MISSING

Last reported seen in Agonda Beach, Goa, lying
in hammock on the deck of a flimsy plywood beach hut.
If you see this man, please bring him a nice, cold Kingfisher
beer.
Identifying marks: a big grin.

Happy Holidays from Goa!



In other news from my busy life, I have just finished reading Shantaram, a really wonderful book, that i can very highly recommend, despite its 900 pages, it was truly engrossing and fantastic. There is rumor of a movie version with Johnnie Depp in a few years, if youre not the reading type...this is the summation of a great novel....

For this is what we do. Put one foot forward, and then, the other. Lift our eyes to the snarl and smile of the world once more. Think. Act. Feel. Add our little consequence to the tides of good and evil that flood and drain the world. Push our hearts into the promise of a new day. With love: the passionate search for truth other than our own. With longing: the pure, ineffable yearning to be saved. For so long as fate keeps waiting, we live on. God helps us. God forgives us. We live on.
Gregory David Roberts

Hampi

Windmills, like alien craft at night, hovering over the hillsides, white technology not expected in the Indian hinterlands, especially in so great a number. For a moment, I am an american tourist gliding through the dutch countryside in a luxury coach, in another world, another time, the world through the window glistening. Then, the old bus slams a ditch, a pothole te size of a VW, and I am lifted into the air, no seatbelts on this bus to restrain, a second of weightlessness, before gravity grips and pulls me down to earthly reality.
We pull into a tiny roadside restaurant, and the men all disembark. Its wild in this land-most of the people that you see, especially at night, are men. I have read stories about infanticide of female babies, as parents of women have to pay large dowries when their daughters are wed, which creates a hige burden on entire clans, a prohibitive burden. I wonder how this factors into what I see as I get off the bus into the cool, crisp, black Indian night.
The chef behind the single burner kerosene stove, with a single old deformed skillet at his disposal, proceeds to cook 20 different dishes for 15 different men in 17 minutes before my eyes, and I stand, in a trancelike state, in awe of his skills, mouth open, half asleep, as he churns out omeletts, chapatis, basmati rice, curries, and chai tea, hands and arms blurred in the flurry of activity. The man is a powerplant, and his energy draws me in. With a smile and a nod, I am noticed, and he continues on.
Stray trucks, brightly decorated, like gaudy spaceships thunder by sporadically in the stillness of the night.
The horn is blown, and we scramble back into the old worn government bus, leaving this small moment and place, continuing on with a hard jorney northward.

Mysore, Karnataka State 12.23

I've stumbled into a little gem, a rare moment of peace, with a nice breeze, the sounds of exotic birds whistling in my ears, and the most valuable commodity, peace and quiet. I'm sitting in the morning sun and a gunmetal bench on the fringes of the Mysore Zoo. I'm licking my festering travel wounds which have been unmercifully lashed upon me in the las few days . Ignorantly thinking that people would not make a large deal of Christmas in a land populated by Hindus and Muslims (about 94%, anyways), I set about my travel plans with the usual gusto, taking off from Goa and Gokarna some days ago, with dreams of the south in my mind. Only to realize that at least 1.1 of the 1.2 billion people of this country are now on Christmas vacation, and are traveling, and are traveling where I have been intending to travel, swarming through, booking overy room of every guesthouse and hotel, and every seat of every bus and train, leaving me with a dumbfounded glaze over my eyes. Arriving in the hill station of Madierki yesterday after a 5 hour (hard dusty bumpy) busride, I realized there was simply no rooms to be had in the entire town. After a quick bit of lunch and many phone calls, I was forced to get back on the bus for another 5 hour hard, dusty busride to Mysore. Me and the unlucky rickshaw driver who happened upon me at the bus stand visited 15 hotels, all completely booked, finally stumbling upon one place willing to rent a filthy, decrepit room with cold water coming out of a hole in the wall for the price of $15 (which is a LOT in India, let it be said). I was ready to get down and kiss the floor of this hovel, except my typhoid booster is a bit out of date.
But alas, I have managed to find a ticket on a night bus up north, in the hopes of some tranquility amongst the ruins of the ancient city of Hampi, to bide a bit of time and allow all those others who are gainfully employed to return to work and allow the rest of us to continue on in our work...
I continue, with the full realization that traveling is not vacation, there are good days and bad days, good weeks and bad weeks. Having the time and the flexibility to adapt to whatever the road throws at you is essential, and it makes me smile, sitting here on this bench, with the warm sun on my face, my moment of tranquility coming to an end with huge packs of young men in tight jeans approaching, wanting to know my name, where I'm from, and what I do (ha!).
This is India.

Some pics have been posted on picassa.....

Happy Holidays and Namaste from India.

agonda beach, goa 12.17

There are cows on the beach. This is India.
I laugh to myself. The waves are crashing in the background, they sound thundering,
no lagoon protects this coast as it did in the Pacific, in the oceans of my memory.
There is nothing subtle, nothing soft spoken about this land. Even the waves are in-your-face.
I was attempting to reason a feeling that I had the other day in Bombay, a feeling I have not felt before, a feeling of being in the middle of complete maddness, and though it was brief, I have been thinking about this feeling since it occured on the local railway in the biggest city in the subcontinent. Gregory Roberts, in his amazing book Shantaram which I am currently reading,
experienced the same rush, the same crush, in the same city, some years before...
"Bellowing threats, insults and curses, he thumped a path through the choking throng. Men fell and were pushed aside with every lift and thrust...people shouted and screamed as if they were the victims of a terrible disaster. Garbled, indicipherable announcements blared from the loudspeakers over our heads. Sirens, bells, and whistles wailed constantly. "

Me, getting onto a train, every man using every ounce of his strength to push, pull, wedge, and fight his way into the already overcrowded car. The intensity of the looks, shouts, made the car charged with energy. I, too, pushed, pulled, and fought, a second notice to my being a foreigner not being taken. When the doors closed, a calm politeness took over the railcar like a sedative. Heads nodded side to side, and courteous men ensured that I was aware of my stop. Then, the doors open, and pandemonium breaks out once again, like clockwork. The terror and politeness, crazed emotion and then civility and serenity, worked over and over again, as a microcosm of Indian life. Just enough of each to ensure that things continue on is such a land.

Udaipur, Rajasthan

Cows, dogs, pigs, goats, birds, people, monkeys, all battling for the same roadside scraps, every step of life in this land a harsh struggle for survival, every glance filled with a particular creature trying to feed an empty stomach, survive another day, to do it once more, what a burden, I wonder if or how they feel, if the burden registers if its all you've ever known.
The train rocks rhythmically, swaying side to side, early morning mist breaking over green tilled fields, a quick glance could be home, so far away, longer looks and differences are discerned, square brick hovels, ancient communist tractors, ragged power lines, weighed down by age and neglect, have they ever worked, I wonder.


Happiness is being aware of whats going on in the present moment, free from both clinging and aversion. A happy person cherishes the wonders taking place in the present moment. A cool brezze, the morning sky, a golden flower, the smile of a child. A happy person can appreciate these things without being bound by them. Understanding that all things in life are impermanent, a happy person does not get consumed by such pleasures. A happy person thus lives in ease, free from all worry and fear. Because he understands that the flower will soon wilt, he is not upset when it does.
Thich Nhat Hahn

Rajasthan pics online.... http://picasaweb.google.com/JeffreyHDow/Rajasthan

Bundi, Rajasthan

"The Palace of Bundi, even in broad daylight, is such a palace as men build for themselves in uneasy dreams-the work of goblins rather than men" Rudyard Kipling

I tuck into a book and a masala chai, aroma of lunch lofting in the air, the city below alive in the midday sun, buzzing.
Walking backwards, through blue streets, faded colors spewn like fireworks, doorways adorned, women cloaked. Children clatter, smiles, genuine smiles, practicing their simple emglish, their hellos ringing, enthusiasm in fleeting glances, the maze reverses.
The medevil fortress towering overhead warrants merely a glance, offset against this bright human landscape. I'm in a place I want to be, I smile at ease, feel in touch, feel free, unburdened, so easy to find, and stay. The bus is arriving a the station, me, crushed next to the dusty window, a small crowd around me, flexing their small English muscles, intensely happy in eachothers company, smiles and nods filling the large language gaps. I drop a few rupee coins in the blind mans silver bucket, the sound they give seems amplified, as my ears maybe hear as his for a quick moment, then he is away, boarding the bus, trying to fill his stomach , hopes high on this new morning, how hard his life must be, but still so dignified, I cannot grasp.
Walking towards the bus depot, only a name in my mind of this distant place im heading towards, overheard in a cafe some days before, taken note of, stored in the back of my mind in an afterthought. Bundi, the couple says, a special kind of place.
In Pushkar, I stroll amongst flocks of tourists, flocking liek flocks do, everyone seeming to find comfort in the Indianized version of home, minus me. The comforts do not excite or entice me, they dull, they bore, I yawn, rack my brain for somewhere to excape this tourist excape. There is a place, I remember, that sounded special. So easy to change directions when the road is home, and the only one to answer to is oneself, too easy perhaps, one can travel in circles and never arrive, but freedom is precious, one of the great attributes of the road.

"The land was sacred. but it wasnt political history that made it so. Religious myths touched every part of the land outside colonial Goa. Story within story, fable within fable; that was what people saw and felt in their bones. Those were the myths, about gods and the heroes of the epics, that gave antiquity and wonder to the eart people lived on."
VS Naipaul, India: A Million Mutinees Now

Jodphur, Rajasthan...The Blue City in The Land of Kings

One overnight train trip from Old Delhi rail station, shuddering and shaking and rocking, steel grating on steel, steam whistles and chai sellers halting dreams before they begin.
The Rajasthan countryside seen from behind the safety of tinted glass, all the same, baron, sparse vegetation, concrete bunker houses scattered, Indians seeming to not care for the asthetics of archetecture, at least since Independence, function over beauty I suppose is the mindset of limited means.
The Blue City, the old town of Jodphur, houses of the Brahmin (priestly) caste painted in an ocean blue, as to provide an oasis for the eyes in an otherwise bleak atmosphere. Narrow alleyways, the blues of homes offset against the vivid reds and yellows of saris, womens passing like floating apparitions, eyes struggling to absorb , a feast for the senses. Towering impossibly above, carved into a sheer sandstone bluff in 1459 by the ruling Maharaja of the time, Meheranagh Fort, a marvel. Protected for hundereds of years against invading hordes by sheer 200ft walls, still standing watch proudly over its city. My first taste of Rajasthan, the Land of Kings, is color, everywhere, even the desert shades of brown, offset against the Muslim prayer calls echoing through the city, blazingly bright, hauntingly beautiful.
Photos in Picassa.
http://picasaweb.google.com/JeffreyHDow/Rajasthan

Varanasi

There is no escape from the hecticness of India. Entering the miniscule , overstaffed, and underfunded Varanasi International Airport to find every flight on the ancient scoreboard-type
flight list to be delayed or cancelled. Luckily, mine is only a delay. I will arrive in Delhi tonight, with fingers crossed. Other Westerners enter, dumbfounded at the scene of chaos that soon unfolds before their eyes. I sit and smile. This is India.

Kites, like birds, flew over the city at dusk, peering down at the maze of the old city, silence up in the heavens, masking the commotion unfolding below.
Varanasi was a wonderful place, and I am grateful that I made this pimgrimage, like so many other pious Hindus, even if just to observe. It was neither as scary nor dirty nor chaotic as I was prepared for; there was serenity to be found on the banks of the Ganges, as well as many kind locals, their religiosity shining through in actions and white smiles. This was a holy city, and I felt it in every step, every narrow passage leading to an obscure shrine, the constant ringing of temple bells from above and below, the omnipresence of holy men and barefoot colorful pilgrims. But it is the calm peace of the Mother Ganges that I will take with me in my mind; even though choked by putrid filth, it shone of a cleansing quality evades rational thought.
This is India.
I've put Varanasi pics on my picassa site, take a look.
Namaste.

Varanasi

For Hindus, Varanasi (Benares) is the holiest place on earth, and the chosen home of the Hindu god Shiva. Those who die in Varanasi are guaranteed Moksha, or liberation from the cycle of death an rebirth, no matter what they may have done in their lifetimes. Thousands come daily to bathe in the sacred waters of the Ganges (Mother Ganga). For many devout Hindus, a visit to Benares is roughly akin to the Muslim Haj to Mecca. Around the city, dead bodies are a common sight, delivered to the roaring funeral pyres with the traditional chant, "Ram Nam Satyi Hai."
The Buddha came to Sarnath, on the outskirts of Benares, 2500 years ago to preach his first sermon after attaining allightenment under the Bodyi tree. He delivered his sermon in what was a thriving North Indian trading town on the banks of the Ganges. Benares is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, an imensely intense and enchanting maze of narrow alleyways filled with cows and small shops emptying out at the numerous Ghats spread along the river. Its sights and sounds and smells never cease to amaze.
I am back in India.
What a wild place.
My third time, but it always feels like the first.
Sitting in the back of a cycle rickshaw, the old man in rags peddling the last few kilometers through the dense early morning fog towards the Nepali-Indo border post. It feels like the most desolate place in the world in this early morning chill. Figures appear like ghosts out of the thick white soup, cloaked in homespun cloth, heads down, shielding from the cold. A hazy orange globe rising over the derelect border crossing marking the dawn of a new day, a new adventure, a new experience. Faces get browner and leaner, the stares more intense, it seems, at ever step I take. The usual border grime is omnipresent; why border towns in most of the world attract filth and scum I do not know, but this place is no exception. I walk on.
It hits like a hammer, the intensity of the stares, makes me suddenly bashful, forgetting this is the norm now. There are people, swarming, everywhere, everywhere you look, surounding everything you see, a great swelling mass of humanity at every glance. This place defies every Western notion of existence at every step, every move, everything is alive, laid bare for you to observe, no cloaks, no mirrors, just life. Stifling, overwhelming, beautiful, fascinating.

Steve McCurry

"If given a chance to turn back, I would not take it. Therefore, the decision to go ahead is my own responsibility, to be adopted with a whole heart."


Last night at the Pilgrim's Bookshop in Thamel (which is amazing in its own right, possibly the best in South Asia) I stumbled upon a magnificent photo book, that kept my gaze and mind captivated until the store was closing, and I was ushered out into the hazy Kathmandu evening, in a daze. Many of you have seen Steve McCurry's famous Afghan Girl photo from National Geographic, which is a magnificent indicator of how wonderful his entire collection is.

If you have a moment, and are entertained by beautiful photos (with an emphasis on his India gallery), check out http://www.stevenmccurry.com/ or better yet, check out his book, South Southeast, which is the entire collection of his photos from India, Afghanistan, Burma, and Thailand. This man is a genius, and his India journal is almost as brilliant as his shots. Hope you enjoy that as much as I did.



I recieved got a quick touch up on some old "ink" last nite from my friend Mohan, over at Mohan's Tattoo Inn. He does brilliant work (he studied in Korea for years, and is "famous" here in Nepal), uses all sterilized equipment with new needles, autoclaves, gloves, etc., and is a really nice guy to boot. My tattoo talley is up to 3, and though they are addictive, I have promised myself no more (at least in the near future). Check out Mohan if you have an extra minute...

http://www.mohanstattooinn.com/



Heres a shot of Mohan putting the traditional Yapese dolphins on my back about a month ago..I had been waiting to get these for awhile living in the Pacific, but glad I waited to have someone of his caliber do the work, as his lines came out beautifully. Thank you Mohan!~

Better Pics Uploaded!

I was finally able to locate the ellusive "high speed internet cafe" here in the rusticly dial up
laden capital city of Nepal, and thus, was able to put some better quality pics on my Picassa site, so browse away, peoples!
http://picasaweb.google.com/JeffreyHDow/Nepal

India visa has been arranged (after many hours of lines, repeated inquiries, and a near scare of being denied), various ailments under the control of dodgy Indian antibiotics,
and the urge to get out of Kathmandu growing daily as a result of the now week-long garbage strike, which has left huge stinking rotting piles of refuse on all corners. Does add a bit of character, but this city is not lacking in character to begin with. Back to the Indian visa topic.
Just a quick thought on this-the common western mentality seems to be that we are entitled to visas to "3rd world" countries, (possibly a vestige of the colonial mindset to enter as we please). People show up in line wearing their trashy traveling gear, speaking to the embassy employees like they are low class, and expect to get their visa, no worries. It was actually gratifying in some senses to see many of these startled travelers denied for their entry visas, walking away in shock. COME ON PEOPLE! Wear shoes to your visa interview! Maybe in 50 years, when the economic balances have been completely reversed, will people of the west come to their senses and treat people of developing countries with the respect and dignity that they deserve. To the reverse situation, seeing the preperation and care given by citizens of a country like Nepal in the slim hope of obtaining a visa to go to a country like America is amazing. I have spent a few days at the American embassy here in Kathmandu doing school research at the American Center, and the emotions that you can see attached, the hopes, despair, elations, everything was on plain display, and was quite moving. The consuler officers at the Embassy have a very difficult job, one that I do not envy.

I will be heading down to the birthplace of Sakyumani Buddha, Lumbini, on the southern border of Nepal, tomorrow for a few days of wandering and relfection, gathering my thoughts and sensibility before plunging headlong into the maddness of India. Varanasi will be my first destination upon crossing the border in a few day, which from all accounts is one of the most intensly overwhelming places in the world. Heres the Wiki link if you feel the urge to read up on the holiest city in Hinduism:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varanasi
Should be plenty of pictures to come in the near future.
Namaste.

Pics

More pics from my trek....

Annapurna Trekking

Just completed the Around Annapurna trek, a 180km stroll around the Annapurna range of Nepal. An amazing experience, which, despite a nasty cold and a sore knee, I hope to do again one day. Some clippings from my daily journal, and some select pics from the hike...

11.1 Bagarchap, Manang District
The path follows the steep canyonsides north, meandering across foot bridges ands the stream remnants of powerful mountain waterfalls. There are so many waterfalls cutting jagged conyons that one grows numb to their thundering beauty. Brightly colored pony trains pass on the narrow trail, kicking up clouds of fine dust, their bells clanging in arrival and departure. After many hours, the path rises steeply, steadily, and I find myself in a fine rhythm, feeling my breath strongly, focused foward, legs burning. The stone chortons marking the newly Tibetan villages welcome me to my resting place for the evening. The night carries with it the first real chill that i have felt in a long time.

11.2 Chame, Manang District
Enormous hawks soaring on thermals, I am looking at them eye level. Bundles of maize and dried rice stalks stacked in ancient sheds, hidden behind crumbling stone walls, meandering through medevil villages. Crooked legged porters hauling huge wicker baskets laden down for the villages northward, the only trucks in these parts, walking the same paths that people have walked for thousands of years, these ancient trading routes, stones worn smooth underfoot. Drinking milk tea with new friends, the hulk of Manasulu, one of the tallest peaks in the world, as a quaint backdrop. A few words with a Sherpa guide over yet another cup of milk tea, eating dinner in this tiny smoke filled low roofed local meeting house, the lights went out in the village, and we all sat in silence around the wood burning stove for a long minute. Departing with a friendly namaste, a Sanskrit word for greeting and parting, that means, "I salute you."

"the meeting and parting of living things is as when clouds having come together drift apart again, or as when the leaves are parted from the trees. There is nothing we may call our own in a union that is but a dream."
William Blake

11.3 Pisang Village, Manang
Stumbling like a drunkard through this ancient fortress village. What surrounds me does not seem real. Towering white massifs, high dry plains, colorful pony caravans, a band of youths, only boys, carving an impossible road out of the cliffside, using only hand tools and a wagon with mishapen wooden wheels. Prayer flags fluttering furiously in the cool wind, coming from a long way, just as I.
I've felt a certain magic in the air this entire day. A high pine grove, wind whistling through the pine needles, my mind clear, nothing but surrounding bliss for company.
The landscape is hallucinatory.

11.11 Thorong Pedi Base Camp, Manang
Sitting in the partylike atmosphere of the solar heated dining room here in Thorong Pedi, literally, the foot of the pass, the 5460m pass that we will be climbing tomorrow, the highest in the world. Listening to such a variety of accents, a true global gathering, everyone buzzing with nervous energy. My knee hurts, but this was expected after injuring it 4 days ago. With no option other than backtracking (the only airstrip in Manang not operating until december), I have to cross this huge pass and tackle what will be an even harder decent, 1600meters down to the ancient village of Mukthinath. I look foward to the challenge.
the beauty of the mountains continues to amaze me, leaving me breathless, not a hard feet at 4600meters (about 14000ft). the brown stone cliffs framing a deep blue sky, the blinding whiteness of the tall peaks in the midday sun. the path cutting a ribbon up the glacier carved valleys, all the images, though ephemeral, make a lasting impression, I hope. We will set off in the dark tomorrow to not get stuck on the high pass in the heavy afternoon squalls.

11.14 Dana, Mustang district
The last golden rays of sunshine reflect off the high peaks rising above the near verdant, terraced hills. Water comes in irregular spurts from the village water tap onto the cold stones. My knee throbs, badly aches, 16 days now of daily workouts carrying my 40lb pack amidst the highest peaks in the world. We crossed the high pass in brilliant sunshine, deep snows reflecting, the altitude leaving me and my friend gasping for air, legs and minds pumping, arriving spent, yet emboldened in Mukthinath. Tibetan carpet sellers lining the dirt streets, local wine toasted by candlelight.
the snows on the peaks have taken an orange glow-a quick glance would mistake water for fire-and like that, it is gone, only shadows, as all moments.

"the absurdity of a life that may well end before one understands it does not relieve one of the duty to live it through as bravely and as generously as possible"
P. Mattheisson

Sankhu

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A quick day trip to Sankhu, on the outer rim of the Kathmandu Valley, and an ancient trading post to Tibet. Now, just a crumbling Newari village, choked with dust, but with some very nice locals who led me around and explained their ancient city with much enthusiasm...some pics attached.....

I have been heavily engrossed in Sogyal Rimpoche's classic, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. While not wanting to shave my head and become a monk, I do have a great desire both to explore Tibetan Buddhism as a philosophy and and to gain a better understand of the people who I walk amongst in this country. The teachings are beautiful, and the culture, with all of its art and ancient insights into the nature of the mind (which I have been exploring for some time on my own) is very captivating. Being amongst so many who dedicate their lives to studying the mind is very unique in this day in age. I will be partaking in a 10 day course when I return to Kathmandu, mid-November, to increase my own insight.

Namaste.

Kopan

The way to the monestary les me through places I never thought existed in the kathmandu Valley. Open fields and mountain vistas with broken rusting Tata trucks, roofs of thatch, naked children screaming. A butcher's shop, his wares, bloodied and swarming, spread out for all to admire. Tiny hobit holed hovel houses, infested with filthy inhabitants lined the dusty, rock strewn path, that maybe once was paved, maybe it wasnt. Tibetans and Nepalis living together side by side in astounding normalcy, in a region of the world where people die every day for their beliefs. And finally, on top of the hill overlooking the ancient stupa and medevil valley below, Kopan Monestary, a place of such ornate simple beauty. The thakpa's (Tibetan murals) awed me with their unashamed ferocity, what beauty, what colors. The monks were debating and yelling and loudly clapping their hands in the yard. I thought it was anger, but there is no anger in this place, only passion, and beauty, and struggle.

what is born will die
what has been gathered will be dispersed
what has been accumulated will be exausted
what has been built up will collapse
and what has been high will be brought low

Boudhna

"Brown eyes observe us as we pass. Confronted with the pain of Asia, one cannot look and one cannot turn away. In India, human misery seems so pervasive that one takes in only stray details; a warped leg or a dead eye, a sick pariah dog eating withered grass, an ancient woan lifting her sari to mvoe her shrunken bowels by the road. Yet, there is hope in life. Shiva dances in spicy food; the angry bus horns; the chattering of the temple monkeys; the vermillion tikka dot on the woman's forehead. The people smile-that is the greatest miracle of all." Peter Matthaison

I keep averting my own eyes from those of the young beggar with sad eyes and outstretched hand, looking down, ashamed for a reason I cannot explain, trying to put these thoughts and feelings down into my journal, glancing up, to see her still there, hand still outstretched, eyes still forlorn. Trying to decipher how this place makes me feel; how the extremeness in front of my eyes, dying lepers, cows lying in piles of festering trash, wide-eyed camera toting western tourists decked out in the latest North Face gear, spiritual pilgims draped in maroon robes, brown merchants with shiny white teeth trying to sell me things I have no need for, an entire spectrum of humanity packed into this space. I am in Boudhna, Kathmandu, a Tibetan enclave centered around the largest Buddhist stupa in the world, meandering into unpaved alleyways, countless doors and windows. A living relic of an ancient culture that has been wiped out in its homeland by an oppressive government; a living relic of the ancient trade and pilgrimage routes that have come through these very streets for thousands of years. Tibetan culture is deep and uneffected here, and swarms of saffron-cloaked monks circumnavigate the massive stupa in front of me. I sit in the relative comfort and sanctity of a small coffee shop, trying to deconstruct my own pilgrimage.
This place has such a strange sense of magic to it. It feels so exotic that your sense of exotic vanishes and the abnormal becomes commonplace. You become numb to the strange beauty, stopping long enough to exchange a smile with a stranger, and continue on your path. This place could overwhelm with its simple beauty, its strange beauty, if one was not numb to its effects. I feel a wonderful sense of peace here.
I am a pilgrim, on the start of my own long and strange journey, or maybe just on another leg of an even longer and stranger one. Regardless, I am in a place that is wonderful, a place that I will cherish. The monks horns ring in the background, the butterlamps are being lit by the old Tibetan ladies, and night falls on the stupa as I write.
I do need to buy a bunch a warm clothes tomorrow, I am freezing here in my island garb, which has left me woefully unprepared for the late October nip in the Kathmandu air. I will stay here for a few days. I am in no rush, a wonderful luxury and freedom that comes with traveling as opposed to vacationing. The next stop will be the Annapurnas, and a three week trek into the heart of the Himalayas, (the alaya, or abode, of hima, snow) which promises to be wonderful. Its great to be back in this crazy little country.

Currently re-reading Peter Matthaison's absolute masterpiece, The Snow Leopard, detailing his journey with famed naturalist George Schaller to the mountains of eastern Nepal in the late 1970's. Highly recommend this for anyone interested in the area, his words are true poetry.

As I get ready, prepare to leave this island home, it dawns on me again. The impermanence and transience of all things. Nothing will remain as it is; this is the natural way of the world. Putting all of what remains of my worldly possessions into my old green backpack, condensing my material life into this tiny bit of space, what a freeing emotion. The moment brings a smile to my face; so many memories began in this same place, in the same nervous excitedness that pumps in my chest; my personal legend written as a nomad's life, free to explore, free to experience, free to revel in the impermanence of this existance. One thing is for sure. I will miss this place, it is a special space, a certain moment in time that will always give me strength and comfort. Time for the next.

A few photos from my village's going away party yesterday, which was very special.

More new/old pics to be found at my Picassa site.... http://picasaweb.google.com/JeffreyHDow

"a journey, one hopes, will become its own justification, will assume patterns, reveal its possibilities-reveal, even, its layers of meaning-as one goes along, trusting to chance, to instinct, to hunch. When you start off you do not necessarily know where you are going or why."

-Shiva Naupaul

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHUS1CZS36Q a great 10 minute India travelogue

Ramblings on Poverty Alleviation

"Nations are mythical creatures, gaseous, and sometimes poisonous. But they start to solidify when diverse people have moments where aspirations collide."
----Binyavango Wainaina


In the next 1-2 years (or so), I hope to gain perspective on the unwieldy and daunting topic of 3rd world poverty, from a combination of travel experiences, work experiences, and a thorough attempt to abandon my "1st world" perspecetives on what conditions are necessary for "prosperity." In pondering a future in the field of international development, new ideas developed and explored will serve a dual and valuable purpose; to make me more worldly and in touch with humanity (a personal goal) and increase my understanding an effectiveness in any future endeavors in the field. Living for two years in the Peace Corps has certainly been humbling, but there is still a long way to go on this path....

Looking at the future, my eyes and my mind keep veering off to a vast land which has captivated my imaginations as of late...a place where humanity began eons ago, a place that forms the common bond between all of us on this planet....Africa.
A place of most of the development debacles of the last 50 years, place of crushing poverty and breathtaking corruption, of dispair, and, increasingly, of promise. One of the current bright spots, Rwanda, a place racked my genocide only 13 years ago, is highlighted in Nicholas Kristoff's blog to a much better degree than I could ever hope to undertake...(www.nytimes.com/ontheroad)...a very interesting take on matters, if you have a minute.

However, for every bright spot in Africa, there is also much trouble. At a recent Harvard commencement speech, Bill Gates summed things up pointingly..."We (he and Paul Allen) had just assumed that if millions of children were dying and could be saved, the world would make it a priority to discover and deliver the medicines to save them....but it did not."
Where is this priority? This assumption stretches to the suffering and plight of billions of people, children and their parents, in this world, in the year 2007. Where is the priority, where is the concern, where is the simple dissemination of information? Why are we more concerned with celebrity gossip and sports cars? These things are hard for me to understand. Have we been so callosed by the debacle that is Iraq that we have no more room for dispair?

Let's look, for instance, at the Democratic Republic of Congo (https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/cg.html).
This is a land the size of Western Europe, with only 300 miles of paved roads, no electricity outside of the capital city of Kinshasa, a place where the deadliest war in the world since WW2 has raged for over a decade, with more than 5 million people killed and countless displaced. Most Americans could not locate this country on a world map. Why the indifference? When people begin to care, major things can happen. Where is the DRC's George Clooney? I did notice press lately (worthy press, I might add) on the conflict that has been renewed in the east of the country, detailing a recent spate of killings. However, those killed were a group of mountain gorillas. Where is the press detailing the human suffering? People need to be informed to begin to care. And people need to care to enact any kind of change. We need to remember that we are all born with the same heart, the same lungs, eyes, ears. Yet some struggle even for the most basic level of survival. A great program that has been getting a lot of press lately, which is a worthy capitalist model, if you have a minute..... (www.joinred.com)


Whats the answer? Many people believe they have it. I don't. I do know that handouts do not work in achieving anything lasting; they serve a purpose, but they do not provide any means for progress, merely survival and stagnation. True development and poverty alleviation means giving those, so motivated, the means to help themselves. A bright spot in this field is the area of Microcredit, which has been getting a lot of attention since Muhammad Yunus & Grameen Bank
were awarded the Nobel Prize last year. (www.grameen-info.org) Empowering the rural poor has a lot of potential for a grass root and widespread lifting of living conditions for those so inclined to participate. This is what I will be exploring in the months to come in southern India.

The End. Or Just a New Beginning.

into the “real world”….seeing that I am wrapping up my Peace Corps service here in Micronesia in the next two weeks, I have decided to start a brand new blog. After searching tirelessly this morning, I decided on blogger. Why? Its free and easy. Two of my personal mantra’s rolled into a blogsite. How could I go wrong?
We had a party last nite hosted at one of the Peace Corps Micronesia staff members house (thanks, Emy!) Lots of great local food, and possibly the last time that the Pohnpei 72 volunteers will gather before the great diaspora. I am anxiously planning and plotting my next move. Most ask where in America I will be returning to, but, even after 27 months overseas, I will not be returning to the good ole USA. Instead, I have a plane ticket (or multiple plane tickets) booked through to Kathmandu, Nepal (my adopted 2nd home), a scheduled GRE exam on October 25th, a plan to head to South India after, and a good amount of free time to enjoy in the middle.
The promise of adventure and new sensations is stirring my blood…addicted to the rush of travel, awaiting my next fix. Sentimentality setting in about leaving my tropical island home, thinking of all the people who I may or may not see again. Living on this island has been a great experience. It has truly made me astronger and more resilient person. I leave with the comfort of knowing that I will always have a family here to return to.

Heres a link to a few nice pictures from Micronesia if you've got a minute.... http://picasaweb.google.com/JeffreyHDow/Micronesia

If your mind is constantly floating somewhere, you, too should float there. Go to where you think your life will be more fufilling.