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Skimboarding (short movies)
Sunday visit to Tampa's Thai Temple on the water. Beautiful!
The genie said, "OK, You released me from the lamp, blah blah blah. This is the fourth time this month, and I'm getting a little sick of these wishes so you can forget about three... You only get one wish!"
The man sat, and thought about it for a while and said, "I've always wanted to go to Hawaii, but I'm scared to fly, and I get very seasick. Could you build me a bridge to Hawaii so I can drive over there to visit?"
The genie laughed and said, "That's impossible!!!
Think of the logistics of that! How would the supports ever reach the bottom of the Pacific? Think of how much concrete -- how much steel!! No, think of another wish."
The man said, "OK, I'll try to think of a really good wish."
Finally, he said, "I've been married and divorced four times. My wives always said that I don't care and that I'm insensitive.
So, I wish that I could understand women, know how they feel inside, and what they're thinking when they give me the silent treatment. Know why they're crying, know what they really want when they say "nothing,", know how to make them truly happy."
The genie said, "Do you want that bridge to be two lanes or four?"
How many eyes do you see in this picture? Better question... Where's mama?
I don't remember the year of the anniversary Carol and I spent in Cedar Key. It's been over 12 years and we stayed at the bed and breakfast, rode local bikes, ate soft shell crab sandwiches and walked down the main street in the evening. Faded memories were instantly recalled when we exited the 23 miles of 2 lane to the broad expanse of the Florida's "Riviera," Cedar Key.
In true India fashion Carol decided we would find "the best bed" when we arrived instead of booking a reservation in advance. It totally paid off. Island Shores (far right) has way too much of a suite for our needs but definitely a comfortable bed. It's funny how our priorities for a get-away change over time.
I love the historic significance of Cedar Key in Florida's pioneer days. The surreal change of landscape due to hurricanes of the past and the fishing/artist (tourist) village of this central Florida Key today, "The Hidden Coast" is an appropriate name for this area.
Lower Suwannee National Wildlife Refuge was an entrance into the survival zone. Eat or be eaten (mostly by insects). How many places have we walked up on three adolescent gators in the bush? None...at least none so obvious.
We're playing from 10am - 12pm
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Guru Leah says: Old Delhi was cacophonous, as it always has been.
The Old City has refused upgrades and modernity. Everything “came with the country.” It was a contrast to the super-from-the-future metro ride we took to get there. Famous street food from the lassi walla,
the jalebi walla (it is made by deep-fried, syrup-soaked batter and shaped into a large, chaotic pretzel shape. Jalebis are bright orange or yellow in colour, but are also available in white.)know jalebi wala old joke? “Round and round and round and stop.”
"Anywhere you go in India, whether a beach, park, outside the Taj Mahal, in a mountain village, or on the train that (eventually) gets you to any of the aforementioned places, there’s always a chaat walla nearby. “Walla” meaning guy who sells. And “chaat” meaning any of a long list of savory fast-food snacks that Indians like to eat at tea time, late at night, or any other time when a meal might be a few hours away."
and the samosa walla was consumed.
Samosa: Deep-fried pastry, usually in a triangular shape, frequently stuffed with peas, potatoes and spices. There are also meat-filled varieties.
We toured the city from atop our canopied bicycle rickshaws from the Red Fort to Jama Masjid
through Chandni Chowk,
Silver Street, to the main drag. Peers down alleys shared intricate archways or other Islamic architecture treats. They’re learning quickly how to deflect unwanted conversations, photographs with Indian families, touts, etc. They’ll never forget how to say “go away” or “no” in Hindi.
Monday, June 6th, 2008 - Rishikesh area, India
We woke up early to physically experience the Ganges like a local Hindu pilgrim. We had to sneak past our sleeping teenage hotel attendants, climb over a terrace railing, open and close a creaky metal gate, and step around a cow in the path to avoid waking the hotel guests and staff. We walked to the concrete stairs that led down to the rivers edge. As we sat down on the upper platform I started to feel out of place and a bit voyeuristic. Pilgrims were already in the water reverently bathing and receiving the ancient blessing of the goddess Ganga. Who was I to participate in such a haloed experience? Would this Devi goddess forgive me and wash away my sins? I needed a sign.
My personal experience with baptism involved a few head sprinkles of water by a Presbyterian minister when I was a baby. This set a wonderful tone in my life for family and community to recognize me as one of many who would be taught and raised in the Christian faith. Later as a young man I never climbed into the Baptist "dunk tank" to be reborn (not that there is anything wrong with that) and I never got my sins washed away by the riverside like the boys in Joel Coen's "O Brother, Where are thou?" but I loved that scene. And I've yet to have my middle-aged baptism like Robert Duval (my movie hero) in "The Apostle." Maybe the Ganges could be it? I need a sign.
The Sign
As I sat there, confused about what to do next, worried deeply that my lack of understanding in custom and ritual. How might I interfere with the Hindu who traveled so far, at such an expense, to reach this pilgrimage site. And yet, people are bathing too, is this OK? Now fear started to enter my heart. At that moment an older woman, dressed in full bathing sari, stood directly in front of us and yelled in Hindi down to another women in the water. (note: I do not know any Hindi and have only watched a couple of Bollywood movies)
She said: "Why are you bathing on the left side where the men are." "Get your butt over on the right side with the rest of the women."
I didn't catch it all but she may have added: "you are confusing these Westerners"
Well there was my sign. Women on the right, men on the left. It was time to stop watching and start washing away all those sins of mine. I walked down to the final platform where a man covered in bright orange fabric, finishing his ritual, was chanting and praying up a storm. I removed my cloths. (yes, somewhat embarased (again) my swimsuit underneath was bright floral design of yellow and black) I interrupted the pilgrim for a moment to ask: "3 times." Which he paused mid-chant to confirm that 3 times of dunking myself was the correct number, then I started to wade into the water of the Ganges. Though the currents looked swift and fast moving the area next to the platform was calm and a bit shallow. As I stood in the spot to start my cleansing I quickly realized I was too tall to get the full immersing effect. Hands overhead with all the good intentions I did what resembled a face plant (like a belly flop except with your face) on the surface of the river immediately forgetting to close my mouth which filled with river water. I rose up as quickly as I could and encircled my head with my hands and arms splashing, mimicking the process I had witnessed earlier. On the second dunk I learned to get on my knees and close my mouth. (getting on my knees is very appropriate here) By the third time I was finished and moved back on the platform. My pilgrim friend stopped his chants for a second and said in English: "good" and then "cold" with a nod of his head. I prefer to interpret his nod as "you did OK kid, for a first timer, damn that river's cold, isn't it."
So I baptized myself "Uncle B" in the Ganga. Little did I know, like a typical westerner, I got it backwards (again), looking for results without paying my dues first. I know from my faith discipline any type of forgiveness or salvation requires praying, fasting and extreme physical challenges which I assure you, were quickly coming at me just around that next bend in the river .
Oh Ganga! what have I started?
Sidenote: Robert Duvall did another baptism scene in the movie "Tender Mercies" which I want to Netflix. He plays Mac, a country songwriter who battles alcoholism but gets a second chance from Grace (named appropriately) and her young son, Sonny. Movie Quote: Sonny - "Well, we done it Mac, we was baptized." (looking at his reflection in the rear view mirror) "Everybody said I'd feel like a changed person. Do you feel like a changed person?"
Mac - "Not yet."
"Not yet."
The Ganges by Bruce Hewitt
Prayerfully sitting,
the Ganges rapidly swirls and flows.
Pilgrims prostrate themselves in the water blessing
as the currents flow through India.
Ganges, color of chai tea,
floating flame offerings sprinkle surface like Masala spice.
Amplified chanting from neighboring shrine,
car horns beep and engines rumble,
bells ring from hands of pilgrims walking in towers above.
Sari's flowing in the breeze,
light touch of scarf brushes my arm,
whispering "breathe" spiritual silence.
Road to Rishikesh
Just up the street from our Karat 87 Hotel in Karol Bagh area of New Delhi was a hotel that catered to a more Indian crowd. Hindu’s on pilgrimage who were willing to have an 8am check out time. I had Chai tea there every morning while the neighborhood was waking up. Watching the neighborhood wake up was like seeing a zombie movie. People sleeping in their garbage carts, rickshaws, tables and sidewalks while rising together to meet the new day. The travel agent in the hotel usually booked custom Volvo buses for transportation. These were parked out front and they were so comfortable. Full captain chairs, A/C, state of the art driving machine. I told Leah about the place so she booked our overnight bus to Rishikesh through them. When we arrived at the bus station I quickly realized we were in for a public bus the next 8-10 hrs. These rag tag, duct tape and bailing wire wonders were nothing like those pristine Volvo buses. We went from the expectation of full blown comfort like a traveling rock band to a hodge-podge, “are we going to make it,” rolling rattle trap. Plus the added advantage of attempting to get a few hours sleep on this overnight torture chamber before being in prime travel mode for the next day in a new city. Beep!
I am 6’3” and 220 lbs (start weight, summer temperatures in India and Delhi belly made for much lower ending weight). My first advice that I did not follow is to always sit toward the front of the bus. A lesson you may remember from hitting your elementary school head on the roof in your cheese colored school bus (which may have been cool then and a least you had a quicker recovery time). The suspension toward the back axle will be significantly more spine intensive when encountering the potholes that riddle 90% of the Indian roads. I had a Xanex alternative from the over-the-counter Indian pharmacy system I could have used, but I was afraid when I did wake up in a narcotic stupor I would be unable to climb out of the broken bus seat I was wedged into. At the minimum my spine would have fused together and my teeth would be chipped and gums lacerated. Beep! Beep!
To summarize the road conditions, the driving on the opposite side of the road, the near head on collisions all during the night, the constant horn blowing for passing and intersection crossing, the smell of Indian food percolating in infrequently washed bodies, the inconceivable lack of leg room or any seat padding comforts, the stops and step-over and bumps by fellow passengers, the roadside bathroom breaks in urine soaked, fly infested holes in the ground surrounded by human waste smeared on narrow walls, as I said, to summarize all this would take too long so I will move ahead. Beep! Beep!
Our final destination was reached but the bus station look very similar to the overnight rest stops. The public toilet was my first contact with my necessary morning ritual on a squat toilet. If you don’t know about that yet, look it up. Needless to say, from years of sitting in chairs, recliners, couches and cars the typical Westerner has sacrificed the ability to squat. I’m not talking about the bending your knees and lowering your body on your toes like a catcher in little league baseball. I’m talking folding your legs to the point where your butt is touching your ankles and your feet are flat on the ground. This is a standard position for many agrarian farm cultures but rarely experienced by industrial first world western toilet users. If you’ve ever had to catch a baseball in the catchers position you know it is a stressful and difficult squat, teetering on your toes, your legs will begin to shake uncontrollably and you may start cramping up. Consider this and you will recognize that my necessary morning ritual was very different in an Indian public restroom. Oh, did I mention, no toilet paper. You get a small bucket of water and this leads you to a deeper understanding why the left hand in India is not used for eating in any situation.
A washed out road, public toilet, 2 buses, a bunch of Jeep like vehicles, a couple of cows and tadah! You’re in the Rishikesh bus station. Next stop, the footbridge over the Ganges, to find a guest house/hotel for the night.
We've had so many adventures together. I can't wait to sit down and process them. These last couple of days have been some much needed family chill time. Trying to spend all our rupees doesn't seem to be a problem for Carol and Megan (shopping experts). I'm just sweatin' and walkin' along. Hope to see you soon and share our Indian Adventure.
Peace
Bruce
