Varanasi

Varanasi is a grimy city. But it certainly has no shortage of character. Crazy dreadlocked saddhus (holy people) getting stoned on the ghats (steps) of the Ganges, dressed like shiva in full orange robes accost you. Monkey, cows, and goats run amok in the streets munching trash...although that's pretty much all over India. There are mazes of alleyways and turning corners around which you will never know what you will find. Twenty women sitting on some steps in colorful saris. Two water buffalo, ownerless and nearly the size of a dumptruck each, munching some colorful piece of fabric or a plastic bag filled with filth and slime.

I spent a lot of the time with two guys from Wales and a couple from England. They were all funny people. Wandering the ghats, me and the two Welsh got taken in by some guys who literally started grabbing our hands and giving us ayurvedic massages. After my generous Indian got up to my shoulder, I stopped him and started to walk off amidst his protests of 'no problem' 'nice massage'. The two Welsh boys got caught up farther than I, and one of them was laying down, the nice Indian massaging all the way down to his ass before he stopped him and said he had to go. He gave the man 9 rupees, or less than a quarter.

I met a saddhu for my interview. He asserted that he could change his anatomy, and bury himself under the ground and still see all over the world. This was a far cry from the humility of the Tibetans. I started to doubt him, after the mystical Sufi who didnt say anything really and the Tibetan lamas who don't mention anything of their abilities, but clearly have some powers.

Anyway, on my birthday I decided to swim in the Ganges. Most sensible Westerners wouldn't touch the water -- Hannah, who I traveled with was concerned she might get a disease when a single drop fell on her hand. But I said fuck it, and with one of the Welsh guys I got in. Cholera, AIDs, Ebola, all that shits probably in this water, which has snaked through thousands of kilometers of the dirtiest country I've ever been to, washing cow shit and dirty rotting food out of every city it passes through. Sometimes people see dead bodies floating down. But there I was, swimming, or rather sitting in it, basking in the grimy sludge. Swimming is quite dangerous during monsoon season, people die every day, so I was just sitting on the ghat. Anyway, I took a nice shower when I got back to the guest house. Indians would laugh at me. They brush their teeth, wash their clothes, and even drink that water. But I can't be getting and of those -osis or -itises. Despite my best efforts, I started to feel ill on the train to Agra.

By the time I'm at the Taj, I've had the worst night in history. Beating out Jammu.

Kashmir

Kashmir is the most beautiful place on earth I have decided. Dal lake, the largest lake in India is peppered with 1200 houseboats, where you can lounge and let the little Shikaras (boats) come to you with every conceivable convenience. They bring you fresh flowers, jewelery, chips, cigarettes, bottled water, carved wood, saffron, and even ice cream, straight to your doorstep, or rather, dock.

You can cruise the canals of the lake, surrounded by reeds, water lillies, and a canopy of trees and pass by women in multicolored beautiful saris washing their clothes or little kids laughing and jumping into the lake.

Merchants offer to bring you for free to their workshop, where you can see how they make 100% silk rugs in true Persian style or carve beautiful wood wardrobes and tables and lamps. You see, Kashmir is not really India. That's what all the rock-throwing and civil unrest is all about, and why India dumped thousands of army into Srinagar and the surrounding area. It's 98% muslim, and at all hours you can hear the call to worship echoing across the placid waters 'Allahu akbar' straight to your floating paradise telling you it's time to touch your forehead to the carpet again. Kashmiri is more like Arabic than Hindi, and the people, especially the young ones are very adamant about separating from India. Some want to be part of Pakistan, most want a separate Kashmir.

It's nice really. We didnt want to move...and really, we didnt have to. Meals cooked in the shack behind the houseboat were delivered right to us. We bargained the shit out of our room and board, nearly 25% the normal price. But since the unrest, not so many tourists come, so we could.

Mustafa, the man in charge of the boat was wonderfully accommodating, and helped us out with everything from fresh fry dal and aloo parantha to real 100% Kashmiri saffron and opium honey. He ferried us across to land, where his buddy Kaka, who I called Dosda (friend in Kashmiri) took us around on his motorcycle.

In Kashmir they fry up huge pieces of bread and put this yellow, sweet, wheaty sugary paste inside for a tasty snack that is unbelievable...and unbelievable greasy, but then again it is still close to India, where food isn't food unless its got a litre of oil in it.

All in all, Kashmir was the most peaceful, tranquil, beautiful place I've ever been, and people were dying in the streets every night. It's unbelievable, but when I think about it, I can understand. It's certainly something worth fighting for.

India

So it's been to long. But Japan has passed, and now it's India.

India is an assault on the senses. A common phrase, but it really is true. You could write a book on the smells alone. The tastes, the colors, the sounds. One day you love it the next you hate it with a fiery passion. Horns everywhere, cows munching on trash in the middle of the road, poor women with beautiful saris holding babies and begging in hindi, an endless variety of hats with religious significance...it all collides and mixes with dirt and spices. It's hard to explain, but India is a place you can understand in a day, but need a lifetime to really get. India is the land of contrasts, high rises next to vast slums, brown next to bright reds and oranges, monkeys and cows running rampant next to trucks and rickshaws.
It's everything you've heard and nothing you'd expect rolled into one piece of chapati.

After the incredible heat, noise and dirt of Delhi, I bus up to Dharamsala in the Himalayas. Here I am supposed to meet with lamas (robes not fur), and talk about dreams. I quickly find out that my topic, lucid dreaming and/or dream yoga, is one of the advanced yogas of just a few traditions of Tibetan Buddhism. As such, very few lamas will actually even say anything. I feel like a five-year old trying to get Fred Alan Wolf to explain Quantum Physics and string theory to me. Moreover, they won't talk about their own experiences because it seems like bragging. Great. Well, I'm running into brick walls, but at least I feel like Indiana Jones. This is like the grail right now for me.

What is the sound of one hand clapping?
It's me smacking my head against my hand because I can't find anyone to talk to.
Chamtrul Rinpoche, Kyabje Trulshig Rinpoche, Kochhen Rinpoche, Tulku Dakpa Rinpoche, and Ven. Khandro Rinpoche are all travelling. These are the people who know what I want to talk about.
These lamas are smart. Its monsoon season, so they get out. But I'm here.

Well, anyway, Khamtrul Rinpoche is here I've just heard. He's in the Nyingma tradition, which means he will know what I'm talking about. This is the first bright light since my interview with Tenzin Palmo, the nun who spent 12 years in a cave. However, she had little to say about dream yoga, whereas Khamtrul, if he will talk to me, will have mounds of information.

Today is the Dalai Lama's birthday. It was pouring rain. Everyone crowded into the monastery to see him and the performance. Umbrellas blocked the view. I saw him sitting there thought. It was anticlimactic.

Anyway, I must get on with the research. Until next time...

On being an American going to Hiroshima

During our Kansai trip, we were scheduled to go to Hiroshima, the peace park and the A-bomb museum.

My first reaction was to be less excited about this part of the trip. After all, compared to a shrine in the water, a temple plated in 20 tons of pure gold, and a floor that makes the noise of a nightingale when you walk across it to protect from enemy ninjas, the sobering and saddening Hiroshima hardly had any appeal.

But on the way there, I decided its really important for me to go there, as an American. To go there and realize what happened, why it happened, what can stop it from happening again. To gloss over Hiroshima is to avoid the vicious nature of humanity, and my country.

Its interesting to have some feeling of guilt from a time before I was born. I wasn't alive yet, so why should I feel guilty? But I do.

Anyway, the museum made me realize that yes, temples and pretty places are important, testaments to the glory of the past which are fun to remember, but remembering the darker shades of history has its place too.

I think the TIU people planned this too. They know its important for Americans to face this part of history they'd just as soon look over. Its important for them too that we do such.

At the end I'm left with peace...peace of mind

Kazoku

Time to delve into the host family! First of all, they're great! They are so nice and always help me out with everything. Fantastic! My host mom is a delightful woman who is always around, does my laundry (score!) and feeds me. Basically my life line. She tells me hilarious stories of having a 'Hepburn cut' in high school to 'look more mature', and we discuss such things as the origin of the Bloods and the Crips, and Asian horizontal racism in broken and/or simple Japanese.

This is my host mom's delicious cooking. This is a tasty soup she made. Once we ate most of the soup, except for some of the broth, she reboiled it and added eggs and poured over rice. Tasty!

















I returned the favor and cooked some pasta with a tomato-creme sauce, garlic bread, and salad. My host dad looked worried when I mentioned I wanted to cook. I told him not to worry, and he seemed to like it in the end!



Little Takeru was trying to chug some Asahi. Luckily it was empty.

It was hilarious nonetheless!



This is our toilet. It has more settings than I know what to do with, a seat warmer, three different types of ass washers, and could probably beat me at chess as well. Shit, it has a level of consciousness meriting a name, so I call it Ronald. As if that isnt enough, Ronald is also eco-friendly, with a built in sink at the top where you wash your hands with the soon-to-be toilet water which refills the basin. Now that I see this it seems almost obvious. Why arent these everywhere?
These appliances filter water, and produce delicious tea. Im not quite sure on the mechanics of them, but when I contact superhuman aliens, maybe they can reverse engineer Japanese appliances and tell me what they are.

Tokyo 101

Welcome to Tokyo 101.

In Tokyo, the world revolves around the denshas (trains). The trains are the arteries of the city. When saying where do you live, its really what stop do you get off at. All the malls, movie theaters, stores, restaurants, and really everything worth seeing is usually right by the stations.
Its hard to imagine how crucial they are, but I assure you, they're vital.




You're sure you remember what stop is yours? Cuz theres a lot...





Today the plan is to go to downtown Tokyo. What Ipanema and Copacabana are to Rio, Harajuku and Shibuya are to Tokyo.

Walk out the train station at Harajuku, and you see this:
This street is crawling with odd clothing shops, strangely (yet awesomely) dressed Japanese people, hilariously out of place gaijin (foreigners), crepe shops out the wazoo, and shiny things everywhere.
Yes, children, Harajuku is the lace and leather of Tokyo, the cutting edge of fringe Japanese style. And its oh so glamorous.














Harajuku smacks you in the face. And the group of us, rubbing our cheeks, proceeded to Shibuya. Shibuya is where the young and popular go to buy clothes that arent quite as insane as those at Harajuku.


I know you can't tell because of the HORDES of asians, but this is actually an intersection. Its utter chaos for about a minute as everyone shuffles across the road in all directions. This makes me want to study chaos mathematics and develop some sort of algorhythm or something. But then I think of the work...and decide fuck that.





The malls are extremely crazy. Space is a priority in Tokyo like it seemingly is on a 5-star dinner plate, so similarly, instead of sprawling, they go up. This famous mall, Shibuya 108 is a 8-story ziggaurat of trendy shops where the pious come to pay respects to the lord of dinero, or okane as they do in Japan.

And yes, there's a store called Titty.






After a while, we were tired, and chilled waiting for Pierce to get his cell phone. I call this picture "camera-cell phone-cell phone-cell phone-cane" which I found amusing.










The day ended with some toriyaki - grilled chicken and meat - and karaoke (always a great time). What a jam-packed day!

I slept well to say the least.

Host Family

So on Saturday I met my host family.
We had the opening ceremony, and all the students introduced themselves briefly standing up one by one and saying name, major, school, etc. It was slightly nerve-wracking because it was the first time we all met our host families.
I didnt even know what they looked like, so they were looking at me, but I didnt know who they were. Anyway, after the introductions, those who had gotten letters from their host families (I would have if my Mom hadnt missed it in the envelope from TIU!!) walked towards them and the semi-strange, cross-cultural shmorgasborg of greetings ensued.
I sort of stood there and waited for a few seconds, and saw an adorable lady shuffling towards me. Hagimemashite, she says, which roughly means nice first time. Yoroshiku oneggai shimasu, I reply.
We sit and start talking and eating, and I quickly discover my father is not a 'tsumetai otousan' (cold father) as Matt had warned us most host dads would be. I am glad, he opens up and smiles and laughs a lot. Its already great, and I barely know anything about them.

They take us all home, and I am shown around the house. There are rooms with tatami mats (very cool), a toilet with more buttons than a remote (although a US remote, because the remote here handles 3 types of TV: digital, sattelite, AND cable. All the TV one could ever want or use, and much more), a refrigerator with a rice drawer with some crazy function (this too had more buttons than anything in my house back home), and lots of crazy decorations and interesting random things.

We sit down, I struggle to explain my complex family, roots, and recent travels. Dinner is kare (curry), a delicious brown sludge on a bed of rice, some sort of potato pancake thing very similar to a latka and a yogurt-lemon sauce type deal. They keep expecting me to put mayonaise on everything, and I keep disappointing them. Well, not that they mind.

I am surprised, most host families (I was told all) are returning families, some of which have been hosting for 20 years, but I am my families first. This is going to be very cool and new for both of us, if a bit difficult, virginity allusions aside.

I crash, exhausted after much conversation in japanese, and wake around 10:30. My hostmom is surprised, and we arrange for her not to cook me hot food on the weekends, I will just eat cereal and fruit. Again I leave the mayo untouched as I munch the salad, eggs and bacon.

For lunch Kaori (host sister)'s elder sister comes over with her husband and two extremely adorable children. They at first appear extremely terrified of the gigantic dark man, but later warm up and giggle lots. They are Takeru (1yr) and Yui (3yrs), and oh so adorable.
This is a pic with me, host mom and dad, two sisters, grandchildren, and sister's hubby...oh and lots of yakisoba!















Here is Yui reciting the ABCs...which is basically the cutest thing I have EVER SEEN. Seriously...in my entire life.




Later, we roamed around and went to Kawagoe-eki, the train station to check out various stores and buy random stuff like my commuter pass.

I saw a japanese starbucks...which was moderately disgruntling, but they had this amazing beverage: