TravelStream™ news feed for member bloomer on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/bloomer en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Tue, 24 Mar 2009 10:56:13 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1237904700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1237904700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1237904700/tpod.html Tue, 24 Mar 2009 10:56:13 -0400 Back to the Land Where All Things are Possible.

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

London, England, United Kingdom

I guess I haven't written anything in a while, but with situations at home having to be taken care of, and generally looking forward to some time alone with someone special here in london, I guess I have neglected the reports from the road.So, on the eve of my return to boston to clean up the mess that seems to always appear if I am not there to maintain life, I give you some video.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1237100160/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1237100160/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1237100160/tpod.html Sun, 15 Mar 2009 03:23:05 -0400 Back to the Land Where All Things are Possible.

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Delhi, India

Well, since I'm just waiting out my time here in Delhi, waiting for my plane, I've written a little. Before the monsoon comes is an interesting time in India. Though still months off, it is still a bit too dry, the trees losing leaves, people waiting for something they know will arrive before too too long. When one is not experiencing too much new, one then writes from experience:The days and weeks before the monsoon are a bit like what we might call "indian summer," only it is the heat, not the cold, which increases. Leaves hang yellow on the trees--falling. Waiting not for warmth but for moisture. Rain to awaken, rain to bring the rice paddies back from their yearly death. Rain to soak and flood the poorly drained cities. Rain to swell rivers, to deliver both life and death to the withered landscape and people.Until that time, the sun hangs, relentless, baking all in a reddish clay tandoor oven vista.Village people huddle under lone trees in fading shade, with each leaf fallen a spot of sun opens, affording less and less protection from the ever-burning fire in the sky.Colorful cloth and clothing hangs from lines strung between mud-and-straw huts. Women are the ones seen doing most of the work, domestic, while the men crowd in the shade of shack-shops and on hard fruitwood benches in tiny dhabas.Dust and smoke thickens the air incrementally, filling the bronchi. The periodic coughing of all most prevalent in the morning, a sort of pulmonary alarm clock for the families.The day comes too early, the heat making sleep impossible by the time the sun is but a finger's breadth from the murky horizon.At some time before the rain arrives, the flies come; too profuse to wave away from food, shit, eyes. Flies seek the same as humans: moisture, food, a place to procreate.The too-numerous babies cry in the arid heat as if knowing that half of their peers may not see adulthood alive, or healthy, or with limbs intact.Toward the end, clouds arrive in the afternoon, darkening more each day, threatening, though not delivering the precious drops from the sky that will bring the rebirth of the hardscrabble earth.People pray. They pray to Shiva, Hanuman, to Hadimba and Gonesh. They pray to Allah, some to Jesus. "'Barish' is coming," they collectively hope.The sky itself, once hazy with an occasional puff of white seen, turns to gray with more frequency, tantalizing with at first a few blasts of precipitation. Brief periods become prolonged, finally merging into one, a rain as persistent and unstoppable as the now-forgotten sun. The fields to green.The Monsoon has begun.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1236716340/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1236716340/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1236716340/tpod.html Thu, 12 Mar 2009 04:26:27 -0400 Back to the Land Where All Things are Possible.

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Mumbai, India

Taking a sleeper bus has usually been a less than pleasing experience in the past, usually a row of seats and a cramped little space above with my own 6 foot frame and that of a usually overweight and smelly man chewing guthka and spitting it out the window in such a way that the particles flew back into my side. . . Waiting at Mapusa bus stand, I expected the same, but was in for a pleasant surprise, which I shall explain shortly. I had timed it in such a manner as to reach mumbai close to the airport around 10 am, and jump a flight to Delhi at 1 pm. Of course barring major delays caused by overturned hay or log trucks, the bus driver being lost, etc, I would have plenty of time. The first bus from "Paulo Travels" that pulled up did not look promising. Rusty rear quarters and primer spots, dents in the side from colliding with god knows what, and a pronounced list in the suspension promised a rough ride. Fortunately, this was a bus through Karnataka, and not my own scheduled bus. A couple of others arrived, neither my own, and at last, fifteen minutes late, a shiny new thing approached my end of the bus stand that said "paolo" on the side, and sure enough, it was my bus. . . This was a bus of a different kind than the (non) sleeper buses I had experienced in the past. All sleeping berths, no seats, more like a 2/AC sleeper train than a bus. Also to my great joy, I had the whole berth to myself. The whole way! Sometimes, when one is very, very lucky, things work properly in this country of chaos. A couple of snoozes later I arrived at Andheri, the closest thing to an "airport" stop in mumbai, and was on my way 50 rupees later to the airport. Ticketing, security, all no problem with 2 hours to wait.Flight on time, prepaid taxi, Lord Krishna hotel, including tv and attached bath on the day before Holi with a roof top restarurant to watch the show from. Perfect.Amazing how small pleasures make your day, when things go according to plan in a country that flies by the seat of its pants at all times. It's the little things that make it slightly better, especially when one is annoyed, as I have been guilty of so chronically this trip.Let me explain a little about "Holi" or the Festival of color, here in India. A hindu tradition, it involves the exchange of toxic dyes between participants. Any walk down a street or alleyway will result in the walker being doused in either colored water or powdered dyes which are near impossible to wash out of skin and clothes, and many times made with chemicals of unknown origin, perhaps scraped out of the soil of Bhopal or something. Inhaled, many of these can cause respiratory problems, burns, or any manner of mild skin irritations. There is a push in the media for people to use natural compounds, but these seem to either not be available to the poorest, or too expensive. Perhaps the push seems to have worked a bit though, as I did not see anyone this year screaming and clutching at their eyes or scratching at their chests, as was often the case in years back.Other, more malicious Holi participants just throw bags of sewage, mud, or rocks at unwitting passers-by. Nice Holi gift--"here, have some Cholera." All in all it is mostly just a bunch of Indian men acting like barely post-pubescent teenagers, and I can see that any day of the week without the hassle of being covered in toxic colored stuff.Nice to watch from above, but one participates or "plays Holi" just about once, and then the smart ones just go somewhere high up and wait it out. The use of the bright colors is supposed to bring good luck, happiness, and chase away evil spirits, but I'm not so sure that works so well, because today, the same beggars and street touts are on the same spots they always occupy, and I have seen more children crying and people upset on the day after Holi than on the days preceding. So much for chasing out evil. Fun to watch, and fun for the participants, provided you do not get hit with a bag full of human waste, mercury-based powder, or get beaten by the police with a "lathi." I'll stick to the less dangerous fun of perhaps free-climbing a loose rock face at 3000 meters, swimming alone in shark-infested water at night, or even riding an undependable vintage motorcycle through central india in the heat before the monsoon (this latter being what I should have done this time round). I can think of better and more fun ways to poison myself as well. Hell, one needs to enjoy the poison, otherwise what is the point?So, I am actually happy to be back in Delhi, an urban place I understand and have even grown to love over the years. I think I'll just ride it out here, chai in the afternoon, and good food from the streets and rooftops. Tired of moving, especially when I am not at the handlebars. Also I've never been much of a believer in empty and superstitious religious ritual. Just in observing it! A week till my flight back to civilization. . .
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1236274440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1236274440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1236274440/tpod.html Thu, 05 Mar 2009 03:09:03 -0500 Back to the Land Where All Things are Possible.

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Goa, Goa, India

There is a curse over this place--not really a bad one, but Arambol does not want you to leave it. I have been trying to book a flight out of here for days now, and every time I punch "buy tickets," the internet seems to go down at the very moment I do. I wonder if the huge bandwidth that people are using up to Skype each other with video has something to do with the overloading of this antiquated system. Getting itchy feet again. Or at leas one of them. A small but persistent puncture I got from stepping on bamboo in Hikkaduwa has shed its first layer, exposing a hole underneath that does not seem to be healing any too quickly. It is not puffed up or red, but it itches as if there is some kind of little worm in there making its way out, or just settling in to the warm new digs of the flesh in the soft part of my foot. This little problem has really kept me from walking around too much, as I need to continually wash and put ointments on it. Catching up on my reading is kind of nice, but it is so hot here that the only thing one can do in the midday is strip down and lie underneath the fan at full blast to keep from sweating out all the liters of water one consumes throughout the day.Nothing much to do here on Arambol, just drink beer and eat, and I've really been into neither. It looks as though a plane will not be the way to get off of this beach, I will perhaps have to catch a train or two to get back north.The demographic has changed here in the 3 years since I last spent time here. The beach has near double the guesthouses, huts, and beach shacks, and so is fairly spread out. Not as tight as say, Palolem, where you develop a good crew and friends easily. Arambol has become a bit too big, a bit too commercial for my tastes anymore.I do have a couple of friends here from home, one an old girlfriend from many years ago, and her friend, both of whom I have known for some many years. They are staying at a place called "the Magic Park," which, I must admit after seeing the "compound" in the Girkiwaddo, seems perfectly engineered and just insular enough to approximate the "arambol experience," which has not existed on this beach for many years. It is actually well done, and if someone is looking for that "Goa" experience, I think the Magic Park is the perfect place for that sort of fantasy. The reality of it is that the business is expanding here at a very fast rate, and the mellow hippy vibe of the place has given way to sun seekers rather than the, shall we say, "enlightenment seekers."All in all though, I have a nice spot for reading, surrounded by palm trees, and the foot seems to be getting better a little bit, but I really want to be moving on soon. There's only so much one man can take. Also I think I may be a bit "travel weary," having spent well over a year of the last three and a half away from home. I can't wait for my flight, really. But that's today. Tomorrow can change anything.What else is there when the wonders of the world are viewed through jaded eyes, nothing excites the senses any more, the beauty of a high mountain or a long palm strewn beach is greeted with a sigh, and travel becomes tiresome, a burden to find tickets, a struggle to motivate one's self to do anything except while away the hours, the days, the weeks until the return to a place one may or may not call 'home,' but where one loves, and in return is loved? What else? This is the nature of "travel fatigue," I recognize it in myself, the things and places that once seemed so exotic elicit nothing but boredom, I know that I have used up this corner of the world, and for the next journey I shall have to go to some different continent, some different climate where things are all new, and a new set of rules apply. So, to answer the question "what else?" I only have the simple answer. It is not where you have been, what you have done or seen. It is not what you have but WHO you have that matters most. No man is an island, so they say, and nothing can be measured unless there is some relative quantity by which to gauge it. No-one is anyone without anyone else. Next year perhaps, I'll just take the winter for skiing, or maybe a quick jaunt to South America or the carribean, but not for too long. Sometimes the holiday is too long, other times too short, but the heart always knows. This one has been a bit too long from the beginning I guess. . .I know, I know, a little bleak-sounding, but fake-dreadlocked yogic hippies, ageing peter pan syndrome europeans and people playing road-warrior dress-up on a hot beach just doesen't do it for me. I'm not into the party scene, turning my skin into leather in the tropical sun, swimming in the dirty water. Time to move. Past time.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235814960/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235814960/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235814960/tpod.html Mon, 02 Mar 2009 05:31:51 -0500 Back to the Land Where All Things are Possible.

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Bengaluru, Tamil Nadu, India

It would seem, from looking at a map of India, that there would be numerous ways to make the relatively short journey crosswise from the large city on the east coast, Chennai, to the popular tourist destination of Goa, but there are no direct trains, buses, and certainly no direct flights. The same fuel- and time-wastin madness that possessed airlines in other parts of the world to use a "hub system" is evident here as well. All flights are routed through Bangalore. Of course the ticket agent could not route me through on a flight that lands in the "hub" anytime within 6 or 7 hours of the one daily Bangalore-Goa flight, so I had to sit around in a no-smoking-not-even-outside-even-if-you-go-outside-you-have-to-repay-"airport tax"-airport for 6 hours, falling asleep in the uncomfortable unpadded waiting chairs in unnatural positions, and while awake biting my nails from nicotine withdrawal. Thank god for "Coffee Day," a newer Indian consumer invention. While still not really quite understanding coffee at all, they manage to make a near approximation of a decent cuppa joe, and also some frothy, ice-creamy type things. I opted for the latter, as the time spent trying to eat/drink the damn thing and get the stains from the messy drink out of my pant leg would give me something to do during the interminable all-day wait for my plane.Finally the puddle jumper arrived, and boarding I noticed my seat was directly in line with the left side turboprop engine. Please no mechanical problems, as if the prop would shatter on any side, they might find half of me. Also sitting there is about the loudest place on the plane, maybe not so bad when one reaches cruising altitude, but the takeoff and landing are deafening. Now, I'm not holding this against Kingfisher Airlines, because if I had to give them a rating in helpfulness, courtesy, and all the BS one expects from their "flight experience," I would have to really give them an "A" or perhaps an "A-" for their service. They offer earbuds, face-freshening packaged towelettes, and even semi-decent food, even on short domestic flights. The planes are clean and smooth for the most part, and usually on time as well. The only reason I would give them a "minus" is that their scheduling, at least in my case left something to be desired, but that's just my personal.Arriving at the Goa airport, I already knew what I could get for a price on a private car to Arambol, should be no less than 800 rupees. The "prepaid" taxi hawkers tout 975 as their price, but if one just walks out the gate, there will be any number of taxi drivers waiting for a fare. Immediately they approached with offers of 900, 850, and started going down as I looked around for my previous driver, who might just possibly be there. This time I did not have to even haggle, I looked at one man, and asked for 800, and he immediately said he could do that, while another ran up with 750 as his offer. Ahh, a bidding war! when my first driver offered 700, I thought that was quite fair, and ignoring the lower prices that were shouted as we walked to his Maruti van, I went with him. Of course, being out of nicotine and irritable from a long layover, I was happy for the fight over my business. Sometimes "haggling by proxy" is nice, but it is not a common occurrence at all. Raji, my driver turned out to be quite a nice man, and we shared cigarettes (after a stop at the NEAREST shop. . ), and talked world politics and family the whole way. His wife and family live about halfway from the airport and the north, so I being the last fare of his day, he could go home. I made sure to throw an extra hundred his way anyway. Sometimes you drive a bargain, and someone else beats the price, but you just know who to go with sometimes. Best of luck to you and your family, Raji.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235639100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235639100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235639100/tpod.html Mon, 02 Mar 2009 04:46:59 -0500 Back to the Land Where All Things are Possible.

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Chennai (Madras), Tamil Nadu, India

A three hour drive is not necessarily a three hour drive in South Asia. Of course, by now, I realize these things, so having a 6:35 flight out of Colombo, I decided to bid a fond adieu to my friends at the Surfing Beach Guest house and flag down an A/C bus to Colombo, from which to transfer to the airport bus. Didn't have to wait but a minute, and by 12:30 in the afternoon, I was on my way, hoping to reach the airport by 4 pm or so at the latest. Of course, what is possible at one time, may not be probable at another in these countries and there is one thing that one never counts on--Local Elections. In Sri Lanka it seems, each town has its own time for local elections, I knew it was the season for elections, but what I didn't count on is that after making 80 or so of the 100km toward Colombo, it would be election day in Moratuwa. The streets were full of crowds, including the A2, the main highway, groups of hooligans waving different color flags for their respective candidates. When the US has an election, people quietly line up at the polls, cast their votes, and go home to wait for the news of the result. Not so in Lanka, where everyone gets the day off, votes, and all groups think their guy won whether or not any kind of count is in. Celebrations continue through the night with all kinds of arrack being drunk, and flag waving, megaphone shouting, drunken men block the main streets, driving slowly up and down in the backs of pickup trucks or jeeps, or just walking. I would also suspect that when the next morning comes and before the heads of the revelers stop pounding, the result is still not in. Sri Lanka may be much cleaner and more organized than India, but it still ain't new york, if you know what I mean.End result: 2 and a half hours lost sitting in traffic, though our intrepid bus driver tried every short cut through the jungle and residential areas to get around the town. Finally I reached Colombo in the bus stand at about 4:30 pm, knowing I would have to take a local bus to the airport, and that would take at least an hour or more. So, still cutting it close, but maybe not missing my flight."Plan B" naturally begins to take shape in one's mind on such occasions. "if I miss this plane, I most certainly miss the plane to Goa, so that opens out my possibilities, really. . " James and Andy from the guesthouse had a plan for the Andamans, so if this trip was lost or wasted, it would be only money and nothing else, and give an opportunity to join them there, flying then west to Delhi for my eventual departure from India.So there is always opportunity in what may seem to one at first glance to be a setback. Content with giving my fate up to the four winds, I could relax my heart a bit, of course until the AC bus dropped me off at the main bus stand. Once again, in addition to shortening my life, cigarettes saved it. I had my saddlebags over my shoulder, and my guitar over the other, but when I looked for my lighter, I suddenly realized that I had left my small bag in the seat next to me, as they had hurried me off the bus. Must have been quite a sight, a tall man with guitar over his shoulder running through full rush hour traffic, cutting off rickshaws and motorbikes, chasing a bus that was stopped at the light which was just turning green. I pounded as hard as I could on the back of the bus, and the puzzled ticket man stuck his head out. "Bag, Bag!" I shouted, and there in the midst of honking horns and held-up traffic, with the traffic cop whistling for him to go, he handed out the window my small bag, a shoulder bag containing lighter, flight information, both of my cameras, and most essential of all, my passport. Near disaster averted by needing a light for a quick smoke, and a dangerous run down the main road through traffic. Sometimes one is reminded of how easily holiday can turn to disaster, Plan C would have involved a visit to the embassy to try and get a passport reissued, also to the Indian embassy for a visa, the loss of all my filming and pictures, and a fair bit of money. Ill-fated, that bus was. . The Colombo Airport is not directly reachable by bus. The local bus (#187)dropped me off at the bus stand in the village at 6 pm, and by the time the shuttle bus began to move it was 6:10. Tick. . . tick. . .tick. . I could feel each minute slipping away as we moved through the checkpoints at the gates to the airport. . . tick. . . tick. . .Running down the tarmac of the parking lot, up to the ticket counter, boarding pass, check bag. . .tick. . through security mercifully quick, hastily filling out my departure card, a run to the gate just as the last shuttle bus was leaving for the plane. . .Made it!! One single more minute, one lost bag, and my travel plan could have changed radically. As I have said, sometimes one is reminded of just how fragile and changeable the nature of life is, as exactly one MUST be reminded from time to time, or risk a fall down into the gaping maw of complacency. Uneventful flight to Chennai, back to the Mars hotel, overpriced at 1600 rupees, but clean and with snappy sharply dressed staff, television and AC, and just a little time to get to sleep before waking up at 6 am to make my domestic flight to Goa.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235582100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235582100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235582100/tpod.html Wed, 25 Feb 2009 02:42:41 -0500 Back to the Land Where All Things are Possible.

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Hikkaduwa, Sri Lanka

Nothing left to do but settle accounts and pack my bags at this point. It might be tough to return to the street hustle of Chennai, have to stay in an overnight and overpriced airport hotel, then board a plane in Goa the next morning, but within a few weeks I will be back in "civilization." From time to time while out in the world in exotic places, I find myself pining for a proper pizza, a good hunk of american prime rib, and/or especially a good beer. One of the major topics around tables is sometimes about this syndrome. Cheese is high on the list of things people fantasize about, good wine or beer, perhaps, or some other food that is not done or done poorly in the place where the particular crew resides for the moment.We have had quite a good time here in Hikkaduwa, excellent company, and great conversation. I will miss my mates at surfing beach, also the coffee that Ama serves (best on this whole island), and of course the rotty (roti) and "kotturotti" in the evenings.Life is tough. I have to go from one beach to another. No complaints here, it is just the two days of flights I have to endure to get there.A couple of old friends of mine from Boston are actually in Arambol enjoying the sun and awaiting my arrival, so it should be a fairly soft landing, in any case. From there it is on to Pushkar, and Nomad will be there from the bullet Wallas, so a brother in Rajastan will make some difference as well. Then back to Delhi for some days, take care of my business with Sunny Motors for my new enfield engine to be shipped, and back to London to the clouds and rain and best of all the embrace of my beloved. Ah, getting a bit sentimental once again, but all life is constantly changing, sometimes noticeable, sometimes more subtle, and on the eve of a transition from one place to another--whether an inner transition or travel to another place--one can take the opportunity to reflect and contemplate. We all know where we have been, but where we are going remains to be revealed in time. Best just to know where you are, I think, and let the rest be what it was or will be. It is only when we pay too much attention to what was, or what is not yet that we run into problems. The Now is the only gift we can truly enjoy, the moment, which flies like a tiny swift bird when we stop to observe. . .Sri Lanka is now in my heart, much like India with which I was so enamored before. Perhaps it is here I shall return to on my next holiday, but with almost a year of world travel in the last three and a half years, I may be wanting to stay closer to home next year. Of course, that is not yet, and if I have learned anything in life, it is that things can change from one day to the next, one minute to the next.And so I close the chapter on Sri Lanka for the moment, but stick around--there's more adventure in India coming right up! This little "time out" has refreshed me, and I do think I'm ready once again to face the chaos of India again. Maybe with a slightly better mindset this next time round.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235497140/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235497140/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235497140/tpod.html Tue, 24 Feb 2009 03:41:24 -0500 Back to the Land Where All Things are Possible.

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Hikkaduwa, Sri Lanka

I have retired from surfing this year, I think. Doesn't help that I stepped on a piece of bamboo jutting 6 inches out of the sand on my way home in the dark one evening, giving myself a nice puncture and a healthily bruised foot. Almost better now, at least able to walk.So two more lazy days reading and lounging in the sun here on this beautiful beach, and back to India with a fresh attitude. Over beers last night, someone said something that reminded me of just what I like about India. It is not the pollution, noise, crowds and dirt, it is the people. In fact, anywhere in the world is truly about the people. There are uncountable palm trees, infinite grains of sand on innumerable beaches, and only so many mountains and plains to see. Temples, monuments, ruins, though all very cool and nice to see, are not the whole of travel. In fact, these "sights" I consider to be secondary to seeing tamil workers in the hill country picking tea, an old woman doing her washing or hand-weaving on an old-fashioned loom, or any of the other activities people do from day to day. In addition to this, when communication is possible, the stories people tell continue to surprise and incite my curiousity.This is the major reason for my own travel, and also the reason I tend to stay in one place for a good bit of time, whether it be the beaches of india or sri lanka, or the dark backpacker ghettoes of Delhi. It is more about trying to understand the methods and culture of the local residents than to relax in the sun, go on the piss, climb a mountain or ride the waves.Each person around you has some quality and somthing we can all learn and benefit from. For the most part I like to focus on the positive qualities rather than the "negatives" which, of course, being a judgement call is relative anyhow. Some people display qualities or aspects we try to cultivate in our own selves, and looking around me today, I have listed a few:Self-awareness. Noel, the sometimes grumpy guest house owner and original hikkaduwa surfer always knows when he is not in a good mood, and so when he comes out to the deck to have himself a cigarette, he sits a little distance away from the guests and/or friends so as not to share his darkness with others. Being conscious of one's own feelings, disposition, or mood should always bring with it the awareness of its effect upon others. In other words, misery may love company, but the key is to ride it out by yourself and not spoil another's experience with your own bitterness.Patience. There is a huge spider on my wall. I don't mind the arachnids so much, even the 8 inch centipede that scurried up my leg in the dark last night, but I don't so much like to sleep with them. My own not-so-little eight-legged friend I have chosen to call "Joe" for the simple reason that Izza, the japanese fellow staying in the guesthouse thinks this is funny. In any case, Joe will sit in one place for hours, waiting for an ant or a mosquito to stray too close to him before he makes his move and snatches the annoying insect out of the air of off the wall at just the right moment. He does not stalk, he only waits, motionless until his time comes. Only then does he move to another location to sit again.Kind of like the surfers who spend hours out on the Main Break, waiting for a wave that may never come.Perseverence. The old fisherman with his fishing rod comes every day at low tide. We call him "thong man," as he ties up his sri lankan sari in such a way as to expose his posterior. Not something I generally like to see, but I do watch him as he fishes each day, most days catching nothing at all. On certain days, however, his persistence pays off and he will pull in a neon colored reef fish, or a good-sized pompano. He knows if he goes out every day, one day in ten will yield a fresh dinner for himself and his family, if he has one. My grandmother would call such a quality "stick-to-it-ive-ness." Well, maybe not my own Gram, but I'm sure someone's granny has used this word.Discipline. Izza's devotion to his buddhism and personal discipline is something to be admired. Each day he does his chanting and meditation during both the rising and setting sun. His dedication to the guest house family is equally so, he was there just after the tsunami and helped to rebuild the place, chunks of which's wall can still be seen when the tide brings the sand off of the beach, still painted with the name of the surfing beach, but now reminders of the event which claimed and changed so many lives not so long ago and can still be detected in the faces and eyes of some, a pink and still slightly tender scar across the chest of a country. Izza also has only one, and occasionally two beers per night, retiring at 9:30 or so to be up early once again to stretch and pray. We have talked quite a bit about many things, and I do know that he does not renounce the pleasures of the human condition, just chooses not to poison his body or mind with the desire for such. That man, he's a good coupla guys, as the saying goes.Amicability. "Ama" (mama in singhalese) comes and serves your coffee or breakfast with a smile. Always. Passing her in the hallway or on the deck, she also smiles. No matter how grumpy the old man is, still she is unaffected. Life is too short not to smile, I guess, but you don't really meet too many who live by those words. Ama is one of those people. She will cook your dinner or help you with anything, no matter if you interrupt her in doing something else, and instead of a mildly annoying look, as you might expect from almost anyone, she will happily take care of you, and if you get off a good joke, she is also ready with a laugh. (also, man, can she cook!)Curiousity. The Boy, son of Noel and Ama, I so call because he has one of those names that are hard for the western-trained brain to remember. The Boy is clever and bright, has better english than either his father or mother, plays flute, violin, and piano, and goes off to school every day. He says he doesn't like school much, but still he likes to learn. At the age of 7, he does not practice on a surfboard or in the waves as most of the other youngsters do, he learns. Exposure to any number of cultures through the family business also stimulates his curious nature. He asks questions, watches, and listens until Ama calls to him from the other side of the building to stop bothering the guests and return to play or study. Noel does not want him to surf at all, lest he become a "beach boy," one of so many on this beach, most involved with drugs or alcohol in some way, and most of whose driving force is to "get with" western women. Pretty much a dead-end life in this place, especially with heroin becoming readily available here and with a low price. That road only leads to an early demise. Noel's father provided something to pass down to him, and he will carry on the tradition. Perhaps some years hence, I will return to this same guesthouse and find an bright young man taking care of the family business. I hope so.Work Ethic. Our sometimes-present security man/rickshaw driver hauled sand in the hot sun all day the other day helping out a funny German old man whom I like to call der Kommisar. (don't turn around, uh-oh. . .etc). Another man drank from the morning on, occasionally turning up when der Kommisar was around, only to slip back into the shade when the "boss" was not working. Rickshaw man was a bit miffed about this, as he will take a drink only when the job is over, the day is done, as a reward for his hard labor, as it should be, while drunken man got the same pay. A little resentment, therefore is perfectly understandable in a man who focuses on the job, the task at hand, and rewards himself only when the work is done. Honesty. Ranjeet, the shop owner down the street from whom we buy our cigarettes and occasional ice cream cones could have burned me for 1k rupees the other night. I handed him a 2k note, thinking that it was a 1k, and started to turn away when he gave me the change I expected. "What I owe you?" he said, with a laugh. I truly had no idea. . "Guess," he asked, and I really did not know what he was getting at. After a minute or so, he opened up the second drawer (the one they keep the bigger notes in), and handed me a 1000 rupee note, telling me that I didn't notice that I gave him a 2000 note. He has got my business from now on. Honesty may not be easy when one is tempted, but in the end I like say that honesty is not the "best" policy, honesty is the ONLY policy. It may not bring instant gratification, but the loyalty of friends, customers, and associates cannot be earned with anything else. I tell this story to many people I meet, and that also brings business to this bearded and smiling man.Honor/dependability. Sri Lankan time is different than Indian time in that they may stretch a little bit, but Indians have no honor when it comes to doing what they say they will do at the time they say they will do it (well, slightly more possible if there is money to be had). Knocking on a friend's door at 6 in the morning to go for a surf, only to find him up already, that is honor. That is holding to one's word, one's commitment. This is an extremely important quality for success in all facets of life. Don't expect it from others, necessarily, but insist on it for your own self. Look good, smell good, and be on time, someone once said. No matter how many good jobs you do, they will never make up for one bad job. (also ties in with "work ethic," see above. . "Finally, but not necessarily "lastly," there is the "Knowing One's Limits" aspect of life. There are two older Australian men at the Surfing Beach, and they don't go out to paddle around for hours with a futile hope that a good breaking wave will come along. Certainly many surf-able waves have been breaking on the beach, but they mostly break at once, not good for anything better than a momentary ride after a maximum effort. Too much work for not enough reward. These old fellows are absolutely right, which is why I myself have retired from the waves, at least for this place and for this year. I know my limits, and had to, after much thought, abandon a practice that gives no practice. . . Stepping on a jagged piece of bamboo sticking out of the sand 6 inches in the night (who the f**k put that there?!?!?), puncturing and bruising my foot in a reasonably serious manner does not help with the surfing thing either, so I have "retired," certainly not at the top of my career, though.More pictures will come soon, I promise, but internet is expensive here, and I have been taking loads of HD video with my latest gadget, so some may have to wait a month or so until I return home to Boston. .
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235149620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235149620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1235149620/tpod.html Fri, 20 Feb 2009 03:12:12 -0500 Back to the Land Where All Things are Possible.

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Hikkaduwa, Sri Lanka

After getting smashed by what seems like an infinite number of waves, run though the "washing machine" a few times, and snapping one safety leash, some of what I learned those years ago in Arugam bay on the other side of this island has come back. I have actually even stood up on one of the damned things for maybe. . 3 seconds . .or so. Hikkaduwa, situated on the Galle-Colombo road is much more touristy than Arugam, though this year has seen a sharp decrease in visitors from the steady rise after the tsunami.Perhaps it is global recession, maybe the war, maybe terror threats, or all of that, but all the locals tell me that there are many less than half of last year's quota. However, this does not deter the surfers who cluster around the "main break," just in front of our guest house, and the "beach break," just a 3 minute walk down the beach. With a mile or two of ocean in front of us, you might think that there would be plenty enough for all, but these two main areas are just about it, and apparently the surf itself has been fairly low.Watching the good surfers on the main break is fun in the morning as the sun rises and all day long, but for such as me, and more than a few others, the Beach Break is the kiddie pool of the hikkaduwa area, where (at least reputedly), one can do some paddling, get some balance, some board rash, and a sore ribcage from laying down on a hard surfboard waiting for the intermittent larger waves to break close enough topick you up but far enough from the beach not to break a fin (or a neck) in the shallows. All seems well and good, an area for those who really know how to surf the big waves, and a gentler place for those just learning, but it doesn't really work that way. Yesterday afternoon I counted no less than 25 on the beach break, some ten or so being of such a talent level that they should have been out surfing the main break with the big boys. The problem is that many of these hotshots like to come over and hog the waves in the beginner area, going from side to side, and generally being dangerous to those of lesser ability.One first learns to paddle and balance on the board, perhaps to sit, and with close observation of the swells learns to 'read' the breaks. In other words, you get used to the board, then you get used to where the wave picks you up. If you are lucky, you can catch that wave and not panic, and with a little more experience, stand up for a few seconds as the break turns into "white water." Problem is, though when at this point in one's surfing career, the only direction one can go in is straight. "Turn" comes later, and "stop" is simply to fall off the board, so that when one of the hotshots catches a wave, they provide a nice near-death experience for the poor novice, paddle in front or behind you to "steal" a wave you have been waiting for, and generally create an "every man for himself" attitude which lessens the experience for most.This was not so true in Arugam Bay a few years ago--there was a sort of understanding of "surfing" etiquette, the beginners and not-so-good surfers having panama and crocodile rock as well as the main beach, and the experts stayed out more towards "the point." If mixed, however, it is the more experienced surfer's responsibility to look out for and steer around whomever may be in front, especially if the newbie is facing inwards and cannot see what is coming behind. After almost being beheaded from the rear by an Aussie kid (all aussies are issued surfboards at birth, you know), I felt a little spooked for the next couple of days. This morning I actually had to comment to one of these guys "Hey there, hotshot, don't run me over!" Of course my English friend Andy thought this was quite funny, as somehow it came out with a Bostonian/New England lilt, and he thought it reminded him of the movie The Departed, or as we might like to say "the depahtid."Anyway, hawt-shawt saw that I had staked my territory, as it were, and paddled on to slip a foot or two in front of the next hapless victim.Collisions are common, especially when the hotshots come down to the learner's beach, broken boards or broken faces sometimes result, but they also happen over on the Main Break, where the big boys play. Yesterday I saw 5 people all trying to get the same wave, 3 succeeding, and 2 colliding, since it is a double break and goes both ways. Neither one had the humility to bail out or to change course (the proper etiquette), so as a result they collided diagonally, leaving both in the water and cursing the other.Fights have broken out over such collisions, and I can say it is mostly because of yahoos who think they are better than they are playing an ego game. There are some good surfers here, sure, but I have seen much better in Arugam, and the best ones go to Bali, Fiji, Hawaii, or some such other place. There are simply too many people in the water--the beginners don't collide often, as all they know is to go straight in toward the beach, but when you put them together with the more experienced who don't have the wherewithal (translation "balls")to surf the Main Break, problems may and do happen.All that said, yesterday was quite a good day in the afternoon, the waves not providing enough force to propel the hotdoggers to ego-stroking on their way to "nobody really gives a shite non-stardom," so it was basically all of us who are just learning. The result? No collisions, but a lot of cheering on and a couple of smiles. Nice to finally not have to worry about being impaled on the point of some aussie kid's board, emergency crews on the way from Colombo, and a half-hearted "oh, sorry, mate," in my dying ear.When I told Noel of the "hotshots" down on the beach break, he just shook his graying head. "Bastards, this wave stealing. Bastards. Bastards."The old man has it right. So when coming here to Hikkaduwa learn two things: With a room you get what you pay for (watch for giant cockroaches and bedbugs), and when surfing, remember that high-tech equipment and Billabong accessories do not an expert make. Always watch your back, even in the water.Well, then having done my current installment, it is time to go on my afternoon surf. Wish me luck.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1234946520/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1234946520/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/bloomer/5/1234946520/tpod.html Wed, 18 Feb 2009 05:08:59 -0500 Back to the Land Where All Things are Possible.

Jump to the full
entry & travel map

Galle, Sri Lanka

A friendly smile with no malicea rickshaw driver who does not aska local bus for a few rupees to GalleBluer and cleaner water.A yellow coconut full of juiceWind making waves too choppy to surfpink table cloth in motion.A tiny striped squirrel among the rafterssheet metal clackingA crow hoarsly callingConstant waves.Palm trees lean out as if reaching for the seaRock and reef distant in the ocean hazeMildewed semi-doric columns support concrete lintels.Mandala shadows on the floor.Alright, enough of bad image-producing poetry, on to the story. Our "crew" hopped the local bus to Galle, some 20 kilometers away yesterday. Now, I don't know if you have ever been on the local bus, but firstly, take the maroon/red ones, they are run by the government, and have the best price. Secondly, hold on to your hat! The red ones are the fastest ones as well, overtaking everything in sight, on curves, over bridges, in the riskiest situations. But you will get there fastest for sure. 19 rupees as well, about 15 cents american. Not too bad a price when a van or rickshaw driver will charge you at least a thousand.The prices have gone up here in Sri Lanka a bit, or at least on this coast. It being the wrong season, I will not go up to the hill country or to Arugam bay this time round. In fact, I have just paid all my rent up until the day I leave for my room at the Surfing Beach guest house. It's all about the view. And the coffee. Mama makes the best cuppa joe I've had since I left home, and somehow she knows exactly how I like it, I mean, like perfectly. The coffee is ground fine, and added to the water, so you have to give it a minute to settle (kind of like a good stout), but oh yes, so heavenly! Two cups of that stuff (and big cups too, mind you, not the tiny Indian style milk coffee size), and one is ready to go!So back to Galle. Apparently Sri Lanka was originally "controlled" by the Portugese, then taken over by the Dutch, who lost it to the English for some time. All of those elements still remain, but it is the portugese heritage that seems to stick out the most. Many people have portugese surnames, there are a fair number of christians, and in places like Galle, the architecture reflects the taste of the original "conquerors." I put this in quotes, because just as the British found out the hard way, you cannot actually conquer such a people. You may get them to grow tea and spices for you, but in the end, the culture remains with the natives, the people taking what they like from the invaders, and discarding the rest. Galle Fort, of course is the main attraction for most people visiting the town. It is probably a couple of kilometers in circumference, and in the interior is a little village housing any number of antique, gem, coin, and history "museums" that one can stroll around in. The lanes are narrow, and offer some protection from the blazing Lankan sun, that is if you walk on the shady side of the street.We five did first the circumnavigation of the whole fort, discovering another unexpected facet of the fort's function: a hideaway for young lovers. We saw any number of young Sri Lankan couples in the small spots of shade under a doorway or even an umbrella, doing what they would call in the old days "necking." Though SL is a bit more permissive in a sexual manner than India, it still is not all that acceptable for young couples to flagrantly display such intimacy in public. In most countries of course, sucking face in public is merely considered rude, but here in this south asian island, it is simply unacceptable, and may be even illegal, according to some signs we saw forbidding "illicit" and "licentious" behaviour. So I guess the young lovers are consigned to the back corners and dark archways of the fort for any kind of flirtation. Perhaps it is young couples on honeymoon, perhaps they are not yet married, who knows? I'm not the one to break up a tender moment to ask such a personal question. Let them have their fun. . The walk around the fort's perimeter offers magnificent views of the ocean, rocky reefs, the harbor and river, as well as, of course the cricket stadium built fairly recently next to it on the cityside. Cooler breezes blow in from the blue blue sea, and as with any tourist destination, there are touts. Coins which ostensibly come from wrecks, colonial times, and earlier are sold by men patrolling the ramparts. One rang a coin to show that with its bell-like tone it was silver. However when such a coin is in your palm, anyone who has held an old silver dollar can easily tell it is some other alloy, perhaps even brass with a silver plating. Others are all worn and copper, another easy thing to fake. With the exorbitant prices requested by these dubious vendors, I would urge even the most dedicated numismatist to have a second thought before shelling out real money for fake.Of course there are also the usual old ladies selling everything from beads to shells to "hand woven" bracelets, but perhaps the most lucrative business goes to the cliff-divers. Apparently for 500 rupees, one of a number of young fellows will make 3 jumps from about 20 meters into a small deep spot in the coral-encrusted shoals for you to photograph or video. Take care not to snap a shot when someone else pays though, or you may be also asked to contribute. 3 or 4 jumps per day, and the guy is making a good living by sri lankan standards, and down below there are many more youngsters swimming around, climbing the cliff and jumping from lesser heights for practice. It is highly possible that, the pool being so small and the jump out and down so far that there may be a high turnover in such an occupation, so when one goes, the next one comes up a step on the cliff until his own luck changes. . . There is a lighthouse, chapel, and many other old colonial structures within the walls, the small village being a destination for many a pasty and overweight package tourist to spend a night or two. The antique apparatus of the english, dutch and portugese still on display in many shops and the mansion "museum" which is a combination actual museum and shop is quite interesting, especially the gem cutting and polishing, and the furniture caning and carving which goes on in the courtyard. As is proper with many Sri Lankans, you can go in and have a look, and they do not pressure you to firmly to buy anything. If you walk out without spending money, they will still bid you a good day, and mean it.Walking in the hot sun is hard work, so after walking the fort, wandering the village within, and walking through the passageway toward the bus stand, there are a number of vendors selling chicken and rice, vegetable rice, or similar in the shade. A very good value, and delicious. If you don't like "spicy" though, be careful of the small bag of red sauce. It has a tendency to burn not only on the way in, but on the way out as well.The rest of the story will be in the pictures, as it is almost time to take my longboard and go out to catch the afternoon swells. I hope you are all warm wherever you are, especially you who are stuck back in the north country.
]]>