Mostly Stationary

No, not Tasmania. “Tan-zan-ia.”

2011-03-30T12:14:00.001-07:00

Well, it seems that it’s time to break my eight month blogosphere silence. It’s been a blissful and memorable time in the “Shire”, but not really one that would make for good reading. But, I’m finally on a another trip and figured I’d memorialize it here.

At this point, I’m about a week into my two week trip to Tanzania which is, I recently learned, a country in Eastern Africa.

The name Tanzania is, you’ll be interested to learn, a sort of portmanteau of two even more obscure names of now-defunct countries that you’ll be even less likely to have heard of. Interesting. Tanzania is poor, even by African standards. It is, however, relatively peaceful and is even known for being tolerant and pluralistic.

Tanzania is best known as a gateway to Kilimanjaro and the Serengeti. Tourism to those two sites makes up a sizeable portion of their economy, with the balance rounded out by a hodge-podge of small-scale farming and a ton of international aid agencies.

As for me, I’m in Tanzania on business. My company, Creare, is working with Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center to run a study on hearing loss in HIV-positive patients. Rather than risk any confidentiality issues (and probably boring you all at the same time), I’ll just sum it all up by saying that it’s a difficult task to run such a complicated and technologically-intensive study from across the ocean and across cultural barriers.

Anyways, back to my travels.

My biggest surprise so far is to see how wealthy and well-managed Dar Es Salaam (the city where I’m staying) seems to be. Granted, any comparison I make are to India, which is difficult to beat when it comes to disfunctionality and suffering. But, check out this rather typical view from inside our car:

What’s that… pruned bushes? Roads without gaping potholes? No cows in the road? Most cars manufactured within the past decade, and comprising four or more wheels and a working muffler? This is certainly not a level of wealth and sophistication that I expected from one of the poorer countries in Africa. Of course, this is one of the richest parts of Tanzania. But, still, it makes me realize how unbelievably poor some of the areas of India were that I visited.

Well, that’s it for now. I should be back soon with more footage from Dar, as well as my trip to Zanzibar (a rather bewitching island nearby).

Come Visit Me in Rural New Hampshire

2010-08-01T19:19:00.000-07:00

Well, it's official--I've started my new job, rented a new apartment, furnished it as best I could in the 2 to 3 weeks I've been in it, and generally embraced the idea of waking up in the same place more than two nights in a row.

My job is with Creare, Inc., a small R&D services company in Hanover, NH (the home of Dartmouth College). Tons of thanks to Tom Zangle for introducing me to the company. At the risk of oversimplification, I'd say that Creare is a business which competes for grants (usually government grants) to enable them to do cool research and engineering, just like a professor at a university might. But, whereas a University is non-profit, Creare most certainly is not. Like everyone else there, I work on several (5+) projects at a time (currently involving programming, algorithm development, fluids experiments, and part prototyping). Eventually, I'll be expected to start writing my own proposals and bringing in my own grant money. So, it's an interesting job.

But, enough about that! What I want to do right now is invite anyone who's been following this blog--and, pretty much anyone who's reading this right now--to come visit me at my new house in New Hampshire, of which I am quite enamored. The house is on the southern edge of Mascoma Lake, about 20 minutes from Hanover and 15 minutes from my work:

View Larger Map

It's a rather small 1-story, 2-bedroom house with a walkout basement, but it has a nice side deck and a great yard.

It also has a structure in the side-yard which will hopefully be turned into a nice lofted guesthouse (no plumbing, unfortunately):

The main attraction of the place, though, is its gorgeous view of Lake Mascoma. The house is on the mountain side of the road, but it includes lake frontage on the other side (including a dock, a fireplace, and a two-story deck).

The front of the house has tons of windows, and has a clear view of the water:

The kitchen and living room have vaulted ceilings, and all the floors and most of the cabinetry is hard-wood.

I'm working on getting together some appropriate furniture, and with the help of Rent-A-Center things are starting to fall into place.

The Case for Coming to Visit Me
Allow me to list the reasons:

Private Space: You'll have your own guest room with a queen sized bed. If there are more people, I have an array of futons, air mattresses, and soon a separate little guest house.
In summer: The Lake. The water is incredibly warm (high 70s) and the lake is picturesque.
In Autumn: In roughly the first week of October, the leaves change in the Upper Valley. I've never seen it, but apparently it's an incredible sight (I found this picture of my lake on the internet):

In Winter: Great Skiing. I'm 1 hour from Killington (the most famous ski resort on the East Coast), and I'm as close as 20 minutes to some great smaller resorts. Plus, Mascoma freezes over in the winter for cross country skiing, ice skating, hockey, and also (apparently) for testing of NASA's Arctic Rovers (I kid you not, they test arctic rovers in front of my house in the winter):

Year Round: Great hiking in the mountains of NH and VT, awesome cultural activites (opera, concerts, etc) at Dartmouth and the surrounding towns. And, more than anything else, just a really chill and tranquil place to relax.

I'm about 1 hour from Manchester, 2 hours from Boston, and about 5 and a half hours from the Lehigh Valley.

Directions:

Approach on I-89 West (from Manchester, Boston, and NY City) or on I-89 East (from Burlington, Montreal, the Northwest Territories, or Santa Claus's secret snow castle at the North Pole).
Take exit 17 for Route 4 East. Proceed about 2 miles.
Turn right onto New Hampshire Route 4A, and continue for 2 miles.
I'm house #154 on the right (there's a little green sign but no mailbox)--it's the second driveway past Evenchance Rd. If you pass the bridge, you've gone a bit too far. Turn into the driveway and park in the turnoff on the right.

Good airports are Boston (cheap flights) or Manchester (a little bit closer and easier to navigate). There are great bus connections from Boston and from both airports to right near my house. Also, Burlington has an airport that might come in handy (2 hours away).

I seriously hope that you guys will come to visit me--especially those of you on the East Coast who I haven't been able to see very much the past few years. And please don't be afraid to use my place as kind of free housing for ski trips or whatever--I got a bit more room than I need so that I can house people when the come to stay, and it'll be a pleasure to put it to use.

Gomukh: the sacred source of the Ganges

2010-07-17T11:01:00.001-07:00

(Ed note: Sorry for the delay; of course, I’m in the US now. )

At Gomukh (elevation 11500 feet), a great and ancient Himalayan glacier melts (at a ferocious rate) at a glacial “snout” which is, traditionally, considered the spiritual source of the Ganges River. Because the Ganges it so holy (besides providing water to most of Northern India, it is also famous for carrying away dead bodies to paradise), Gomukh is a popular and ancient destination for religious pilgrimages.

I planned our trip there mostly to escape the 120 degree Indian heat. The heat was absolutely tormenting, and I felt that we could benefit from a few days of coolness and comfort.

Unfortunately, I didn’t realize how harrowing the 250km jeep trip was. By the time we go to Gangotri (the staging point for treks to Gomukh), we were so tired, disillusioned, and physically sick that we were incapable of doing the 18km trek (36km round-trip) to the glacier.

So, in a stroke of brilliance, we decided to ride donkeys to the top. This was by far the most expensive and touristy thing we did in India, but it was definitely a clutch choice.

The scenery was absolutely beautiful. We started in lush valleys at the feet of the higher peaks:

As we went higher, we started to pass the tree-line and the terrain became a lot rougher (below is one of our two guides):

Because the glacier itself is at 11,500 feet, we were both feeling pretty woozy near the end. For the last 4km, we had to walk ourselves (no donkeys allowed!) and Jaclyn eventually sat down on a rock and declared that, no matter what, she absolutely could not make it any further. Luckily, what she didn’t realize was that we were only about 100 meters away from the end. So, after watching us celebrating 100 meters away, she finally manned up and finished the trek.

All in all, we spent about 12 hours on donkeys that day. It got to be incredibly painful and, if not for the elevation, I think I would have rather walked most of the trek.

We rode back down to Gangotri, passed the night in a shady little guesthouse, and then did the entire trek back to RishiKesh the next day. By the end we were glad we’d done it, overjoyed that it was over, and totally committed to never doing anything like that again.

Afterwards, we took the train to Delhi and spent our last full day shopping for gifts for everyone back home. We stayed at the Courtyard Marriot (Jaclyn’s mom had gotten us a free room there-it was AWESOME and hobbling into their air conditioned lobby was one of the best feelings of my life). After that, it was back to America and, for me, it was on to New Hampshire to start my job. More on that next post!

(btw, I got back to the states on July 1, so this post is a bit out-of-date ;)

The Beatles were on to something when they spent time in Rishikesh

2010-07-01T23:23:00.001-07:00

<< by Jaclyn >>

Rishikesh is by far my favorite place in India. It is a combination of five different towns on the Ganges river. Ironically, the trip to Rishikesh tested every ounce of serenity I possess, but once I got there, restored it all.

The trip to Rishikesh from Delhi is four hours on train. Most tickets were sold out, but they had two available in second class which is a non air conditioned train (“second class” is a scary word in India); it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, but we are talking about 100 + degree weather daily in India. Rob and I thought, “We can hang for four hours, the wind from the train ride ventilates pretty well, so we’ll just deal with it”. Bad decision. Never try to “deal” with anything in India, because India shows you how much worse it can get.

Our four hour train ride ended up taking nine hours. Yes, that was not a misprint. Nine hours, in a non-air-conditioned packed train in 100+ degree heat. And let me mention, that many Indian do not wear deodorant for cultural/religious reasons. The train would be stopped on the middle of the tracks for about an hour, move a kilometer and stop again. I’m still not clear on what the problem was, because no one felt the need to communicate this to second class (the working theory was that the conductor was watching world cup matches).

The one saving grace of this train ride was that this was the train that our new friend Noel was on. My first experience of Noel was him walking through the train with this huge suitcase bumping into people saying “I’m sorry, so sorry”, repeatedly, up the aisle. At first I thought, (and probably everyone on the train) that he was a gay Hari Krishna, because he was wearing these orange pants and scarf, just like the Hari Krishnas do.

As the train gods do (as we learned with Allister and Maria) the train conductor moved him to the seat across from us and we got to talking. Noel was also headed to Rishikesh. Noel is a 48 year old yoga instructor from Miami beach who also works as a concierge at the Ritz. He looks not a day over 30, which is a great argument for vegetarianism and yoga, which he has done for 10+ years. He was my little piece of San Francisco in the middle of India.

After our nine train hour ride from hell, (which I did not hear Noel complain about once by the way) We spent the night in Haridwar (unfortunately) and split a cab to Rishikish. The ENTIRE cab ride, Noel would have the driver stop so he could take a picture of some Hindu shrine or holy site (See pictures below). It was AWESOME because I would never think to tour Haridwar.

So we all get to Rishikish and stay on the same floor of the green motel, which actually has nothing green about it. (See picture below)

We had such a blast! We went rafting in the Ganges (which I would be shocked if I don’t have some disease from), went to yoga, ate and shopped. (rafting in India is more scary because you really can die, and your guide does not speak english) Noel was sooo nice to everyone. We would walk by anyone and he would bow and say “Namaste” to literally everyone we walked by, from the beggars, sadhus to locals. I have to say that by this point I am on the defense in India, because I had only really experienced Delhi and Agra and had to learn how to avoid natives trying to take advantage of you for being a tourist. Noel brought me back to the point of visiting this country, by really helping me to absorb the culture and the experience of India. We ended up hanging out with Noel for a few days and then moved on to Gangotri, to find the source of the Ganges. After everything I had experienced in Delhi and Agra, Rishikish was by far my favorite city and I really did learn how to breathe and slow down and relax.

P.S. I do have to say one of my favorite things about rishikesh is that this city has a monkey problem like we have seagull problems in the bay. There are monkeys everywhere. I thought they were adorable, Rob hates them because they tried to attack him.

If hell is 120 degrees in Delhi, Agra is the armpit of hell.

2010-06-29T01:27:00.001-07:00

As Rob posted the Taj Mahal was amazing if you can get past the heat and the hustlers. The moment we exited the train we were accosted by people at every turn trying to sell us something or scam us into paying twelve times the amount that it costs a native.

The only saving grace was that Rob spent 200 rupees, (the equivalent to 4 US dollars) on a tour guide. He really made the Taj Mahal the best it could be in 120 degree heat. Every time there was a line to look at something he would literally morph into a bodyguard and break the sea of people like we were the president and push us to the front of the line. Thus, our tour of the Taj Mahal could have taken hours in 120 degree heat, but in actuality took about an hour (which was all I could take, I was literally “melting”).

The best part of Agra, (besides the Taj) was leaving Agra. As we were waiting for the train, wondering what platform to be on, we followed a cow to platform number two where we asked an American looking couple if they knew when our train to Udaipur was coming. Serendipitously, they were in the same sleeper car as us.

Maria and Allister were traveling to three different continents over a three month period. We had a LOT in common, (besides the fact that they were married….ahem Rob). Allister had just completed his master’s degree in computer sciences and was originally form South Africa. Maria was originally from Mexico City and just finished her Master’s degree in childhood development. They were a mirror of our relationship, ie engineer and therapist traveling around India together before beginning our “real jobs”.

We all talked on the train until late at night about our careers and experiences of India thus far… They hated Agra too by the way. They were such an interesting couple to hang out with and we had great conversations together. We ended up staying in hotels that faced each other on the street in Udaiper. We went and saw the city palace together, although they were much better with the heat than us, (we had to breaks to get massages and such).

Udaiper was such a beautiful city! Every other building was a palace of some sort and the people were so nice….a nice change from Agra. To give you some perspective, the palaces are built on the hills of Udaiper, so all of the streets are small and built on hills; these streets all look similar. So one morning I went out for coffee while Rob was sleeping and made a wrong turn somewhere and ended up walking these streets for about three hours. I was horribly lost, could not remember the name of the hotel and every street I walked down looked the same.

I found a rickshaw driver and somehow managed to communicate in broken English that my hotel was by a Hindu temple and he actually helped me find my hotel. We drove around for quite a bit, looking for something familiar, (apparently, you can walk pretty far when lost for three hours). That has been my experience of most Indian men, they will go over and above to help a woman in any situation, they just don’t want your opinion about anything.

Sadly, we had to leave to Rishikish, but it could not have been any better to be in the most romantic city with another couple, experiencing it all together.
---
P.S. (from Rob): This poor Allister guy from South Africa had a crazy story. He said that about 15 years ago he voted “yes” on a ballot measure to begin dismantling the apartheid system in South Africa. That same day, on the bus-ride home, he was stabbed in the chest by a black guy (who presumably also supported the measure) and nearly died. So, he immigrates to England to escape the violence. 10 years later he visits South Africa again and is amazed at the racial progress. He’s overjoyed, in fact, and is buying tons of drinks for everyone at bars, celebrating his country’s progress. As he steps out of the bar, another black guy comes up and stabs him in the skull with a machete, and robs him. Allister wakes up in a hospital, where they promptly send him home. After his brain continues to swell, he goes back to the hospital and they reluctantly treat him. To this day, he’s still struggling to regain feeling in his right hand. This confirms my feeling that South Africa is really, really dangerous place.

Udaipur

2010-06-29T01:05:00.001-07:00

Udaipur is normally called India’s most romantic city. Normally, though, the picture above would be of a beautiful white palace seeming to float on a serene desert lake. As you can tell, the palace was more “heavily sitting” than floating, and the “lake” was more of a “giant swampy mud-plain”.

Still, we loved Udaipur. It was hassle-free, clean, and full of history. During our stay, we even braved the 105 degree heat to visit the City Palace.

The palace was built over many centuries and, thanks to the surrounding mountains, was never invaded or plundered. It looked down on the beautiful and Old City district of Udaipur. Like many of the cities in Rajasthan, Udaipur is known for its colorful buildings, in seeming defiance of the monotonous desert that surrounds it.

Even the interior decorations of the palace were strangely modern and colorful. Ornamental gold was interspersed with stained glass and antique mirrors. In fact, once or twice I even found myself considering this thousand-year-old palace to be a bit… gaudy. But, in a good way!

We hired a guide for our last afternoon in Udaipur (Uman, below left). He took us to his family’s art school/shop, where his relatives create shockingly detailed miniature paintings.

We also visited a very cool little science museum, a fabric factory, a beautiful garden, a history museum, and a great little vegetable market.

It was in Udaipur, though, that we decided that no matter how beautiful the historical cities of India were, we simply needed to escape the heat. So, we set off through Delhi to catch a train to Rishi-kesh. More on that next post.

The Taj Mahal

2010-06-29T01:00:00.001-07:00

India has a great train system. The train are super-fast, and you can go most of the way across the country on a single overnight train.

Unfortunately, they are booked months in advance and, even with a “foreign tourist quota” and the several schemes designed to accommodate last-minute travel, many tourists vacations are determined simply by what train tickets are available.

Hence, Jaclyn and I had to give up on some of our more ambitious plans: Varanassi, Darjeeling, Kerala, etc.. However, we still managed to get tickets to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.

The Taj is beautiful. Pictures really can’t do it justice. The entire palace is incredibly, uncompromisingly, symmetrical. Every detail is repeated with painstaking conformity in 2, 4, 8, 16, or even more places. In fact, the entire complex was meant to be repeated across the river (in black), but the king’s sons felt the project to be so wasteful that they had him dethroned on charges of insanity.

Plus, the marble itself is gorgeous—soft to the touch, remarkably uniform, and even a bit translucent.

As great as the Taj is, that’s how bad the city around it, Agra, has become. It’s filthy, corrupt, congested, and hostile to tourists (in a vicious sort of self-prostituting way). Several years ago, a ring of Agra “doctors” was busted for giving poison to keep ill tourists bed-ridden, while charging huge amounts to those tourists’ insurance companies for the ongoing “medical treatment”.

The admission fee for the taj is an outrageous 750 rupees each for foreign guests (about $20 US; the fee for domestic tourists is about 50 rupees. It’s hard to describe just how out-of-line this fee is compared to normal costs in India). That would be fine if the money went to repairing the Taj, but the consensus is that the money is funneled to corrupt politicians. For instance, there wasn’t even water in the fountains around the palace; they only fill them up when “VIPs” come around.

Adding to the general shittiness of Agra was the weather. The day we visited the Taj, it was 49 degrees Celsius. That’s about 120 degrees Fahrenheit, people. There is no air conditioning anywhere in the complex, and the sun reflects off the marble like a mirror, doubling the intensity of the sun’s heat.

The Taj was gorgeous, but the combination of the weather with the incessant hassling of street touts and the never-ending scamming of taxi drivers was just awful. We were thrilled to get out of Agra.

Hell is 120 degrees in Delhi

2010-06-22T00:16:00.001-07:00

This post is an excerpt from Jaclyn’s travel diary:

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Delhi was like nothing I had ever imagined. Imagine being in 120 degree heat, surrounded by rude Indian men, and basically being accosted for sales at every turn. By the way, where we stayed at Delhi was under construction, so it literally looked like a war-torn country that had just had a 12.0 earthquake.

When we arrived at the hotel, I met Rob’s friend from Holland. Nice guy. Picture John Cusack from 1982 ;) Black t-shirt, Bermuda hat, long hair, and sunglasses.

He described Delhi as “organized chaos”. Delhi has no stoplights and thousands of cars that drive as if they could only see the space 4 feet ahead of them. It is the scariest thing you have ever seen. On the drive to the hotel I thought I was going to die several times from a car accident or a heart attack. The analogy that Rob’s friend gave me was that one could not imagine a stoplight in this place, because it would cause chaos, but for some reason in a city of 12 million people, thousands of cars and buses, manage without a single stoplight. organized chaos. It is the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen.

Rob took a tour yesterday that was designed to show the life of a street kid in New Delhi; picture “slumdog millionaire” in real life. (see his post below) We met the kids for dinner my first night in Delhi. The tour guide’s name was “Mr. B”, and it was his friend’s birthday. His friend thought he was “about 18”, but was not exactly sure of his actual birthday or age because he didn’t know his parents or ever remembered celebrating a birthday. He wanted to know what Americans did for birthdays, so Rob invited him to dinner to show him.

I have to say, it was one of the most memorable, interesting, and insightful nights of my life. Mr. B was so open and interesting in answering all of my ignorant American questions about relationships, arranged marriages and Indian culture. All I could keep saying is that this culture is so “different”, and “different” seems like such an understatement for this experience.

The most fascinating thing about the dinner was walking home. Rob, trying to be nice, offered to share a cab; they declined. At first, I thought it was due to money, but we soon found out that it wasn’t. They said they preferred to walk, so we walked back with them. We were having a good time, when a motor-bike pulls up and starts yelling at Mr. B. We see them exchange words and once they stopped talking, Rob asked who it was. Mr. B informs us that it was the police, asking what he was doing with two foreigners. The police thought he was trying to scam us because we are white, I am female, and we were walking and talking in the dark in Delhi. About 10 minutes later a rickshaw pulls up and the people start arguing with Mr. B. After they leave, Mr. B. informs us that the man threatened to stab him for being with us because he was walking with tourists in “their territory”. I guess only certain Indians can scam white tourists in certain areas. Rob blatantly asked Mr. B. if we were causing him problems, and he said “yes”, but insisted on walking us home. It is beyond me that someone could get threatened for walking with us because one of us is white and one of us is Indian.

So, now we are on our way to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. And, on a more positive note, (see picture below) there are cows everywhere in this city. And it was hysterical for me to see a cow even in a train station. So Different.

- Jaclyn

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Rob says: On the one hand, the dinner was amazing… I get so much more from talking with people like those kids than from seeing monuments and museums. However, the walk back left me feeling incredibly cold and vulnerable. I couldn’t believe that I was so ignorant to what was going on around us—that when we were on certain streets we were literally a gang’s “property”, and only they could safely hassle us. Plus, I felt scared that just by talking to the locals, I might endanger them. I still don’t know what to do with those feelings. But, we’re moving on to less hostile towns, where I think that the situation will be much less tense.

Delhi “Street Kid” Tour

2010-06-21T23:36:00.001-07:00

Jaclyn finally made it to Delhi (albeit a day late) after some frustrating visa problems and a missed flight. In the meantime, I had taken an awesome tour of Delhi street life called “Street Walk”. It was run by the Salaam Baalak trust, which aims to provide education and shelter for the thousands of homeless “street kids” in Delhi. Our two guides were both former street kids themselves:

One guide had run away because of bad domestic problems between his parents, and the other was simply lost while his parents were vacationing in Delhi (!) The tour wasn’t at all voyeuristic—we didn’t even really see many homeless kids—it was mainly just a discussion. I learned a ton, for example:

The street life is different for boys and girls. Boys actually kindof like the independence of it, and often don’t want to leave the life. Girls, however, are forced almost immediately into prostitution. So, while the boys’ situation is not particularly dangerous, charities make every attempt to save the girls before the pimps get to them.
They said that food is no problem, and even shelter is not too hard. Sikh shrines provide unlimited food for anyone in need. I had thought that starvation would be a real danger…
They pointed out that street kids can’t save money. They can’t open a bank account, and any money on their person can be stolen in (quite common) muggings. This is one reason they can’t leave the street lifestyle.
They said that the biggest vice among the children is sniffing whiteout. The worst antagonists are, in many ways, the police.
The street kids learn to trust no-one. Each kid started their homelessness by begging for food from shopkeepers. The shopkeepers tell them they need to work for food, but then they never come through. Alternatively, the kids go to work at factories and are beaten, mistreated, and never paid.
Even though charities provide plenty of education and free shelter, the kids don’t know who to trust, and so they are afraid to avail themselves of the charities services. One of the toughest tasks, then, is simply getting the kids to accept the free food and shelter.

It was a tremendously eye-opening experience. After the discussion, we visited the “contact point” where the charity tries to convince kids to take advantage of their free services.

It was crazy hanging out with the kids. They seemed totally normal, playful, and nice, but I knew that at night they were sleeping under bridges and fending off rival gangs. I guess it’s a testament to the human spirit that so many of them pull through and go on to be happy and successful adults.

Jaclyn and I ended up having dinner with the kids to celebrate one of their birthdays, which is another interesting story, but I’ll let Jaclyn write that one up.

Jallianwalla Bagh and the Shouting at the Border

2010-06-20T05:02:00.001-07:00

Although Amritsar is known inside India for its Golden Temple (and the associated rebellions and subsequent massacres that took place there), it might be better known outside of India for Jallianwalla Bagh.

It was at this park that on April 13, 1919 Mahatma Gandhi called for a peaceful mass demonstration, in defiance of a British ban on meetings. A British General commenced firing on the crowd without warning, and within 10-15 minutes, up to two thousand Indians were dead. The massacre is a key scene in the movie Gandhi, and was massively important in catalyzing the Indian independence movement.

Hundreds of Indians fell to their death by jumping into this well, to escape the British machine guns:

Bullet holes are still visible on the walls around the park:

I think the strangest part was, on the one hand, seeing evidence of this one small face of the massive carnage caused in India by Westerners; but, on the other hand, witnessing virtually no hostility from Indians even though it took place within the last century.

Our final activity in Amristar was to visit the India-Pakistan border to see a strange festival which accompanies the flag-lowering at sunset every night.

On our side of the border were thousands of Indians amassed in bleachers:

On the Pakistani side were an equal number of decidedly poorer-looking Pakistanis, segregated into men:

and women (note the white traditional head-covering on the woman in the upper-right):

Indian soldiers dressed in outlandish hats and absurd moustaches would shout battle-cries into the microphones and march flamboyantly up and down the street, as would the Pakistani guards on the other side of the border. The crowds cheered and joyously chanted religious slurs.

DVDs were available afterwards for a nominal fee.

The whole tradition is what seems like an Indian’s dream: Pile your 17-person extended family into an extremely small rick-shaw, set off down an overcrowded highway through knuckle-whitening multi-species traffic at tremendous speeds while honking madly, submit to a highly invasive but ineffective security screening, pack into unbelievably over-crowded bleachers in seering 110 degree heat, work yourself into an insane frenzy over a thousand-year-old religious rivalry, and then repeat the terrifying bumper-car journey home in penetrating darkness while dodging unlit horse-pulled carts and (again) honking madly. It’s a strange, strange country, but I’m increasingly beginning to like it.

The Golden Temple

2010-06-19T23:22:00.001-07:00

I’m glad that I stayed in McLeod-Ganj as long as I did—you can see a monument in a day, but you can’t really take in a city’s culture and attitude without staying for a while.

But, with that done, it was a 9-hour bus journey (a good deal of which I was standing) to Amristar, a Sikh holy city. The centerpiece of the city is the Golden Temple, a beautiful shrine in the center of a holy lake, plated in 25 kg of gold and dating from the 1500s.

The Sikhs (male Sikhs are easily identified by their turbans) come to the lake to cleanse themselves in its waters, either alone

or in crowded groups.

Wherever we went in the Golden Temple, every single person stared at us with unbridled curiosity. Each passing child would run up to introduce himself and shake our hands (with the encouragement of their parents). The funniest thing, though, was how many families came up and asked “Picture?”

So, at their insistence, we would take a picture of them. They would look at it on the camera, giggle happily, and leave. It just didn’t make sense—it’s not like they hadn’t seen digital cameras before. Why did they want us to have a picture of them on our cameras?

Anyways, I could not have been more impressed with the Sikhs. They were gentle, kind-hearted, genuine, and pious people. Apparently the religion is a bit of a mix of Islam and Hinduism, but it discards much of the ritual and doctrine of each in favor of simple meditation on the idea of a (single) God. It is inclusive, egalitarian, and (considering its origins) rather gender-neutral.

Perhaps the coolest thing about the Golden Temple is that it provided free food and shelter for anyone (of any faith, gender, or economic group). Every inch of the temple complex was filled with pilgrims, homeless people, or simply travelers who needed a place to rest. Similarly, the huge “free kitchen” served free dhal and chipoti dinners to tens of thousands of diners each night, in a massively efficient operation.

There was even a free Chai area outside:

The eatery is run entirely by volunteers, who are incredibly friendly and dedicated. They went out of their way to make us feel included, even though we weren’t Sikh (they give generously regardless of faith). Because of this system, there are no homeless or hungry in Amristar, or throughout much of India for that matter. The sikhs are happy to feed them all… what a wonderful system.

Last Days in Mcleod Ganj

2010-06-15T09:21:00.000-07:00

The other day, I was taking a stroll around the Dalai Lama's residence (clockwise, as the Tibetans do). I was feeling a bit ansy to leave, but also knew that staying would do me good. I was so out of it that I totally forgot about my 4pm conversation class. I was really upset, as the class was one of my favorite parts of the day.

At the exact moment I realized this, a monk tapped me on the shoulder and started to talk in broken English. Soon other people joined in. One older nun couldn't speak english at all, but she was fascinated by the amount of hair on my arms and legs. She was pulling it and twisting it in disbelief, and I helped her to learn the names for "arm hair", "leg hair", and "toe-knuckle hair".

For days after, the monk and I continued to meet over tea. He had walked from Tibet to India (a 28-day trek over some of the highest passes in the world, and which must be done solely at night so that the Chinese guards cannot find them). But, he was extremely lonely, talked constantly of his family back in Tibet, and of the hardships of being a monk in a foreign country. It was weird to hear how he jogs every morning (in his monk robes) and how he loves to play soccer but that his teachers at the monastery wouldn't let him. I guess that you tend to hear about the monastic life from monks who love it, and you can forget that many monks aren't terribly happy there.

In other news, a few days ago I went on a great hike with a few friends up to a mountain pass near the snow line called Triund. We saw a flock of goats:

and saw some beautiful views of the valley below:

One great thing about India is that you can climb to the most desolate mountaintop and still find four different Cafes and guesthouses. Below, we're eating at one... from right to left, are me, Karen (whom I've been traveling with since Delhi), Anastasia (a British health journalist who's spending six months in Mcleod so she can concentrate on writing a book), and Eamon (an Irish-born Australian who was awesome fun to hang out with).

On my way back down I got a bit lost, and ran into this awesome abandoned house:

Inside the levels were like 4 feet high. It was weird to think that, probably just a few years ago, someone was living in this house that was built exactly as it might have been built 1000 years ago.

Over the weekend, I did a great 2-day meditation retreat. My mind has never been so focused, and I have never felt so incredibly patient and peaceful.

That's good, because I've now moved on to a Sikh city called Amristar that I'll write about shortly. It's crazy, hot, and requires a good bit of patience and peacefulness to deal with.

I was also nearly attacked by a troupe of monkeys in Mcleod Ganj, which was a harrowing experience. I no longer find them cute, so I'll end with a picture of a very coy cow:

Settling In

2010-06-10T22:46:00.000-07:00

I’ve been in Dharamsala for a few days now, and may actually stay for at least 5 days more. I feel more serene than I think I ever have before and, with the last 2 weeks of the trip bound to be pretty crazy, I think that settling into Dharamsala for a bit might do me good.

At this point, I’ve gotten pretty used to the place. Everywhere I go I see people I know—walking to an internet cafe and back, I might get stuck talking to two or three people. I lived in Mountain View for over a year, and never felt as part of it as I do D’sala.
Each afternoon I go to an English class where western tourists can converse with the locals (who love to practice their English). It’s amazing how many people here actually escaped from Tibet, invariably on foot, on 30+ day trips through 15,000-foot passes in the Himalayas.
I even have dog friends who I like to hang out with at the cafes.

At this point, I don’t even find it too surprising to see a cow reading a neon-green flyer:

Or, after he’s had a good look at it, eating it off the wall:

The monsoon has just started in the past day or two, so the air cleared up incredibly. All of a sudden, we can see how high we are above the subcontinent:

and how close we are to the big Himalayan mountains:

(how fake does that picture look ?!)
I’ve been taking a meditation class each morning at a Buddhist center called Tushita, which is an absolutely first-rate institution.
Each class starts with a type of meditation called ‘calm abiding’ in which you focus intently on some object, for instance, the feeling of your own breath. The point is to hone your ability to concentrate—every time your attention wanders, you bring it gently back to your breath. The more you practice, the longer and more intently you can concentrate.
The second half of the class tries to use your focused concentration to explore a problem analytically (or to do various thought experiments). For instance, it is easy to say that happiness from worldly things (such as eating food) is impermanent and fleeting and that true happiness comes from within. However, our minds tend to shrink a bit from the thought—although it’s hard to disagree, the conclusion doesn’t hit home with the force that it ought to. The idea of the analytical meditation, then, is to hold your mind on the issue, to explore it methodically and completely, and to not let your mind shrink from the conclusion. It is incredible how much harder the ideas hit you when the calm abiding meditation has made your mind settled and undistracted.
The calm abiding meditation and the analytical meditation are both completely secular techniques, and I recommend them strongly. More contentious are ideas of karma and rebirth that are quite central to Tibetan Buddhism. But, even though the monks are pretty gung ho about those subjects, they aren’t at all pushy. There is a consensus that nothing should be taken on faith, and that students are free to take or leave each aspect of the religion as they see fit.
Anyways, to lighten the mood a bit, here is a picture of a monkey stealing some poor girl’s sandwich right outside the monastery. Crazy greedy monkeys…

Dharamsala

2010-06-06T08:18:00.001-07:00

Dharamsala is a beautiful, relaxed, peaceful mountain town in the foothills of the himalayas.

Being the home of the 14th Dalai Lama, it has a huge monastic presence. Most streets have prayer wheels which inhabitants turns as they walk by. Inside each canister are thousands of prayers, and turning a wheel is allegedly equivalent, in a karmic sense, to saying each prayer individually.

Tibetan Buddhism is famous for its prayer flags (see below, rear) and the unique architecture of its monuments and temples. I think the style is both magnificent and unpretentious.
The nuns and monks are incredibly down-to-earth, kind, and unassuming, although their life is steeped in timeless and repetitive ritual.

The energy of Dharmasala is so mellow and spiritual that you get a feeling when you arrive almost as if you suddenly found yourself talking very loudly in a quiet room. You kindof step back and question how you could be so high-strung in the first place.
That energy also makes Dharmasala incredibly easy to live in. All the merchants are honest, there is no real risk of crime or theft, prices are reasonable, and the town is easy to navigate. The downside of this is that you’re left wondering what to do with all your time.
Perhaps the hardest part of this type of travel, for me, is just allowing myself to relax. I have a natural urge to make sure that I “do” everything there is to “do”, but such frenetic planning is so at odds with the vibe of this town that I just have to step back and relax. In a way, I think that over-planning and constant busyness are a way to ignore the tinge of loneliness and anxiety that comes with traveling alone in such a foreign place. Fighting the urge helps me to come to terms with those worries.
Today, I fought the urge to jump on a bus and immediately travel somewhere else. Instead, I just calmly walked around. Within a couple of hours, I had accidentally managed to see the Dalai Lama (a rare treat!!), I’d met two very cool people who live right near my new job in New Hampshire, I’d signed up for a great class the next day, I’d stumbled upon an incredible path through the woods at just the right time of day, and I’d run into the Japanese monk from the train.
I’m slowly learning that I need to have faith that I can ease up a bit and just let the day come to me, and everything will still be okay. It sounds like an easy lesson, but at least for me it’s difficult.
Dharmasala is a great place to calm down and find some peace. But, I do want to move on soon.
I’m considering an extremely long bus ride over the 2nd highest road in the world, to a Himalayan village called Leh. On the other hand, I may go into Kashmir which, though less remote, is far less touristy and which I expect will actually be a bit more tricky to accomplish. A third option might take me through Gaya to Calcutta, and up to Darjeeling, which is appealing because it can be done mostly with trains.
While I consider the options, I will leave you all with another picture of a pensive monkey. Crazy monkeys.

OMG, What have I gotten myself into?

2010-06-04T23:31:00.000-07:00

The last 20 minutes of the plane flight into Delhi, we were encapsulated in a thick yellow-gray smog. Delhi is in the middle of an epic heat wave, is enduring a 3-year drought, and is in the midst of an unusual sandstorm. The air smells alternately like death and curry.

I nearly got scammed by a taxi driver at the airport (even the police were in on it), but soon met a fellow traveler (Karen) and we made it to the train station to buy tickets to Pathankot. Then, we walked round the nearby bazaar.
It was incredibly squalid and everybody was trying to hustle and scam us. Just the type of place where you can’t trust anybody. The power lines are strung haphazardly from storefronts (apparently monkeys are regularly electrocuted on them) and the streets are filled with rubble. And, this is a tourist area!

The only ones treated with respect were the cows, which have free reign of the city.

The bazaar was a crazy introduction to a crazy country, but at over 40 degrees (about 110 fahrenheit) and with air humid enough to cut with a knife, we were ready to get out. We got to the train station through Delhi’s marvelous subway. The station was a madhouse and had a bit of a WWII-blitzkrieg feel to it.

The train itself was an 11-hour sleeper train (which arrived 2 hours late). For the first few hours everybody hangs out, talks, and eats (tons of vendors walk the cars). Then, the seat backs fold up and turn into bunks so everyone can sleep.

Karen and I met a cool Japanese monk who was also on his way to Dharamsala, and his wife. He was very helpful.

At one point the Nigerian guy in our compartment refused to turn off the overhead light, and nearly got in a fight with some nearby Indians. The police were very nearly called, and the whole situation was terribly embarrassing for the rest of us in the compartment.

We then took a 3-hour bus ride towards from Pathankot to Dharamasala. The street was lined with vendors for nearly the whole drive.

About 3 minutes from our final destination (Technically, Mcleod Ganj), the bus broke down. This was frustrating, but the shear timing (about 99.9 percent of our journey was done) was pretty entertaining.

Mcleod Ganj is absolutely awesome, and is a very different speed than Delhi. Everybody seems totally trusting. I’ll cover this awesome area better in my next post, but for now, here’s a picture of a pensive monkey that was kicking it outside of the restaurant where we ate lunch.

London

2010-06-03T04:34:00.001-07:00

I was lucky enough to find a cheap ticket on Virgin Atlnatic. In between consecutive 10-hr planeflights, I had a 11-hr stopover in London.

I rushed out through their very agreeable customs and boarded the Piccadilly line towards Cockfosters (“Cawk-Fahstehs”). I wisely alighted the train downtown, being sure to mind the gap (a phrase which I thought was annoying until I saw the size of the gap on the London underground—who built this thing?)

I visited the British National Museum. On the plus side, it was free. On the minus side, it was incredibly boring, filled mostly with Grecian Urns (seriously, it had room after room filled with urns. Who cares? Does anybody actually want to see more than one of these?)

Way cooler was the National War Museum near Waterloo. They had real equipment (including huge artillery), tons of WWI and WWII memorabilia, and even a section that tried to recreate the WWI “Trench Experience”. It was much better than Grecian urns.

I spent probably 7 hours of my 11 hour layover just walking, so that I could sleep on the next leg. London is very easy to walk through. Everywhere you go there are signs telling you where traffic is coming from (thank god). Plus, the subways are super clean and super safe. I noticed small things like, for instance, I could actually hear the announcements on the train, and the route maps were right where you expected them to be posted, and the trains were cleaned regularly. I got to wondering how we ever stopped expecting this in the US. In NY or even San Francisco, I can almost never hear the train operator through the crackly intercom. Why do we tolerate these types of problems?

My favorite buildings were the houses of parliament. I don’t know what style the architecture was, but it was arresting.

Then, it was back on the plane to Delhi (where I’m writing this right now). I am rreeallllyyy done with being on a plane, and can’t wait to sit down and destroy my insides with some fattening and extremely spicy Lamb Korma.

En Route

2010-06-03T04:31:00.001-07:00

I accepted a job in New Hampshire and finally have a concrete plan, so I’m now off to India. I left on Tuesday 6/1, and I’ll be back on 7/1.

First off, I had to ship all of my stuff to Pennsylvania. Neither the post office, nor the people standing behind me in line, were thrilled about this choice. But hey, it was about 80% cheaper than using a moving company.

My plan is to head up North to Dharamsala (where the Dalai Llama and the Tibetan Government in Exile reside), then perhaps further Northwest to Leh (which is accessible only in the summer). Jaclyn will then meet in in Delhi around 6/17 and we’ll head down South to Agra, Goa, and Kerala (all beautiful cities).

Here is my provisional To-Do list:

THINGS TO DO

Get professional golf lessons
Play golf with a caddie
Do a 3-day meditation retreat near Dharamsala
Get a tattoo done the old way (w/out the little tattoo gun)
Sleep overnight in a second-class sleeper train
Get a custom-tailored suit

PACKING LIST

My backpack weighs 6 kg. It’s light enough to carry around all day without really noticing it.

Luggage

Outdoor Products Skyline 8.0 Daypack ($30)
Laptop lock from Fry’s to afix bag to hostel beds, etc.

Clothes

1 Pair convertible polyester pants/shorts
1 pair synthetic shorts
2 pair lightweight synthetic underwear (ExOfficio brand)
Synthetic sleeveless shirt
Synthetic T-shirt
Synthetic long-sleeved button-up shirt w/ vented armpits, etc.
Strap-on sandles (including strap behind heels) – no socks or sneakers.

Electronics

Laptop (Asus UL-20A, a 12.1” laptop, 3.3 pounds, very reasonably priced. I love this laptop.)
Laptop charger.
Sansa Clip 4GB MP3 player
Headphones
Panasonic LUMIX DMC-FH20 (nice small camera, but with 8x zoom. It turns on (completely off –> taking a picture) in under 1 second, which I love) + charger

Bathroom

Clear 1-quart bag containing:
Shampoo
Bodywash/soap
Contacts case + 1 spare pair contact lenses
4 oz contact solution
glasses
tooth brush + small toothpaste
small package of ~10 Face wipes
Disposable razor
Small deodorant stick

Meds, etc.

Athletic Tape

Books

The rough guide to India
Lila (sequel to zen & the art of motorcycle maintenance)

Misc

Eyemask and earplugs (for sleeping on planes & trains)

Identity, etc.

Wallet (kept on my person) with:
- Credit Card
- Debit/ATM Card
- Passport
- List of contact info, insurance numbers, etc.
Backup pouch in backpack with:
- CA Driver’s license
- Spare Debit/ATM Card
- Paper copies of passport, contact info, insurance #s
- Spare cash (Indian and American currencies)
Additionally, I email myself images of all of the above.

In case you were wondering, I made it

2010-05-24T09:34:00.000-07:00

It’s unlikely that anyone is still following this, but for posterity's sake, I’ll note here that I did finally make it to Pennsylvania. I’ve been shuttling back and forth between Bethlehem and the Bay Area. Here are some broad-strokes highlights.

1) It was great to see George in Chicago (this was just after the Gas Station at the End of the Universe). Maddy and I went for an epic rollerblade where she nearly died of heat stroke (she literally couldn’t walk), and then she got some water and hammed it up at the dog park:

George convinced me to put Maddy in doggie daycare for the night (unbelievably, we managed to pull this off at 8pm in a new city). The view from George’s downtown apartment is incredible:

Chicago, overall, impressed me a lot. It reminded me of Manhattan. I’d have to say that I had no idea how big Chicago was until I got there. Here is a picture of me and George in front of a silver ball.

And, here is one without the giant ball.

I drove on through Cleveland, Ohio and western Pennsylvania, before finally reaching Bethlehem.

I think the East Coast is incredibly beautiful. But, to be honest, I was too tired of driving to really care anymore, and I wanted to get home. Now, Maddy has a big backyard to have adventures in, and tons of small animals to murder.

Plus, she can hang around with the other boxers, and sit on my sister Emily like she owns her.

Well, there’s been a lot that’s happened in my life since. Mostly, traveling a lot for job interviews and, finally, getting a job offer that I’m super excited about.

Now, I’m busy planning my final big adventure before settling into a 9-5. More on that in the next post!

Omaha to Aurora, and the gas station at the end of the universe

2010-04-15T08:48:00.000-07:00

I've noticed that after driving the first thousand miles across country, the next 1500 seem to go really smoothly. Maybe that's why driving across the middle states isn't so bad--you just get in the mood to drive. But, if you actually live in these states you don't have time to warm up, and the 3 hour featureless drive to the nearest town must seem insurmountable. Maybe that's why everybody I talk to has barely left the town where they were born.

The scenery is getting better as I go further East, though. There are now more trees, and they have leaves. Maddy and I happened across a nice little park where she chased ducks and terrorized the locals.

We crossed the Mississippi near Davenport, but it didn't go so smoothly. Allow me to demonstrate with this diagram.

1) I was heading on I-80 E, but wanted to switch to I-88 so as to approach Chicago from the Northwest and avoid some of the trucking traffic.

2) The I-80 E bridge was closed, so I dutifully took the detour down I-74, cut back up I-80W to I-88.

3) Deciding that Maddy really should take a swim in the Mississippi (which is so pretty), I turned back towards it, but unbelievably, I missed the last exit and crossed the river. Because the Eastbound span was closed, I had to repeat the entire detour.

This was incredibly frustrating. It was getting late at night and I was traveling these completely unnecessary roads through featureless land for the second time, when I shouldn't have had to do it once.

The I-88, it turns out, is the more boring road in the world, especially at night. There wasn't a Motel-6 until near Chicago, and none of the motels I could find took pets. I found a sign for a roadjammer cafe in the middle of the wilderness, but it turned out to be biker night and it was completely packed and not at all a place to eat dinner.

I continued on and found a solitary gas station, which I went to. An enormous trucker entered in front of me, looked back as he was about to close the door, and then stopped, held it open, and when I said "thanks" he said "Absolutely, No Problem" with a huge smile. It was a bit unexpected.

As I walked through the aisles, I kindof nudged a 12-year-old kid out of the way who was loitering in an aisle. But, as I looked back, I realized he was actually a short guy, maybe 4' 6", probably 40 years old, wearing the same kind of clothes as 12 year old would. I felt really bad for misreading the situation.

Continuing on to get a snack, this enormous dude was just staring at the rotating pizza warmer. After a minute I asked him to move and, without taking his eyes off of the sausage pizza, just kindof shuffled to the side. After I'd taken a slice, he shuffled back.

As I was leaving, the woman who tended the pizza walked by; she was thin, with striking blond hair, but with the wrinkled skin of a 70-year-old and with a distinct gray beard, perhaps 1/4" long.

I felt like I was in a freak show. I went up to pay, and overheard that the (normal-looking) girl at the checkout had worked there for 4 years. Poor thing.

To make small talk, I asked her about something that puzzled me: the Premium fuel was a full 10 cents cheaper than the regular. She said that this is just "how it is around here."

She said it so nonchalantly that I had to press the issue. I pointed out that it wasn't an arbitrary distinction; the 89 octane is simply superior fuel. It is more scarce than the 87, and should cost more. It seemed confusing.

She responded that "Yeah, my boyfriend is from Connecticut, and there the premium is more expensive than the regular. It's weird." It was clear from her intonation that Connecticut had the weird situation. I was so tired and frustrated from my detour, and as she stared at me blankly, considering how weird Connecticut's gas prices are, I just broke down, laughing out loud at the ridiculousnss of the situation. Which, of course, caused the dwarf and the pizza-staring giant and the transgendered grandmother to stare at me, so I took a cue and left to go see my friend George Malikov in Chicago.

Loveland, Colorado to Omaha, NE

2010-04-15T08:32:00.000-07:00

By Tuesday, I was chomping at the bit to get driving again. I drove 550 miles, and really enjoyed the breathtaking desolation of the scenery and the ease of the driving.

For most of the way through Colorado, I took back-roads (still 65mph speed limit) bordering several national grasslands. Now, National Parks are places so beautiful that we've decided not to let anyone develop them; National Grasslands are places so desolate that nobody could really find a use for them, and consequently we've roped them off and allowed Buffalo and other herd animals to repopulate them. It was really cool to see such a large, desolate grassland, and to think how for eons much of the U.S. had looked that way.

At one point, I happened upon the "Overland Trails History Museum".

It was only $3 admission, and it was actually really, really cool. It had grown from a small WPA project in the 30s to a quite large museum, and in the process had become a bit unfocused. Basically, it just collected all the old crap that nobody wanted within a 30 mile radius, such as furniture, photos, and even entire houses; the back of it was a 13-building villages with in-tact barber shops, barns, farmhouses, and even railroad stations from the turn of the century. One of the most popular exhibits was a 2-headed calf; a sort of siamese twin that didn't last long after birth, but truly looks like a calf with 2 heads.

The entire drive was absurdly windy. Winds were 35 mph, but I'm sure the gusts were up to 50mph or more, always coming from the South. Every time I passed a tree or a bridge which broke the wind, the car would lurch 3 ft to the left. I had to look ahead to make sure nothing was near the highway before I passed a Semi, as the crosswinds often pushed them into adjacent lanes. After 550 miles of that bullshit, I was definitely happy to rest for the night.

A few days to relax

2010-04-15T08:26:00.000-07:00

After hanging out with Dan on Saturday, I checked into an awesome motel called the Silver Saddle in Boulder. It was $60/night, which is way beyond my price range, but Boulder seems to be one of those cities that has strategically purged of itself of anything that's reasonably priced or convenient.

I spent most of the day in and out of sports bars, watching Tiger be an extra big tool while Phil Mickelson put on an awesome show to win the Masters. Boulder is an awesome city, and they've done a great job building lots of hiking paths and parks which Maddy and I enjoyed. I must say that I was surprised how in some ways commercial Pearl Street was; all the bars were basically Gordon Biersch lookalikes, and most of the clothing stores were quite pricey. But, then, I'm sure the cooler places are a bit hidden.

I wanted to take some time to relax, read, and hike, so I decided to spend two nights at Carter Lake reservoir, about an hour north of Denver.

I knew it wasn't the greatest scenery, but after getting bitch-slapped by mother nature on the way to Denver, I wanted to camp at a more reasonable elevation. Throw in the water, good fishing, and the fact that there wouldn't be any more mountains for about 1,000 miles, and I think it made sense.

Maddy loved it. I didn't catch any fish, but I had a great time reading and finally allowing myself to fully relax. By the end, I was really ready to get moving again (36 hours alone in the woods seems longer than it is).

Hwy 40 and Denver

2010-04-10T09:14:00.000-07:00

Taking Highway 40 was an excellent choice. The lame thing about driving cross country in a car, with a dog, is that it's much harder to meet people than with public transportation. Plus, I can't stay in hostels (no dogs) or do anything that means leaving the car for more than a couple of hours.

But, taking less-traveled roads means (1) seeing restaurants, etc. that aren't attached to oversized gas stations, (2) actually being able to slow down and see things that interest you, and (3) having an excuse to talk to the locals about which roads to take, what's passable this time of year, and which ones are most scenic. For some reason, people (especially dudes) just love to talk about roads.

Highway 40 cut 100 miles off my drive from SLC to Denver (550 --> 450 miles), but added a couple of hours. It was wwaayyy cooler than driving through Wyoming (reportedly a "wasteland").

I camped near Hot Sulphur Springs (2 hours outside of Denver). It was ass cold, just 21 degrees. Unbelievably, Maddy actually slept with me in my backpacking hammock. The more you know about backpacking hammocks, the more you realize how ridiculous that is. Eventually, we were too cold and cramped, so we moved into the car which was a much better idea.

The next day I made it to Denver. The view coming out of the mountains was amazing; it's not terribly clear in this picture, but it's an incredibly abrupt change from 12,000-ft peaks to perfectly flat plains.

Near the bottom of the mountain slope is Redrock Ampitheater, which is kindof naturally built into the mountain and is surrounded by a beautiful, unreal-looking formations of red rock.

I met up with my grad school friend Dan Gonzales. We played a beautiful, reasonably priced round of golf.

Afterwards I was starving and we went to Casa Bonita, of South Park fame:

It was totally awesome, better than I ever expected it. The food gave me such a stomach ache that I could hardly sleep, but that's definitely part of the experience.

Salt Lake City

2010-04-10T09:02:00.000-07:00

I was really excited about Salt Lake City. I figured, since these people don't drink, smoke, or seemingly do any of the things that take up most of the energy of a big city, they must have lots of fun non-bar stuff to do. It turns out that, in fact, they just spend most of their energy building temples and trying to convert you.

Plus, everything has a generally creepy vibe to it. However, I did love their depiction of blonde, white jesus posing with demi moore:

And, my favorite part, Wasatch High School had perhaps the most fitting mascot ever:

Altogether, Salt Lake was a bit of a disappointment. For a city that hosted the olympics and has such natural beauty around it, it just was a bit of an underwhelming experience. Plus, the Mormon visitors centers really toned down the ridiculousness. No exhibits of their special underwear, no statues of Jesus with the native americans, etc. I had some overpriced sushi, talked with some locals for a while, and decided to leave I-80 for highway 40, which is a shorter but much slower route to Denver. I'd planned to spend a few nights in Salt Lake, but couldn't muster the willpower to stay there any longer.

Bonneville Salt Flats

2010-04-07T15:14:00.000-07:00

I could've pushed on to Salt Lake last night, but didn't want to miss the experience of seeing the Bonneville Salt Flats, a huge, incredibly flat dried lake bed (made essentially of salt). It's where most landspeed records are set, although I wonder why people aren't looking for areas at higher elevation to set these records (it seems that ~100% of your power goes to air resistance, so why not minimize it?)

Anyways, the image below is a side view of the distant mountains. At first, I thought that the reflections below the mountains were from a very, very still lake; in retrospect, I'm pretty sure that they were mirages because I've never seen reflections so perfect. I wish I had a good camera that could convey the effect, because the reflected image was virtually identical to the real one.

Reno, NV to Wendover, UT

2010-04-06T23:11:00.000-07:00

Today, I mostly just drove. I'm trying to write less, and post better pictures, so I'll keep it short. Had a nice time rollerblading the dog around a lake (Lake Victoria?) when I woke up, and I took my time cleaning the car and organizing my crap.

Although I managed almost completely avoid Reno's casinos, I did take the morning to visit the National Automobile Museum near downtown Reno. You wouldn't expect it, but it's actually a really wonderful museum. It was cool to see how cars went from tiny little one-horsepower carriages in 1900 to full-fledged, almost modern cars by 1920. From then on, it seemed like they just got cheaper, more reliable, and more boring.

Below is a "Detroit Electric" from around 1915--it was pretty popular in its day. You can see the lead-acid batteries under the front hood. It got something like 70 miles on a charge--I'll be impressed if the new Chevy Volt can manage that.

I pushed through the rest of Nevada. Quite an amazing state. Near about 2/3 of the way through it, the hills turned grassy and much more rolling, and even the smaller mountains were snow covered. It reminded me a lot of the Tibetan Plateau... certainly not the same scale, but kindof the same desolate feeling.

Tomorrow is Salt Lake City. I want to find a campground and spend a full day or maybe more just hanging out, hopefully near a lake.

Media from the car ride: A few chapters of "Brave New World". I just can't get into Fiction audiobooks... how does anyone pay attention to them? I keep losing the story.

Also: A great Phish concert, and a few chapters of a book by the Dalai Lama.

San Jose to Reno

2010-04-05T20:50:00.000-07:00

Today, the day of the big first step of my trip, finally came. I feel sad to be leaving so many people and memories (even if it is, hopefully, temporary), but I also feel wonderful and free to be finally moving again.

I began the day running errands and selling the last of my stuff. I still wasn't sure if I was going to leave today, but ultimately I just couldn't stay any longer. I hate goodbyes, so I mostly just didn't say any (sorry to anyone who I missed!!) and took off.

I stopped at Point Isabel just North of Berkeley. It's, I believe, the most popular dog park in the country. There's not even really an official "start" to it... there just seems to be more and more dogs the further into it you drive. Maddy had an awesome time and swam so far out into the bay that a small crowd gathered to watch her. To the let is her playing with a friend, with the golden gate bridge in the background.

With the dog tired out, I headed off towards Reno. Wow, does California have highways. Even out past Sacramento the I-80 has six lanes on a side. Who lives out there? But, the highway got smaller as I approached the Sierra Nevadas, and just about the time it got down to 2 lanes on a side, there was a drastic change from rolling grassy hills to steeper, craggy little peaks with conifers. I just love that look--it seems so strangely clean and pristine.

Up around 3000 ft, we started to run into a bit of snow. It got increasingly bad around Donner pass (named for the infamous Donner Party) just before Truckee. I stopped at a rest stop so that Maddy could see snow for the first time, but both of us were too turned off the by frigid temperature and wind to enjoy it. Then, I had quite a time merging back onto the highway with the snow; I need to get new tires before I hit snow again.

Maddy finally got to really see snow at Boca Reservoir, a gorgeous reservoir that I happened across just East of Truckee. The video is below; the highlight is at 1:35 when she jumps into the water after a duck. I don't think she's ever seen cold water before, so it must have been quite a surprise. She was shivering pretty bad by the time she got back.

I ate at a Denny's in a big ugly Casino. This was a really, really dumb move. I just don't get casinos. All the games are fixed so that you lose. But, worse, they're sooo loud and sooo overstimulating. I decided to deal with Denny's and the Disney-World ambiance of the casino because the food deal was so good, but I won't make that mistake again. There's an Indian buffet and an all-y0u-can-eat sushi restaurant adjoining my motel, and I sorely regret not being hungry.

Motel cost: $29.99 (no pet fee). $2.99 for wifi, which pisses me off. It's not even good wifi, although I guess I'm pretty spoiled in that respect.

Selected Media from the car ride:
1) Part I of the audiobook "The Art of Mindful Living" by Thich Nhat Hanh. At first, his books always seem simplistic to me. But, in the end, the ideas he's talking about are simple, and his way of phrasing them does seem to stick with me.
2) The first half of the episode "Nummi" of the show This American Life. It's about the joint GM-Toyota car plant in Nummi, started in 1984, and how (a) it was so successful, but (b) GM didnt' seem to learn any lessons from it. Nummi was in Fremont, CA, and it was *just* shut down a few days ago (it was all over the news). I highly recommend the episode (downloadable from their site).

Still trying to decide what to do tomorrow... might start heading towards Salt Lake, or might double back and spend some time at a campground in the Sierra Nevadas. I'm kindof leaning towards the former, since I'd like to get some miles under my belt before I start diddling around.

Big Sur with Dan Strenge

2010-04-05T09:58:00.000-07:00

Although the road trip hasn't technically started yet, I might as well keep the blog updated so I don't fall out of the habit. In this edition: Dan Strenge, Big Sur, moving out, and a final weekend in San Jose.

Dan (a Harvey Mudd friend) just finished a 1 week trip up and down the West Coast, all the way to Seattle (I believe). He spent the next few days hanging in Berkeley (where Jaclyn and I visited him), and then came down to see me in Menlo Park. Being an awesome guy, he spent an entire night helping me move out of my apartment. Then, since neither of us had a place to stay, we headed down to Big Sur.

Had a great hike out to the ocean from Big Sur Station with the dog (see images at right). One highlight was when the dog climbed under a sturdy wood fence and then lost her collar and her backpack (including all of our food) in a thorn thicket. I hopped the fence and found the backpack, but not the collar.

We spent a night in Santa Cruz, a town that I'm growing increasingly fond of. Then, Dan headed back to Berkeley to play some weird board game that I cannot pronounce, and I spent the weekend with Jaclyn at her house.

All in all, the homelessness is going quite well. But, today I plan to finally start the real road trip, and probably sleep somewhere near Tahoe or Reno. Possibly in Donner pass? That'd be cool.

I'll try my best to keep this thing updated.

My Next Journey

2010-03-29T14:31:00.000-07:00

Well, the China blog sure started out strong, but I was much too busy to keep writing entries each day, and by the time the trip was over I could hardly remember what happened.

Now, I'm getting ready for a new journey, my first real adventure (minus a couple of days wandering in Japan) since my trip to China. I'll be traveling (hopefully) across the country starting in (about) a few days.

Because I think I set the bar a bit too high with the last blog, this time I'll focus on more posts, less writing, and more pictures.

To that effect, I document my trip to an Ethiopian restaurant in Berkeley to the right. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words...

Sept 4 - Geocaching in Yangshuo

2006-09-14T03:04:00.000-07:00

(( Many pictures to come as soon as I remember to bring the camera cord to the internet cafe. ))

Yangshuo must be one of the most touristy towns in China. It seemed to have no other majory industry, and most of the downtown consisted of gift shops, restaurants, travel agents, and small inns. In short, Yangshuo was perfect for our first few days in China--a quaint, easily manageable town that served as a jumping-off point to the wonderful scenery that surrounded it.

Our first adventure was to climb one of the magnificent "karst" peaks that jut out of the city. This particular peak had a geocache at its tip, which we somehow managed to find without a GPS unit. The view was great, but the trail was steep, so we retired to eat another several meals.

Naturally, most of our time in Yangshuo consisted of eating. When you eat up to five meals a day, and have to translate the menu from Chinese to English, this isn't hard to pull off. The great thing is that food in China is laughably cheap once you learn how to bargain. Luckily Tavi, after several months in Asia, is a master haggler. He whistles, points, jumps up and down, and somehow manages to cut at least 50% off of the price of everything we buy. For instance, a bowl of noodles with meat, veggies, and spices generally costs us about 5 yuan per person: US $0.62 for an enormous meal. Many other street foods, which make for a hearty snack, cost in the neighborhood of .5 yuan, or 6 US cents. After this, living in Palo Alto is going to be very, very painful.

Sept 3: Guangxhou -> Guilin

2006-09-14T02:18:00.000-07:00

Stepping off into the Guilin airport, and characteristically missing my bus, I tried to ignore the filth I'd acquired 24 hours of mass transit. Guilin is small by Chinese standards--under 700,000 people live in the city proper. In typical Chinese fashion, however, the population is densely concentrated and, it would seem, all riding their bicycles, at once, in the same intersection. I must have looked helpless, because within minutes of getting off of the bus, a Chinese man gave me a lift on his motorcycle to the hotel where I would meet Tavi and Lori.

Now, there are a few differences in the driving habits of Americans and Chinese. The Chinese, for instance, never look more than exactly one bicycle-wheel's length ahead of their vehicle, disregard all traffic signals (except Stop Signs, for which they speed up), and drive equally on the left and right side of the road. But, all in all, the system works very well for such numerous and varied vehicles. After several brushes with death, I began to relax and notice my surroundings.

The biggest surprise to me was the absolute lack of westerners. Guilin is a famous tourist city--indeed, it's widely claimed that "Guilin’s scenery bests all others in the world." But, apparently, this news hasn't reached America. In fact, until I met Tavi at an upscale hotel, I didn't see a single white face out of perhaps 5,000 Chinese. Nevertheless, Lori soon joined us at the hotel, and we set off--three pasty white tourists in a sea of Natives--to nearby Yangshuo.

Trains, Planes, and (no) Automobiles. Aug 31 to Sept 3

2006-09-03T21:22:00.000-07:00

Every journey begins with a single step, and this journey began with a very familiar one. The first leg of my travel to China took me through Harvey Mudd College, to tie up loose ends, see old friends, and most importantly to prevent those friends from auctioning away all of the crap that I left in their storage room. The dorm was in great shape. Somehow, with our class out of the way, the dorm has become clean and strangely presentable, although I did my best to clutter the common area with all of my wordly belongings. Hopefully, it will be back to its old ways once dry week ends.

The next day I headed off to LAX for my 15-hour flight to Guangzhou, China. Now, even the shortest car ride in Los Angeles is unpredictable, at best. Public transportation, on the other hand, is extremely reliable--every ride is expected to be slow, frustrating, even dangerous. I'm happy to report, though, that this trip was one of the most pleasant I've ever experienced. The metrolink ride from Claremont to Union Station in East LA was a relaxing 40-minute jaunt. It's hard to express the joy of passing gridlocked traffic on the 10 Freeway atop a double-decker Amtrak train clipping along at 70mph. Even the trip from Union Station to LAX, which used to require several cumbersome connections, was delightfully easy thanks to the new FlyAway Bus service. Anyone going from HMC to LAX should definitely consider this option--it's stress-free, takes roughly two hours, and costs only about $10.

The 15-hour trip from LAX to Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport was easily tolerable (which is the best that could be hoped for), and the Guangzhou airport itself was indescribably opulent. The airport was built in 2004 at a cost of $2.5 billion US, and is five times larger than its predecessor. By 2009, the airport will double in size yet again. The construction was of a quality that I've never witnessed in the US, the facilities were clean, and the employees remarkably pleasant. It's hard to believe how quickly China--parts of it, at least--has modernized.

Soon, I was on a brief plane ride to Guilin--more on that, hopefully with pictures, in my next post.

The Summer of Rob

2006-09-03T21:02:00.000-07:00

The summer of 2006 was known to many, or at least to me, as "The Summer of Rob". The first three months were spent in Boston working for a small startup, enjoying one of the most vibrant cities in the US. The question that naturally arose was what to do between my time in Boston--which ended in mid August--and the start of Graduate school in mid September. Imagine my surprise when I learned that my friend Tavi from Mudd, and Prof Bassman, my research advisor, had decided to travel together in China for most of September. Tavi would be in the midst of a year-long trek through Asia, Russia, Europe, and possibly even Brazil (you can check out his Blog at http://octavisemonin.blogspot.com ), while Prof Bassman, or "Lori", was passing through during her Sabbatical travels ( http://loribassman.blogspot.com/ ).

So, before long it was decided that I would join Tavi and Lori on September third in Guilin--a famous and picturesque city in south-central China--for a two-week improvised adventure to Shanghai.

This blog is my best attempt to record that trip and, if it goes well, I may even keep it up afterwards.