We're nicely settled into our room in the comfy Asha Cottages guest house from Bri's past, enjoying a really mellow pace of reading, eating, plentiful naps and shopping. We're both in perfect health once again.
This morning I got up early and went to a tiny yoga and ayurveda center for a private yoga class with a young swami. While we were scheduled for an hour together, I emerged in a lovely bubble of contentment 2.5 hours later. Swami Vishant was initially a little imposing, very serious, but as we became more comfortable with one another his subtle humour surfaced, and we had a great connection and I learned a lot. His asana practice was very inspiring. Some valuable corrections to certain technical issues, some excellent feedback. We had tentative plans to go for a run together (of all things) in the early evening that I opted out of, but I will return to see him tommorow morning again.
I suppose it's a little odd that I've said scarcely a word about the food, so I should. There is so much to eat that it's a wonder that I do anything else.
What's in season? Around here bananas and litchis are especially good, but there is a lot of great fruit available right now. Mangos of course, watermelon, fabulous peaches, little red plums, apricots, cherries. The tomatoes are mostly of a plum variety, and not great. The cucumbers are excellent and seem to be mainly of three varieties.
While we were on our trek the food was very repetitive, and while I love dal, chapatis, rice and simple vegetable curries "subji", it gets pretty dull when you eat it twice a day for two weeks. As the tiny villages in the hills have little variety beyond what is carried in or grown, we experienced the reality of a diet with little variation. We had packed in oatmeal so our breakfasts were eagerly anticipated breaks from dal and rice. Oatmeal liberally studded with almonds, pumpkin seeds, walnuts and dried fruit provided necessary fuel to start the days walks.
In urban restaurants my favorite breakfast is the paratha. A buttery flatbread fried on a flat iron griddle, available plain or stuffed. I especially like them stuffed with potato or paneer. They are often served with hot lime pickle and "curd", house fermented yogurt that is quite liquid in consistency and tangier than western yogurt. It's excellent.
Here in Manali we've been many times to the Lakshmi Dhaba because Brian remembered it fondly from his previous visit. They make an especially memorable butter chicken. Butter chicken is generally way lighter on the cream here than in Canadian Indian restaurants.
Our lunches are frequently the lovely lacy masala dosas of South India. Enormous paper thin crepes with a masala potato filling, served with a fairly liquid vegetable soup/sauce called sambar, and usually a mild coconut chutney. Today I chose a coconut dosa, instead of a potato filling it had grated fresh coconut inside.
The street food of India is incredible varied and mostly deep fried and potato based. If we could get this stuff on a sidewalk in Montreal for post-drinking snacks it just might give the beloved Quebecois poutine a run for its money. Tasty stuff.
In Haridwar I tried a lovely nightcap of warm milk, sold in an especially appetizing presentation. At night sweet shops set up enormous cast-iron cauldrons, shallow and several feet across, with a propane flame underneath. The milk is kept hot just under a simmer, stirred constantly with a giant wooden paddle. Some have cinnamon, others have pistachio shavings floating on top. There are often benches outside and customers sit and sip their milk from single-use terracotta ceramic cups, tossing them on the sidewalk when they're finished.
I'm dismayed to see the grip that Nestle, Kraft, Frito-Lay, Pepsi and Coke have on India. Despite the excellent coffee grown in South India most places are serving instant Nescafe.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Time to relax in the Kullu Valley
After Nainital we took a very hot night train to Haridwar, a holy city right on the Ganges River bearing the claim of the world's oldest continuously inhabited city. As it is the high season for pilgrimages we were anticipating crowds, however we were stunned at the near impossibility of finding a hotel room when our train arrived at 3am. After an hour of searching in the middle of the night we were considering camping out on the train station floor. (hey, we've got thermarests!) The hotel room we found on loud and busy Railway Road was shockingly overpriced but we managed to find somewhere to sleep!
After spending weeks in the hills and mountains we were also unprepared for the intense heat of the plains and had a lot of trouble functioning in the 45 degree heat, hotter than we'd experienced so far. Admittedly we would venture out early in the morning to sightsee and then retreat before noon to cower like limp wilted vegetables in the air conditioning until it eased up slightly in the early evening.
While we didn't stay long in Haridwar, I'm really glad we made the stop. It was really magical and the thousands of pilgrims were clearly so happy to be there, it was infectious. We spent most of our time in Haridwar chilling on the banks of the river, chatting with kids and families, dunking our feet in the surprisingly clear water and soaking it all in. My first visit to a holy city, and I was enchanted. Lots of temples, big families, wandering stoned sadhus and a generally happy vibe.
From Haridwar to Manali, a 17 hour trip by bus broken up by a few hours to kill in Chandigarh, a city described by some as a city with no soul...Chandigarh is a Le Corbusier designed planned city that serves as joint capital for two states. Aside from the rickshaws, tea stands, and Indians, squint your eyes and you would think you're in Saskatchewan. Vast avenues with wide boulevards, big concrete buildings all of the same age. Peculiar.
And now we're chilling out in Manali in the Kullu Valley, back in the hills. It's cool and fragrant, nestled in a valley surrounded by imposing forest of deodars, majestic Himalayan cedars. Daytime highs in the high 20s, evenings are about 20. My favorite climate. Manali is very close to Brian's heart, having loved it on a visit 15 years ago. Although somewhat dismayed to see it transformed into a bustling tourist destination he is starry-eyed with nostalgia. We even managed to locate the cottage he stayed in once upon a time and are pleased to be staying there. The guest house is in an apple orchard,a short walk down a hill from a 400 year old temple called Hadimba. Kullu is known for its apples. It's too bad we're too early to try them, they're still tiny.
After spending weeks in the hills and mountains we were also unprepared for the intense heat of the plains and had a lot of trouble functioning in the 45 degree heat, hotter than we'd experienced so far. Admittedly we would venture out early in the morning to sightsee and then retreat before noon to cower like limp wilted vegetables in the air conditioning until it eased up slightly in the early evening.
While we didn't stay long in Haridwar, I'm really glad we made the stop. It was really magical and the thousands of pilgrims were clearly so happy to be there, it was infectious. We spent most of our time in Haridwar chilling on the banks of the river, chatting with kids and families, dunking our feet in the surprisingly clear water and soaking it all in. My first visit to a holy city, and I was enchanted. Lots of temples, big families, wandering stoned sadhus and a generally happy vibe.
From Haridwar to Manali, a 17 hour trip by bus broken up by a few hours to kill in Chandigarh, a city described by some as a city with no soul...Chandigarh is a Le Corbusier designed planned city that serves as joint capital for two states. Aside from the rickshaws, tea stands, and Indians, squint your eyes and you would think you're in Saskatchewan. Vast avenues with wide boulevards, big concrete buildings all of the same age. Peculiar.
And now we're chilling out in Manali in the Kullu Valley, back in the hills. It's cool and fragrant, nestled in a valley surrounded by imposing forest of deodars, majestic Himalayan cedars. Daytime highs in the high 20s, evenings are about 20. My favorite climate. Manali is very close to Brian's heart, having loved it on a visit 15 years ago. Although somewhat dismayed to see it transformed into a bustling tourist destination he is starry-eyed with nostalgia. We even managed to locate the cottage he stayed in once upon a time and are pleased to be staying there. The guest house is in an apple orchard,a short walk down a hill from a 400 year old temple called Hadimba. Kullu is known for its apples. It's too bad we're too early to try them, they're still tiny.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
A little more random detail, and some anecdotes.
We really did need this couple of days of downtime in Nainital to rest. Our legs are feeling good, we've had lots of sleep and we're ready to make a move again. Tonight we take a night train from Kathgodam to Haridwar, and we'll arive late at night. Aside from another little bout of tourista that I'm struggling with we're in fine form.
The walk was sublime. Apart from the obviously stressful issue of Brian's pretty serious case of the flu, and resulting low energy, we had an amazing time. Without question the most beautiful hike I've ever been on, all 140km of it.
At the trail head, Munsyari, we started at the valley floor, which was very jungle-y and lush. Lots of banana trees and dense bamboo, humid and moist, fragrant. Big colorful butterflies everywhere, lots of monkeys, mainly langurs. As we climbed and the vegetation became more sparse, through Bugdiar and Rilkot, we saw a whole new palette of butterflies and birdlife. Around Martoli the really great views started opening up and we were in vast alpine meadows, just below the tree line. The meadows smelled incredible too, lots of creeping thyme in purple flowers, sage and oregano. There had been more rain than usual for the time of year and consquently lots of wildflowers.
I was enchanted by the mostly deserted stone hill villages. The tiny populations of these ghost towns eke out a living a long walk from the nearest motorable roads, relying on the herders moving sheep and goats, and the porters with their mules to bring them rice, tea, dal, rice, etc. It's very peaceful.
We were very warmly received in these villages. This trek is still rather overlooked by the international trekking scene, a figure we heard was about 100 foreign trekkers visit a year. The Milam glacier trek is popular amongst the rapidly increasing numbers of Indian trekkers, we met a lot of Bengalis. This is a trend we're pleased to observe, Indians exploring their own country. The villagers welcome the extra income from trekkers passing through.
I loved the women, and made a few really special connections. Most notably was Prema, at Pacchu. We liked each other immediately, and we were giggling and hanging out within minutes of meeting. I would guess Prema to be about 35. Her 5 children are living in Munsyari to attend school, in fact pretty much the whole Milam valley is eerily devoid of children. As there are no schools most of the children are away from their parents in Munsyari. Prema's eldest is 16, her youngest 7. There are only 4 permanent residents in her ghost town village and I sensed she was lonely for female companionship. She spends a lot of time gardening and listening to her radio. I spent a lot of time in Prema's smoky candlelit kitchen and we giggled and smoked bidis and had protracted conversations consisting mainly of hand gestures while I watched her cook and helped her with her chores. These are obviously not electrified valleys, so people cook on wood fires. She constantly pushed food and tea on me with the determination of a Jewish grandmother. We were there for two days and I could tell she was sad to see us go.
When we were in Burphu I was really upset by the conflict between our guide, Prem, and the kindly grandfather-figure who had put us up for the night. For the most part we were happy with our staff, Prem and the porters, his son Darminder and friend, Kisan. It's clear that Prem is quite different when drunk and it was a shame. While he patched things up the following morning both Brian and I were seeing him in an altogether different light and we never really let it go.
The walk out was tough, as we were pretty wiped and covered some serious kilometers in two days. The last two days and the horrific 12 hour ride on the "chicken bus" was grueling, and I feel we both had to dig deep to get through it.
Where we are now, Nainital, is kind of like the Niagara Falls of India. Lots of obviously honeymooning couples and vacationing families, cleaner and tidier than is the norm for cities, and full of hotels. The perfect place to have rested a bit. The pretty kidney-bean shaped lake is covered in nicely decorated big wooden canoes-for hire.
I'm totally intrigued by the countless porters who fill these hill towns, and much of my people watching is spent observing them. Many are Nepali, and most are teenagers and young men. The have their own community and hang out in little packs when relaxing. They have a really cute Huck Finn-like vibe to them. The best parallel I can make in North America is bike messengers. As the streets are steep their work is to shuttle everything from supplies and stock for stores and restaurants, people's luggage and groceries, propane cans, basically anything anyone wants moved somewhere. Their method of carrying stuff is the tumpline across the forehead, and they're astonishingly strong, carrying loads that seem impossibly heavy. Despite the fact that they work bent forward at a 45 degree angle, all day long, when walking unburdened they have beautiful erect posture, with wide shoulders and long necks. Stand up straight, folks!
In urban India if you ever need help with directions, or you're having a language problem and need assistance, don't ask an adult. Indian kids learn their English alphabet before written Hindi, and most have excellent English. It's really cute to watch them speak fluently with a look of total surprise as they realize "hey. I'm speaking ENGLISH, and she UNDERSTANDS me!", quite possibly speaking to a foreigner for the first time. When I compliment their English they look totally incredulous and say "REALLY?"
Enough for now. We're off to get a little bite to eat, grab our packs, and take a shared jeep taxi for a couple hours to the train. Off we go to a new region.
The walk was sublime. Apart from the obviously stressful issue of Brian's pretty serious case of the flu, and resulting low energy, we had an amazing time. Without question the most beautiful hike I've ever been on, all 140km of it.
At the trail head, Munsyari, we started at the valley floor, which was very jungle-y and lush. Lots of banana trees and dense bamboo, humid and moist, fragrant. Big colorful butterflies everywhere, lots of monkeys, mainly langurs. As we climbed and the vegetation became more sparse, through Bugdiar and Rilkot, we saw a whole new palette of butterflies and birdlife. Around Martoli the really great views started opening up and we were in vast alpine meadows, just below the tree line. The meadows smelled incredible too, lots of creeping thyme in purple flowers, sage and oregano. There had been more rain than usual for the time of year and consquently lots of wildflowers.
I was enchanted by the mostly deserted stone hill villages. The tiny populations of these ghost towns eke out a living a long walk from the nearest motorable roads, relying on the herders moving sheep and goats, and the porters with their mules to bring them rice, tea, dal, rice, etc. It's very peaceful.
We were very warmly received in these villages. This trek is still rather overlooked by the international trekking scene, a figure we heard was about 100 foreign trekkers visit a year. The Milam glacier trek is popular amongst the rapidly increasing numbers of Indian trekkers, we met a lot of Bengalis. This is a trend we're pleased to observe, Indians exploring their own country. The villagers welcome the extra income from trekkers passing through.
I loved the women, and made a few really special connections. Most notably was Prema, at Pacchu. We liked each other immediately, and we were giggling and hanging out within minutes of meeting. I would guess Prema to be about 35. Her 5 children are living in Munsyari to attend school, in fact pretty much the whole Milam valley is eerily devoid of children. As there are no schools most of the children are away from their parents in Munsyari. Prema's eldest is 16, her youngest 7. There are only 4 permanent residents in her ghost town village and I sensed she was lonely for female companionship. She spends a lot of time gardening and listening to her radio. I spent a lot of time in Prema's smoky candlelit kitchen and we giggled and smoked bidis and had protracted conversations consisting mainly of hand gestures while I watched her cook and helped her with her chores. These are obviously not electrified valleys, so people cook on wood fires. She constantly pushed food and tea on me with the determination of a Jewish grandmother. We were there for two days and I could tell she was sad to see us go.
When we were in Burphu I was really upset by the conflict between our guide, Prem, and the kindly grandfather-figure who had put us up for the night. For the most part we were happy with our staff, Prem and the porters, his son Darminder and friend, Kisan. It's clear that Prem is quite different when drunk and it was a shame. While he patched things up the following morning both Brian and I were seeing him in an altogether different light and we never really let it go.
The walk out was tough, as we were pretty wiped and covered some serious kilometers in two days. The last two days and the horrific 12 hour ride on the "chicken bus" was grueling, and I feel we both had to dig deep to get through it.
Where we are now, Nainital, is kind of like the Niagara Falls of India. Lots of obviously honeymooning couples and vacationing families, cleaner and tidier than is the norm for cities, and full of hotels. The perfect place to have rested a bit. The pretty kidney-bean shaped lake is covered in nicely decorated big wooden canoes-for hire.
I'm totally intrigued by the countless porters who fill these hill towns, and much of my people watching is spent observing them. Many are Nepali, and most are teenagers and young men. The have their own community and hang out in little packs when relaxing. They have a really cute Huck Finn-like vibe to them. The best parallel I can make in North America is bike messengers. As the streets are steep their work is to shuttle everything from supplies and stock for stores and restaurants, people's luggage and groceries, propane cans, basically anything anyone wants moved somewhere. Their method of carrying stuff is the tumpline across the forehead, and they're astonishingly strong, carrying loads that seem impossibly heavy. Despite the fact that they work bent forward at a 45 degree angle, all day long, when walking unburdened they have beautiful erect posture, with wide shoulders and long necks. Stand up straight, folks!
In urban India if you ever need help with directions, or you're having a language problem and need assistance, don't ask an adult. Indian kids learn their English alphabet before written Hindi, and most have excellent English. It's really cute to watch them speak fluently with a look of total surprise as they realize "hey. I'm speaking ENGLISH, and she UNDERSTANDS me!", quite possibly speaking to a foreigner for the first time. When I compliment their English they look totally incredulous and say "REALLY?"
Enough for now. We're off to get a little bite to eat, grab our packs, and take a shared jeep taxi for a couple hours to the train. Off we go to a new region.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
A good rest after a big walk
Jess and I arrived in Nanital a couple of days ago, both of us pretty exhausted after a hard, but hugely satisfying walk up the Goriganga to the toe of the Milam Glacier. We were out for 14 days, 10 of which we walked. Not great luck, but from the night of the first day I started to feel sick, and the by the end of the second day, in which we walked 13 km, I was feeling truly awful. I'm quite sure it was the flu; I was aching all over, with a headache and a very sore throat, and by mid-afternoon of the third day, the medic from the nearby Indo Tibetan Border Police post measured my temperature at 102 degrees F! He gave me a fever reducing drug of some sort, and declared that if in half an hour it hadn't dropped, he was calling a helicopter!
Happily he didn't have to, but we stayed in the tiny village of Budgiar for four days until I felt (somewhat) better. On the third day a regiment of the Indian Army passed through, which included an actual medical doctor, and Captain (MD) Kumar gave me a thorough checking out, and though slightly concerned about my elevated blood pressure, gave me the okay to continue. The weather during these four days was pretty horrific so we might not have wanted to move anyway: driving rain, some really dramatic lightning and thunder and a fair amout of new snow on the mountains above us. When I was finally able to move on, it was a tough call whether we should go up or down - the weather was very iffy and there were reports of trails washed out further up the valley.
In the end we went, and though I was feeling much better, my belly still wasn't 100 percent, and I certainly didn't have full energy. Most days involved a fair amount of vertical gain, and without a full head of steam it was often a pretty tough push - but definitely worth it!
It really is an amazing walk. The Goriganga was a major trade route between India and Tibet prior to the India - China War of 1962; salt, sheep and wool from Tibet - rice and wheat from India. After the war this was entirely halted, and many of the villages along the way kind of died off - most of the villages now have far, far fewer inhabitants, and most of those are now only seasonal, and there are many abandoned stone buildings. These buildings are beautifully constructed drystone with a bit of mud caulking, with slate roofs. Most are two storey, with the lower levels either for cooking or keeping animals, and the upper for living. Many of these villages - Martoli, Burphu, Pacchu - have dozens and dozens of abandoned buildings in various states of ruin, and they make a beautiful sight below the snow-capped peaks that surround them.
We got our first look at Nanda Devi from the small temple above Martoli, a dramatic sight as it is clearly much, much taller than neigbouring snow peaks like Nanda Kot. But further up the valley, from Pacchu (actually the smaller village on the other side of the river) we got a really clear view of Nanda Devi East in the morning. That day we walked up the Pacchu valley where we got spectacular views of both Nanda Devi and Nanda Devi East - beautiful white goddesses towering over everything. We wanted to get all the way to the Pacchu Glacier, but only made it about three-quarters of the way there - at that point I was losing steam, and then it started to snow, so it seemed like a good point to turn back!
Another day up to the village of Milam, and the following morning we walked up the glacier. The last couple of kilometres were through a rubble field of moraine, and then we jumped along the boulders along the side of the river flowing out from the glacier right up to the snout - wiped off the gravel that covered it and peered into the clear, fissured ice, touching one of the less-celebrated sources of the Ganges.
We were getting pretty good weather up the valley, but by this point were wanting to get back. I'm sure Jess will blog on the amazing people we met in a lot of the villages - some really lovely individuals and they were pretty fascinated with this Canadian girl that was keen to squat by the smokey cooking fires and roll chapatis. We naturally got to know our guide and two porters pretty well in the two weeks that we were with them; and though we mostly liked and respected them, our estimation of our guide fell a bit when he got even drunker than usual in the village of Burphu and got into a fist fight with the owner of the house where we were staying. They seemed to patch things up in the morning, but it was kind of a drag to see him abuse a very kind and hospitable man.
From Burphu we booked it down the valley, covering about 42km in two days. This was really more than I was capable of - during the morning of the last day of walking I more or less collapsed on the trail from dehydration; it was hot and I wasn't consuming enough liquid, mostly because it tended to go right through me. A kind Gujarati trekker on his way up gave us some rehydration salts (ours was in our packs ahead with the porters) and that helped get me back on my feet. After a bit of a rest at mid-day, the weather became cooler and cloudy and I was able to continue at a better pace. Later in the afternoon it started to rain, first lightly, then very, very hard, with lots of lightning and thunder, and hail, mostly the size of peas, and occasionally the size of chick peas. We pressed on all the way to the trail head, making it in the falling dark. We had walked for about 11 hours, and by the time we made the road I was pretty shattered. Our guide Prem's son Darminder was one of our porters, and his cell phone (!) still worked and he was able to call a friend with a jeep to come pick us up, and by the time we made up the switchbacks through the driving rain to Munsyari, it was totally dark.
The power was out in Munsyari, but we managed to find some dank hole of a hotel room, ate in one of the little nearby eateries there by candlelight, and after finishing the inevitable negotiation over the fees for our guide and porters, I was utterly punched. We had almost completely run out of rupees because we weren't able to change money in Munsyari as we had expected, and only managed to barely scrounge enough to pay our porters by changing with a kind man from Mumbai (Srini) and a couple from Germany that we'd met on the trail. We had just enough left for a hotel room in Munsyari and two tickets on the chicken bus out.
As it happened, that bus left at 4:30am, so we were up in the dark after less than six hours sleep, and on the bus without even a cup of the mandatory chai. This bus followed the route down that we'd taken in a hired car up, and it is a very beautiful trip, but pretty hard in the back of bouncing, tightly packed Indian bus, with a fearful speaker pounding Bollywood tunes 18 inches above our heads - loud even with the really good earplugs that Jess had brought along. I suppose I'm getting a bit soft in my old age, but I'd say this would be a pretty punishing bus ride even for someone half my age. Jess seemed to have a harder time of it than me for the first few hours, but I sort of came apart after about 10 hours of it. By the 12-hour mark I was done - we were only about half an hour from our final destination but I hit the wall and just had to get off that thing. I sat on the sidewalk as Jess checked out the little town we were in for a hotel, and though she found a few, none were able to change money and we were almost rupeeless. I really have to hand it to Jess; I was pretty much useless at this point, but she totally hung together and got us sorted out - she really is an excellent traveler.
In the end, after a bit of a rest and something to drink, we pulled ourselves together, got on a shared taxi to Nanital half an hour away, walked into the first hotel we found - pricey but a great view of Nanital's famous lake - and crashed.
We've just spent the last couple of days strolling the famous mall along the lake with the many, many other Indian sightseers, enjoying the great food and recovering from our walk. An amazing place for people-watching and we even got a hazy, distant view of Nanda Devi from the top of the cable car that runs from the lake to the top of mountain. We both are now much restored from the walk and ready to move on to Hardwar tomorrow.
Much more to write, but I want to log off and eat more of the tasty food they have around here!
Happily he didn't have to, but we stayed in the tiny village of Budgiar for four days until I felt (somewhat) better. On the third day a regiment of the Indian Army passed through, which included an actual medical doctor, and Captain (MD) Kumar gave me a thorough checking out, and though slightly concerned about my elevated blood pressure, gave me the okay to continue. The weather during these four days was pretty horrific so we might not have wanted to move anyway: driving rain, some really dramatic lightning and thunder and a fair amout of new snow on the mountains above us. When I was finally able to move on, it was a tough call whether we should go up or down - the weather was very iffy and there were reports of trails washed out further up the valley.
In the end we went, and though I was feeling much better, my belly still wasn't 100 percent, and I certainly didn't have full energy. Most days involved a fair amount of vertical gain, and without a full head of steam it was often a pretty tough push - but definitely worth it!
It really is an amazing walk. The Goriganga was a major trade route between India and Tibet prior to the India - China War of 1962; salt, sheep and wool from Tibet - rice and wheat from India. After the war this was entirely halted, and many of the villages along the way kind of died off - most of the villages now have far, far fewer inhabitants, and most of those are now only seasonal, and there are many abandoned stone buildings. These buildings are beautifully constructed drystone with a bit of mud caulking, with slate roofs. Most are two storey, with the lower levels either for cooking or keeping animals, and the upper for living. Many of these villages - Martoli, Burphu, Pacchu - have dozens and dozens of abandoned buildings in various states of ruin, and they make a beautiful sight below the snow-capped peaks that surround them.
We got our first look at Nanda Devi from the small temple above Martoli, a dramatic sight as it is clearly much, much taller than neigbouring snow peaks like Nanda Kot. But further up the valley, from Pacchu (actually the smaller village on the other side of the river) we got a really clear view of Nanda Devi East in the morning. That day we walked up the Pacchu valley where we got spectacular views of both Nanda Devi and Nanda Devi East - beautiful white goddesses towering over everything. We wanted to get all the way to the Pacchu Glacier, but only made it about three-quarters of the way there - at that point I was losing steam, and then it started to snow, so it seemed like a good point to turn back!
Another day up to the village of Milam, and the following morning we walked up the glacier. The last couple of kilometres were through a rubble field of moraine, and then we jumped along the boulders along the side of the river flowing out from the glacier right up to the snout - wiped off the gravel that covered it and peered into the clear, fissured ice, touching one of the less-celebrated sources of the Ganges.
We were getting pretty good weather up the valley, but by this point were wanting to get back. I'm sure Jess will blog on the amazing people we met in a lot of the villages - some really lovely individuals and they were pretty fascinated with this Canadian girl that was keen to squat by the smokey cooking fires and roll chapatis. We naturally got to know our guide and two porters pretty well in the two weeks that we were with them; and though we mostly liked and respected them, our estimation of our guide fell a bit when he got even drunker than usual in the village of Burphu and got into a fist fight with the owner of the house where we were staying. They seemed to patch things up in the morning, but it was kind of a drag to see him abuse a very kind and hospitable man.
From Burphu we booked it down the valley, covering about 42km in two days. This was really more than I was capable of - during the morning of the last day of walking I more or less collapsed on the trail from dehydration; it was hot and I wasn't consuming enough liquid, mostly because it tended to go right through me. A kind Gujarati trekker on his way up gave us some rehydration salts (ours was in our packs ahead with the porters) and that helped get me back on my feet. After a bit of a rest at mid-day, the weather became cooler and cloudy and I was able to continue at a better pace. Later in the afternoon it started to rain, first lightly, then very, very hard, with lots of lightning and thunder, and hail, mostly the size of peas, and occasionally the size of chick peas. We pressed on all the way to the trail head, making it in the falling dark. We had walked for about 11 hours, and by the time we made the road I was pretty shattered. Our guide Prem's son Darminder was one of our porters, and his cell phone (!) still worked and he was able to call a friend with a jeep to come pick us up, and by the time we made up the switchbacks through the driving rain to Munsyari, it was totally dark.
The power was out in Munsyari, but we managed to find some dank hole of a hotel room, ate in one of the little nearby eateries there by candlelight, and after finishing the inevitable negotiation over the fees for our guide and porters, I was utterly punched. We had almost completely run out of rupees because we weren't able to change money in Munsyari as we had expected, and only managed to barely scrounge enough to pay our porters by changing with a kind man from Mumbai (Srini) and a couple from Germany that we'd met on the trail. We had just enough left for a hotel room in Munsyari and two tickets on the chicken bus out.
As it happened, that bus left at 4:30am, so we were up in the dark after less than six hours sleep, and on the bus without even a cup of the mandatory chai. This bus followed the route down that we'd taken in a hired car up, and it is a very beautiful trip, but pretty hard in the back of bouncing, tightly packed Indian bus, with a fearful speaker pounding Bollywood tunes 18 inches above our heads - loud even with the really good earplugs that Jess had brought along. I suppose I'm getting a bit soft in my old age, but I'd say this would be a pretty punishing bus ride even for someone half my age. Jess seemed to have a harder time of it than me for the first few hours, but I sort of came apart after about 10 hours of it. By the 12-hour mark I was done - we were only about half an hour from our final destination but I hit the wall and just had to get off that thing. I sat on the sidewalk as Jess checked out the little town we were in for a hotel, and though she found a few, none were able to change money and we were almost rupeeless. I really have to hand it to Jess; I was pretty much useless at this point, but she totally hung together and got us sorted out - she really is an excellent traveler.
In the end, after a bit of a rest and something to drink, we pulled ourselves together, got on a shared taxi to Nanital half an hour away, walked into the first hotel we found - pricey but a great view of Nanital's famous lake - and crashed.
We've just spent the last couple of days strolling the famous mall along the lake with the many, many other Indian sightseers, enjoying the great food and recovering from our walk. An amazing place for people-watching and we even got a hazy, distant view of Nanda Devi from the top of the cable car that runs from the lake to the top of mountain. We both are now much restored from the walk and ready to move on to Hardwar tomorrow.
Much more to write, but I want to log off and eat more of the tasty food they have around here!
Friday, May 18, 2007
Laying low in Almora
It was a relief to get out of way-too-hot Delhi and head for the hills. The day before yesterday we rode the night train from Old Delhi Railway Station for Kathgodam, a journey of about seven hours. It was a pretty good introduction to the Indian trains for Jess - no journey in India is complete without one. We went in high style, with a 2-up a/c sleeper berth that we shared with two travelers from Poland, of all places. The trains in India are a whole world unto themselves - the stations are invariably packed with people, many of whom actually live in the station. The dark cavernous spaces of the station building just seem like chaos, but with repeated inquires we found our way to the right platform, and soon the great, hissing, screeching train pulled in, we found our carriage and berth, and settled in for the journey. Both of us fell asleep to the gentle swaying and bouncing of the train, and some good tunes on our ipods.
Arrived early morning in Kathgodam, and getting off the train we were in another world - cool breezes and forested hills. After a couple of cups of roadside chai, hired a jeep for Almora, a 'hill station' that dates from the British Raj, when the colonists built places in the hills to escape from heat of the plains in summer. Our driver and his assistant were the exceptions to the great people we've met so far; aside from the driving - questionable even by Indian standards - they wanted to pick up more people along the way and charge them, and play music at ear-splitting volume despite being repeatedly told to turn it down or off. I'd be willing to put up with this if I was on a bus, but we had hired the whole vehicle, and I felt fairly justified in calling the tune. Anyway, we arrived intact and were happy to see the end of them.
Almora's a beautiful place, and we wandered for a while with our fully loaded backpacks. The hills are high - they'd be called mountains anywhere else if they weren't next to the Himalayas, and terraced for growing crops. The Himalayas are supposed to be visible from town, although so far we haven't been able to see them for clouds and haze. We sat for a while along a little lane, laughing with all of the cute schoolkids coming home from school. Most seemed to be about six to ten years old, and they were delightfully curious and cheerful. We took pictures, showed them, laughed, took more pictures. When an older gentleman came along, we asked for directions to a hotel, and he walked us to the market street part of the town and showed us to a clean, comfortable little hotel called the Him Tower. Mr. B.K. Loney (sp?) was a retired school principal that had gone to pick up his eight-year-old son from school. He was an excellent guide, but unfortunately by the time we reached the hotel, I was not feeling at all well - stomach cramps and extreme fatigue that was the beginning of a bout of a diarrhea, and worse, Jess was soon down with the same thing a few hours later. We both felt barely well enough to go out to a little restaurant for an excellent thali with Mr. Loney in the evening, but this morning were both completely down and spent most of the day sleeping and reading. By early evening I was feeling quite a bit better, but Jess was still down, so I've found my way to a tiny internet cafe to do this post.
This cafe is on Almora's amazing market street; notable for the fact that all vehicles are barred from entering it, making it a very pleasant walk. The road itself seems to be surfaced in polished slate or some other stone, and it is packed with shops and food stalls of every description for its entire length, which must be about a mile. None of the hassles that you find in Delhi markets where everybody is trying to sell you something, and a really impressive range of fruits and vegetables. There's more of interest going on in a hundred yards of this lane than your average Canadian town. This internet cafe has half a dozen terminals packed into a cramped, fluorescent-lit little room, and all of them are in use by what appear to be high-school age boys, either messaging their friends or checking out schools, from what I can tell eavesdropping over their shoulders. If it weren't for the distinct smell of kerosene in here, it would be a great little place.
We originally were thinking of heading up to one of a number of places above Almora for a better view of the Himalaya, but we're now thinking that stomachs, buses, and banks willing, tomorrow we'll either jump a bus or a jeep for Munsiari, a ride of about six or seven hours. From there we hope to hire a guide and a couple of porters for the walk up to Milam. Time now to head back to the hotel and see if Jess is up for a bit of food...
Arrived early morning in Kathgodam, and getting off the train we were in another world - cool breezes and forested hills. After a couple of cups of roadside chai, hired a jeep for Almora, a 'hill station' that dates from the British Raj, when the colonists built places in the hills to escape from heat of the plains in summer. Our driver and his assistant were the exceptions to the great people we've met so far; aside from the driving - questionable even by Indian standards - they wanted to pick up more people along the way and charge them, and play music at ear-splitting volume despite being repeatedly told to turn it down or off. I'd be willing to put up with this if I was on a bus, but we had hired the whole vehicle, and I felt fairly justified in calling the tune. Anyway, we arrived intact and were happy to see the end of them.
Almora's a beautiful place, and we wandered for a while with our fully loaded backpacks. The hills are high - they'd be called mountains anywhere else if they weren't next to the Himalayas, and terraced for growing crops. The Himalayas are supposed to be visible from town, although so far we haven't been able to see them for clouds and haze. We sat for a while along a little lane, laughing with all of the cute schoolkids coming home from school. Most seemed to be about six to ten years old, and they were delightfully curious and cheerful. We took pictures, showed them, laughed, took more pictures. When an older gentleman came along, we asked for directions to a hotel, and he walked us to the market street part of the town and showed us to a clean, comfortable little hotel called the Him Tower. Mr. B.K. Loney (sp?) was a retired school principal that had gone to pick up his eight-year-old son from school. He was an excellent guide, but unfortunately by the time we reached the hotel, I was not feeling at all well - stomach cramps and extreme fatigue that was the beginning of a bout of a diarrhea, and worse, Jess was soon down with the same thing a few hours later. We both felt barely well enough to go out to a little restaurant for an excellent thali with Mr. Loney in the evening, but this morning were both completely down and spent most of the day sleeping and reading. By early evening I was feeling quite a bit better, but Jess was still down, so I've found my way to a tiny internet cafe to do this post.
This cafe is on Almora's amazing market street; notable for the fact that all vehicles are barred from entering it, making it a very pleasant walk. The road itself seems to be surfaced in polished slate or some other stone, and it is packed with shops and food stalls of every description for its entire length, which must be about a mile. None of the hassles that you find in Delhi markets where everybody is trying to sell you something, and a really impressive range of fruits and vegetables. There's more of interest going on in a hundred yards of this lane than your average Canadian town. This internet cafe has half a dozen terminals packed into a cramped, fluorescent-lit little room, and all of them are in use by what appear to be high-school age boys, either messaging their friends or checking out schools, from what I can tell eavesdropping over their shoulders. If it weren't for the distinct smell of kerosene in here, it would be a great little place.
We originally were thinking of heading up to one of a number of places above Almora for a better view of the Himalaya, but we're now thinking that stomachs, buses, and banks willing, tomorrow we'll either jump a bus or a jeep for Munsiari, a ride of about six or seven hours. From there we hope to hire a guide and a couple of porters for the walk up to Milam. Time now to head back to the hotel and see if Jess is up for a bit of food...
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Holy cows and hot dogs
When we first arrived it was in the late evening, as to what time exactly there was some confusion. JAL announced a local time that was an hour and 15 minutes earlier than the actual time. Once settled in our hotel we set out to find some food, and ate a great dinner. Books and friends and Brian had prepared me for a first impression that would be intense, so it wasn't so hard...but still intense nonetheless.
A smorgasbord of smells, from delicious and appealing, to fragrant incense, jasmine and other florals, to totally vile. You quickly figure out when it would be wise to breathe through your mouth. There were people sleeping everywhere, right next to traffic. To what extent this is the reality for many urban Indians hadn't really sunk in, despite the fact that I knew it already.
The streets are barely lit at night, and we were exhausted. The next day it was much more friendly, and what seemed ominous at night was a busy market bazaar of textiles and jewelry and endless appealing crap that tourists want to buy, and food stands everywhere.
There really are holy cows and hot dogs everywhere. Bored, docile cows wander about, completely unconcerned with the very fast traffic around them. Very cool and confident packs of dogs are everywhere, that same mix of mutt that you see all over latin America. They know better than to come near you, and I constantly want to pet them, but...uh, no. bad idea.
Our hotel is tucked on a gated side street off a very busy thoroughfare, behind several buildings and trees, next to a hospital. It's slightly off the beaten path and thus blessedly quiet. A good transition into India after Japan.
The air quality is tough...the sky is always grey, but in the early morning there is more blue. By early evening it's a solid smog grey. We can't wait to hit the mountains.
I love it all. I love the people. Despite being often annoyed and impatient with the relentless hustle to buy stuff you have to admire such tenacity. The street urchins are adorable. They're very skilled manipulators, and their huge eyes and charming smiles make me melt, they totally work me hard because they can smell my softness for them.
At dinner last night on a rooftop terrace we watched kids on roofs all around us flying kites, it was really cool.
There are mini temples everywhere, and deities everywhere you look. Delhi is crumbling, but it's beautiful.
Crossing the street is terrifying, but I'm getting the hang of it. The psycho auto rickshaws are really fun to ride, they're fast and the drivers are fearless. They run on compressed natural gas! How cool is that?! The women perched sidesaddle on the backs of scooters are brilliant flashes of color as their saris fly by in traffic.
This morning I was up at 6:30 and had a little yoga practice in the privacy of a back terrace, I needed to stretch.
Brian is an awesome travel companion. We seem to be on the same wavelength most of the time, and he's patient when I'm a total newbie at travel in India. We're enjoying each others company a lot.
Shortly we're going to find some lunch. I'm fantasizing about the same dosas from Dosa Please! that we had yesterday. I love the food of course...no disappointments there. To state the obvious, they've really mastered breads here...amazing textures. And to state the obvious again, the tea is fantastic. Black as coffee, strong enough to stand up a spoon in, exactly how I like it.
A smorgasbord of smells, from delicious and appealing, to fragrant incense, jasmine and other florals, to totally vile. You quickly figure out when it would be wise to breathe through your mouth. There were people sleeping everywhere, right next to traffic. To what extent this is the reality for many urban Indians hadn't really sunk in, despite the fact that I knew it already.
The streets are barely lit at night, and we were exhausted. The next day it was much more friendly, and what seemed ominous at night was a busy market bazaar of textiles and jewelry and endless appealing crap that tourists want to buy, and food stands everywhere.
There really are holy cows and hot dogs everywhere. Bored, docile cows wander about, completely unconcerned with the very fast traffic around them. Very cool and confident packs of dogs are everywhere, that same mix of mutt that you see all over latin America. They know better than to come near you, and I constantly want to pet them, but...uh, no. bad idea.
Our hotel is tucked on a gated side street off a very busy thoroughfare, behind several buildings and trees, next to a hospital. It's slightly off the beaten path and thus blessedly quiet. A good transition into India after Japan.
The air quality is tough...the sky is always grey, but in the early morning there is more blue. By early evening it's a solid smog grey. We can't wait to hit the mountains.
I love it all. I love the people. Despite being often annoyed and impatient with the relentless hustle to buy stuff you have to admire such tenacity. The street urchins are adorable. They're very skilled manipulators, and their huge eyes and charming smiles make me melt, they totally work me hard because they can smell my softness for them.
At dinner last night on a rooftop terrace we watched kids on roofs all around us flying kites, it was really cool.
There are mini temples everywhere, and deities everywhere you look. Delhi is crumbling, but it's beautiful.
Crossing the street is terrifying, but I'm getting the hang of it. The psycho auto rickshaws are really fun to ride, they're fast and the drivers are fearless. They run on compressed natural gas! How cool is that?! The women perched sidesaddle on the backs of scooters are brilliant flashes of color as their saris fly by in traffic.
This morning I was up at 6:30 and had a little yoga practice in the privacy of a back terrace, I needed to stretch.
Brian is an awesome travel companion. We seem to be on the same wavelength most of the time, and he's patient when I'm a total newbie at travel in India. We're enjoying each others company a lot.
Shortly we're going to find some lunch. I'm fantasizing about the same dosas from Dosa Please! that we had yesterday. I love the food of course...no disappointments there. To state the obvious, they've really mastered breads here...amazing textures. And to state the obvious again, the tea is fantastic. Black as coffee, strong enough to stand up a spoon in, exactly how I like it.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Tsukiji fish market
Tokyo has been a total blast and I've had some unforgettable experiences.
Went to the very first sushi bar that Brian ever ate at, and ate often at, in his first neighborhood in Tokyo 30 years ago. To our delight and surprise he was well and affectionately remembered, and they took excellent care of us. Their modest little neighborhood place seats 1o, and at a squeeze. Husband and wife care for their guests with attention and perfectionism and it was amazing, Brian, Kako and I ate very well. Another surprise - their son went off to Montreal to make sushi, and worked for several years under the very respected Junichi at Soto Montreal in its prime, in the late 90s. His mother was so surprised that I knew this restaurant well that they got him on the phone and we had a conversation. We ate a truly gorgeous spread, including lots of fish I'd never had the occasion to try.
One that I loved were these tiny little glass minnows. About two inches long, but only about a centimeter and a half wide, served whole. Colorless and truly transparent as glass, save for the black and white spot of eye. In a tiny bowl of shaved daikon wit h some grated ginger and green onions. I took a fantastic picture of these with my camera on macro and will post it when I'm home, they're beautiful. Sweet, not even remotely fishy, slippery and cool, with a little pop of salty jelly when you chew them, somehow you could call them refreshing. I was later told that they're somewhat rare.
I'm trying all the fish and "challenging" seafood presented to me in sashimi form...I've loved it all.
Yesterday we got up super early and we stumbled out the door by 6:30 with a sizeable sake hangover to hit Tsukiji, the world famous fish market. I had high expectations for Tsukiji, but it far surpassed them. A few years ago we would have been there for about 6am to watch the maguro auctions, but due to an oppressive number of tourists these are now closed to the public, you must be a participant to get in. The wholesale market is still astounding. Brian's fluent Japanese got us some treats from a lot of vendors who would otherwise have dismissed us as yet more gaijin gawkers. Imagine a city within a city, there are alleys and "streets" within a giant warehouse. Look it up on Wiki...it's insane. The wholesale market was still very busy when we arrived at 8, and you have to be constantly on your most alert to not be in the way of zooming flatbed trucks of fish and people with enormous knives.
At one point we were watching some guys sectioning a whole red tuna loin, blood red, about as long as my l eg...we were rapt, and it was simultaneously happening in easily 300 other vending stations around us. Understand that this is kind of like porn to me. We were salivating at the fish when an older man who appeared to be the owner of that particular vending booth, supervising it all walked over to us and handed us a huge hunk about the size of a small honeydew melon. Scrap, but full of good stuff to eat. Perhaps they were trying to shock us, see our reaction...and totally laughed enthusiastically when we shrieked and started tearing hunks of it off and eating it with our bare hands. Then they brought over a tiny little plastic bottle of soy sauce, and some wet wipes for our fishy hands, and a foil wrapped ball of rice that was clearly from their own breakfast. We all beamed at each other and we loved every minute of it. Beyond delicious. There are photos of this.
The men. Some seriously beautiful men. I find someone wielding a big knife with total confidence sexy. So take a beautiful young Japanese man, sleeves rolled up, strong forearms wielding an enormous knife with total kinetic ease, speed and calm, gliding through an enormous loin of tuna... HOT. It requires total mindfulness, these knives were the length of my arm. By the way, I noticed they were mostly carbon steel knives, not stainless. Anyway, can a fishmonger covered in a thin film of fish blood be sexy? Absolutely. Feed me raw fish with your bare hands and I'm all yours.
Watched someone reach his bare arm into a pen of live snapping eels and confidently g rab one behind its head and pull it out. It was about three feet longing and furious. He efficiently held it firm to a cutting board and made a cut through its spine, killing it instantly. It was wild, the snapping jaws were rather scary. There are photos o f this as well.
The market didn't smell like fish at all, by the way. It smelled like the ocean. Japan catches so much fish that 1/3 of the worlds commercially traded seafood passes through this market. As Brian pointed out, the world could not sustain 2 Japans. It's debatable whether it can even sustain one, really.
After Tsukiji we went out to the beach at Hayama and had a fantastic lunch with Gan and Hide, old friends of Brian and Rumi, and a totally serene stroll through their rice paddy on a piece of land not far from their home. Such nice people, I really enjoyed the visit.
Fantastic lunch, superlative fish. The only one that was a bit intense was the tiny firefly squid about an inch long, raw, sitting in a little bowl of murky sludge that is essentially black ink and squid guts. Like a dark shadow of concentrated ocean, like seawater x10, plus a taste of shadows and depth, the way only an animal with the capacity to survive in dark depth can have, with a bizarre slippery sleekness that's hard to chew and just wants to slide down your throat unchewed. Yeah, that was weird.
Oh! and I just got news that my sister found us a place. Commercial drive and 3rd, top floor of a house. Hardwood floors, big bedrooms. Slightly more than we wanted to spend but she loves it and thinks I will as well. I gave her total executive control on the choice of a place for us and I'm certain it'll be great.
Went to the very first sushi bar that Brian ever ate at, and ate often at, in his first neighborhood in Tokyo 30 years ago. To our delight and surprise he was well and affectionately remembered, and they took excellent care of us. Their modest little neighborhood place seats 1o, and at a squeeze. Husband and wife care for their guests with attention and perfectionism and it was amazing, Brian, Kako and I ate very well. Another surprise - their son went off to Montreal to make sushi, and worked for several years under the very respected Junichi at Soto Montreal in its prime, in the late 90s. His mother was so surprised that I knew this restaurant well that they got him on the phone and we had a conversation. We ate a truly gorgeous spread, including lots of fish I'd never had the occasion to try.
One that I loved were these tiny little glass minnows. About two inches long, but only about a centimeter and a half wide, served whole. Colorless and truly transparent as glass, save for the black and white spot of eye. In a tiny bowl of shaved daikon wit h some grated ginger and green onions. I took a fantastic picture of these with my camera on macro and will post it when I'm home, they're beautiful. Sweet, not even remotely fishy, slippery and cool, with a little pop of salty jelly when you chew them, somehow you could call them refreshing. I was later told that they're somewhat rare.
I'm trying all the fish and "challenging" seafood presented to me in sashimi form...I've loved it all.
Yesterday we got up super early and we stumbled out the door by 6:30 with a sizeable sake hangover to hit Tsukiji, the world famous fish market. I had high expectations for Tsukiji, but it far surpassed them. A few years ago we would have been there for about 6am to watch the maguro auctions, but due to an oppressive number of tourists these are now closed to the public, you must be a participant to get in. The wholesale market is still astounding. Brian's fluent Japanese got us some treats from a lot of vendors who would otherwise have dismissed us as yet more gaijin gawkers. Imagine a city within a city, there are alleys and "streets" within a giant warehouse. Look it up on Wiki...it's insane. The wholesale market was still very busy when we arrived at 8, and you have to be constantly on your most alert to not be in the way of zooming flatbed trucks of fish and people with enormous knives.
At one point we were watching some guys sectioning a whole red tuna loin, blood red, about as long as my l eg...we were rapt, and it was simultaneously happening in easily 300 other vending stations around us. Understand that this is kind of like porn to me. We were salivating at the fish when an older man who appeared to be the owner of that particular vending booth, supervising it all walked over to us and handed us a huge hunk about the size of a small honeydew melon. Scrap, but full of good stuff to eat. Perhaps they were trying to shock us, see our reaction...and totally laughed enthusiastically when we shrieked and started tearing hunks of it off and eating it with our bare hands. Then they brought over a tiny little plastic bottle of soy sauce, and some wet wipes for our fishy hands, and a foil wrapped ball of rice that was clearly from their own breakfast. We all beamed at each other and we loved every minute of it. Beyond delicious. There are photos of this.
The men. Some seriously beautiful men. I find someone wielding a big knife with total confidence sexy. So take a beautiful young Japanese man, sleeves rolled up, strong forearms wielding an enormous knife with total kinetic ease, speed and calm, gliding through an enormous loin of tuna... HOT. It requires total mindfulness, these knives were the length of my arm. By the way, I noticed they were mostly carbon steel knives, not stainless. Anyway, can a fishmonger covered in a thin film of fish blood be sexy? Absolutely. Feed me raw fish with your bare hands and I'm all yours.
Watched someone reach his bare arm into a pen of live snapping eels and confidently g rab one behind its head and pull it out. It was about three feet longing and furious. He efficiently held it firm to a cutting board and made a cut through its spine, killing it instantly. It was wild, the snapping jaws were rather scary. There are photos o f this as well.
The market didn't smell like fish at all, by the way. It smelled like the ocean. Japan catches so much fish that 1/3 of the worlds commercially traded seafood passes through this market. As Brian pointed out, the world could not sustain 2 Japans. It's debatable whether it can even sustain one, really.
After Tsukiji we went out to the beach at Hayama and had a fantastic lunch with Gan and Hide, old friends of Brian and Rumi, and a totally serene stroll through their rice paddy on a piece of land not far from their home. Such nice people, I really enjoyed the visit.
Fantastic lunch, superlative fish. The only one that was a bit intense was the tiny firefly squid about an inch long, raw, sitting in a little bowl of murky sludge that is essentially black ink and squid guts. Like a dark shadow of concentrated ocean, like seawater x10, plus a taste of shadows and depth, the way only an animal with the capacity to survive in dark depth can have, with a bizarre slippery sleekness that's hard to chew and just wants to slide down your throat unchewed. Yeah, that was weird.
Oh! and I just got news that my sister found us a place. Commercial drive and 3rd, top floor of a house. Hardwood floors, big bedrooms. Slightly more than we wanted to spend but she loves it and thinks I will as well. I gave her total executive control on the choice of a place for us and I'm certain it'll be great.
old news from Tokyo
While I have countless Japanese friends, it's an entirely different perspective being here. People are gentle, welcoming and elegant. In the subway I experiment, smiling at the business people, both men and women in their suits to vsee who will smile back. Children are not shy here and seem to smile and interact with us gaijin very readily. The city is immaculate, there is NO litter anywhere, and all the subway trains and stations are gleaming. Everyone smokes, which is odd. There are gingko trees everywhere.
Off George's balcony I just saw a Japanese raven, which was terrifying. Like a huuuuuge crow, about the size of Canadian hawk with a very long mean-looking beak. Apparently they attack schoolchildren occasionally! The air quality is far better than I expected, but it's been quite breezy. The subway system is baffling. NY's is as well, however it feels learnable...this is about 4x as complicated and even George and Brian need to pay attention to what they're doing lest you step on the wrongtrain.
Our first night, straight off the plane we went looking for food before we even came to George's. We chose a vibrant smoky pub of snackfood and warm people relaxing after their work day. mostly in my age group, the place was a little grungy but incredibly inviting..all the cooks and service staff (they were 5 in total) interchanged roles, stepping behind the grills, accepting payment or carrying out food from the entirely open kitchen that was barely big enough to turn around in. The seating capacity was maybe 25 in this place, and the friendliness was awesome. There was a long communal table of people facing each other.
They specialized in pork, and especially the nasty bits. I had a major sense of adventure and tried all sorts of unmentionables and was surprised at the deliciousness despite the unappealing squiggly appearance, if you get my drift. As we didn't know what to order, we would point at other people's food that looked good, and they inisted we try theirs to see if we liked it. To my total shock I loved it all, the stomach, esophagus, heart and everything, when I always though I couldn't handle those textures. We drank a lot of beer and shared our food with tablemates as well. Made some friends with a couple a few years younger than me and had a fantastic broken conversation, about our lives and music, mostly. He used to be a sake maker and now rolls soba for a living and we bonded about long physical work. There was something familiar about them we liked each other a lot. She was fearless and unselfconscious with her terrible english and I admired her for it. She was beautiful and unusually tall, with a tongue piercing. We talked music and had a blast and eventually had the brilliant idea to trade ipods to explore each others music for a bit. We had a lot of the same music in there! as we got drunker the place got crazier and crazier. There are some photos... We staggered home and felt asleep almost immediately. It was great to see George.
Walked all day yesterday, saw a lot of cool stuff, had a great lunch. I went to an Iyengar class with George, it felt fantastic. I really needed it. Left the galaxy in savasana. The class was taught bilingually by an indian woman. Now it's early afternoon and we're chilling.
Off George's balcony I just saw a Japanese raven, which was terrifying. Like a huuuuuge crow, about the size of Canadian hawk with a very long mean-looking beak. Apparently they attack schoolchildren occasionally! The air quality is far better than I expected, but it's been quite breezy. The subway system is baffling. NY's is as well, however it feels learnable...this is about 4x as complicated and even George and Brian need to pay attention to what they're doing lest you step on the wrongtrain.
Our first night, straight off the plane we went looking for food before we even came to George's. We chose a vibrant smoky pub of snackfood and warm people relaxing after their work day. mostly in my age group, the place was a little grungy but incredibly inviting..all the cooks and service staff (they were 5 in total) interchanged roles, stepping behind the grills, accepting payment or carrying out food from the entirely open kitchen that was barely big enough to turn around in. The seating capacity was maybe 25 in this place, and the friendliness was awesome. There was a long communal table of people facing each other.
They specialized in pork, and especially the nasty bits. I had a major sense of adventure and tried all sorts of unmentionables and was surprised at the deliciousness despite the unappealing squiggly appearance, if you get my drift. As we didn't know what to order, we would point at other people's food that looked good, and they inisted we try theirs to see if we liked it. To my total shock I loved it all, the stomach, esophagus, heart and everything, when I always though I couldn't handle those textures. We drank a lot of beer and shared our food with tablemates as well. Made some friends with a couple a few years younger than me and had a fantastic broken conversation, about our lives and music, mostly. He used to be a sake maker and now rolls soba for a living and we bonded about long physical work. There was something familiar about them we liked each other a lot. She was fearless and unselfconscious with her terrible english and I admired her for it. She was beautiful and unusually tall, with a tongue piercing. We talked music and had a blast and eventually had the brilliant idea to trade ipods to explore each others music for a bit. We had a lot of the same music in there! as we got drunker the place got crazier and crazier. There are some photos... We staggered home and felt asleep almost immediately. It was great to see George.
Walked all day yesterday, saw a lot of cool stuff, had a great lunch. I went to an Iyengar class with George, it felt fantastic. I really needed it. Left the galaxy in savasana. The class was taught bilingually by an indian woman. Now it's early afternoon and we're chilling.
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