power supply by sundown tomorrow. I am dubious, and seeing is believing, but he seemed quite confident. That would be truly amazing, and at a cost, he says, of at most 2500 rupees, or maybe $65. Shit, if Bunty can pull this off, I’ll have to put him on retainer!
But enough bad news. Well, not quite enough. The day held several shreds of productivity, but after checking out some of the Tibetan singing bowls, we had barely begun our explorations in Old Delhi when Sara came down sick unto needing immediate horizontality. Don’t get me wrong, I do think she has been relishing the continuing unfolding of her “bathrooms you never want to have to throw up in” tour, but today it was time to come home and put her to bed until it clears. We quickly bailed out of the shop we had just entered, hailed a quick motor rick, no time for bargaining, and bolted home. I got her settled in sick bay, gave in and lay down for a brief nap myself—we are both exhausted already—then got out later in the afternoon for a little bit of further work in the neighborhood.
Now, pushing midnight, I am back and happy to find Sara on the upswing, though not fully spry quite yet. The worst seems over though, and that is reason enough for rejoicing. For me, I will go down shortly to the Hare Rama guest house internet room and post this latest journal entry online, then do my daily data entry: what’d I order, or pay for, or spend on expenses along the way. If I don’t note this kind of stuff down the day it happens, forget it. Once I start guessing later, I know I’ll pay dearly later in costly confusion and fuzzy pricing. It’s part of what makes the days so long on these buying trips.
Tomorrow I go make a pilgrimage the Greater Noida Expo Center, the relatively newly opened black pearl way out in the Delhi ‘burbs. If I’m lucky, the car won’t be tiny and I’ll grab a few winks during the many hours of heinous, stop and go rush hour traffic we will experience going each way. I already can’t wait.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Treasure Hunt
Sunday March 2, 2008 11:39 p.m.
Paharganj, Delhi
Winding down another long day, but this was the most productive one yet, at least from a product-sourcing angle. Very slow waking up today—the beds here in room 306 at the 1.5 star Hotel Shelton have been so uncomfortable that we resolved to move hotels if they didn’t either move us or our mattresses today. (They opted for the mattresses, as it turned out; fine by me. Sara assures me they are an upgrade.) We’ve been working super-late on the film/editing project anyway so the candles are burning at all ends; by the time I lie down at 1 or 2 a.m., I’m tired enough to sleep on pavement. Not for long though; with all the tossing and turning I’ve still been doing, the rest is pretty low-qual, and we are now officially feeling it.
Still, even with the increasingly woozy head spawned by extended poor rest and lingering jet-frag, I got some very good work done today: spent all day with Anuj, my friend from last year when I bought a great little collection of vintage/antique furniture, altars and temples etc. from him. Total sweetheart, it was really nice to reconnect together.
We got to his warehouse by catching the snazzy new-ish Delhi Metro to the end of the line at the Ring road, then haggled for too long with the local rickshaw wallahs. They kept up a united front; we finally settled for paying almost twice what my friend Bunty said we should from that point, but at some point fighting over the extra 40 or 50 rupees (roughly a dollar) loses its luster (and its financial payoff on the ‘time is money’ scale).
Along the way, I shot the below photo from our motor-rickshaw. What you don’t see is the third child riding on Mom’s lap on the other side of the bike—5 bodies in all, not a particularly unusual number, amazingly enough. The scene of an entire family riding, helmet-free, through the utter free-for-all of Indian city traffic, is so common as to raise not an eyebrow of anyone who has been here longer than a week. Though axiomatic that life is cheap on the streets of India, still millions pony up and place their bets every day, risking all for a ride across town. Though I’ve seen the after-effects—and boy, I’ve never seen such savagely crumpled cars and buses as the ones that litter India’s roadsides and under-bridge riverbeds like so many rusting corpses—I remain stupefied as to how few accidents I’ve ever personally witnessed. It’s all in the flow, I guess…
After our arrival, we shared some hellos and introductions, some catching up and masala chai, and then I began scouring Anuj’s warehouse in search of inspiring antique altars, temples and random small furniture pieces. And his stash did not disappoint. It took me about 7 hours to treasure-hunt through his place from roof to basement, stacked full with dusty relics in various states of repair, or lack thereof. I ended up refraining from some amazing pieces: too big or too expensive, yet still difficult to just say ‘no’ to. But I pushed my budgetary envelope on a few pieces also, because they were simply too gorgeous to pass up. And gathered up a sweet collection of small one-of-a-kind pieces that I think will go fast once they arrive home—so unique, so useful and so able to light up a room with their particular je ne c’est quoi.
Anuj is a straightforward, direct negotiator—a relative rarity here in my experience. He starts at a real wholesale price, and we cut out loads of the back-and-forth posturing that typifies many bargaining sessions. As he put it today as I was feeling him out for pricing flexibility, he likes to just go right to the best price he can offer—if someone tries to beat him up a bunch on the price, he knows that next time, and he starts higher in order to end up where he needs to be. Instead, he directly offers me prices that are quite fair for what he possesses, because he knows I need some room to work too, or we both suffer. He’s a good work partner that way.
After eating only two small samosas all day (during my four minute lunch hour) I still had energy by the time we splurged on a 300 rupee car home in the gathering darkness—a well-deserved eight dollar luxury after some good productive picking and deal-making. Besides, Sara wasn’t feeling too well, and although she snuck in a couple of catnaps during the day (some on various pieces of furniture, some while sitting on stools with camcorder in lap) she basically was on and working for the duration, trooper that she is. So I figured a little extra comfort was in order.
Poor Sara, my dedicated producer, has been at this first web episode for almost a week, staying up until 4:30 a.m. last night working—and then getting up at dawn to do a little more—and yet she’s already had to totally re-do the entire editing process 3 times, with all of the power and electronics issues—what a drag. Some day (‘soon!’ he prayed fervently, for both their sakes) she’ll finish it, and we’ll hopefully have ironed out a successful tactical approach that will allow us to have some fun sharing India’s daily uber-grind on the inter-webs. As I’ve already gotten quite used to hearing: “tomorrow.”
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Paharganj Bizarre
Saturday March 1st, 2008 9:37 a.m.
A bleary morn on the Paharganj main bazaar. New hotel room here at the Hotel Shelton—or as the rooftop restaurant here says on the menu, the Hotel Sheltron. (My alter-ego, Typo Man, could spend his entire incarnation here correcting creative English spelling.) Beds here are, shall we say, firm. Which is to say, compressed, lumpy and uncomfortable. Woke up with a very stiff lower back—have to ask them about swapping either mattresses or rooms today.
Despite having stayed up the previous night until almost dawn working out some interpersonal kinks in our first big India emotional breakdown—such things are unavoidable here, somewhere along the line—Sara and I stayed up again until late last night trying to piece together the first of our planned trip videos. (It’s kind of like working in the recording studio, with better pictures.) I finally gave in at around 2 a.m. to my yearning for a night of tossing and turning; Sara kept at it until 3:30, she informed me as she grogged her way to a morning shower just now. With all the product sourcing work there is to do, adding this labor-intensive video editing project essentially invites us to a series of incredibly long days—it’s much better to log and try to edit this stuff while it’s fresh, and it takes hours to finish a 1-2 minute segment. And that’s after it takes real-time hours to download the day’s footage onto the hard drives we are editing on. Either way, we’ve had only one good night of sleep so far on the trip, so I’m waking up a little slow this morn. I thought the last years’ endless 12-16 hour days were long—they may end up looking easy compared to this.
Well, at least yesterday I got started on the real buying work: spent a couple hours with my bindi and bangle wallahs, getting my hands grubby while reviewing all my bling options and putting together a selection of goodies. These guys, two brothers Ravi and Suresh, are quite sweet with quick, natural smiles—easy to work with. Their wives kept us plied with fresh chai, and we got 80% of the work done yesterday—a few more things to pick early next week, then pay and begin to pile this year’s haul of goods in the corner of the hotel room.
Still, I feel a little like a draft horse who is spitting the bit—resisting the full onslaught of the looming buying expeditions. Still fighting the jetlag’s effect on my energy, wrapping my mind simultaneously around all my product-buying needs and financial limitations, getting clear on precisely what I need to accomplish with each of my suppliers, and realizing that yesterday was the first day of the huge gift fair here and that I really should go scope out the current offerings even while remembering the maddeningly slow three hour round-trip car ride to the Greater Noida Expo center and how little I liked the goods on offer when I’ve been there on earlier visits. Still, the market here may be offering more in the way of eco-friendly, sustainable ‘green’ goods than in previous years, and I should probably learn to love the bit and go check it out sometime in the next few days. But not today.
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