I Can See the World Through You

The Rain in Spain

2012-02-01T17:15:00.001-06:00

Two Sundays ago marked 7 years since the day I waved sadly to my family, stepped through airport security and onto a plane alone. I turned away from everything familiar and easy to spend six months in a country where normal festival activities include running away from angry bulls, small children and drunk adults brandishing fireworks and other explosives, and ruthlessly throwing tomatoes at fellow revelers in tiny cramped streets.

A country where they speak an entirely different Spanish than what was taught to me throughout 6 years of Spanish classes (vale, what?) Where laughter is written out jajaja, where girls have mullets and tiny white pants, and the only things needed for an unforgettable party is a corner of the Plaza de la Virgen and bottles of €1.50 wine. Where they socialize in the streets, close everything down for part of the day and, as I’ve come to realize, have perfected the art of living.

I stepped on the plane 7 years ago to begin six months studying abroad in Valencia, Spain.

I did everything an American girl in a study abroad program is supposed to do. My experiences were both utterly generic, and singularly amazing. I moved into a small apartment with four international roommates and at times had double that amount of people living in the space.

I danced the nights away, drank tequila and cheap wine, had dinners that consisted of Milka chocolate bars and bread. I lounged on the beach during the day or had lingering picnics in parks that lasted until twilight. I had deep, soul baring conversations with people whose names I couldn’t pronounce, let alone remember. I flirted in Spanish, kissed in Italian, fell in love in Portuguese, and realized that music is one language that everyone speaks. I sang in the streets, and laughed like crazy, but most of all, I was simply….me.

As my parents like to point out when the subject comes up, the time was light on studying and heavy on partying and general hedonism. Put thousands of young, adventurous travelers in a warm Spanish city on the Mediterranean and, well, what else could be the outcome? But even with the paucity of time spent in an actual classroom, I maintain that it was the greatest learning experience of my academic career to date.

Did I learn the nuances of Spanish Regional Economy 101 or how to conjugate the past participle of the verb To Be? My actual grades from that time say no - but I picked up more verb tenses in a dark bar talking to an attractive native speaker, than from endless classroom repetition. I also learned the nuances of myself. For the first time, being half Filipina/half American was something that I needed to embrace as an actual identity, not just something that made me different and therefore weird (in my hometown), or slightly exotic and therefore probably Hawaiian (in college). I became exactly who I was meant to be and in doing that, opened up to things that I imagine I was always meant to do.

Six months flew by in a blur, and my stories from that time are full of inside jokes and “you just had to be there moments”, but my first Spanish road trip is an anecdote that captures the spirit of the whole time there:

First week of February - Carnival.

Carnival - the older, bigger and better cousin of the American Halloween or Mardi Gras fell on a day in early February about two weeks after I arrived. So, I did the rational thing and piled into a rented SUV with two other Americans, a Dutch girl, an Israeli, and a Spanish guy to make the 6 hour road trip to Cadiz, THE place to be for the Carnival celebrations.

We took our time getting down there, sleeping on the couch/floor of a friend of a friend’s apartment some nights, sleeping in our jeep others, and finally splurging for a hostel the night of my birthday. We drank Sangria in the car on the way down, pulled into random vineyards for lunches, made friends wherever we went. We drove happily into Cadiz just in time for the party to start. We all bought random costumes on the streets and began to make our way to the city center to join in the party.

We squeezed through the packed streets of Cadiz drinking, dancing, and toasting. When we had had our fill of cheap liquor and random costumes for the night, four of us met up and made a decision to walk back to our lodging for the night – our vehicle. It’s safe to say that a night of partying (for some of us) and a general inability to point out North (for me) inhibited our leisurely walk to our destination. None of us could quite agree on where we had left the jeep hours before, and we wandered around for quite a while trying to figure it out. Because the universe loves nothing more than a good laugh, it began to rain as our patience with each other grew thin.

So, there we were, four angry foreign exchange students wandering the streets of Cadiz, lost, wet, and until two weeks ago – strangers. As we were standing at an intersection, glaring at each other through the raindrops, at a complete standstill, laughter suddenly overcame me. Not just a smile, but uncontrollable giggles began wracking my body. I was laughing at the ridiculousness of being angry at the world while the curls from my a giant blonde afro wig kept falling over my eyes, laughing at a new friend trying to be serious while strands of his neon pink wig blew into his mouth obscuring his words, but really I was laughing because that time last month I had been sitting in a classroom, learning something mildly interesting, pretending that the upcoming night out in a small town bar was just what I needed, and stuck in a rut. But now, I was wandering the streets of some random town in Spain with people I hardly knew, away from any familiar comforts, lost, cold, wet, and…happy. Something in me was set free through that laughter, and it stayed free for the rest of the time in Spain. We finally straightened ourselves out that night and somehow made our way back to the jeep for a fitful night of wet sleep and a new experience to start the next six months off right.

I have many more stories like that, and each one still makes me laugh to this day, but pictures are worth a thousand words as well, so here’s a glimpse:

We loved with abandon the entire time we were there. There was no preconception of who we were supposed to be, what we should be doing, or where we had come from. In leaving behind everything we were... surprisingly, we could do anything we wanted.

For another example of complete freedom, check out these guys and their documentary:

Trailer(4m):http://vimeo.com/31240369?utm_source=Twitter&utm_medium=Social%20Media&utm_campaign=CORDURA%20SM&utm_content=Twitter%2012%2F27%20Video%3A%20Slackliners

Free Segment(14m): http://vimeo.com/groups/sports/videos/31241154

"A free man is someone who is true to himself. Who follows his dreams and turns them into reality. You have to put fear to one side – it will always be there, but you have to follow your path. It’s all possible if you put enough energy into it. A free man, to me, is someone who, who tries to make his dreams come true." - Tancrede Melet

These guys are light years ahead of me and amazing at what they do. For a girl who is prone to falling over while walking on solid ground, going to Spain was my personal equivalent of high lining solo for the first time – removing my harnesses and safety nets to realize how much more was possible.

So, on my 7 year anniversary of the beginning of that trip (can it really have been 7 years?!), I offer a tribute to everyone with whom I crossed paths those six months, at a time when we were all really free - free to love, free to live, free to do whatever the hell we wanted. And it was awesome.

And here’s to an attempt to recapture that energy, to allow ourselves now the freedom to accomplish those random, seemingly impossible goals that come into our heads when we let them. Here’s to the freedom to stop acting as if the ground below us will unwaveringly always be there and to begin to act how we would if the only thing supporting us was a single, one inch length of string.

Sweet Surrender

2011-08-30T11:24:00.000-05:00

I’m a recent convert to Yoga - the twisted poses, the deep breathing exercises, the headstands - I currently can't get enough! One class on a freezing Monday back in March was all it took to draw me in and I've been downward-dogging it ever since.

While holding the yoga poses, I’m reminded of the beautiful, graceful movements of dance that once filled my evenings. Peace and spirituality fill the studio in quantities that are elusive on most normal days of busy city life. When I’m up to my neck in negative thoughts caused by the world’s a**holes and selfish actions, and am convinced that we’re all on a path straight to hell, yoga forces me to weed through all that, find the good, and meditate on it. And…..well, it’s an incredibly sweaty work out and I’m getting awesome bicep muscles from all the high planks.

Aside from the obvious physical benefits though, I love the feeling during practice when I look at the instructor incredulously and think, oh no, there is NO way I can do THAT, but then I try, and…I can. I love the time taken out of a busy, self-centered schedule to focus on something other than myself and daily worries. I love when the instructor reminds me to take a deep breath and open myself up to the universe.

Does my love of all this come from the inner New Age hippie in me emerging: that free spirit that was born in the wrong decade? Partly, but a larger part comes from continuous excitement at discovering with each new pose, each deep breath, that God and love can be found in so many other ways than just the conventional route.

I’ve been moved by the idea of surrender that is so important in the principles of yoga. I’ll be holding a particularly difficult pose, struggling against myself when the instructor walks by and says softly “surrender into the posture”. And I do. Not that I can automatically do it, but that fighting/ struggling/ hating feeling passes, and it’s somehow, almost imperceptibly, easier.

As we were abruptly reminded of recently, life doesn’t go according to plan. Obstacles pop up, things fall through, opportunities arise, and in some especially sad cases, it’s all over in an instant and way too soon.

That’s where surrender comes in. Whatever comes, comes, and you can fall into it – maybe not with ease, or painlessly, but at the very least with a certain acceptance.

Back when we were traveling, it seems like our best experiences came when we put down the guide book, and went with whatever came along. For example, Sonagir, India, February 2009:

Two weeks into our travels through India, we unexpectedly tumbled into Sonagir late in the afternoon. The village of Jain temples on a plateau was on our list of things to see, but had a big question mark by it, since there wasn't any information in the guide book or on the internet about the place. It's not even marked on most available maps.

We jumped onto a delayed train in the usual manner – amongst the chaos of the train platform, hoping we were hurling ourselves towards the train that would take us in the general direction of where we wanted to go. As the train started moving, leaving Gwalior behind, we learned through stilted English conversations with other passengers that this particular train didn’t stop in Sonagir, since it was an express route. As the sun moved closer to setting on the horizon, we gave up hope of going to see the temples that day.

We were busily consulting the Lonely Planet, trying to decide what to do next when we felt the rocking of the train halt to a stop, heard the squeal of brakes, and we pulled up to a station, waiting for signal clearance. Our local friends on the train started to gesture rapidly to us, Get off, Sonagir! Sonagir!

So we did, in a tumble of our backpacks and confusion, we landed on the train platform of Sonagir, a little unsure of how exactly we got there, but glad to be there nonetheless. We were then officially off the beaten path.

There were no buses, no taxis, no local trains: no public transportation to speak of. We began walking down the main street of the village, asking advice from locals on how to get from the train station to the temples some 5km away. One store owner sadly told us that there was nothing, but offered us his motorcycle to borrow for a couple hours. Then an army truck pulled up. Our new local friends negotiated a ride for us with him and we set off through the simple countryside.

The ride wasn't free, of course. Our driver's fee? Posing for a picture with Sergio. With his gun too.

The soldier dropped us off at the front entrance to the temple area, promising to look after our backpacks and give us a ride back later. So, we took of our shoes and headed up the path.

A young, eager-to-practice-his-English guide got word of the foreigners visiting, and he caught up with us halfway up to the temples. He gave us a nice, if somewhat word-y guided tour through the temples, and left us alone at some points. We wandered through the temples, in the last bits of sun before the sunset.

For one of the first times in my life, I suddenly feel like words aren’t enough to describe Sonagir. It seems mundane to describe it only as beautiful, because it was way more than that. Up on the hill, between the hundreds of temples and shrines, we could see for miles. It felt like we were nowhere and everywhere at once. In some areas, we were the only people around, but at the same time, there was an energy that buzzed through the air, as if we weren't alone at all.

After watching the sunset from one temple overlooking a valley so serene that we could hear the exact moment the sun dropped past the horizon, we made our way back down to find our military man.

He ended up finding us, then we had a chai in the dusk at a small cafe with some local military leaders and our guide. Then, we returned to the train station, in a big hurry because our train was supposed to leave in 20 minutes!!!.....only to arrive and find that no one knew when the next train was going to stop by. We settled onto our backpacks, grabbed two samosas, and made friends with a group of kids who had gathered to play “look at the foreigners”.

The kids were so sweet and so curious about us, the only bad part about the four hour wait for the train was that we couldn’t take them with us, and that our camera had run out of battery. Another one of those evenings that is best captured in the heart.

Finally, the train pulled in to Sonagir station, perhaps on time, perhaps late, no one really knew, but we stepped on to the train, looking back to wave at the boys gathered on the train stop, and settled into our berths wondering how in the world that afternoon had come to pass. We had stopped planning, pushing, and controlling for a couple of hours, and surrendered to India.

This concept of surrender doesn’t necessarily mean giving in and giving up. I think of it more as an emptying out of expectations and doubts, making room for the unknown- whatever that may be.

Surrender is essential when we’re about to start a new challenge like a non-profit. It’s scary, looking into the void, having all these unknowns popping out at us, and instead of backing away from it, letting go and giving in.

Negative what if… what if … what if’s drown out anything else, and because of all the questions, we can’t tell if this is even the right thing to do. What if we fail, what if it doesn’t work, what if we blow it?

But conversely - what if we can do so much more than what we’re doing right now?

Because, in the end aren’t all those question marks kind of….great? Don’t they leave the door open for so many exciting things that couldn’t happen with safe, declarative sentences?

The pervasive conventional thought is that since we're married and in our upper 20’s right now, we should be thinking about settling down, “growing up”. But the way we see it, right now is the time where we’re full of confidence, just enough experience to be wiser, but not quite enough to be bitter and jaded. Now is when we’re finally taken seriously when we talk, and actually have the means to do some of the things we talk about. Now is the time to keep building on that momentum. Not settling down, but shaking things up.

Now is just the time to take a crazy idea like creating a non-profit to the next level, not the time to fade into the monotony of the quotidian. Call it unending optimism, call it youthful delusion, but whatever it is, we should take advantage while it’s still around.

And who says that the scary ‘what if’ elements are unknown, per say…they’re just unknown to us. Just like in Sonagir when it felt like we had some kind of invisible hand guiding us along, I think it’s time to throw ourselves at the mercy of the universe again – open our arms and say, give us what you’ve got: we’re open to suggestions.

And if we do it right – with open minds, staying together, looking forward, and using love as that unwavering force and guide that should become our signature scent, the future “what if” can be:

What if we accomplish anything we ever set out to do?

It takes a certain amount of courage to give in to whatever is coming next, and a weird sort of thought process to both extensively plan and surrender at the same time. However, if yoga has taught me anything in the last few months of practice, it’s that killer biceps and a sweaty yoga mat are only the beginning if we close our eyes, find our balance, and surrender to the flow.

*For Ya-ya Girlie, whose continued presence in our lives reminds us that we should sing karaoke every chance we have, dance the cha cha when there’s music, smile like it's the only option, and makes us ever so more determined to keep our eyes focused on the good.

Postcards from Hell?

2011-07-11T12:00:00.012-05:00

A moment, if I may, on the soapbox this morning...

Last week, I happened upon a photo essay on the front page of MSN – “Postcards from Hell”. It linked to an article on foreignpolicy.com.

http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2011/06/20/postcards_from_hell_2011

It is a list of 60 “failed states” based on a 2011 Failed State Index, compiled using a list of cookie cutter criteria, with accompanying graphic pictures of various depictions of the “hell” of these countries. Most of the nations on the list are either African, or Southeast Asian Countries.

The pictures, admittedly, are riveting. And it’s true that many of the countries on this list are facing poverty, ethnic and racial tensions, gender inequality, government corruption, and sweeping human rights violations.

But I felt increasingly uncomfortable flipping through the pictures. Not because they showed stirring images that awakened my state of ignorance – but because they seemed to exploit the problems in the country, as if the editors only wanted to show the most shocking pictures – 'look at us, we can make a list of places that are “hell on earth” and call it hard hitting journalism'. The thing is, I don’t think these countries need our journalists’ help in making them hell on earth.

I also strongly disagree with their placement of Bhutan (our version of Bhutan) as the 50^th failed state on the list. What criteria did they use to place a country that values “gross national happiness” over GDP on this list? But that is another debate – my biggest problem with the article was the overall tone.

I suppose it’s the nature of journalism today to make sure that everything reported on is newsworthy and dramatic. And I’m not saying we should gloss over the bad parts of any country just because we have a good experience there. It’s much easier to have a great time when you’re a visitor making the rounds. But I’m also not saying we should deem the country “hell”, well, just for the hell of it.

It reminds me of this documentary I saw about a year ago by Laura Ling with Vanguard about Burma (Myanmar).

In the Burma documentary, with the intent to critique the awful Burmese government, a cameraman followed the intrepid Ling on a visit to the country. Throughout the piece, she was shown hunkered by a pool in a government hotel, quietly whispering into the camera about how she was constantly being watched. She glanced over her shoulder suspiciously, pointed out many bad things, and the whole documentary was dark, negative, and secretive. I'm not sure if a single smiling Burmese was shown at any point in the show.

Now, imagine someone who knows nothing about Burma, sitting comfortably in their air conditioned living room watching that documentary. They’re going to think to themselves, “Wow, what a shame, those poor people. But there’s no way I’m ever setting foot in that country”.

Which will only cause isolation. Isolation is not the answer to the human rights violations constantly and willingly being committed there. Big news stories that expose the terrible aspects of the country only drive a wedge between the victims of these regimes and the lucky people on the other side, rather than creating a connection that is the way out of the tyranny.

My opinion on visiting Burma: avoid any hotels and restaurants directly run by the government. Stay only in private guesthouses and don’t book one of those package tours that cost loads of money, almost all of which goes to the government. But, go, go go to Myanmar, because not visiting Myanmar for ethical reasons punishes the warm, friendly, curious Burmese people much more than the government.

I'm sure that a portion of our carefully spent money was handed over to the government. And, of course, the signs of oppression popped up the whole time we were there; censorship, a quiet reserve of the people, lack of access to the Internet, a complete absence of outside news, and poverty. However, it’s as if the people have found a million other ways to make up for their misfortune, to be happy even when circumstances of their lives make it hard to be so.

Bagan, Burma - we came across a small isolated village, where life is simple and traditional, but happy.

Here’s an idea. How about giving Sergio and I a prime spot on Vanguard programming to tell about our version of Burma, during the 10 days we were there in April 2009? I bet nothing can more effectively show how wonderful the people of this country are than the tale of our 2009 visit during the Burmese New Year, which also happened to coincide with Buddha's birthday:

For our documentary, we would begin with our first day in Yangon, Myanmar, just to set the overall tone. We took a private taxi to a privately owned, small hostel in the center of town. The owner greeted us with a big smile, checked us in and made absolutely sure we were headed up to the roof of the hotel to sample the “World’s! Best! Breakfast! Buffet!”.

Downtown Yangon and its remnants of the British colonial era.

Then, a few hours later, I left my extremely sick husband on the toilet, to explore the city a bit and return with lots of water and saltine crackers. Walking down the streets of Yangon, it was the first time in our entire trip throughout India, Nepal, and Thailand that I felt completely comfortable and safe walking alone. I passed so many people who looked at me, smiled and called out a friendly “hello!". I stopped to lunch at a small restaurant I found along the way. Within minutes of sitting down at an outdoor table, a cold beer was placed in front of me, followed by a delicious plate of steaming noodles, a soup, without asking for anything at all.

On the right bottom corner is one of the largest and most beautiful reclining Buddhas in Burma.

We ventured out of the hotel the next day to see Kandawgyi Lake, the Chauk Htat Gyi Buddha (reclining Buddha) and its adjacent monastery before finishing the day at Schwedagon Paya, the main temple in Yangon that was absolutely bustling with people, gathered to celebrate the birthday of Buddha under the full moon.

Kandawgyi Lake on the top. A friendly monk at the monastery adjacent to the Chauk Htat Gyi Buddha on the bottom left. And the summit of Shwedagon Paya on the bottom right.

Enjoying the peaceful and spiritual atmosphere at sunset while everyone waited for the full moon to start the celebration of Buddha's anniversary.

Shwedagon Paya at night under a full moon and hundreds of people praying in unison.

Cut to four days into the trip, as we entered Mandalay, THE place to be to enjoy the biggest and best New Year's Water Festival celebrations.

Preparations were in full swing as we arrived. Locals were setting up huge stages around the perimeter of Mandalay Palace, a government-only square of the city that is made up of army barracks. There is also an interior “new palace”, which carries an expensive entrance fee, and a violent, sad history of being built with forced labor. The irony of huge stages blasting hip hop and rock music, prepping to be the site of the rowdiest partying in the country for the New Year lining the borders of the center of the military’s barracks and the site of so much human suffering was not lost on us. It was the first incredible testament to the Burmese spirit to see locals partying their hearts out around such an oppressive site.

During these festival days, the normally subdued (oppressed) country took on the air of a great big backyard picnic. Repeatedly throughout the day, people doused us with buckets of water, sprayed us with water guns, and emptied any other container that could hold a respectable amount of water onto us as we passed by them, laughing hysterically while doing it.

A party stage on the top left and some of our water battles around the country.

On foot, we were constantly approached by people celebrating. With an irresistible ear to ear smile, and a bucket of water in one hand, we would hear:

“Hello!” in the cutest, most clichéd Asian accent possible. “you happy?...a little water? Good luck!!”

And they proceeded to pour cold water from questionable sources all over us, our backpacks, and anything else we were carrying. Then as their grin got even bigger, they walked away, waving and full of gratitude as if we had just done them the greatest favor.

Later in the day, for reasons that will have to wait to be detailed in another blog post, we found ourselves stranded without transportation in the middle of Burma, still 2 km away from our afternoon destination - Inwa, an area outside of Mandalay filled with temples, rice fields, and pagodas.

It’s ok!” I cried. “Let’s just walk across the bridge and over Inwa, it’s only a kilome…..” My optimism drained away as we came upon the bridge, the concrete magnifying the hot, dry, 100 degree heat from the sun that was quickly draining all my energy.

We made the mutual decision to hitchhike and soon a jeep full of men pulled over and beckoned for us to join them, smiling, waving, and giving out a really happy vibe.

I only realized after settling down into the back that an incredible 15 men were crammed into this Jeep, and they were all, including the driver, completely and totally wasted. Safety be damned, they were all so friendly, I was torn between giving in to the rising panic in my throat and demand to be let off, or just trust that it wasn't my fate to die in a ball of fire during the Water Festival.

I looked over at Sergio who seemed to have created a fan club - one man sat at his feet, hugging his left leg and kissing it repeatedly while asking if he was happy, and another shouted Ronaldo, Ronaldo, Ronaldo! The driver was having more fun looking back at me than keeping an eye on the road. I weighed my options and decided it was time to get out.

“Time to get out.” I smiled politely to them all and said this calmly to Sergio.

“No, no! Where you want to go?” came the chorus of drunken Burmese.

“We can just get out here!” I said a little more urgently, but refrained from saying much more since I realized that in speaking I was drawing the undivided attention of the driver who was spending less and less time looking at the road.

One of the men continued kissing Sergio’s leg and asking in between kisses “Happy?? You happy?”

“OK, WE’RE GETTING OUT, NOW!!” I practically yelled after we took a curve in a roundabout literally on the two left tires of the vehicle.

We slowed to a wobbly stop, hopped out, and had a sigh of relief. However, relief quickly turned to apprehension as I looked down the road at a huge expanse of Burmese road and realized we were still kilometers away from where we wanted to go.

We began to walk again, deciding to either flag down a taxi or try hitchhiking again, whichever came along first. After a few minutes of walking, a white pickup pulled to the side in front of us, and motioned for us to get in. It was one man, an extremely friendly Burmese who spoke absolutely no English and may or may not have also been drunk.

Although the risk was high that we would end up miles away from our true destination, the chance of a miscommunication was almost inevitable and the man seemed a bit...off, we hopped in again, grateful to have found someone willing to pick us up.

The man’s English was nonexistent, much like our Burmese, so he had no idea where we wanted to go and we had no idea where he was taking us. We set off in what seemed to be the right direction, and I began holding our breaths that we wouldn’t disappear into the heart of Burma, never to be seen again.

After swerving once into the median, I was ready to get out again, when I realized that he wasn’t swerving, he was parking. In front of a cute little house, where we were introduced to about four more Burmese who also spoke no English, but communicated their friendliness in smiles and gestures. We were offered two cold sodas, and a table at which to sit down. We had a quiet but smiley drink, two more Burmese friends joined us, and we set off again for our destination, at this point unsure of where our destination might be.

Hitchhiking our way to Inwa.

We drove and drove. All of sudden, as if it was a mirage, the exact monastery we were wanting to see emerged from the foliage. Our new friends waited for us to look around and took us to the next sight, and then the next, and the next. They gave us a personal tour of the area, and each pagoda we came to was more interesting than the one before.

Maha Aungmye Bonzan Monastery, Inwa.

They dropped us off at the last monastery in the area. We said happy goodbyes and offered money, but the driver waved it away emphatically.

“No, no” translated his friend. “Good Karma”. And they drove away, waving to us, and of course, smiling.

Time for a group photo with our driver, in the middle, and his friends by the Bagaya Kyaung wooden Monastery.

We made our way back to Mandalay by walking through a cute little village tucked between the jungle and the riverbank and negotiated a boat to take us across to Sagaing where we spent the afternoon sightseeing.

A passing local pointed us towards a little path through the jungle into a small village by the riverbank where we could catch a boat across the river.

We were probably the first tourists that had passed through the village in awhile, but the kids welcomed us with a curious smile. The women doing laundry on the banks of the river sent some of the kids on a mission to get a captain for our boat.

We wanted to end the day’s adventure by climbing up the hundreds of steps to Sagaing Hill, the site of a large, beautiful pagoda, with great views of the sunset and down into the valley. We flagged down a drunk tricycle driver, and the ride to the base of the Hill took an eternity. Our driver was more than happy to slow down to a crawl for happy partiers to circle our little tricycle and pour buckets upon buckets of water all over us in the name of happiness and good luck.

"You not wet! You no good luck!"

At the top of Sagaing Hill, we met some monks and enjoyed the endless views.

We climbed Sagaing Hill drenched in water, but reached the top just in time. I perched on a ledge, watching the sun set over the beautiful flat landscape of the valley, lighting up the white and golden pagodas that dotted the area, half listening to Sergio’s conversation with a group of young monks in red robes. They wanted to practice their English, know where we were from, and talk about soccer players with Sergio (they weren’t technically allowed to talk to me as a woman).

After sunset, we climbed back down Sagaing Hill, ready to go back to Mandalay.

“Now, who wants to give us a free ride to the bus stop?” I said out loud, jokingly, to Sergio. Two seconds later, a guy on a motorcycle pulled to a stop beside us and motioned for us to get on.

We jumped on; he took us to the bus station, waving off any offers of payment. We quickly found a bus to take us back to Mandalay and two hours later, on the walk from the bus stop to our hotel, we stopped for a dinner of ice cream sundaes at a delicious ice cream place that was teeming with happy Burmese. A little girl and her mother who stood nearby begging received ice cream and change from us on our way out of the restaurant.

We passed through a night market on the way to our hotel. As we approached the end of the street, the lights from most of the stalls fading away into darkness, a voice called out to us from the right.

“Helloooo! Anything you want?” came the heavily accented greeting.

The merchandise from the stall glowed, like a patch of sun on the dark street. The stand was filled with porn: sex toys, pictures, postcards, magazines, all with a grinning Burmese man behind it, inviting us to survey his wares. We politely declined, but laughed all the way back to our hotel, repeating his call to us, and his gorgeous, blissful attitude that suggested he was selling rainbows and bunny rabbits instead of dildos and raunchy videos. Back at our cheap guesthouse, we fell into bed with the day playing through our heads.

And...Cut. Fade to black.

The country has its problems, but the Burma I know is full of warm, giving, inviting people in a national water fight, ice cream sundaes with sprinkles on top, and the happiest porn store in existence. I know that it’s also a devastatingly poor country that is terrorized by oppression, an over controlling dictatorial regime and natural disasters. I'm not advocating that we close our eyes to it. But, good exists in abundance in this country, and it’s doing a great disservice to the people to only show the horrific.

We should focus on the efforts of people like Aung San Suu Kyi, a champion for the Burmese people. She has fought for years against the government and for democracy. What should stand out from her story isn't that she has been on house arrest for years and has been constantly knocked down by the government, but that in spite of all she's been through, she keeps on going. She has won the Nobel prize, support from the international community, and the hearts of the Burmese population.

Yes, things in this world are tough. We know this. We’re bombarded with stunning pictures of it daily. What we’re not bombarded with are images of how, even through the bad, the good can still shine through; in the most unlikely of places.

So maybe, just maybe, if we started focusing on the little rays of sunlight as much as we already do on the ominous storm clouds, we actually could (and yes, I'll be using this line in my Miss America acceptance speech) make this world a better place.

I’m thinking “Postcards from a Burmese Porn Stand” has a much better ring to it.

Water, water, every where / Nor any drop to drink

2011-06-20T09:29:00.001-05:00

Remember when you were a kid in school, and around Halloween, Christmas, or Easter, a huge jar of candy corn/jelly beans/gumballs would appear on the teacher’s desk? Remember when you'd get to guess how many jelly beans were in the jar and write it down on a little scrap of paper with your name on it, and turn it in to the teacher? And whoever guessed the actual number of items in the jar most accurately won the entire jar of candy?! I desperately wanted that jar. In my 13 years of school from kindergarten to senior year, in which I had at least 30 tries at guessing the number of various candies in various jars, I never once, ever, won.

This is because I have horrible estimation skills. Ask me to guess how many people fit into that college football stadium over there, and I would say, "1500!" Ask me to judge how cold the water in Lake Michigan is right now, in June, and I would say, "25 degrees Fahrenheit!" Or how many more miles we have left in a cross country road trip to reach our destination and I'll blurt out "2,000!" without looking at a map. Poor me, I never stood a chance at those jars of candy games. I accept that for the rest of my life, I will have to buy my own giant bags of candy corn and big glass jars in which to put them.

But now, thinking back on one particular day in our Southeast Asia travels, my hope is renewed! I can think of one of these types of games at which I would actually win. I need to find a contest that asks: How many stairs can you climb in the midday sun, in 100F degrees heat, in the middle of the dry season in India, without eating breakfast or lunch and without water. These steps would be climbed all at once, without stopping. Guess the exact number and you win a lifetime supply of jelly beans!! (whooo hooo, and the crowd goes wild!).

Please tell me this contest exists somewhere, otherwise, that one day of our trip where I found out this piece of information will be a cautionary tale that I get to tell when people ask, “so does traveling day in and day out with your husband affect your relationship?”. Let’s just say the easy answer to the question is: if you can make it through India without one purposefully pushing the other into a fresh pile of cow dung (on accident is a different story), not stalking off into opposite directions in a fit of frustration, or still laugh when you realize that the contact lens you both spent a bumpy and dark 20 minutes searching for on the dirty bus floor turned out to have fallen directly and neatly into your purse...you'll probably make it through anything.

Sergio, being so good with maps, routes, and distance estimations, did the majority of the technical planning of our trip. I’m a little more “loose” in my planning style. Had I been in charge of that aspect of the trip, we would have arrived to Delhi, eaten breakfast, wandered around aimlessly a bit and then said “ok, now what?” I believe that style of travel is great in a place like, The French Riviera, or Venice, but do that kind of thing in India, and you might end up washed away in a sea of people and cows. Thankfully, Sergio more than makes up for what I lack in this department, and he meticulously planned out an awesome six months where we saw SO many things.

Our traveling schedule was such that sometimes we would plan to see one thing in one place in the morning, and get to another place quickly in the afternoon. On one hand, it meant that we were able to see a huge amount of things in our short time in each place, but on the other hand, it meant that sometimes we stretched ourselves out a bit too far. Sometimes, it meant that I wanted to sink down wherever we were and start crying for a warm bed and a TV. And others, it meant that I had the uncharacteristically violent urge to push Sergio in the path of the train that he was running in front of me to catch.

One of these times was in Palitana, India where I learned exactly how many steps I can climb up in the hot sun, on an empty, slightly sick stomach, without breakfast or water. Ah, just mentioning the name now makes me instinctively reach for a glass of water. The golden answer? 2,843 steps up. (which, as those of you familiar with the laws of physics will know, also means 2,843 steps down).

The plan was simple. On our way from Diu to catch our 5pm flight at an airport that was 230km away in Bhavnagar, we would stop for the morning in an ancient and religious place called Shatrunjaya Hills in Palitana. These hills are the most sacred pilgrimage site for the Jainism religion. The act of ascending a steep path to reach a place of pilgrimage is a part of the Jain consciousness, so every Jain wants to complete this pilgrimage at least one time in order to be fit to get into heaven.

The area in Palitana is filled with over a thousand temples but the main attraction is a cluster of 863 exquisitely carved marble temples which have been built over the course of the last 900 years at the summit of Shatrunjaya. The path up extends for 3.5km over 3,200 stone cut steps that climb over 600 meters of height, offering amazing views of the valley and the Shetrunji river.

At the top of the Shatrunjaya Hills overlooking the Shetrunji river bellow

View of the Shatrunjay Tirthadhipati Shree Adinath Derasar

Our taxi dropped us off around midday, and we approached the main temple area. We took one last look at the Lonely Planet, and Sergio noticed something.

“It says here that we can’t take any food or drinks into the temple area.”

“Not even our water bottles?”

“Nope, nothing in the temple area.”

Being used to these kinds of rules by then, we took one last long drink, dumped out our water, stepped through the gates, and began to head up the hill.

Highlighted in red is the path that winds up all the way to the very top

At step 500, I was enjoying myself. There were hundreds of pilgrims surrounding us, mostly dressed in flowing white robes. It was a very spiritual experience - climbing towards sacred temples in the sky amongst pilgrims. They were quietly praying, or just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. At the bottom of the steps, there were groups of skinny but muscular men standing around, offering rides up to the main temple in a dholi, a little swing chair suspended by a long stick and ropes. Two men held on to opposite ends of the stick and carried people up and down all day long- mostly those who were too old or sick to walk, but a few obviously rich Indians took advantage too. I looked down my nose at the rich ones who just seemed lazy, wondering if being carried up to the temple when one can perfectly walk completely negates the whole pilgrimage/sacrifice aspect. These groups kept offering me rides, and I kept shooing them away, slightly offended that they thought I couldn’t/wouldn’t make it all the up.

An older pilgrim being carried on a dholi swing chair around step 500

Around step 1,000, I began to see why they thought I would need a ride up, as my enthusiasm drained away quickly. I slowed down considerably. The Stair Master at the gym had nothing on these Jain temple steps.

At step 2,000, we came to a lesser temple with beautiful statues, great views of the valley, and prayer flags strewn all over. We encountered a very open and friendly family at this temple, and they were very curious about us and our reasons for visiting Palitana. We received several blessings and these interactions were what kept me going during the rest of the climb up and back.

Around step 2000 on the left. Around step 3000 on the right.

However, also around step 2,000, we happened to pass another backpacker on her way down, happily swigging water from her water bottle. “Excuse me” I asked her. “Are we allowed to have drinks up here, we read somewhere it was prohibited?”. I was talking more to her water bottle than to her. She replied with a peppy “No, I think it just means at the very top of the temple. Good luck for the rest of the climb, it’s so worth it in the end – it’s breathtaking up there!”. She then skipped off, fully hydrated and content.

At step 2,841, I gave up. I took two more steps then sat down on the 2, 843^rd step, gave a nod to the goat who winked at me as he crossed the path, and told Sergio to take a lot of pictures. The view from where I was sitting was beautiful in itself, so I spent a very content couple of minutes, waiting, catching my breath, resting my muscles and watching the pilgrims stream by me on their way up. Sergio went ahead, made it to the top, and then met me again on his way back down. We then began our descent.

Upon reaching the summit, a narrow opening through some temples exposes the views of the Shatrunjaya Hills and the valley bellow.

A closer look reveals some of the exquisite carving details.

The way down was excruciating. My legs were like jelly, and whoever coined the phrase "it's all downhill from here" as a reassurance obviously had never walked down over 3,000 steps before. We were absolutely parched, and were constantly teased by these big basins of drinking water that lined the steps on both sides. It wasn’t filtered drinking water, and we held back from drinking, knowing the instant gratification wouldn’t be worth later distress. It was a hard decision though; intense gastrointestinal problems were beginning to seem like a viable cost for one tiny sip of the water.

The last 300 steps passed by in a blur, and I focused on getting down and buying a bottle of water. I fantasized about opening the bottle, pouring the sweet cold water through my lips, letting it linger on my tongue and drinking it down. When we finally bought that first bottle (of 10), it seemed like Sergio opened it in slow motion. Water, in that moment, NEVER tasted so good. Water, something that I take for granted on a regular basis was the best thing in the whole world in those few moments.

We then headed back out into the parking lot to reunite with our cab and head to the Bhavnagar airport. We fell into the cab, dirty, tired, with a bottle of mango juice in one hand, a large bottle of water in the other, and a new found appreciation for the simple things in life.

Looking back, we could have stopped for breakfast first, could have inspected the rules a bit more closely, could have tried to not cram so much into a day…but then, I wouldn’t have learned to appreciate water in such a profound way.

Think of the last time you were really thirsty, but then not being able to just go buy a bottle of water, or open your faucet to get a drink. Or say you slightly burn your hand cooking and can't run over to the sink to run it under an endless flow of cold water. Think of how much water we waste in a day. Think of the last time you were brushing your teeth and left the water running throughout those whole three minutes. Or when you stood in a hot shower with water pouring over your body because it felt good. Think about watering the lawn, watering the plants, how many fountains and monuments we have with gushing water. Every day in my life I take water for granted: that it exists, that there will be enough of it, and that I won’t have to work harder than turning on a faucet to get it.

So taking care of a simple thing like water is another main goal for our non-profit. It would take so little to install running water in every household. Right now in Mactang, along with the lack of toilets and electricity, few huts have running water. Most people have to fill up jugs or basins at the community tap, and carry it back to their houses. Villagers take showers out in the open at the tap, or do their laundry there. There are plenty of water sources on the island, but they haven't been harnessed and brought to each individual home yet. There is also a rainy season, which would provide ample water if we could establish a rain water collection system. These are things that we can take care of easily, and will do as one of the first projects of the non-profit.

Quotidian moments by the community tap in Mactang

Water is and always will be a source of life, and we will bring a water system to the village of Mactang.

How many gallons a day will then be pumped through Mactang, or how many liters can be collected using a rain water collection system? 100! wait, 3100! I can’t even venture a realistic guess - I’ll have to defer to Sergio to answer that technical question.

How much will quality of life in Mactang be improved by the installation of a basic water system? This one I know the answer to: My life in that moment back in Palitana was improved by 1,000% when I had the first drink of sweet, readily available water after only 3 hours of "deprivation" So, I'd say that life quality for these people will be improved by an amount equal to all the candy corn, jelly beans and gumballs in the world, which is - and I’m just estimating here - a whole awful lot.

Group bath at the tap!

Always and Forever

2011-05-19T08:45:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, there lived two kids on opposite sides of an ocean.

Era uma vez um rapaz e uma rapariga que viviam em lados opostos do Atlântico.

One kid, a boy, loved buildings and soccer; the other, a girl, loved music and dancing. They had little in common except that they had always felt a pull to get out of their small towns and see what else was out there. One day, each of these two kids was given the opportunity to leave the comfort of their hometown, families, and lifelong friends to move to a new country for a few months and see the world.

O rapaz gostava de arquitectura e futebol, a rapariga gostava de música e dança. Tinham pouco em comum, a não ser o querer mais do que tinham - queriam experiências maiores do que as suas vidas em cidades pequenas. Um dia, a cada um deles foi dada a oportunidade de deixar o conforto da sua casa, família e amigos, para viver num país novo por uns meses e ver o mundo.

Somehow, some way, each of those two kids, on opposite sides of the ocean with nothing in common chose the same city, made the same friends, and ended up at the same discoteca one cold night in March. Had they unknowingly spent their entire lives moving towards each other? Or had they simply tripped over the same loophole in time and space to end up in the same place? That’s unknown, but through a haze of tequila, Spanish dance music, smoke and hundreds of other scantily clad, attractive bodies, the boy locked eyes with the girl and they both smiled.

De alguma forma, de alguma maneira estas duas crianças, em dois lados opostos do oceano, sem nada em comum, escolheram a mesma cidade, fizeram os mesmos amigos, e numa noite fria de Março foram à mesma discoteca. Teriam eles passado a vida inteira, sem saber, a caminhar um para o outro? Ou teriam simplesmente tropeçado no mesmo buraco no espaço e tempo para acabar no mesmo lugar? Não sabemos, mas por entre uma névoa de tequila, música espanhola, fumo, e centenas de outras pessoas atraentes, o rapaz fixou o olhar na rapariga e os dois sorriram.

During the next 6 months, the boy and the girl definitely spread their wings and saw the world through the amazing international kids that had also joined them in that city. They traveled, partied, spent hours on the beach, and soaked up every single moment. They spent time together, but also spent plenty of time discovering things on their own. They moved in the same direction, then moved in opposite ones, then back in the same directions again. They kept finding themselves unexpectedly looking at each other in various moments, always with a smile on their faces.

Durante os seis meses seguintes, o rapaz e a rapariga abriram as suas asas e viram o mundo através de todos os outros fantásticos jovens que se lhes tinham juntado naquela parte do mundo. Viajaram, festejaram, passaram horas na praia e absorveram cada um dos momentos que viveram. Passavam algum tempo juntos mas também passavam muito tempo separados, fazendo descobertas por si próprios. Andavam na mesma direcção, depois andavam em direcções diferentes, e depois de volta à mesma direcção. Encontravam-se sempre em momentos inesperados, olhando-se sempre com um sorriso na cara.

At the end of those 6 months, the boy took the girl to the airport to send her back across the ocean. When the excitement of Erasmus hedonism, filled with new exotic people, endless nights out and skinny dipping in the Mediterranean had fallen away at the moment of good-bye, they were both startled to find that they were still side by side. They suddenly realized their wings had not only spread in the same direction, but had somehow become intertwined. Without either one realizing it as it had happened, they had become quite impossible to separate.

Ao fim desses seis meses, o rapaz acompanhou a rapariga ate ao aeroporto para a ver partir de volta para o seu lado do oceano. Quando a excitação do hedonismo do Erasmus, cheio de pessoas exóticas e novas, noitadas, e a nadarem nuas no Mediterrâneo acabou, no momento da despedida, eles ficaram surpreendidos por ver que ainda estavam lado a lado. Eles aperceberam-se subitamente que as asas não se tinham apenas aberto na mesma direcção, mas que se tinham, de alguma forma, entrelaçado! Sem que nenhum se tivesse apercebido disso, tinha-se tornado impossível separarem-se.

At the airport, the girl, hearing her name over the loud speaker for a final boarding call, took one last look at the boy, not knowing when she would see him again, painfully extracted herself, and boarded the plane back home.

No aeroporto, a rapariga, ao ouvir o seu nome no altifalante para a última chamada para embarcar, olhou mais uma vez, a última vez, para o rapaz, sem saber quando o voltaria a ver. Ela, dolorosamente, saiu dos braços do rapaz e embarcou no avião de volta a casa.

The End.

Fim.

Except it wasn’t the end. This moment that seems like the end of the story wasn’t the end at all. It was actually the moment where it all began.

Mas não era o fim. Aquele momento que parecia o fim da história não era, de forma alguma, o fim. Na realidade foi o momento em que tudo começou.

That moment lead to two seemingly unending years of a long distance relationship.

Aquele momento foi o início de 2 anos de relação à distância.

Then, two blissful years living together in Portugal.

Depois, 2 anos felizes a viver juntos em Portugal.

Then six months of traveling like this:

E depois, seis meses de viagem assim:

On a scooter in Goa, India

All culminating in this moment exactly two years ago today:

Até culminar neste momento, que faz exactamente dois anos hoje:

The Philippines Wedding – May 19, 2009

O casamento nas Filipinas – 19 Maio, 2009

The wedding was wonderful. Sure there were moments of stressful, overseas planning, cultural misunderstandings, and last minute accommodations. But thanks to a lot of patience and support from my parents, aunts, and some fabulous wedding planners, the actual wedding went off amazingly.

O casamento foi perfeito. Claro que houve momentos dificeis, com muito stress, mal-entendidos culturais e mudanças de última hora. Mas graças à muita paciência e apoio dos meus pais, tios, e fabulosos planeadores de casamento, o dia do casamento foi incrível.

I would only change one thing for certain looking back, and this would be ensuring there were fans running in the sweltering church. As entertaining as it is to see grimaces of torture on the faces of our wedding guests in the video and to make fun of Sergio for the sweat/Tanduay rum running down his face as he said “I do”, I’m not sure if that was quite the sentiment we were going for.

Mudava apenas uma coisa daquele dia – punha ventoinhas na sufocante igreja. Agora, quando vejo o vídeo do casamento, tem a sua piada ver as expressões dos convidados, que pareciam estar no Inferno, e a rir do Sérgio com suor/Tanduay (rum) a escorrer pelo lado da cara enquanto dizia o “Sim”, mas não era bem aquilo que pretendíamos!

To summarize, there was a white dress, there were vows, kisses, and love aplenty. The reception had roasted pigs, toasts, awkward games, and dancing until sunrise. It was all lovely.

Para resumir, havia um vestido branco, havia os votos, beijos, e muito amor. A recepção tinha “lechon” (leitão), brindes, estranhos jogos de salão e as pessoas dançaram até o nascer do sol. Foi adorável.

But what sticks out in my head the most from that time was how touched I was by the village of Mactang, by my family, and neighbors who, even though they have SO MUCH LESS than we do, gave, gave, gave. People left their homes so that our guests could stay in relative comfort. Uncles stayed up during the night to man the generator so we could have electricity all night long. Our pre-wedding celebration the night before made us very happy as the entire village broke out into a fully choreographed ballroom dance routine, and then followed up with native dance performances. My aunts and cousins cooked up a storm to feed our guests with the best cuisine Mactang had to offer on the days before and after the wedding. My uncles and male cousins were more than happy to enfold Sergio, my brother and other guests into the Tanduay rum drinking circle, and gave them the fullest shots. Having a wedding in a place where there are no hotels, restaurants, running water, electricity or roads can certainly be a challenge. But lucky for us, we had a whole lot of hands to help us out.

Mas a coisa mais importante para mim, que me deu mais felicidade do que tudo mais, foi como as pessoas de Mactang - a minha família, e vizinhos - apesar de terem muito menos do que nós, nos deram tanto. As pessoas deixaram as suas casas para os nossos convidados Americanos e Portugueses terem um sítio para dormir. Os meus tios ficavam acordados as noites inteiras de olho no gerador para nós simplesmente termos electricidade durante a noite. Na noite anterior ao casamento, a aldeia inteira preparou um espectáculo de dança só para nós e os nossos convidados. As minhas tias e primas cozinharam imenso, cada dia, para dar a melhor comida que Mactang podia oferecer. Os meus tios e primos acolheram de braços abertos o Sérgio, o meu irmão e outros convidados, iniciando-os, à maneira filipina, ao círculo da bebida, com shots de rum Tanduay. Ter um casamento num sítio onde não há hoteis, restaurantes, água corrente, electricidade ou estradas não e um desafio fácil. Mas, com muita sorte nossa, tivemos muitas mãos para nos ajudar.

Just a taste of the dance performances the night before the wedding


Boys, girls, and a small part of the people that couldn't fit in the church.

Our joy was increased hundred-fold by the people around us, sharing in our joy too, making it happen.

A nossa alegria foi aumentada 100 vezes por causa das pessoas à nossa volta nas Filipinas – partilhando a nossa alegria, e a fazer tudo acontecer!

Which then led to this shift in heart and mind.

Que depois levou a esta mudança no coração e mente.

Which is where we are today.

Que é onde estamos hoje.

It all reminds me of one of my favorite quotes of all time, from the amazing book Shantaram:

“There’s a kind of luck that’s not much more than being in the right place at the right time, a kind of inspiration that’s not much more than doing the right thing in the right way, and both only really happen to you when you empty your heart of ambition, purpose, and plan; when you give yourself, completely, to the golden, fate-filled moment.” Part 1, Chapter 5 (p. 119).

Faz-me lembrar de uma das minhas citações preferidas do livro Shantaram:

“Ha um tipo de sorte que é pouco mais do que estar no lugar certo no momento certo, um tipo de inspiração que não é nada mais do que fazer a coisa certa na maneira certa, e os dois só acontecem realmente quando esvazias o teu coração de ambição, objectivos, e planos; quando te entregas, completamente, ao momento dourado, pleno de destino.”

Two years after their wedding, the girl and boy looked back on all the good that had happened in their collective life so far, then looked at each other. They smiled, held hands, and prepared to jump into the next thing that came along. They didn’t know exactly what it would be, but they knew that when the time came to jump, they would do so with their hearts leading the way – hearts open and unconditionally ready for the next adventure...

Dois anos depois do casamento, a rapariga e o rapaz olharam para trás, para tudo de bom que tinha acontecido nas suas vidas e depois olharam um para outro. Sorriram, deram as mãos um ao outro, e preparam-se para saltar para a próxima coisa que iria aparecer. Eles não sabiam exactamente o que iria ser, mas sabiam que, quando o momento de saltar aparecesse, saltariam com os corações a indicar o caminho – corações abertos e incondicionalmente prontos para a próxima aventura...

Algarve, Portugal

The Spice of Life

2011-05-10T16:48:00.000-05:00

A couple of weekends ago, I took my second business trip ever to Baltimore for a work conference. In the airport, as I was waiting to board the plane for Maryland, I kept smiling winningly at fellow travelers, hoping to be asked the question “business or pleasure?” I pictured myself looking down demurely, and answering with a nonchalant “oh, business”. The totally nerdy, small town girl in me still can’t believe she could ever be able to say “yeah, I’m coming in from Chicago, traveling for work”. I guess it is true that you can take the girl out of the country, but not the country out of the girl. Or more accurately, can take the braces and glasses off the girl, but can’t take out the inherent nerdiness too.

Being on a plane again reminded me of how, for as long as I can remember, I have loved hearing the flight attendants' speech at the end of the flight. The one where they thank us for flying, wish us a pleasant stay in Baltimore, “or wherever your final destination may be”.

I’m not entirely sure why I love that last part so much. I always stop gathering my things and focus just so I can hear that line. I smile a little when I hear it and feel incomplete if I miss it. These have been the parting words on almost every airline I've flown with, and it is a universal message. I like the implicit acknowledgement from the flight crew that goes so much farther than wishing us a pleasant stay. To me, they are saying that just because we’re at a particular place at one time, doesn’t mean this is where we have to stay. Those airlines have been sending us a hidden message that actually means “hey, wherever you are right now, you're not stuck here. It’s ok if you’re staying, but it’s also ok to move on, just have a good time while you’re at it. We support whatever you choose.”

On this trip, Baltimore happened to be my final destination. My second night there, I went out for dinner by myself to a seafood restaurant. As I was eating the delicious, fresh shrimp, scallops, and what claimed to be the best crab cakes in Maryland, a thought occurred to me – food tastes better when eaten with loved ones. A delicious meal is one of those things that is better when shared.

Baltimore's Inner Harbor

The food was great and I could do things like eat the inside from the rolls and leave the crust, hog all the dip, and devour the good parts of the crab. However, delectable as it was, it lacked…something. Like the chef forgot to add a key spice to the recipe. I suspect the food at the table next to me was much more flavorful. I couldn’t help overhearing that the diners were made up of a son who was about to leave for a long-distance college, taking his mom and girlfriend out for a seafood meal. Their scallops were tinged with nostalgia and sadness, which might have caused a bitter taste, but the strong feelings of family togetherness and love balanced the meal out, I’m sure.

My meal lacked…people. Of course there are some things/times where it’s better to be alone. I need a certain amount of quiet time in order to stay happy. But I still think there are so many things in this world that are just that tiny bit better when shared.

Things such as wine. Sure a glass of reserve with a hunk of Manchego cheese or a few squares of chocolate is a great thing. Curled up on the couch in front of an episode of Gilmore girls, with those things by my side is my favorite way to unwind. But you know when wine tastes even better? When it’s the wine in the last two glasses from that second cheap bottle and way past my bedtime. It’s in the sip I take, of which half drips down my chin, in between laughing hysterically at something only funny to me and the best friend laughing with me.

Other things like movies, long walks, comedy shows, board games, pitchers of sangria, and long days at the beach are also better, in my opinion, when someone else is there to help me enjoy. Accomplishments give me a feeling of elation at two points – one when the thing is accomplished, and two, when I tell someone else about it. There’s a reason why we want to call everyone we know when something good happens. Winning the lottery, finishing a crossword puzzle, getting engaged, and getting a promotion are more exciting when there is someone on the other end of the line, hearing the news. Like adding nutmeg to béchamel sauce, the process is not quite complete until the extra ingredient is in.

Brainstorming is another thing that is best done with more than one brain. As we’ve started telling people about the non-profit, we’ve seen many different reactions. Most have been of support. Our friends and family overwhelmingly want to help. Those we've talked with really agree with what we are doing, and offer support in any way possible. It’s nice to have those words of encouragement from friends, especially on those days when it all seems futile.

On the other hand, one reaction I really appreciated was a bit different. This one was more of a challenge. The person essentially said that we were doing well, but the big questions are: How are the people, are they happy? Do they really need our help? Sometimes, he said, it seems like we push what we think life should be like onto others.

This is a perfectly valid question. It goes along with other views I’ve seen when doing research for this non-profit. Some say that it’s arrogant to feel sorry for people. It’s a luxury to even feel sorry for them and pitying in an insult to the way they live and how hard they work. There's this idea of a Western, "white" man hero complex that is viewed as completely disrespectful to the plight of the "brown" people.

I can’t subscribe to that school of thought. In fact, I think it's an indirect way of releasing yourself from any feeling of responsibility. We’re not starting this non-profit out of a place of pity, superiority, or entitlement. Sure, I believe the people in the Philippines are content with what they have. They get up and live every day. It’s human nature to do the best they can with the resources that exist. But what if, they had a little more? I can’t believe that we shouldn’t feel compassion for people who don’t have enough to eat, or don’t have running water because it’s some kind of insult to them.

We do not want support for our organization because it’s noble, for recognition, or because of a feeling of extreme pity for “those poor souls”. We're not out trying to convert anyone to our way of thinking, or to get anything in return.

Support should be as simple and agenda free as offering a stranger an umbrella when it’s pouring down rain because we have two. Why give? Simple: because we have an extra umbrella. That's it. For us, there's no room in this organization for anything more complicated than that.

A main focus while we are in these initial stages of planning is just this – how to determine exactly what people need versus what we think they need. Decidedly, we’re not going to run over there and force questionable help on them. Each aspect will be carefully considered for validity. Food, running water, electricity, waste disposal, medicine, clothing and education, – those are easy. It’s harder to determine if they need computers, birth control, faster boats, and businesses.

Due to the lack of running water, the one communal tap in the village doubles as a washing tub where you can clean clothes, utensils, dishes, kids...

Minimal light is obtained from a diesel generator that runs 3 hours per night. A mesh of electrical wires hang precariously across the village, exposed to the elements and within children's reach.

Here you can see some of my cousins who gathered at my grandma's house to do their homework during that 3 hour period in which the generator provides lighting.

Now that’s what makes me feel arrogant – determining that people don’t “need” this or that.

I think that those who are giving help will always run into critics. People are quick to point the finger at the bad or imperfect with these types of organizations, instead of edifying the good.

It’s a delicate balance, but one that can be achieved with some planning and insight. The planning part is something we can control, the insight is something that we can only hope we've been blessed with.

We do know we have been blessed with great people in our lives so far. So to all of our friends, family and loved ones spread all around the world, thanks for making life taste better.

Our current goal is to be the ones adding that missing ingredient for others - through volunteering with local groups here, during our next backpacking trip abroad with a bigger budget, with our non-profit in the Philippines or... wherever our final destination may be.

Resurrection

2011-04-27T15:09:00.000-05:00

I love Easter. My love for this holiday always sneaks up on me – I forget how much I like it until the day comes. It’s not only because Easter gives me an excuse to eat all that chocolate/meat/alcohol that was given up for 40 days prior. It’s more about how hopeful and positive the holiday is. I love how it’s a relatively commercialism-free holiday. Unless the Easter Bunny is involved, Easter is about being with family/friends and celebrating a new beginning. It’s a reason to give a hug to your best friend, sit down for a big, lingering meal, or get dressed up in your finest and go to church with the family.

In the Christian context, Easter is the day that Jesus rose from the dead and saved us from our sins – a reason to celebrate indeed. However, even for those who don’t celebrate the holiday for any of numerous reasons, it can still be a happy day. Easter seems to bring out the good in everyone that I interact with. It makes me smile to see so many messages of goodwill spread out on Facebook, instead of the usual “30 minutes stuck in traffic, f***, I hate my life” type status updates that seem to show up on rainy Mondays. Friends reach out to each other to wish a happy holiday.

Maybe it’s because it feels like spring has finally arrived, could be a feeling of a new start, or perhaps it’s only the lingering sugar high from the huge Reese’s peanut butter egg I devoured on Sunday – but I can’t help but feel a little hopeful right now.

Normally in church, I space out a bit during the homily, like any good Catholic. However, on Easter Sunday, I tuned in to hear what the priest had to say. Surprisingly, I agreed with his main message – that of resurrection, the concept of living forever, and how we shouldn’t wait until the afterlife to live as if each day is a brand new day. How we could imagine a daily resurrection as a reason to start thinking about others, to go beyond our own life concerns and reach out to those who have less than we do. And how each day is a new chance to start living the life we want to live.

His homily got me thinking about the conflicting views of how to achieve that “eternal life” that seems to be the main focus of many. Every religion says a different thing, and few people can actually agree on the subject. As I was pondering, Varanasi kept popping into my head. Varanasi, India, the city that is more than a city – it’s a veritable religious holy ground, where even the air reeks of resurrection and rebirth.

Varanasi

We landed in Varanasi in early April 2009, and our arrival was like a slap in the face. We had just spent 10 days in peaceful Bhutan, then another 7 in the chaotically tranquil Nepal, only to be thrust back into the whirlwind that is India is one short plane ride. We stepped off the plane into sweltering heat and negotiated a taxi into Varanasi and settled back to readjust to the bustle.

On the short taxi ride into town, we drove past a house playing techno Hindi dance music at full blast for no apparent reason, a kid on a bicycle who was carrying what appeared to be the entire front end of a truck and then were stuck in traffic as an entire herd of huge, stinking water buffalo crossed through a major intersection in the center of the city.

Water buffalo lounging in the Ganges after making their way through the city on the left. A Dhobi Ghat, where laundry is taken care of on the right.

Once we made it to into the section of Varanasi near the river and its ghats (a set of steps that mark various entryways into sacred rivers in India), finding a hostel was no less chaotic. It was stifling hot, there was an overly persistent tout following us constantly as we lugged our heavy backpacks from guesthouse to guesthouse. The difficult to navigate streets were so narrow that only two people could fit across. Some streets went sharply uphill, other straight down, and the steps in that heat were punishing. We had to weave through people, monkeys, cow dung and actual cows. Several times we had to squeeze past a cow who was taking up 3/4 of the narrow street. As we approached, the cow would look at us, defiant and bored as if saying “what? I was here first and you better not touch me when you go by.”

Cows wandering through the narrow streets on the left. The main burning ghat, Manikarnika Ghat on the right.

Until our trip, I usually limited my contact with cows to pouring my milk into my morning cereal, so each time we encountered one, I inched past the cow, terrified by the proximity. I slipped by muttering the mantra “eeeee, don’t kick me, don’t kick me, don’t move! good cow! Eeeee, don’t kick me!”

Since we had arrived to Varanasi late in the afternoon, we had to visit at least 10 hostels of varying sanitary conditions along the length of the river before finding one that had an empty room. We finally found a place near the main burning ghat, Manikarnika. At this point, tired and hungry, I was barely speaking in full sentences to Sergio. We were both soaked with sweat. We literally fell into the room and onto the bed, looked at one another and said, “Welcome back!”

Nitya Puja, the morning bath by the Dasaswamedh Ghat.

To me, Varanasi was what religion and rebirth look like in city form. The air just feels different there. Walking along the ghats and the river, bodies wrapped in beautiful fabrics were carried past us by several men. There was always a funeral pyre smoldering at a burning ghat close by, cremating someone’s loved one. Elderly people sat in the streets, having made their pilgrimage to Varanasi to spend the last of their days. Wood was stacked as high as buildings in the streets and smoke filled the air.

Varanasi is where people go to die, but it’s also the most sacred place along the Ganges River - the river of life. The entire city shows just how Hindus view life: temporary, fleeting, and a small stop on the re-incarnation train.

The Ganges River is not the fetid, practically radioactive snake of a river that I expected, at least not to the naked eye. However, it is estimated that 200 million liters of untreated human sewage are released into the river every day. The river contains 120 times the amount of fecal coli forms per 100ml than is considered safe before it hits Varanasi, so once it passes through the city, well, it’s really, seriously dirty. But, from our hotel room, the river looked like any other river, and the people bathing and washing their clothes on its banks made it seem like a pure water source.

We spent a sweltering day in Varanasi, walking along the banks of the river. Each ghat we passed was unique and the smoldering heat combined with the hot sun lent a hazy, dreamlike quality to all we were seeing. Indian pilgrims in big groups constantly streamed past us, heading to the temple of their choice.

In our afternoon boat ride on our first day, we couldn’t help but ask our boatman if the water was really safe to drink.

“So, with all respect, is this water safe to drink?” Sergio tentatively asked our boatman.

“Absolutely, no problem, holy water.” Came the confident answer. He said it with a little smirk on his face, obviously thinking, these silly Westerners.

“But… haven’t you heard that the water is polluted?” Sergio and I were nauseous just thinking of drinking the water with dead bodies, saturated in fecal matter, chemicals, and who knows what else.

“Sure, no problem, holy water.” He repeated. “People bring jugs. Fill them while they are here. Keep in houses. Cure all problems. Water last for years. Water to purify”

“Really.” We replied, still not convinced.

“Really, no problem, holy water, Mother Ganga, heals all.” And with that he stopped rowing, dipped his hand in the water and took a long, deep, drink.

That evening, after the sunset, we watched a beautiful worship ceremony from our boat that took place on the banks of the river. Hundreds of boats gathered around to watch the worship, complete with fire, lights, and fireworks. We ended the evening by lighting candles and sending them floating down the river on a banana leaf in memory of deceased loved ones. Our candles slowly began to mingle with the thousands of candles set free by others on the river, and as the flickering lights drifted off into the darkness, I was overcome by how insignificant we all are, but at the same time, how much we need to rely on each other to get through this life.

We took a final boat ride in the early hours of the morning that we left. We passed hundreds of people lining the bank of the river, bathing, washing clothes, drinking in the holy water of the Ganges River. They created a mosaic of colors so bright and vibrant. We then passed a funeral taking place: ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We rowed by two men who had somehow rigged their boat to include a functioning television, watching TV on high volume, as they floated down the river.

We passed by lively kids being washed in the river by their mothers, squirming to get away and laughing. We then rode by the bloated face down body of a child, one of the exceptions to the cremation rule. Certain people, such as untouchables, children and pregnant women aren’t cremated; they are set free down the Ganges River. If they are lucky, they are eaten on the other side or further down the river by dogs, their bones washing up on the banks. Being eaten brings good karma for the next life and is considered to be a very auspicious thing to happen to someone.

In the pinkish and yellowish light from the rising sun, we passed life and death, existing side by side, in a somewhat surreal mesh of colors, sounds, and the fragility of it all.

It seems like a morbid topic for a post that started so positively – but the thing is, Varanasi wasn’t all that morbid. If anything, it showed how we should take part in the happy celebration for as long as we’re here. We’re all inter-connected in a technicolor blur of days, nights and coli form bacteria.

I don’t presume to know the way to eternal life. Whether it’s through confessing my sins to a priest, being eaten by dogs, or living each day as if it were my last, I’m uncertain. The only thing I'm sure of is the way to live life now - following the golden rule of do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Help when I can, give what I've got.

Rebirth, resurrection, reincarnation, everlasting life, burial, cremation, dog food. Who knows? I can discern only one sure thing about these topics:

Today is a new day: another chance for a mini resurrection of my own.

Toilet Tribute

2011-04-19T09:08:00.000-05:00

While talking with people after returning home from our travels, most found a way to politely ask about the state of our bowels during our time in India. Among the more round about questions included “how was your health?” and “did you have any problems…you know…with your stomach?”. The most direct question came from a Portuguese cousin upon our return that roughly translates to, “so, how many times did you get the runs?”

These questions always bring up memories we had tried to push out of our minds. Panic rises in our stomachs as we fearfully look around for the nearest restroom, sighing in relief as we realize we’re no longer actually in India, and a toilet is just down the hall.

Of course we had stomach problems - show me someone who visited and left India without some sort of stomach emergency, and I’ll show you someone who did not experience India properly. So, we quickly learned that since you’re going to have a dodgy stomach – you have no choice, it’s India!- do so within a couple kilometers of a five star hotel. Try to find the hotels that cater to the really rich; those who are oblivious to the irony of going to India to stay somewhere that makes them feel like they never left home. These places are an oasis of comfort and luxury as children stand begging two blocks away, covered in dirt.

Enter the lobby, walk past the guests who visit the major sights in air conditioned vehicles, who take tours of the beautiful parts of the city, then return back to the hotel and take the elevator to their rooms that cost the same amount that it would take to feed about 100 of those hungry children for a month. Take advantage of the presence of these types of tourists and vacationers. Learn to see these hotels as the god-send that they are when that bad curry calls for an emergency evacuation.

I broke the cardinal rule of traveling one morning in Mumbai – I drank the water in the form of ice in a questionable drink. Bad decision and bad luck, but thankfully, I had the good fortune to feel the effects right in front of the gorgeous Taj Hotel, whose lobby contains the most luxurious semi-public (for those who can get into the hotel) restroom ever.

It was glorious – the culmination of all that is good and right in the world. A smiling woman in a delicate silver sari greeted me happily as I pushed past her to get to the toilet. I walked into the stall that was larger than the room at the hostel where we staying, and even in my agony had to take a second to look around. The bathroom had a padded seat, an automatic air freshener which filled the room with a burst of scent every 30 seconds. Four different rolls of toilet paper beckoned from varying heights, conveniently making it comfortable to reach for toilet paper no matter how doubled over I was, clutching my aching stomach. The public restroom there was 10 times nicer than anything the majority of the Indian population will ever set foot in. It made me want to eat that street vendor food just to get to spend more time in there. Naan with questionable meat, days old tomatoes and onions washed in tap water on the side? Yes, please!

The nicest bathroom I've seen was located in a luxury hotel bordered by slums in Mumbai.

The hard part of course, was leaving, once my stomach had emptied its contents, knowing how awesome the rest of the hotel must have been, but I took what I could get. Lessons learned:

Luxury hotels are the best medicine for a bad stomach in India
The price of a good toilet is impossible to quantify.

Toilets were something I had taken for granted. When nature called, I went to the bathroom; I came back out, problem solved. Traveling through Southeast Asia, I became more aware of toilets than I have ever been in my entire life. There was always the problem of finding one, figuring out the logistics of using one, not contracting a strange disease from one, not getting propositioned by a 14 year old boy whilst offering up my bottom as an all you can eat buffet for mosquitoes in one (a story for another day), and always needing my Western toilet paper.

I now realize just how important toilets are in our everyday lives, and the role they could play in improving quality of life.

In the Philippines, in Mactang (my mom’s village),

View of Mactang

the majority of households are so poor that they do not have a bathroom. I don’t mean a lack of indoor plumbing, or getting rid of the “washing with water” cleaning method (this isn’t about forcing our toilet paper habit on the rest of the world), but simply a lack of a section of the house set aside as a bathroom. With a few hundred dollars, we can install a working bathroom in each household in the village. A seemingly simple, basic thing. But the positive effects of this simple thing are great.

Above all, the installation of bathrooms creates sanitary conditions for everyone. They eliminate certain diseases, the threat of ground water contamination, and other chances for infection that comes from contact with human waste. The respect for the cleanliness of the land and village increases. And when flooding occurs, flood water contamination can be crossed off of the long list of things to worry about. We can hire locals to install the bathrooms which creates jobs, hence reducing the increasing rural exodus of young people and men from the island.

So, on the rough, long list of goals for our non-profit, among the top rests the entry:

- Install a bathroom in every hut.

In parallel to the famous saying:

“give a man a fish, you feed him for a day but teach a man to fish, you feed him for a lifetime”

The motto for this particular goal will be:

“give a man a toilet…and he doesn’t have to go outside anymore”

And that, my friends, will be a giant step in the right direction.

Monkey Temple Enlightenment

2011-04-13T16:05:00.000-05:00

Have you read this book?

Little Princes: One Man's Promise to Bring Home the Lost Children of Nepal

If not, go to the local library and check it out. Even better, go to the bookstore and buy it, since proceeds support the organization that the author started – Next Generation Nepal. I'm all about the library, but in this case, it's worth a purchase. Little Princes made me want to laugh, cry, run to Nepal to save children, and throw my hands up in the air in triumph, sometimes within the same page.

I’m a deep believer in fate. Signs are all around if we just stop to look for them. We’re in the hands of the universe, and things happen for a reason. I know some skeptics are rolling their eyes right now, and maybe it’s all a random coincidence, but so often I get this feeling that things come into my life just when they’re needed. Sometimes it’s finding a new friend when I’m feeling especially lonely, or a big break when I’m about to give up, but usually it’s the little things - as simple as coming across a good book.

This non-profit idea had been stewing in my brain for months, details floating in and out, and I was in the midst of major research. About a month ago, I had almost given up on the idea entirely. After reading through pages and pages of advice on how to file for tax-exempt status with the IRS, the complications of the paperwork, the need for a lawyer, the difficulties of fundraising, I felt like throwing in the towel. How could I, little old me, ever found a non-profit organization? Then I began to feel like my work would be meaningless. How could our little organization help the millions of people in this world who are in destitute conditions?

At my nadir, I happened to come across Little Princes, fell in love with it, was inspired, and all my negativity turned back into hope. Above all, this is a story about how a couple of people giving a little can make such a difference. And it made me realize that our group doesn’t have to barge over to the Philippines, and make everyone’s lives better with a million dollar budget. We have to focus on one tiny goal at a time.

This book touched me in so many different ways. The story itself is impossible to resist - that of a young American guy who sets off on a world adventure, only to find himself drawn back to an orphanage in Nepal where he began his adventure. It details how he establishes a non-profit to reunite trafficked children with their families, and how well he succeeds. It’s a love story. The universal themes are written so that anyone can feel them through the pages. But, I believe it also touched me because I could see so many similarities between the children described and "our" kids in the Philippines. Poor, but incredibly resilient and happy all the same.

One small paragraph in the book when he takes out a camera to take pictures of some kids really made me smile, since I have had the exact experience in the Philippines. Try to sneak out a camera in an effort to catch a candid shot of those beautiful kids just being kids, completely unaware and absorbed in their own world and you will invariably get this:

I also think this book touched me because I’ve been to Nepal and seen what happens to a country when its government completely abandons it. What happens to a country when the well-being of the people is shamelessly and openly replaced with corruption and greed. Nepal is a case study in “what could have been”. The landscape is beautiful and mountainous, but what should be pristine streams have turned into a brown sludge, filled with garbage and waste, winding its way through cities and country, leaving disease in its path. The basic infrastructures like running water, electricity, security are all lacking in daily life. The saddest part is that the country has the resources to provide these things to its citizens, but the government is too busy making money for itself to give anything else to the people.

Line of women waiting hours to get a little water for their houses.

Water is so scarce, whatever is around is used for everything.

Chobhar - Trash and waste line what's left of the water that isn't being diverted for electricity to be sold to other countries.

Urban planning was obviously thrown to the wayside. Our Lonely Planet from 2006 outlined treks through remote areas of the Kathmandu Valley, but when we tried to take those nature hikes in 2009, we could never find the nature part of the hike. Urban sprawl had completely taken over the countryside in the form of poorly constructed houses and factories. This used to be remote:

Kirtipur - Southwest Kathmandu Valley

All that aside, our experiences in Nepal were good. The people were friendly, and willing to give, courageously stoic in the face of their deteriorating country. One particular day in our travels through Kathmandu contributed greatly to my present attitude:

On our second day in the Kathmandu Valley, we decided to make the trek up to a highly sacred temple for both Buddhists and Hindus, Swayambhunath, which is a couple of kilometers from the center of Kathmandu. The temple is more fondly referred to as the Monkey Temple, as the temple grounds double as a playground for (according to legend) sacred monkeys. The monkeys certainly acted as if they were holy, as they slid down the banisters, jumped from tree to tree around the complex, and came close enough to us to reach out and touch, only to give us a strangely human raise of the eyebrows as they jumped back into the trees and temples.

Swayambhunath was situated on a steep hill, and the only way to get up to it was to climb a large, daunting set of stairs that seemed to have no end, from our position at the bottom. After I finished squealing to myself about how cute the monkeys were, I got to the more serious task of climbing up all those steps. In the polluted morning air, we slowly climbed the staircase, pausing every so often to take a look around, to observe some playing monkeys or to take a picture. About halfway up to the temple, a group of three girls started trailing us, leaning in close enough to give us shy smiles, and then backing away giggling for a couple of seconds, and coming up close again. By the time we reached the top of the hill, the girls had joined our group, the shy smiles becoming big grins as they were encouraged by our own friendly looks.

The girls eagerly became our unofficial tour guides. Each girl took hold of my hand or arm and we walked around the temple complex like some 8 legged awkward creature. They pointed out various interesting parts of the temple and Sergio followed behind, snapping away with his camera, catching every moment possible. I was charmed by them. We could only communicate with the little bit of English that they knew and an elaborate system of hand gestures, but we spent a deeply pleasant hour walking around the temple soaking up the holiness. From what we could gather, they were between the ages of 7-10, and had the day off from school because of either a religious holiday or a strike, both equally likely.

The main stupa of the Monkey Temple is breathtaking, The most striking things about it are the sets of eyes painted on all four sides, pointing in each cardinal direction. Supposedly the eyes of Buddha, they gave the stupa a strange feeling of being alive, as if they were able to see everyone and everything. Two pairs of eyes were for communication with the gods. The other two sets of eyes were said to represent wisdom and compassion, feelings that would come in handy for me later in the day.

Main stupa at Swayambhunath.

After a couple of hours at the Monkey Temple, we began our walk back down to Kathmandu, and our new friends stuck with us. Both Sergio and I were in really great moods: calm, spiritual, and charmed by the innocence of the girls, tagging along for a day. My first instinct had been to be cautious, I was sure the girls were going to ask for something, or reveal some scam they were running for an adult, but they had patiently hung out with us for hours without asking for anything, seemingly happy to just be with us.

It began once we got back out into the street away from the temple complex. A quiet voice at first from the most outgoing of the girls – “We so thirsty.” Cough cough, “drink.” Encouraged by the first girl, the other joined in “thirsty. Hot day. Drink.” It was an innocent enough statement, and we bought them a bottle of water and then kept walking. Soon we heard more requests, “food. Hungry.” All of a sudden, my calm mood was burst. Of course, once again, we were being asked for more than what we “could” give at the time. Suddenly I was sure these innocent girls were about to ask us for something else, or lead us to some scam set up for tourists.

I realize now that my annoyance was probably a reaction stemming from guilt at not being able to help them more. A sort of defense mechanism to deal with feeling the responsibility. But at the time, I couldn’t see things so clearly, and I was mad at them. Being asked day in and day out, all day for things, feeling like people always were out to take advantage of us, expecting more from us, became unbearable at times. I felt everyone’s expectations weighing on us, and some days, I just wanted to shout, “We are just two budget backpackers!! Go ask someone else!!” How quickly I became cynical, bitter even.

I settled into my bad mood. The sun was beating down on us, the midday traffic of the Kathmandu streets was kicking up dust and pollution, limiting my lung capacity, and once again we had been “tricked” into feeling that there was no ulterior motive - just three young girls curious about us.

Then, suddenly, Buddha’s eyes from earlier popped back into my head; particularly those that convey wisdom and compassion. I had a big change of heart and snapped out of the crazy mood I was in. I realized that if, for example, my parents took me out to dinner, I would want them to pay for me. If I got invited out for a day trip with a wealthy couple that I knew had tons of money, they would buy my ticket. What was I thinking, getting mad at these girls?

I believe it was the eyes of compassion that made me stop and analyze my reaction. But in any case, we stopped to buy them some more water and cookies and had a snack in the street. I was even more ashamed when the girls offered us some of the cookies we had given them, and tried to give the unfinished pack to us. We insisted they keep them, said our good-byes and kept on walking. The girls looked wistfully after us, as they wanted to stay with us, but stated they “weren’t allowed” to cross the bridge back into Kathmandu.

Maybe all those people who were constantly asking us for things didn’t see Western travelers as “walking ATM’s” as I heard some jaded travelers complain about while describing their experiences. Maybe they’re not all natives out to dupe tourists for everything they can get. Maybe they’re just people who see others that have been dealt a much better hand than they have, and hope for an opportunity. A chance at something that they don’t have the resources to achieve on their own; a chance, for a day, or an hour, a minute, or simply while finishing off that bottle of water, to be something and somewhere different.

It’s easy to become cynical when people are constantly asking for something, or when we live a life of comfort, but sometimes, all it takes is a little perspective to see things as they are. When I see a chance in my life, I grab it, and perhaps that’s simply what all the people we encountered were doing - reaching for an opportunity that happened to be in the form of two happy backpackers.

With this non-profit, we hope to be instrumental in creating that opportunity that people can reach for. In some cases it will be a gesture as small as providing a bottle of water and a couple of packages of cookies, but we hope that in the future, this will grow to create opportunities through long-lasting changes that can provide much, MUCH more than that.

Old Blog, New Direction...

2011-04-05T08:59:00.000-05:00

Hmm, April 2009 is the last post before this one. I accept it - we’re not going to win any awards for most frequent bloggers. In our defense, we entered Myanmar soon after our last blog post, where it was impossible to do even basic things on the Internet, let alone update a blog. Then we moved on to the Philippines, where blogging was supplanted by wrestling with monkey-like kids, swimming all day, and getting married. Then, we spent the last of our money floating down the Kinabatangan River in Malaysian Borneo, drinking freshly picked tea in the Cameron Highlands, and cycling through the ruins of Angkor Wat – again places where the Internet was a fuzzy thought in the back of our minds. Excuses, I know, but good ones!

Since then, we returned to Portugal for a stint, and moved on to the United States, specifically Chicago. We’ve battled our way through unemployment, temp jobs that make us question our sanity for leaving the simple life behind, (gratefully) living with both sets of parents, and readjusting to life without backpacks. Barely a day goes by when we don’t bring up something from our trip – a memory triggered by one of our senses. Usually, (and this may show where our priorities lie), it’s while we’re eating, and one of us will turn to the other and say “remember those shrimp we had in….” or “this reminds me of that butter tea we choked down in…”. Memories of this trip are sometimes what get me through an otherwise monotonous day of life in Chicago. Somehow, two years have passed since we first left for this adventure – which just doesn’t seem possible.

Now, approaching April 2011, we’re both gainfully employed – no longer intrepid budget backpackers, but random, functioning members of society. We just filed taxes. We’re going to IKEA this weekend. We may be saving up for a bread maker. We’ve observed a growing trend as of late – when we say the words “we have good news” people immediately respond with “you’re pregnant!?”. (for the record, I'm not!) We just renewed our lease for another year, setting the stage for what will be the longest we’ve lived together in one place.

We’re in a more comfortable position than we were 2 years ago– perhaps even settled. The 21 one year old version of me cringes in horror at that word. Actually, the 25 year old traveler version of me cringes at that word. My biggest fear as we were boarding the plane out of Kuala Lumpur to take us back to reality that day in June 2009 was that this would be IT. That, we would, against our best intentions, get sucked back into real life and never be able to jump back out.

Both of us have landed great, full time jobs – our traveling plans lately have turned into a weekend in May, not so much 6 months of wandering. We still have our goal of taking an “as long as possible” trek right before we start having kids and it’s not as if we won’t travel in the future. But I depressingly realize that the chances for this type of travel - for us to quit our jobs, leave our apartment, forget about things like insurance and taxes, and set off around the world with only each other, our backpacks and a Lonely Planet to guide us, are numbered.

However, there are advantages to being settled. I’m able to look back on our trip from a different perspective; realizing that once again everything I was certain I knew – I didn’t know. I’m able to remember the good and bad times, and come to conclusions and life lessons that I couldn’t see in the moment.

As a result of our trip, we appreciate every single day that we have. There’s something about seeing people desperately begging for a piece of bread that makes us grateful for every morsel of food that we put into our mouths. We now have one goal in our collective lives – to be happy. As simplistic and whimsical as it may sound, we truly value being happy above all else. Because of the trip, no one will see us chasing money, cars, or fame. We’re happy with every penny we have, happy to be together, content to have a roof over our heads, a full belly, and a night out now and then. With a simplicity that didn’t show itself before our trip, we know what’s important in our lives. We also have reached an acute awareness of how truly lucky we are. How lucky it is that all our basic needs are taken care of, and how fortunate that we have the luxury of the goal of happiness.

On the flip side, I’m also able to realize that we were just a teensy bit arrogant in our newbie backpacker naivety. That we prided ourselves a little too much on being able to bargain with the locals over the price of a rickshaw ride or a souvenir. That we unjustly patted ourselves on the back anytime we saved a dollar or two, and that we quickly lost perspective on how expensive was “too expensive”.

Certain moments in our trip haunt me to this day, especially when I’m standing in line at Argo Tea, waiting to pay for my $4 chai latte. They come back to me in a flash while I’m standing at my kitchen sink doing the dishes and letting my mind wander. They sneak into my head when I’m finishing up our budget for the month, looking at the thousands of dollars we spent in four weeks on…what exactly? Moments such as:

When we were in Angkor Wat, in Cambodia, we came to a small temple, one that was hidden away from the main roads, and tucked into a corner of the landscape. We were the only ones there. It was 6pm, we were among the last of the tourists that would visit for the day, when we were approached by two small girls selling bracelets. They offered us a bracelet -$1. Having already given away some money that day, we smiled politely (patronizingly?) and shook our heads. Then they offered us 10 bracelets for $1. No, we politely declined as we walked down the hill towards our bikes. We had already spent $5 over our budget for the day. They gathered closer, pressing in a bit tighter, raising their voices and talking over each other. “Please ma’am, 20 bracelets. One dollar!” The desperation in their voices left me feeling extremely uncomfortable as I tried to ignore it. “50 bracelets! $1!!” No. Walking faster. “100 bracelets, $1!” “One dollar sir, 100 bracelets!! Special Friend Price, Just for you!” We reached our bikes and rode off.

I would give anything to be able to go back and give them $10. Or $20, the amount we just spent on greasy fast food hamburgers for lunch. Or $100. Or to pick both of them up, put them in my backpack and carry them home to get an education, constant food and shelter, and a new life. A life away from begging and selling things for money that probably went straight to an adult in their lives anyway.

Even closer to my heart, the trip cemented my already lingering feeling of needing to help my family in the Philippines. What’s the difference between my numerous cousins, aunts, uncles, and other relatives and me? What’s the reason for the large discrepancy in the quality of life between us? Luck. Simple dumb luck that I was born to this set of parents and not another. If I hear the call to help loud and clear when I think of other countries visited, it is deafening in my ears when I focus on the Philippines. My more immediate family is lucky enough to benefit from the selfless generosity of my parents. This generosity is a large part of my inspiration now because it has shown me how effective a little extra kindness can be. However, what about everyone else on the island? Everyone else in the region, everyone else in the country? I might be American, but my heart lies in the Philippines, and I’m afflicted with an inescapable tendency to follow my heart above all else.

When I really start to think about it, or when I daydream about our next trip, questions pop up at me. Things like: How to reconcile being a budget backpacker with being a rich Westerner? To us, we were living on $40 a day damnit, we were poor! To them, we’re white (ish) people who have a life full of privilege. We can travel halfway around the world and pretend to know what it’s like to “rough” it. We have the luxury of taking time off to Find Ourselves, while others just want to put one foot in front of the other. What’s the level of personal responsibility? Just because we have enough money to travel on a budget for six months, does that mean we should have to give money to everyone we see? And if we don’t, at what point are we being selfish?

Backpacking is different from a vacation in, say, Rome. In Rome, while poverty also lurks everywhere, a person can have a guilt free couple of weeks without thinking too much about the subject. On these vacations, poverty isn’t a constant confrontation on every corner, and it’s possible to spend freely thinking, “I earned this money, I deserve a break” Simple and clear-cut. If we had decided to backpack through Europe, I wouldn’t even be having this inner dialogue, but we didn’t. We chose Southeast Asia, where we became aware that every dollar we spent was a luxury, and just how much a dollar was worth. A dollar could be the difference between a family going hungry for a night or not. The difference between “need” and “this would be nice to have” became crystal clear.

Naturally, this created an awareness - an awareness that now I can’t shake off. It’s seeing something that you can’t ‘unsee’. Can I continue to do nothing at all, when I’ve stared poverty in the face? If I really think about it, this question can apply to my life now. I spend hundreds of dollars a month on things that I don’t need. If I can spend $75 on a single night out with friends, can’t I give even more? Where’s the limit, what’s the line, to what extent are we obligated to give - in our own country and abroad?

I try to give freely now, mostly of my time, but of money too, when I can. To somehow atone for the frugality and selfishness that were necessary in order for us to achieve our goal of backpacking. Unfortunately, at that egocentric time in our lives, in order to achieve our dreams we had to step on countless others. One day, as I was running along Lake Michigan, pondering the state of the world, I realized I can now have a new dream. One that, in order to achieve it, I will have to help (hopefully) countless others. Which is where “I Can See the World Through You” comes in. More than the name of the song that Sergio and I first danced to at our wedding, more than the title of our blog, I think I’ve just found the title of a group I want to start. And on this blog, where it all began is where the next step can begin as well.

What started as a self-indulgent wish to see the whole world might just have become a selfless need to serve a tiny part of the world.

We are going to start a non-profit. One whose early focus now is the people of the Philippines, specifically those in my mom’s home village, but if it works (and I have faith that it will) it can spread to many other places.

I believe it was the great Mother Theresa who said “Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies.” This blog, this project, this goal is my small thing in which I’m putting all my faith. And hopefully, with a little luck and a lot of help from others, it will become resonant with strength.

It's gonna be a long one!

2009-04-04T07:54:00.000-05:00

We're back to cheap Internet!! So, where I last left off....

Oh Kolkata...

Being in Goa, and the south and the tropical paradise, "easy" version of India made it easy to forget the social problems, poverty and pollution of the rest of the country. They still exist in these areas, of course, but the sparkle of the ocean and the fresh seafood make it easy to give that little extra push to get those pesky problems out of our minds. But arriving to Kolkata on March 13 thrust those things full force front and center into our minds and the days in Kolkata were surprisingly hard for me. I'd gotten to used to the easy India and it was hard to adjust. Kolkata gave me the overall first impression of being dirty, polluted, and in various states of decay with this feeling of aggressiveness in the air. I was only there one day, and we are headed back in a couple days, so I know this is just first impression, and I'm willing to give the city another chance, but this is what I thought about it upon first arriving. Kolkata is generally associated with abject poverty and disease, since most of us are only able to reference Kolkata joined with Mother Theresa and her work, and it's as if the city knows its reputation and is fighting against it, but has given up, half giving into the bad parts, half rebelling against them in a mean aggressive, cynical way. There were some nice parts-government buildings and homes of ruling leaders, but all heavily guarded and fenced in.

We arrived to the airport of Kolkata from the south of India and after the usual search for "driver who will rip us off the least" we were taken to a guesthouse, checked into a somewhat dirty, windowless room, and headed into the city center. We walked around Sudder Street, the obvious center for travellers, the market areas, and ended the day with the Kali Temple and Mother Theresa's hospice. Walking around, we were constantly approached by beggars, which quickly began to take it's toll..."no, I can't give you anything, but in 20 minutes, I'm going to spend 50 rupees on an ice cream that I don't need". The guilt factor reared it's head again, but there were so many of them, this overwhelming feeling of helplessness began to take hold of me. I mean, even if we could give 100 rupees to each of them, what would it solve? The only way I could handle it was to be pretty cold to all of them, giving them a firm NO, or just ignoring them, but that act also got to me quickly, because honestly, they-we- are just trying to get through life, why should I treat them badly or meanly just because I've been dealt a better hand? But how can we help everyone or even 1% of them? There were just too many people in need. Also, the staring and overwhelming majority of men in the streets really got to me in Kolkata. Walking through the markets, there were areas in which I was literally the only woman within sight, and in which almost every set of male eyes were trained on me, something that gets very intimidating, extremely quickly. And the driving! It seemed that every driver was in a contest to a) get to their destination faster than anyone else gets to theirs, and b) to get the closests to hitting all pedestrians as possible, bonus points for causing the look of sheer ohmygodthey're going to hit me, panic in their eyes speeding by...but we're back to Kolkata in two days, I'm open to changing my opinion of the city!

which bring me to...

Bhutan!

Beautiful, peaceful Bhutan!! Bhutan is everything that India isn't, and vice versa and going from Kolkata to Paro on March 16 made the HUGE differences between the two countries even more stark. Arriving to Bhutan is an experience in itself - we were on this plane that felt super powerful, and about 30 minutes before landing we began to make these twists and turns that must have meant something was wrong because on a commercial plane...?? but no, it was just one of the 8 pilots in the world certified to land at the airport weaving his way through the mountains. A glance out the window confirmed that we were, indeed, thisclose to a mountain, and it looked like we could reach out and touch the trees! The friendly guy from New Zealand sitting next us at one point turned to me and said "there couldn't have been more than 40 meters between us and those powerlines!!" Now, I suck at judging distance, and can't really picture what 40 meters is, but I'm going to say that when I'm on a 737, going through the mountains, I want triple digits to be used when describing the space between said plane and mountains! After landing safely, and a collective sigh of relief, we stepped off the plane, onto the tarmac of the airport that is literally nestled in the valley of two mountains, the airport building itself is so picturesque that I swore it was either a mirage or we made a mistake and had landed in the backyard of some Bhutanese mansion. So we passed through customs, got our bags, and exited the airport to soemthing that seemed SO luxurious after 1 month of backpacking through India-a car, a driver, and a guide, with a smile waiting just for us!! What? this pretty SUV is for Sergio and I, just us?? What? It has AC and a suspension system? What? you are carrying my bag for me? and WHAT? you are our driver and our guide and you guys aren't trying to take advantage of us??? Crazy.

Tashi, our guide, and Sonam, our driver took us to our first hotel and the room was so pretty I almost cried. Again, after the time in India, everything was a luxury! sheets! towels! hot water, toilet paper!! I was ready to pledge my undying love and devotion to that first bed, I was in heaven the second I climbed in! The room was so nice and decorated so beautifully. Our first day in Bhutan was great, we visited my first Buddist monastary, and I loved the feelings of peace and calm that washed over me as soon as we walked in. It was as if everything petty and irritating melted away. In the afternoon, after a delicious lunch, in an old fort at the top of a hill, Sergio and I turned to each other and said, "hear that? silence!!" After India, a country that's like the radio turned on full blast, the sweet sound of nothing was a nice change of pace. Everything about Bhutan was a calm peaceful opposite to India. Where India is loud, busy, chaotic, dirty, frantic and full speed in your face, Bhutan is peaceful, clean, calm, and lays its presence our for you to stumble upon whenever you are ready. That first day, I marvelled at the clean mountain air (each breath like a balm for my poor polluted lungs), at the crystal clear river that ran through Paro, at the sweet silence that only the occasional bird felt the need to break and just felt so much at peace. India is great with all its experiences, more happens in one minute in India than anywhere else in the world, I believe, but the peacefulness of Bhutan was also great.

We had a guide for the entire 10 days we were in Bhutan, and ours, Tashi, was the best guide we could have hoped for, around our age, friendly, easy going and such a curious mixture of Westen entrepreneurship, antique Buddist belief, and modern thinking that after most encounters, we were left scratching our heads in confusion. First, he told us the basic teachings of Buddism with such seriousness and religious zeal that I though only an almost monk type of person would deliver, then later, told us about fights betwwen him and his grandfather caused by his questions about the religion. Or, watching him spend 5 minutes trying to move a big butterfly from the middle of a square to a grassy patch on the side because "he might get stepped on", but then hearing him tell us stories about his get rich quick schemes in university over a cup of Bhutanese alchohol. He was an interesting mix of Bhutanese culture and Western mentality, and I think, a perfect match for us.

Overall, Bhutan was beautiful and peaceful, that beauty and peace becoming more profound due to a sense of delicacy and fragility of the country, as if, if they're not careful, all the tradition, culture, and uniqueness could be swept away in an instant. Part of the greatness of Bhutan was the feeling of peering into an unspoiled culture that may only remain like that for a few more years. Already, scenes of pristine rivers with green mountains and animals grazing in pastures in the valley below are interrupted by powerlines, the cloud of pollution from a passing bus, or the foundation for a new, big building. I found myself torn, the Western capitalist within me was shouting yes! any advancement or development that improves the lives of the people is a good thing! Electricity, new construction methods, better information and education, it's all progress, it creates an easier way of life! But unfortunately, that ease takes away tradition, who will continue to do something by hand when there is a machine to do it? The other side of me shouted, keep your isolation! Each electricity pole or internet cafe seemed like a garish imposition on the landscape, completely out of place and unwelcome. Even as a tourist, it was almost an invasion of privacy to this unique country.

The greatest thing that came out of our Bhutan visit was the clarification of Buddhism for me. Before our trip, Buddhism was this mysterious Eastern religion to me, full of meditating monks and ancient scripts, something beautiful, but completely distant from me, but Bhutan offered me an informal lesson on Buddhism, especially conversations with our guide humanizing it and making it real and I have to admit the religion is appealing to me. I could never stop being a Catholic, Catholicism is a piece of who I am, more than simply a religion, it's a part of my upbringing, my culture, and inherent part of me. Even though, I disagree with a lot of what the Church says, I feel like converting from a Catholic would be turning my back on my culture, on my mom's culture, on myself, and I feel like my relationship with the Church is like that of a grandparent or parent with whom I disagree because of ideological differences, but who has had such an important influence on who I am that I could never go away from them. So anyway, that's my story, but Buddhism really called out to me during the time in Bhutan. I really identify with its peaceful nature, its message, everything. We were lucky enough to see a ritual being performed on the first day, in a monastery, and the voices of the 20 or so monks chanting in prayer was a deeply spiritual experience.

After Bhutan, we were thrust back into the real world, in the form of Kathmandu, Nepal where we spent five days.

Now we're back in India, back to cheap internet, and back to updating the blog more often! Upon arriving to Varanasi, on the drive from the airport to the city center, just to show that we were indeed back in India, we saw a house with huge speakers blasting loud music apparently just because they could, a boy on a bicycle carrying what appeared to be the entire front end of a semi-truck, and were stopped at an intersection for a good 10 minutes because a herd of water buffalo were crossing the street in the city. Welcome back!

More later, but your eyes must be tired of reading for now, so will post again soon about impressions of Nepal and Varanasi!

Next it's back to Kolkata and then a flight to Bangkok to go to Myanmar (our visas came through)!

Love and beijinhos to everyone!!

Agra e Fatehpur Sikri

2009-03-15T10:38:00.000-05:00

Sabado 21.02.09

Hoje madrugamos e levantamo-nos antes do nascer do sol para nos juntarmos a mais um par de dezenas de pessoas que esperavam em fila que o Taj abrisse as suas portas. Acabou por abrir meia hora depois do previsto e perdemos a transicao da noite para o crepusculo mas ainda assim podemos vislumbrar a transformacao deste num belo amanhecer. Ao passarmos o primeiro arco deparamo-nos com a ja classica e mundialmente conhecida imagem do tumulo enquadrada pelos jardins e lencois de agua. Tentamos dissipar-nos da restante multidao e procurar o nosso recanto para que podessemos apreciar a metamorfose cromatica do marmore que transita do branco azulado da noite para o branco rosado do amanhecer. La encontramos um banco de jardim a sombra de uma grande arvore e por ali ficamos quase 1h30 a apreciar este edificio tentando perceber se realmente existe pese o facto de estar mesmo em frente dos nosso olhos! Ainda me lembro de ontem, quando pela primeira vez o vi desde a janela da nossa "suite", me questionar sobre a sua autenticidade ou se era apenas uma miragem entre a poluicao e o ruido de Agra! Agora que estou tao perto que lhe posso tocar comeco a aperceber-me de todos os pequenos e minuciosos detalhes que conferem a elegancia ao edificio apesar da sua grandiosa escala. Aproveitei para fazer um esquisso visto ser nestes momentos nos quais conseguir percepcionar os mais pequenos detalhes e ler o edificio de 1001 maneiras... e posso explicar-vos porque... porque mesmo para o olho treinado de um arquitecto quando nos deparamos com um edificio ou paisagem nao conseguimos, num primeiro momento, focalizar os pequenos detalhes que acabam por formar o todo. Primeiro fazemos uma leitura geral do "objecto" e apenas depois partimos para uma analise particular. Por isso este e' um exercicio do qual extraio enorme prazer porque permite-me ver por detras das cortinas e interpretar o edificio nas suas varias escalas apercebendo-me quer dos delicados e coloridos floreados decorativos cravados no marmore branco quer no posicionamento dos 4 minaretes que enquadram o tumulo e lhe conferem uma verticalidade pontual e redistribuem o peso. No entanto fiquei bastante desiludido com o templo no seu interior, muito escuro e praticamente despojado de decoracao, essencialmente visto ter sido confrontado a momentos com o seu involucro. Com o passar do tempo comecei a aperceber-me que se calhar a intencao era mesmo essa... como a celebracao da vida, de um passado e de um amor no seu exterior e a tristeza pesarosa e sombria da morte no seu interior, como uma concha muito bonita que por vezes encontramos a beira-mar para apenas segundos depois se revelar vazia e desprovida de vida...

De todos os modos despedimo-nos sabendo o porque de ser considerada uma das 7 maravilhas do mundo. Voltamos ao hotel onde esperamos pelo Pradeep para iniciar mais uma longa jornada. Comecamos pelo Forte de Agra, grandioso e muitissimo melhor preservado que o seu irmao mais novo em Delhi o que nos proporcionou uma visao muito melhor de como se vivia naqueles tempos visto a sua bem preservada e refinada arte ser um dos melhores exemplos da arquictectura Mughal no seu auge. Para alem disso, desde o alto das suas muralhas, proporciona uma espectacular e diferente perspectiva da paisagem com o Taj como pano de fundo.

Por volta do meio-dia partimos em direccao a Fatehpur Sikri no rickshaw do Pradeep e basicamente foi 1h30 de estradas esburacadas ponteadas por pequenos trechos de paisagem e cenarios exoticos. Pelo caminho o Pradeep teve de subornar varios postos de controlo da policia mas finalmente la chegamos a esta cidade fantasma do imperio Mughal abandonada devido a escassez de agua brevemente apos a sua construcao. Aquilo que mais me surpreendeu foi a grandiosa "Porta da Vitoria" que me deixou de boca aberta e me arrebatou completamente ao ponto de sentir a necessidade de me sentar e desenhar este gigante habitado por enormes colonias de abelhas. Nao so pelos os seus 54m de altura mas tambem pela sua imponente magnificencia com a qual pousa no topo da colina e domina a paisagem... com a sua escala brutal.

Apos mais 1h de estradas em muito mas condicoes terminamos o circuito historico-cultural com mais um por de sol no Tumulo de Akbar, o grande imperador Mughal desta vez habitado por pavoes, antilopes e os comuns esquilos e mais variadas aves.

Apos o por do sol voltamos para o rickshaw onde o Pradeep acabou por nos convidar para jantarmos em sua casa , conhecer a sua familia, onde a Crystal acabou por ser pintada com hina e tiramos centenas de fotos em "familia". Por volta da meia noite la nos decidimos a ficar a dormir mais uma noite em Agra e apanhar um comboio de manha cedo para Gwalior. O Pradeep levou-nos ate uma pensao perto da estacao de comboio onde nos despedimos com um abraco sentido e eu finalmente acabei por lhe pagar o que pude/queria, nunca suficiente para retribuir a bondade com a qual nos recebeu desde o primeiro instante.

Obrigado Pradeep!

2009-03-13T09:56:00.000-05:00

Hello!

I'm sitting in an internet cafe right now in Thiruchirapalli, a city near Madurai in the South, we've been a little bit out of touch lately, choosing to spend time laying on the beach in Goa, or going from one little town to another without stopping for Internet, but here are a few bits from my journals of the last few days...

March 8, 2009 -- On the coast of India...

I'm sitting next to Sergio right now at a table outside, shaded by coconut trees with the beginning of the sunset peeking through the branches, drinking the coconut water from a fresh coconut, and listening to the waves crashing on the beach nearby. We're staying at a family run resort and the owners are super friendly and welcoming here at Tarkarli Beach. I am so calm and at peace right now, after a day spend sleeping in, then walking miles down a deserted beach, stopping for fish curry and coming back to spend the afternoon writing, that it seems impossible that just two days ago we were winding our way through the chaos of Mumbai. The two places are worlds apart, even though only 400km away in reality. We spent two days in Mumbai, and although I felt like we only scratched the surface of the city, I was pleasantly surprised by it, much prettier than Delhi and much prettier than I imagined it to be. My first impression of the city was that it was crowded, modern, and contained the entire specturm of wealth-slums gave way to skyscrapers, which gave way back into slums, and then back into high rise luxury apartments. In traffic, we were approached by beggars at every stop, yet air conditioned luxury SUV's whizzed past us in our non-AC taxi. The two days there went by so quickly, just walking around and taking everything in. I want to go back for a longer visit, because, as I said, I feel like we only tasted a tiny drop of Mumbai life, only seeing the major touist monuments and eating a small sample of the food, and basically only gettting a glance at life in the city. Mumbai, I will be back!

March 9, 2009

Scootering around in Goa...

I'm currently laying in a cottage on the beach in Goa, an ex-Portuguese colony, listening to an American blues song that is blasting over a set of loudspeakers outside our beach cottage because the Indian-owned resort is having a Russian dance party tonight. Weird.

As soon as we arrived to Goa, we rented a scooter, since we were told it was the easiest way to get around....I can't begin to describe the chaos that is driving in India, so the best way I can think of to illustrate the experience is to give you my stream of thoughts for about 1 minute on the scooter...Now, I'm going to censor it a little, but generally when an expletive is used, it's because a car/motorcycle/autorickshaw/huge bus has passed us, but only just barely, we have passed a car/bus/motorcycle/autorickshaw, but only just barely, or some other really close call has happened. Also, I generally try to avoid using the Lord's name in vain, but something about riding on that scooter in heavy traffic had me invoking His name more than an evangelical preacher in his Sunday morning sermon, so I've replaced all those with the word Jelly.

so, 30 seconds inside Crystal's head while riding on a scooter in Goa and....go!!:

"ah, this is nice, the wind in our hair, the sun on our shoulders, actually, I think I would really like to buy a scooter when we get back to the States, I bet it gets great gas mile--oh sweet mother of all that is good and holy, there is a BUS coming straight towards us, why is there a huge bus in our lane, oh jelly, we're not going to--ok, unclench the hands, eeeeeee, f***, s***, that was really close, eeeeeeeeee, ok, sergio slow down, s l o w d o w--speedupspeedupspeedup!!!! there's a huge truck coming up really fast behind us, eeeeeeeee, sweet jelly, ok, this is ok, sergio is a good driver--cow, cow, COW there is a cow in the road and it's just staring at us, practically daring us to hit it...s***, ok, now there's something in my eye, ow ow, a mosquito flew directly into my eye, of all the places it could have flown, but how can i close my eyes?? then I won't be able to see where we are going and won't be able to warn Sergio of imminent danger, eeeeeeee, owowowow, SPEED BUMP!, EEEEEEEEEE"

and it goes on like that for the entire duration of the drive, however long that may be.

The rest of Goa was great, beautiful beaches, pretty Porutugese colonial houses, Portuguese Catholic churches, and fresh fruit:)

Eventually, we had to leave Goa, and I can completely see why some people arrive and end up just staying there. Everything is so easy and so nice, really idyllic. Reluctantly though, we packed up our bags, put our swimsuits, sunscreen, and my skimpy sundresses into the bottom of our backpacks and have taken back out the long skirts, long scarves, and pants, and prepared our "we might have on backpacks, but we're not your average gullible tourist looks". We also gave up the keys to our independent scooter, and have gotten used to hopping on random trains, negotiating with autorickshaw drivers, and taking 5 hour bus rides for 200 km on bumpy roads with no A/C.

So, we're back to "real" India, but the South is really pretty, and I feel its spirituality greatly. In the North, religion and spirituality were in everything, but more like a whisper or a gentle influence that you couldn't really pinpoint, but felt it's presence. In the South, religion shouts its influence from the rooftops, sometimes literally, with many ceilings and roofs carved with various religious figures, almost everyone wearing Hindu symbols on their foreheads, and Hindu temples on almost every corner.

Ok, off to find dinner, but we'll post more soon, and try to get some pictures on here!

Ate ja...

Taking it slow...

2009-03-03T10:12:00.000-06:00

Ola!!
We are in Diu right now, an ex-Portuguese colony and taking things nice and slow, blending right into the rhythm of this little city. We've rented a scooter, and have been riding it (Scotty) all over the island for the last few days, without a real destination, just taking everything in. The last two days, we've come back to our guesthouse at night (owned by an Indo-Portuguese family, really nice and cosy) and said to each other, what exactly did we DO today?? And I believe the right answer is: recover from the last two weeks. The beaches here are nice, the seafood is fresh, the sun is hot, and the people are friendly. The most intellectually stimulating part of my day today occurred in the restaurant where we stopped for lunch, in the bathroom, where I was forced to devote way too much time to trying to figure out which part of the floor was actually the toilet, and which way exactly to face. If figuring out the bathroom constituted the most challenging part of my day, I have no complaints....you learn something new in India everyday, I tell you:)

The Portuguese influence really still lingers here, if you listen closely enough, you can catch snippets of conversations in Portuguese, and bits of Portuguese society and customs pop up between the cows, curry dishes, and autorickshaws. The blending of the Indian and Portuguese has created an interesting culture, and we have been thoroughly enjoying exploring the city: the old, crumbling fort, three Catholic churches, and the winding streets. I was surprisingly comforted upon walking into a Catholic church here, this is what most draws me to Catholicism, I can be in the middle of the confusion of India or the confusion of anywhere, yet walk into a Catholic church and have that feeling of coming home.

We leave Diu tomorrow to keep travelling towards Mumbai, where I'm sure our pace will pick right back up again.

So, off to go pass a few more leisurely hours before bedtime...we finally posted a first batch of pictures, go check them out!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/crystalandsergio

Boa noite!!

Mathura, Vrindavan e Agra

2009-03-02T01:12:00.000-06:00

Sexta 20.02.09

Hoje acordamos um pouco mais cedo do que o costume para vermos o nascer do sol no rio Yamuna nos ghats de Mathura. Negociamos um passeio de barco durante 30m com um "capitao" muito engracado que nao parava de referir-se ao rio como a "mae" de todos aqueles que habitam as suas margens desde os devotos que se banham naquelas aguas sagradas ate aos macacos, flamingos, pelicanos... Estes sao os figurantes que dinamizam o cenario fantasmagorico e decadente daquela que no passado deve ter sido uma cidade importante com algumas historias escondidas por entre todas aquelas ruinas. Se a tudo isto juntarmos o facto de que uma bruma pairava no ar filtrando lentamente um nascer do sol que pintava a paisagem em tons alaranjados num silencio apenas interrompido pelo bater constante dos remos na agua e pelos esporadicos gritos de um macaco ou do piar de uma ave, Mathura revela-se como uma pintura saida do romantismo do seculo XIX. Mas e ai que reside exactamente o seu maior encanto, na facilidade com que nos transporta no tempo e deixa a nossa imaginacao divagar por entre idealizacoes de como a cidade seria no seu passado glorioso...

De volta ao hotel tentamos negociar um taxi que nos levasse ate Vindravan e depois Fatehpur Sikri mas em vao. Estes indianos preferem perder dinheiro e uma boa oportunidade de fazer negocio com mais lucro do que normal do que nao extorquir escandalosamente um turista!!!

Enfim... la regateamos mais um preco para que um auto-rickshaw nos levasse ate Vindravan com paragens em alguns templos pelo caminho, a maior parte deles devotos a Krishna e que apos observar mais atentamente as figuras mecanizadas pintadas em azul no Templo de Pagal Baba e pensar na sua historia, passado e presente me levou a conclusao de que este episodio do Hinduismo e os devotos de Krishna me arrepiam a espinha! Do conjunto de templos que visitamos aqueles que mais se destacaram foram os templos de Govinda e Rangaji onde os locais nao paravam de nos alertar para o facto de que os macacos nos iam roubar os oculos de sol. Estes templos estao mais bem conservados do que os de Mathura mas a sua volta existe o mesmo tipo de decadencia e passado fantasmagorico ou antes assombrado.

Por volta do meio-dia voltamos para Mathura para apanhar um comboio para Agra que estava atrasado 2h e como tal apenas chegamos a Agra por volta das 16h pelo que tivemos que refazer os nossos planos e ver parte de Agra hoje e outra parte amanha incluindo Fatehpur Sikri. Na viagem de comboio travei amizade com um indiano que vive em Singapura e que estava por estes lados apos ter ido ao casamento de um amigo. Ao sair de comboio um homem nos seus 60 ofereceu-se para nos levar ate ao hotel no seu rickshaw a um preco justo. Pradeep de seu nome, falava bem ingles e foi muito educado pelo que nao foi dificil "conquistar-nos". Durante a viagem ele perguntou-nos se precisavamos de um rickshaw para o resto do dia e para o dia seguinte e eu comecei a discutir um preco, ja acostumado aos chulos de Delhi, mas ele muito educadamente disse-me que pagava no fim o que achasse justo! Ao principio fiquei algo desconfiado mas senti desde o principio que podia confiar neste homem... Avaliar ou determinar imediatamente o caracter de uma pessoa e' uma caracteristica minha, para o bem ou para o mal e muito raramente me engano. Alem disso, nao acontece frequentemente, mas ocasionalmente na minha vida, sinto que apesar de nao conhecer alguem muito bem ou ha muito tempo, lhes poderia confiar a minha vida. De qualquer maneira e voltando ao relato do dia, fizemos o check-in no nosso hotel para a suite deluxe com ar condicionado e vistas do Taj Mahal que tinha reservado por apenas 550 rupias!!! A primeira impressao da paisagem e aquela de uma fotomontagem, ou de uma tela impressa, uma miragem que sabemos nao ser real... no entanto por mais que pestaneje os meus olhos ele continua la... subimos a cobertura do hotel para comemos qualquer coisa no restaurante e la fomos nos com o Pradeep e o seus 32 anos de experiencia a revelarem-no como o melhor conductor de auto-rickshaw da India! A serio, enquanto que a Crystal se contraia toda eu divertia-me como se estivesse a jogar playstation alheio ao perigo iminente! No entanto e como ja referi uma das regras de transito e nao bater em ninguem e por incrivel que pareca e assim mesmo apesar do caos em que tudo acontece. Cruzamos o "rio" e visitamos o Itimad-ud-Daulah, o precursor do Taj Mahal. Sem ele uma das 7 maravilhas do mundo nao existiria uma vez que este fou o primeiro edificio mughal a ser construido inteiramente em marmore. Apos apreciar este belo tumulo conhecido como o "Baby Taj" partimos em direcao ao "Metah Bagh", que se pensa ter sido a tentativa falhada da construcao de um replica em negro do Taj. Aconselhados pelo Padreep, que sempre nos alertava sobre os esquemas utilizados para enganar turistas, descemos ate as margens arenosas do rio Yamuna, que 150km abaixo de Mathura nao e nada mais do que aguas estagnadas, e daqui podemos, possivelmente, apreciar a melhor vista do Taj, ainda mais magica ao por do sol. Antes que o crepusculo assumisse a negridao da noite voltamos ao rickshaw onde o Pradeep nos aguardava mastigando o seu "paan" e nos conduziu de volta ao hotel. Combinamos uma hora para o dia seguinte e insistiu que apenas pagasse no dia seguinte, facto ao qual acabei por anuir. Antes de dizermos adeus perguntei-lhe se ia para casa e se tinha familia, pergunta a qual reagiu euforicamente tirando do porta-luvas um album com fotos da familia e de alguns turistas que tinham ido a sua casa jantar. Apenas veio confirmar a minha primeira impressao de que este era um bom Homem em quem podia confiar. Jantamos no restaurante na cobertura do nosso hotel e recolhemos a nossa "suite" uma vez que temos planeado acordar amanha cedo para ver o nascer do sol desde o interior do recinto do Taj Mahal. A expectativa e grande...

What's a Canvan, you ask?

2009-02-28T01:36:00.000-06:00

Namaste!!

We've been having great experiences and not so great experiences in the last week, but a couple stick out in my mind.....

We were in Agra on Feb. 21 and 22, and those two days emerged as a patch of light in our travels. The time in Agra began luckily, with an autorickshaw driver picking us up outside the train station, and unlike any other auto driver we have met so far gave us a fair price without trying to rip us off. Pradeep is his name, and he turned out to one of the warmest, most open hearted people we have ever met:) He drove us around for these two days, pointing out places we would like to see, warning us of scams that might happen, and finally, inviting us to dinner with his family the night before we left. And his family was just an extension of him, open, inviting, generous, and his daughter and daughter in law gave me Hina on my hands and dressed me up Indian style:) Of course, while in Agra, we saw beautiful things, the sunset on the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, Fatepur Sikre (a ghost town that used to be the capital of India, but was abandoned for lack of water), but those moments of human generosity stick out the most. After constantly having to watch out for people trying to scam us somehow, it was a refreshing couple of days to be treated so warmly and happily, and our time in Agra passed pleasantly.

Had a wonderfully Indian day on Feb. 24. A long 24 hours, and as we've come to expect here, full of ups and downs...

The day started after our first night train, which had surprisingly comfortable berths. I don't know if it was the rocking of the train or exhaustion from travelling, but I slept like a baby and the 8 hour train ride from Jhansi to Khandwa went by in the blink of an eye. So, we arrived to Khandwa, a city about 100 km from the town we actually wanted to see. We tried to get a taxi at the train station to get us to where we wanted to go, a pretty mountain town called Mandu, but were not given a cheap, fair price by anyone, so we decided to brave taking a bus. After the usual haggling over price, we finally settled on a fair amount and set off, thus starting a long day filled with travelling, heat, bargaining for a good price, and me and my stomach fighting off the effects of the day before deciding that it was ok to drink that glass of fresh orange juice that most likely included a healthy amount of tap water (not recommended, no matter how "Western" the restaurant seems!!). The bus ride was not too bad, about 2 hours, going through little Indian towns with some really pretty landscapes. We arrived to the town that the bus agreed to take us to, Omkareshwar, a weird little pilgramage town on the banks of a river, with a huge chaotic, dirt parking lot being used as a bus station. There were so many Indians there making pilgramages to this little town, but we were definitely the only foreigners at that place. We then had to look for another ride to get to Mandu, and after asking tons of people and getting directed to five different corners of the parking lot, we found a vehicle to take us, and I use the word vehicle because I'm not sure what to call it exactly. If a minivan and an aluminum can had a baby, this is what the baby would look like, so it shall now be referred to as the canvan....and with it began the bumpiest ride of my life up to the top of the mountain. Seriously, the bumpiest ride ever, due to bad roads and the canvan's apparent dislike and refusal to use any sort of suspension system.

So, on the bumpiest ride possible, in the canvan, with loud music playing with the driver and his friend talking loudly in the the front seat, and as those of you who know me will not be shocked to hear..I got something in my eye. And a big something that caused burning and tears and just wouldn't get out.

So, there I was, with all of my senses on overload because of the myriad smells that were wafting in when we passed by frying food, bus exhaust pipes, public restrooms, cows, and the loud Hindi music playing with the driver and his friend talking over it, the heat, the wind blowing in through the open windows (no AC), and every muscle in my body tensed trying to keep everything in that's supposed to be in (ie: myself in the vehicle, last night's dinner in my stomach) and get everything out of me that's supposed to be out (ie: the dirt in my eye, the exhaust from passing traffic from my lungs), holding on for dear life as we pass over the worst roads ever. At this point, I begin silently cursing Sergio for bringing me here, as it was his plan (couldn't he have just taken me to see the Taj Mahal like everybody else??) , and just when I started thinking that on the next big bump, I may give myself a little boost to actually propel myself out of the vehicle and out of this ride because I just couldn't take it anymore!!...something happened. We arrived to our destination, my eye cleared up, I took a fresh breath of mountain air and looked around. And realized, that once again, as is the case with most things that Sergio insists on us seeing, it was all worth it.

First, we went to see a tomb of an old ruler, pretty and peaceful. We then went to the Royal Enclave, a huge area of ruins that was said to be used for a ruler and his harem (of 15,000 women!) , and it was beautiful! Such intricate architecture, such beautiful decorations, and all of it still exising now, thousands of years later. Then, we went farther up the mountain to a place called Rupmati's Pavilion that provided one of the most spectacularly breathtaking views of the valley below that I've ever seen. The sun was setting , the colors were vibrant and the land went on for miles. It was beautiful. Then we got back into our canvan and started the long journey back down as the sun set behind the mountains. As I looked out the dirty window at one of the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen, becoming airborne with every big bump in the road, with the blasting Hindi music in the background, and the sweet smell of pollution filling my lungs once again, I realized that ride, that moment was the perfect metaphor for India. Chaotic, dirty, full of bumpy roads and scary turns, but if you're able to look through all of it , or perhaps look despite all of it, you find awe-inspiring, unique spiritual beauty.

Unfortunately, just as we were taking a breath of relief that the day was over, India threw us another curve ball--our vehicle broke down. Our dear canvan started leaking oil and just stopped working, perhaps in protest of the bumpy roads we had subjected him to all day long. We sat for about 30 minutes waiting for someone to come along and help us. Then a little pickup truck stopped and they decided to try to tie the two vehicles together with a little string of rope and pull us the 60km that were left to get back to town, on really bumpy roads. It didn't work, but as we were stopped for the 30th time, trying to tie the two vehicles back together, a bus passed that just happened to be going where we wanted to go!! We happily said goodbye to our driver and the canvan, and boarded the bus and promptly fell asleep, only to wake up about two hours later to the driver telling us that this was the last stop and now it's time to get out and catch the bus that would take us where we wanted to go. Turns out, they weren't at all going to the place they said, and we actually ended up another 30km in the opposite direction. Basically, they took our money, and drove us around until the end of their route. So, we got ANOTHER bus that promised us to be going where we wanted to go, and after three hours of windy roads with a driver who seemed to think he was part of the Formula One, we finally, finally arrived at our destination, ready to catch another train. A long day, but fabulously Indian in its course:)

Currently, we are in Daman, an old Portguese colony and it's a really pretty little town. We're off to catch a train in 2 hours, and have started our calmer portion of the trip, the next few days will be spent near the beach, in a more laid back part of India. As a friend we met along the way told us the other day, we've been travelling in "hard" India until now, so we're welcoming the change of pace!

I put up a few pics from London, still have to sort out the thousands of other ones we've taken...

Sending love from India...

Delhi

2009-02-23T09:11:00.000-06:00

QUARTA 18.02.06

Acordamos por volta das 8h00 e tomamos um banho e preparamos para mais um dia desta odisseia. Tomamos o pequeno almoco no restaurante na cobertura alheio a azafama que se passa la em baixo no Main Bazzar (para que possam imaginar melhor como e que estes bazzars se parecem imagem uma rua que parece um campo de batatas, com lama e poeira ao mesmo tempo, vacas e caes vadios, fezes e lixo espalhados por tudo quanto e canto e no R/C de cada edificio arruinado lojas que vendem de tudo! Ok agora juntem-lhe centenas de pessoas e rickshaws e motorizadas... ja ficam com uma ideia hehe). Por volta das 10h partimos em direccao a chadni chowk onde estao os principais bazzars de Delhi e consequentemente as maiores zonas de caos e densidade populacional. Logo ao sair do hotel um palerma (nao tem outro nome) segiu-nos o caminho todo ate a um cruzamento e perguntou-nos se queriamos um auto-rickshaw (triciclo motorizado) e para onde onde. Depois de negociarmos acordamos 20 rupias para chandni chowk. Entramos num auto e fomos na direccao errada! eu pensei... deixa andar mais um bocado pode ser que conhecam melhores caminhos e dar a volta para fugir ao transito... entretanto a crystal apercebeu-se que eu tava a dizer que iamos na direccao errada e ficou logo desconfiada e zangada embora o conductor nos tenha dito que aquele era o melhor caminho... passado 200m parou para mijar... foi a gota de agua e saimos e fomos a procura de outro auto-rickshaw. Caminhos durante 10m e acabamos por ir num cycle-rickshaw ate ao nosso destino. Logo no inicio dos bazzars existe uma mesquita islamica "Fatehpuri Masdij" onde nos sentamos durante uns minutos para recuperar psicologicamente do impacto causado pelo caos, cheiros, cores... e relaxar junto a uma fonte onde alguns miudos estudavam. Acabamos por ter uma breve conversa e descobrimos que existe uma escola adjacente a mesquita. Despedimo-nos deste jovens estudantes e deste oasis de paz que incrivelmente se veio situar no meio de toda a confusao inerente aos bazzars onde acabamos por comprar um saree e um dupatta (lenco) para a crystal e um Kurta pajama para mim numa lojita escondida numa ruelas labirinticas por detras da rua principal. Pelo caminho experimentamos os jalebis mais famosos de Delhi numa esquinazita com um bazzar de "ourives" (basicamente e massa de fartura frita e mergulhada num xarope acucarado que resultou ser doce e enjoativo demais ate para um guloso como eu).

Continuamos a caminhada por Chandni Chowk que no extremo Este e rematada pelo Forte Vermelho ou "Lal Qila". Imponente e grandioso e' sem duvida alguma um importante testimonio do imperio Mughal em Delhi construido em pedra arenito vermelha que se extende por 2km que enclausuram uns agradaveis jardins entre templos e ruinas habitados por esquilos, falcoes, coloridas borboletas, papagaios... e novamente esta sensacao de contraste entre o presente e o passado... o pandemonio de uma socieade/economia em crescimento destravado explanado nas ruas e o silencio dos fantasmas do passado apenas ainda mais acentuado pelo cantar dos passaros que habitam esta fortaleza.

Saimos do forte de volta para o caos das ruas de Delhi e caminhamos ate a Jama Masdij, a principal mesquita muculmana em Delhi e a maior em toda a India foi erguida pelo mesmo imperador mughal que construiu o Lal Qila em 1658 no cimo de uma colina. Possui dois grandiosos minaretes com 40m de altura, a um dos quais subimos para apreciar as preveligiadas vistas em 360 graus de toda a cidade. Ainda brinquei um bocado com miudos que acabaram por tirar uma foto com a Crystal. Ah! Obrigaram a Crystal a vestir uma tunica que a cobria dos ombros ate aos pes por ser mulher, facto ao qual ela nao anuiu facilmente, mas la a convenci e podemos testumunhar esta bela mesquita e a intrinseca devocao dos muculmanos.

Saimos da mesquita por voltas das 16:00 e esfomeados apos a jornada desde o hotel ate Chandni Chowk e o Lal Qila mais a escalada ao topo do minarete fomos almocar ao Karim's. Famoso pela excelente cozinha mughal comemos um optimo "burra" (churrasco mughal) de cabra.

Apos o almoco, ja tardio, fomos visitar o tumulo/memorial do Ghandi onde o seus restos foram cremados por uma chama que nunca mais se extinguiu e la continuara assinalando a vida e os feitos de um grande Homem. O sol aproximava-se do horizonte e uma leve brisa cruzava o patio onde esta o tumulo. Com o crepusculo fomos invadidos por uma paz interior que interpretamos como um ola do proprio Ghandi ou um bem-vindo a India... desfrutem desta bela odisseia que acaba de comecar... e assim foi perdidos no tempo e espaco despertamos daquele sentimento hipnotico com o silvar de um assobio... era o porteiro do parque a avisar os ultimos visitantes de que o parque ja estava a fechar... e la fomos nos de volta para o hotel com o espirito recarregado para os proximos dias.

QUINTA 19.02.09

Mais um pequeno almoco e la caminhamos ate um pequeno posto de turismo onde tivemos que regatear o preco de um auto-rickshaw... nada facil para nao variar e a Crystal ja comeca a ficar farta destas pessoas que so pensem em extorquir dinheiro aos turistas. Mas la consegui arranjar um bom preco para vermos o Qtub Minar, o Lotus Temple e o Gurdwara Bangla Sahib.

Este "arco do triunfo" afgao data do sec. XII e o mais bem preservado edificio pertencente ao complexo do Qtub Minar onde imponente ruinas comungam entre belos jardins e arvores seculares habitados por formigas gigantes, esquilos, falcoes, corvos e papagaios. Apenas nos resta imaginar como e que este profusamente detalhado minarete com 73 metros de altura se enquadraria naqueles tempos com os edificios adjacentes mas sem qualquer margem para duvidas sempre foi e sempre sera um marco no horizonte de Delhi.

O Bahai Worship House, mais conhecido como "Templo de Lotus", e um templo construido no final da decada de 80 com o intuito de comungar todas as diferentes religioes presentes na India. Qualquer pessoa de qualquer religiao e bem-vinda a este local sagrado para rezar e meditar em paz. Tenho que reconhecer que e', arquitectonicamente, uma das igrejas modernas minhas favoritas. A sua forma unica e o jogo de plataformas com as laminas de agua agarram o edificio ao chao tal e qual como seria de esperar de um caule de uma flor e das suas raizes. No interior, os tectos e as aberturas para entrada de luz estao bem concebidas mas fiquei algo desiludido neste aspecto em particular. Pelo menos quando comparada com obras de outros arquitectos como Tadao Ando ou o Siza que trabalham a luz como um elemento divino de clarividencia que se torna na alma e coracao dos seus edificios. Apos reflectir penso que sera numa tentativa de ser neutro visto nao ser um templo de uma religiao mas um templo da religiao e por isso estar tambem despojado de qualquer figura ou simbolo no seu interior. Ainda assim ficou com a sensacao de uma concha muito bonita mas vazia. No entanto nao deixa de ser uma das minhas igrejas preferidas no que diz respeito a sua concepcao formal e como tal despedimo-nos satisfeitos e fomos almocar.

Depois do almoco e para finalizar Delhi fomos visitar um templo Sikh, o Gurdwara Bangla Sahib. A primeira impressao foi intensa... muito intensa, especialmente para a Crystal. Pareceu que por momentos estavamos num mundo a parte que nao a India apesar de sabermos que existem muitos islamicos, budistas, hindus, etc. neste pais. Contudo o ambiente criado pelas caras a nossa volta, os altos canticos que ecoavam nas arcadas brancas que enclausuram um grande lago e a mesquita com as suas cupulas douradas originaram esta sensacao de estar numa outra dimensao. Como e costume tivemos que tirar o nosso calcado e desta vez tivemos ainda que cobrir as nossas cabecas com um lenco. Para nao mencionar o facto de que eramos os unicos turistas... nem e bem turistas... era mais por sermos os unicos que nao se enquadravam naquele contexto, onde as tais caras rezavam fervorosamente. Concluindo tudo isto contribui para intensificar a experiencia e agudizar os sentidos. A Crystal sentiu que nao estavamos a ser respeitosos ao divagar com uma maquina fotografica na mao e tornar aquele local notoriamente tao sagrado para aquelas caras numa atracao turista e entao eu apressei-me numa breve visita ao interior da mesquita e abandonamos o templo ainda a pensar naquilo que tinhamos acabado de ver e sentir. Partimos para o hotel para recolher as nossas mochilas e metemo-nos num comboio em direccao a Mathura onde pernoitamos. Foi aqui que a vimos a tal "carrinha megafone" da qual a Crystal vos fala num destes posts aqui no blog.

Bem temos que nos meter em mais um comboio...

Namaste.

Regras de Transito

2009-02-23T09:07:00.000-06:00

Namaste!

Vou aproveitar estes 10 minutos de net que tenho ate ter de ir apanhar um comboio para resumidamente vos explicar como funcionam as regras de transito na India.

1. Conduz quase sempre pela esquerda
2. Usa a buzina para avisar os outros sobre onde estas e para fazer ultrapassagens
3. Nao batas em ninguem

ok ja esta! espero que tenham gostado hehehe

Stranger Things Have Happened

2009-02-23T09:06:00.000-06:00

Quick post today, we're at the train station waiting to get on our first night train. Should be interesting, since so far, we've met the nicest, most good hearted people on the trains. If the area outside the train station takes away my faith in the inherent goodness in people (and it generally does) then the trains themselves were put there to restore my faith in these people because we have only met curious and extremely helpful people on them so far. Good thing, because the confusion with trains continues. We waited for 3 hours for a train last night:S

So, since a million things have happened since we last posted, and we definitely cannot describe them all, we will leave you with a bit of a riddle. We saw the strangest thing in the street the other day, and have yet to be able to wrap our minds around what the hell it was. So, you be the judge:

First, imagine you're riding in a car/on a bike/in an autorickshaw down the street, it's nighttime and you've just arrived to a small town, thinking it will be a sleepy little town, so you've settled down into your seat. Then you approach a big scene: picture a large mini van, then, glue huge megaphone speaker things all over it, say...10.....then glue white christmas lights all over the van as well, and put the brightest white lightbulbs in them that you can find. Also, paint the van with colors like bright pink and bright green, just for fun. In the van, put really loud Hindi music playing and blast it from the speakers. In front of the van, make a 20 piece marching band wearing white and red uniforms walk with their instruments, (don't forget the trombone and bass drum!!) not playing, just generally adding to the strangeness. In front of them, put about 12 kids, each with a lamp on their head, lit up. what kind of lamp, you ask?? take any large lamp from your living room end table and remove the lampshade, it should work. Oh, and place really bright white lightbulbs in those lamps too. In front of THEM, put a group of about 30 people, singing and dancing along to the music and yelling and in the middle of them, place two middle aged men in suits, and have them be dancing and singing too. Oh, and for power, put a man behind the van on a bicycle and attach him to a generator in some configuration of wires and make him peddle the bicycle anytime you need power, which is of course, effectively, all the time.

Did I just walk into some sort of Indian homage to Dr. Suess??

Monkey Problem!

2009-02-20T10:07:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I woke up to a goat braying...(baaing?...) outside our hotel window. Today, I saw a cow almost get run over by an incoming train, then walked up the stairs to my room, only to find a monkey at the top of the stairs, staring at me. As we were walking into a temple today, all the locals started pointing at our sunglasses and yelling, MONKEY PROBLEM!! MONKEY
PROBLEM!! apparently, the monkeys would have stolen them off our heads, because there were tons of monkeys hanging out at that temple. Last night, we stayed at a very budget hotel, and spent a good 30 minutes trying to figure out if that white movement we saw in the corner when we first turned on the light was a mouse or a lizard. I never thought I would say the
words, "oh, thank goodness, it's just a giant lizard that is here to eat all the bugs". I feel closer to nature than ever, although we've been in the city the entire time we have been here. Just another contradiction to add to the list that India presents.

Every time I solidify a feeling, thought, or observation something happens to completely turn it around.

So, we spent two days in Delhi, walking around, bargaining, and seeing the sights. I can't say I loved the city, but it does have some beautiful places. We visited breathtakingly peaceful parks, tombs, and temples that seem to be haven of calm in the otherwise completely chaotic rhythm of the city. Being a foreigner, and sticking out like crazy, seemed to plant a huge, "come rip us off" sticker on our foreheads, but inside these parks and monuments, I really got the feeling of why so many people consider India to be such a sacred, spiritual place. Among other things we went to see the Ghandi memorial, a beautiful park with lots of green trees, with Ghandi's remains in the middle, the Red Fort, the Jama Masjid, and a couple of street bazaars that almost literally made my head spin with all the people, sights, colors, smells, and sounds. And the experience of those markets was intensified one hundred fold by almost every pair of eyes following us, every step of the way that we are in the line of vision. We're slowly buying Indian clothes and waiting for our tans to kick in, which will hopefully give us a rest from the scrutiny that follows us everywhere, but generally our backpacks give us away immediately. I know it's all curiousity and without bad intent, but it can also be intense! Delhi was also filled with people trying to
get us to pay more money for something, buy something, or trick us into spending more money or buying something. It was exhausting after awhile, always trying to keep your guard up for who is sincere and who is just trying to make a few extra rupees.
We then had our first experience on an Indian train, which can only be described as-and I know that I have been using this word often, but-CHAOS. Thousands of people, no conductors around to help, people outside the train station running scams, overbooked trains, late trains. We've ridden two trains so far, and for each one, we just hopped on a car, and sat wherever
we could find a place...with some nice help from people along the way.

So, I've been oscillating between thoughts since the first day, It's like, just when I get disgusted by something so much that I want to just go home, something amazing, wonderful and unique happens, and the other way around. I'm pushed quickly from one extreme to another. It's in getting annoyed and a bit angry with aggressive people at the entrance to the Jama Masjid, a Muslim mosque, for making me put on a floor length smock before entering (what?? you're making me cover up from head to toe?? I'm no bleeding heart feminist, but still) and getting annoyed with the entire completely man-centered Indian society, then a group of really sweet kids comes up and asked to take a picture with me...just because I am a pretty girl in their eyes, effectively restoring my faith in the innocence of children and settling the rabid feminist in me. It's in walking on the traffic filled streets with honks, stares, and so much pollution that I begin to feel I can't quite get a clean breath, and then entering into Ghandi's memorial and instantly feeling peace. It's in sitting in a cafe, drinking a chai, and thinking all is good, but then walking out into the street and getting conned by a guy who said he can make change for a 100 rupee bill, but then gave us only 90 useful rupees (we got the other 10 back eventually) and above all, it's in feeling the poverty intensely and wanting to help everyone, but then bargaining for 20 rupees less on the rickshaw ride because you're tired of paying 5 times more for everything just because you're obviously foreign and tired of the seemingly endless scams, and overly aggressive beggars. The beggars themselves are a contradiction: You can't fault them for being
petulant, sneaky, overly persistent, aggressive, and rude because life turned them into that, having to beg for your next meal outside a restaurant where people are throwing food away does that to a person, but then you also don't want to give in to everyone, to feel the heavy weight of helping them all.
Today, we are in Agra, a beautiful city, which has restored my faith in India, and things are good. We just returned from seeing the sun setting from the banks of the river across from the Taj Mahal....so beautiful.
So, we've been sightseeing, trying to see everything worth seeing, but of course, it's impossible to see it all, and I already feel like we're running out of time, and India shoves everything, every feeling at us at once, so for now, my motto is, one day at a time:)
More soon!! With love....

Pictures later....

Prologo e chegada a India

2009-02-20T08:12:00.000-06:00

SABADO 14.02.09

Pois bem, tal como a crystal ja explicou em ingles, apos uma noite sem dormir a ultimar detalhes e a encolher a nossa vida e uma farmacia (obrigado mae) numa mochila para carrega-la as costas durante os proximos 5 meses despedimo-nos dos meus pais e irmas e partimos em direccao a Valenca com o Daniel e a Kathina onde divagamos pelo forte e petiscamos uns bolinhos de bacalhau e umas cervejinhas numa esplanada duma pequena praca inundada por um sol que nao se via ha ja dois meses! Nao podiamos aspirar a um melhor comeco apos dois meses de chuva e frio!

A meio da tarde partimos em direccao a Santiago de Compostela onde no dia seguinte de manha apanhamos o voo para Londres. Chegamos a Santiago ja por volta das 18h espanholas mesmo a tempo de ver o por do sol iluminar todo o "Obradoiro" - fachada principal - e o Hotel dos Reis Catolicos e explorar o "casco viejo". A noite jantamos tapas na "Calle de Franco" e emborcamos duas garrafas de vinho tinto. Comeu-se bem embora o preco final fosse um bocado "puxadote". Dormimos em casa da minha irma Ines onde fomos muito bem recebidos pela Rita.

DOMINGO 15.02.09

Na manha de Domingo partimos em direccao ao aeroporto e despedimo-nos do Daniel e da Kathina...que juntamente com a Crystal nao conteve as lagrimas... vamos ter saudades daqueles dois!

Aterramos em Londres - Stansted - e apanhamos um autocarro para o centro. Muita construcao a sul de Londres devido ao J.O. de 2012 e ainda alguns resquicios de neve acumulados nas bermas de algumas estradas.

Frio, chuva e vento! Nao podia fazer mais jus a imagem pre-concebida idealizada na nossa cabeca quando nos vem a cabeca a cidade de Londres. No entanto deixou-me imediatamente com uma primeira impressao muito positiva e a prometer ainda mais, Londres tem tudo... parece-me que a cidade conseguiu juntar passado, presente e futuro atraves de um processo de osmose, sabendo absorver as quantidades e proporcoes ideais para harmoniosamente conciliar a interaccao entre os tres. Devido a intemperie e ao peso das mochilas decidimos saltar para dentro de um autocarro turistico valido por 48h mais um passeio de barco no rio Tamisa. Ao anoitecer encontramo-nos com o Gavin, uma das amizades travadas em Valencia, e a irma, Naomi num tipico pub no districto de Angel enquanto esperavamos que o Sye, amigo de longa data das ferias em Cullera, saisse do trabalho e se juntasse a nos. Incrivel como aquele bairro borbulhava intensamente apesar de ser domingo a noite. Todos os pubs estavam cheios para o tipico "Sunday's Roast" ao qual nao ficamos alheios. Concluimos a noite numa sala de cinema aproveitando o facto do filme "Slumdog Millionaire" ja ter estreado no Reino Unido. E...que filme!!!Dormimos confortavelmente em casa do Sye preparando o itinerario para o dia seguinte.

SEGUNDA 16.02.09
Na manha de Segunda o Sye deu-nos uma boleia ate a estacao de comboio uma vez que tinhamos que ir a Wembley para levantar os nossos passes de comboio para a India. Durante a viagem os suburbios verdes com casas de telhados escuros e inclinados apenas foram interrompidos pelo majestoso arco do estadio de Wembley. Apos levantar os passes apanhamos o metro para Westminster e o seu Big Ben. A Crystal ficou desapontada com Buckimgham mas disfrutou dos jardins reais, Trafalgar Square e Picaddily. Almocamos num restaurante japones - Wagamama - onde pude experimentar um optimo "Ramen". Depois de almocar fizemos o passeio de barco ate a Ponte de Londres. Voltamos para casa do Sye a meio da tarde onde reencontrei o irmao, Omar, e mae que acabou por nos dar uma boleia ate ao aeroporto. O check-in e o embarque decorreu sem quaisquer tipo de problemas apenas constatando que eramos dois dos poucos ocidentais no voo. O aviao revelou-se confortavel e foi o mais espacoso em que ja estive uma vez que para surpresa minha nao batia, nem de perto, com os joelhos no banco da frente. Para alem do mais tinhamos um visor LCD com filmes, musica, documentarios... A comida e o servico nao foram maus mas tambem ja tive muito melhor. De qualquer maneira fica registado um adeus a Londres. Foi um prazer conhece-la e ai voltaremos de certeza.

TERCA 17.02.09
Ja a sobrevoar o deserto do Teerao na fronteira com o Paquistao travamos amizade com o passageiro do lado, Sid. Indiano nos seus 29 anos que ja viveu nos USA e agora vive em Londres com varios negocios entre Londres e Delhi! Ofereceu-nos uma boleia com o carro que o ia buscar ao aeroporto e logo ali, ainda antes de aterramos, os nossos planos e os nossos mais de 6 meses de planeamento sofreram as primeiras "metamorfoses". Era mesmo isto de que estavamos a espera da India, so nao estavamos a espera era que acontecesse antes de la chegarmos! O Sid ficou no escritorio depois de me ajudar a trocar alguns euros por rupias e pediu ao conductor para nos deixar ficar no "Lotus Temple" uma vez que o Sid tinha dito que ficava muito perto do escritorio... so que pelo caminho como o condutctor nao tinha muita certeza de para onde ia acabou por nos deixar no "Lhodi Garden" e no seu complexo de templos em ruinas. Mais uma ligeira metamorfose que se revelou perfeita! Cansados da viagem e com as mochilas as costas, depois de cruzar o trafico caotico e infernal na zona sul de Delhi pudemos relaxar sentados ao sol com uma brisa suave apreciando o fantastico cenario em ruinas habitado por uma multitude de aves incluindo corvos, falcoes e papagaios, assim como esquilos e arvores centenarias. Foi aqui que comecamos a apercebermo-nos dos grandes contrastes sociais da India...e do contraste brutal entre os espacos caoticos e os espacos zen, a pobreza e a riqueza, a bondade e a maldade! Esta ideia foi ainda mais reforcada quando travamos mais uma amizade, com o Lokesh, que se aproximou educamente de nos e que durante a nossa conversa, sentados na relva e enquanto eu esquissava a paisagem, se revelou uma pessoa extremamente culta a acabar um Phd em historia e que trabalhava em colaboracao com a campanha turistica governamental "Incredible India!". Apos despedirmo-nos do Lokesh exploramos o resto do complexo e partimos em direccao ao "Tumulo de Safdarjang" onde disfrutamos do por do sol e tempo para mais um desenho. Ao anoitecer partimos para o caos do Main Bazzar em Paharganj e escolher o nosso quarto de hotel que tinha um agradavel restaurante na coberturam onde comi o melhor caril da minha vida!. Cansados, montamos a nossa rede mosquiteira e adormecemos profundamente abracados um ao outro. E preciso aproveitar enquanto ainda nao esta muito quente... lololol por agora a temperatura e amena (25C - 14C) e a humidade nao ultrapassa os 45%. Embora o ceu esteja sempre azul ha sempre uma nevoa no ar...mais particularmente smog...fumo...va la bastante poluicao apenas dissipadas entre jardins e tumulos....

Amanha ha mais...
Beijos e abracos

The Sweet Taste of India

2009-02-17T10:21:00.000-06:00

First of all, happy birthday to Kathina!! :D We wish we were celebrating with you!

Now, a quick summary of the last few days:

After a sleepless night spent, as usual, frantically packing and tying up loose ends, we began our trip with Daniel and Kathina to Santiago de Compostela for the weekend. Good bye's in Braga were not too bad, mostly because they were a cheerful, see you in May to the family:) Portugal even gave us a good bye present--beautiful clear blue skies, warm temperatures, and the sun! The four of us stopped in Valenca, a cute like town within the walls of an old fort on the Spanish/Portuguese border and it was a perfect afternoon! We explored a bit, eventually ending up at a little cafe on the street in the sun drinking superbock, eating bolinhos de bacalhau and, as always, having great conversation. We spent the rest of the day in Santiago de Compostela, catching the last rays of the sun as they hit the facade of the cathedral. We finished off the night with tapas and wine, a great day spent in Spain.

I boarded the plane to London the next day with mixed and conflicting emotions. Excitement for the adventure we were beginning, apprehension at the unknown, and sadness for leaving Portugal, and saying good bye to Kathina and Daniel. Not that we will not see each other in the future, or that Sergio and I won't return to Portugal, but it was not just saying good bye to friends and family temporarily, it was saying goodbye to a whole chapter in our lives, a happy one, so to quote Friends "It's the end of an era!!"

It was especially hard to say bye, to Kathina and Daniel...some people come into our lives and fall into step beside us so quietly, so easily, so happily that when we stop and take a minute to look back, we're startled to realize just how great of a presence they have created and how much you will miss their presence when they're not around. That's what our friendship meant to me during a time of huge readjustment in my life--like slipping on a comfy pair of slippers after spending the day walking around in high heels:)

So, we spent the next two days in London, being complete tourists riding around on the tour bus, but it was a great way to see everything, and my previous conceptions of London being a cold and dreary city that I don't want to get to know were completely erased, as I found London to be full of character and a beautiful city. I could spend weeks more there, wandering the streets, enjoying the huge tourist attractions as much as the tiny pub down the street serving Sunday night roasts :)

Which brings me to now....India...intial reaction: WOW. The extreme diversity and intensity of emotions that India has caused only in the first 10 hours of being here are so new and different that I am still processing everything, but I can say that never has a simple place caused such reactions and presented such contradictions to me in such a short period of time. I do believe that the great Aerosmith's "Sweet taste of India" should be more appropriately named "Sweet, sour, bitter, delicious, amazing taste of India because that is what India IS. An epitomy of the concept of contradiction. It's as if here, God/Allah/whoever, decided to present both sides of every story and said, you figure it out. I've never felt so conspicuous yet so insignificant, so much compassion for those in poverty yet so much disgust, such openness to meeting others, yet such suspicion, and so exhilherated yet so nervous.

We arrived safely to Delhi this morning, after a decent flight. On the plane we began to talk to an Indian guy in the seat next to us, Sid, from Delhi/London/New York, and after a bit of chatting, he graciously offered to give us a ride from the airport to Delhi. We of course accepted, and it was the best way to take in all the new sights, sounds, and smells, because everything together was rather overwhelming. We spent the rest of day wandering around the city, laying in the grass in a beautiful park, trying to avoid getting run over by autorickshaws/buses/cars as the only rule of the road in India seems to be one: avoid hitting anyone; everything else, stoplights, crosswalks....optional.

Now,we're simply trying to process all the information, and getting ready for a new day of contradictions for tomorrow!

Ok, back to the chaos of the streets....love to everyone and mais uma vez parabens a Kathina!!:)

Check out pics from the weekend in Santiago!!

With love...

Here we go...

2009-02-11T04:36:00.000-06:00

Hello, Olá, Kamusta, Namasté!

We've been planning our trip for so long, it's impossible that we're leaving within the next few days. This time next week, we'll be fighting our way through India! And this time 3 months from now, we'll be preparing for the "Wedding of the Century" in Mactang, Philippines:)

It seems like just yesterday that I was standing on my mom’s island, Mactang, in the Philippines, looking out into the ocean, getting swept away in daydreams of my wedding that would someday take place here. It also seems like just yesterday that Sergio and I were sitting in a café on a Friday night, an empty bottle of wine between us, drawing a map of the world, and pointing out everywhere we would like to visit.

These were the first drafts of a couple of dreams, and now, the face of my groom has been filled in, wedding planners have been hired, backpacks been bought and plane tickets booked, and although the guest list of the wedding has increased greatly, and the destination list for our trip has been narrowed down significantly, the excitement and anticipation of both events has only increased infinitively. And now, six months, two full credit cards, one almost empty bank account, fifteen vaccinations, twenty anti-malaria pills, eight visas, one beautiful dress, and a whole lot of wedding planning later, we’re about to leave for the trip and the wedding!

Our trip planning has already hit some obstacles, but I’m hoping it goes along the same lines as “bad dress rehearsal, good opening night” sort of thing. Our biggest clue as to the confusion that India is going to present to us came from trying to obtain our tourist visas from the Embassy here in Portugal. We mailed our passports to the Embassy in Lisbon, only to have to mail three different money orders, all with separate amounts after we kept being told the wrong amount by different people, and a process that was promised to take only one week actually took three.

But this is a part of the travelling and in my experience, some of the best things happen when you’ve deviated off course, looking for your way back.

As for the wedding, I’ve never been the type to have my wedding planned out to the detail, collecting cut outs from magazines for years, so this whole wedding planning across the ocean thing hasn’t presented too much of a problem, especially with the help of my liaison between countries, my mom, but I do admit I will be a bit apprehensive when we first see the set up, if it has anything to do with what I have pictured in my head! But in reality, I’m so excited to go back to the Philippines, and to share our day with family and friends. (although, not as many as we would like!!)

A quick, general Itinerary:

Feb. 15-16: London
Feb. 17 to 15 March : India
Mar. 16-25 : Bhutan
Mar. 25-31: Nepal
April 01-07: India
Apr 08-18 : Myanmar
April 18 to 18 May: Philippines
May 19---THE BIG DAY!!
May 20 to 20 June: Philippines
Jun 20-30: Thailand
July 01-09: Laos
July 10-16: Cambodia
July 17-19: Singapore
July 20-23: Malaysia
July 24 to 15 August: Portugal
August 16... USA

Pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/crystalandsergio/

Keep in touch!! Lots of love.
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Parecia ainda ontem que estava na ilha da minha mae, Mactang, nas Filipinas, a olhar para o mar, perdida em pensamentos sobre o meu casamento que um dia, quem sabe, aconteceria por ali.Tambem parecia ainda ontem quando o Sergio e eu estavamos sentados num café numa Sexta feira á noite, com uma garrafa de vinho vazia entre nos e a desenhar um mapa do mundo, a pensar em todos os sitios que gostariamos de visitar.

Era o nosso primeiro rascunho de um par de sonhos e agora, a cara do noivo tomou forma, os "wedding planners" estao contratados, as mochillas foram compradas e, os bilhetes de avião foram marcados! E, apesar de a lista de convidados ser muito maior do que inicialmente, e da lista de destinos ser muito mais pequena, o entusiasmo e a anticipacao destes dois acontecimentos e' enorme! E agora, depois de seis meses, dois cartões de crédito, uma conta bancaria quase vazia, quinze vaccinações, vinte comprimidos contra a malaria, oito vistos, um vestido de noiva maravilhoso, e muito mas muito planeamento de casamento, estamos prontos para partir!

O planeamento da viagem não foi nada facil, mas em inglês temos uma ditado: “mau ensaio, grande noite de estreia” e espero que isto se aplique 'as viagens também! Um bom exemplo sobre o desenrolar dos acontecimentos pelo Sudoeste Asiatico foi o processo de obtencao dos nossos vistos para a India atraves da Embaixada da India em Lisboa. Enviamos os nossos passaportes para a Embaixada com um vale postal relativo ao montante indicado, mas depois entre cancelamentos de vales postais e reenvios de novos vales postais acabamos por ter que mandar tres vales postais, cada um com um montante diferente do outro. Ou seja, um processo que deveria ter demorado uma semana, na realidade demorou tres semanas! Mas este é o aspecto inerente ao "viajar" de que eu mais gosto. As melhores coisas acontecem quando estas perdido, a procura do caminho certo.

Quanto ao casamento, eu nunca fui do tipo de pessoa para planear o meu casamento ate ao mais infimo detalhe nem guardar artigos de revista durante anos pelo que todo este planeamento alem mar nao se revelou tao problematico quanto seria de esperar, em grande parte devido ao meu contacto entre os dois paises, a minha mae, mas tenho que admitir que estarei algo apreensiva quando vislumbrar o "cenario" pela primeira vez e constatar se efectivamente condiz com aquilo que idealizei na minha cabeca! Mas a verdade 'e que estou mesmo excitada com o facto de voltar as Filipinas e partilhar "o nosso dia" com familia e amigos. (Embora nao tantos quanto desejavamos!!)

O Itenerario:

Feb. 15-16: London
Feb. 17 to 15 March : India
Mar. 16-25 : Bhutan
Mar. 25-31: Nepal
April 01-07: India
Apr 08-18 : Myanmar
April 18 to 18 May: Philippines
May 19---THE BIG DAY!!
May 20 to 20 June: Philippines
Jun 20-30: Thailand
July 01-09: Laos
July 10-16: Cambodia
July 17-19: Singapore
July 20-23: Malaysia
July 24 to 15 August: Portugal
August 16... USA

Fotos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/crystalandsergio/
Aguardamos noticias vossas!! Beijos e abraços....