Homeward Bound

Well, I came in here to write some final thoughts on the eve of my return home, but can not quite remeber now because of the heavy gas fumes from the generator running in the room. I changed my flight a few days earlier in time to arrive for my good friends Vaughn and Karen's shotgun wedding on the 17th, and wish them the best on their new life that is growing day by day inside the womb. The power is off (as usual) here in Kathmandu. I will begin, but if the text goes to akjlfgfjghdfkgjdfhjkgvbfdkvjdfvbhdfjkvd, you know that I fell asleep do to carbon monoxide poisoning, and my head if stuck on the keyboard.
After spending a few days doing nothing but relaxing in Pokhara, I returned here to the big old capital. The ride should have been only 6 hours but turned out t be 12. There was some rock debris on the road, and just unusual congestion from some recent rains. But mainly it seems that Nepal has these invisible traffic jams that back things up for hours. Usually, there is an accident, or something that people slow down for to get a peek of some other human dead or in discomfort that backs the whole road up. But here, you pass this moment where there are other people in the other lane with there heads poking out of the window too, and you both look at each other as if to say "Is that all we are slowing down for...a peek at you!" as you inch by each other.
I have been wearing a bandana around my face for the past three days in Kathmandu, as it is just too much to bear without it. I picked up my first taailored suit (don't worry I am not going corporate) that I was fitted for before I left. Truth is, the taailors are excellent and the price is even better, and don't want to have to keep borrowing my brothers...now just pray that I can continue to avoid situations that require me to put on a noose...I mean tie around my neck. I went with the tailor's son, Suraj, to a screening of a documenatry about traditional Nepalese music, as he plays the sitar. Other than that Kathmandu has been pretty uneventful.
So some long thank-you's back from the beginning, in chronological order:

Swiss Robert for showing me your wonder-boat, Enes the Zimba Taxi-driver for the free rides, Robert Dauncey in Simonstown for the lift from the train station, Barbara for picking me up hitching on my very last attempt...changed the WHOLE direction, A HUGE thank you to Kent and Landy in Castle Rock....impossible to have done it without your generosity, Zimba Robert (not Mugabe) for the great walks/talks, Jaco and Peter the slick used car sales men for teaching me, Jay & Debbie & Maya, Grant for the CDS, Dave for the accent, Chris for the good cheer, Tim for proving that good philosophers still exist!, Gary Streiker, Neil the incredble mechanic, Micheal and the Malawians also great Mechanics, Patrick the gas staion manager in Fishook, the Fishook Library staff, Brahm for the Nissan Bakkie, The Nissan Bakkie for being the Nissan Bakkie, the hyperactive muslim man who sold me the canopy for the truck, the Elands in Cape National Park, the electrician who quietly made soup for everyone at the Longstreet Backpacker, Sean for picking me up hitching, his mother Maureen for the incredible lesson in selflessness, the men and women at TeddyBear care for allowing me to work with them (hope your reelin in the rand on the rockin chairs!), the little boy at the campground in Swellendam who was so excited to follow me around with eternal curiosity, Chris and Linda Bodges and the Webster, Joey, Hope, and Jeremy what a fantastic time that was, Moses the woodcarver, Angis for allowing me to build the railing at his hotel, Wendy at the Kolstead bed and breakfast, Edward in Lestotho: hope you are enjoying the bakkie!, James in Quachas Nek for his laugh, Edward's mother...ride on, the village that I stopped at and played a concert in Lesotho, Kiso in Maseru, Blessing the Zimba drummer, Rob and family at the Johanasberg airport hotel, Mr. Fantastic for the tour of Jo'Burg, The Frankfurt bankteller for your rare happiness in daily work, Marianne Romeo for being Marianne Romeo, Wonder the world's wisest security gate man, the Tashenini liquor store gang, the zebra at the hotel for letting me finally pet stripes instead of solids, the Tashenini School for my largest audience yet!, the surly Kruger National Park receptionists for teaching me patience, the giraffes, lions, and especially the warthogs, Bambu at Fatimas in Maputo: a huge help dialing in the place and for our great converstaions, Oscar: the Mozambican Buddah, Armando for forgiving me for locking the gate, the Maputo baker for hot bread, Taju and his brother Abu for such kindness, Vivo the security guard with the golden heart, Nuclio de Arte, Ana, Dino, Dan, and everyone at Justicia Ambiental, Carlos Bento, Joaquim for the teaching us Maputo, Yassim at Turkish School of Maputo for giving us an interview and offering us a job on the spot even though we came to the wrong place!, Patricino for the interview, the Qualimane airport debriefing office, Emilio for the exorbinant quote on the airplane and teaching me love for all!, Amaral the airplane mechanic and the pilot (i forgot your name) of the crop duster....true gentlemen, Jessica, William and the migrant Zimbas of Marremeu, the hotel help who washed my car, "The Proffesor" for his wonderful inquisitive nature, Morris who told Marianne about the great stop on the way to Marremeu, Jean-Marc and his wild dogs, the woman (forgot her name too) and her baby Blessed in the Mutare hotel (your baby has the right name!), the incredible security guard John at the same hotel for warming the hot water by fire for our showers, Oliver Mutukusi my hero, Sam Mutukutsi, Never Mpofo for introducing me the world's musical oyster, everybody at ZMC for the hospitality and memorable business meeting, Micheal the gatekeeper, Flora and the crew at the Baobab Guest house, Slyvano for the records-God Bless you, Emmanuel for the wisdom, the Zimababwe National Art Gallery, the police for letting me go for speeding, the immigration officer for selling us icecream, Harriet in Zambia, the Zambian basket weavers, the nice couple who let us camp in Namibia next to the river where I thought we would certainly be eaten by hippos in the night, the Botswana immigration who waved our entrance fees for a few songs, Tico and the Predator Conservation crew and tireless work, Craig in Tuli, the mechnics in Maun for a delightful day, the cop for grilling me on speeding-I honestly was only goes 75 that day, the Florida Hotel and chuby security guard, the guy who helped dry the distributor cap when we went river rafting in the truck, the South African Immigration for extending my visa, the wacky pyschodelic flamboyant hotel, the guys in the Johanasburg art shop for the fair trading, Aklilio the Adis Ababa shoeshiner/saint, Ady and Feven friends forever, Johnny the mover and shaker, Yerga for the one night out on the town, Danny for the kindness, Ben for the rich company, Geten for the tea, Eden for her genuine helpfullness, Job even though I never bought you a soda, Thomas the lost Rastafarian, the wonderful women at the Tel Aviv inn who nursed me back to health, Florian and Andrea good travel companions, all of the goats and cows for their courage, the guy on the bus who fought for me to get my money back when the bus driver tried to rip me off, Jesus, Mohamed, Buddah, Jan in the Amsterdam airport for the very accurate map to the art supply store, Jeremiah the wise waiter in the Nairobi Int. Airport lounge, The Kenyan Immigration department for listening to my music, the entire airport staff in Kenya for making me feel at home, Min Min and the Burmeese fishermen, the 8 radical Pakistani Muslims for the discourse, Gil for the surfboard in Mahambo, the entire village of Mahambo, all of the Antananrivo prostitutes for reminding us that life can be a struggle, Mami for the hotel guidence, Patrick the Belgium business man, Luke the world's greatest shuttle driver, Edmund at Zanataney and all of his many wifes and children, Alexa for the her hard work, Dade the grumpy baby, Chez Urich for the tre bien poisson, Stephane for the drunk jargon, Ben, Janic the French friendly pirate, Modest for the diligence, the internet guy in Fenorivo, Nehema and the Evangelicals for putting me up for the night and allowing Jesus to possibly save me (just kidding!), the airport cab driver-I honesty had no more money for a tip, the very friendly Russian consular in the Moscow airport, Diana for making a day stuck in an airport go by quick, Olga the Russian adventurer, the taxi driver in the Kyrgystan airport for again teaching me patience when getting ripped off, the German couple for breakfast and my last cigarette, Turksbek for the incredbible Audi-cab ride, the Asanova family for the deep well of artistic inspiration, the Russina ladies at the Hot Spring, the Kirghiz nomads, the women who knitted the wool socks, Valentino the surly Russian, the lesson in the friovilous material goods given by the Aeroflot staff in Bishkek, Tshering Chopel in the Pisang Monastery, Kalzung- I cant even imagine 9 years of solitude, all the monks of Pisang, all of the monks everywhere, the himalyas, Eti the couargeous Isreali woman, Louis the deaf adventurer, the monks at the Shechen monastery for the delicious apple juice, the Dalai Lama, Soresh the taylor, Surjev for the music, the staff at Madhabun Hotel, Marina the Brazilain teacher, Yaer the Isreali computer man, my guitar (actually my brother's), and all you good people who took the few moments out of your busy life to read this. May the world keep spinning! Till soon, jg

Nepal

Back to civilization!
Lowland waterfall
Can you see the bus? Glad I am not on it...
Run quick, your free!
How lazy people become reincarnated!
High Arid region
Woman with nice job!
Girl helps her father sift sand for a new house
Dang Tibetan refugees always building temples.
Do you have a building permit for that?
Very Cold at the top
Above the clouds Highest I have ever been! (In altitude) The High Camp Good Store Monks learning photography

Dinner time in Pisang
Its everywhere...
Don't want to slip on this section of trail!
Everywhere...prayers on rocks
These are always found when entering or leaving a village
Sooo many bridges!
Katmandu street kids at dawn.
Boy on a bamboo swing
Good fun!
Tibetan prayer flags
Little guy makes street art! Hey wait! Thats not chalk!
Korean girls shopping
Can't you just make the game taller?
A Korean Crush


Leaving Kyrgystan was painful on the wallet. When I arrived at the airport, they did not have my name on the flight list, so I had to wait for a long time until they found it. Then, when I was checking in with about a 1/2 hour to spare, they said that my baggage was too heavy. I am sure it was as I am lugging treasures from around the world for myself and you good people at home. How much? $50.00? okay maybe $100.00? "No. $780.00" the man said in flat Russian. I coughed. As soon as I began to plea he simply said "next please...". They kept me there pleaing until 5 minutes before the last call. I was ready to just ditch all of the material goods as their value does not even add close to that, but all of the irreplaceable gifts from new friends made it impossible. They cut the price down: $560.00...last offer....payable only in cash. With the world's largest silent "FUCK YOU!"...I paid. Ouch.
The Russians have a very strict visa policy, and would not allow me again to leave the airport. I took to buying more beer at the duty free store, and putting on another concert for people jet setting from all corners of the world. I made friends with one woman named Diane from Belgium. She had a film being exhibited in the St. Petersburg film festival that week, but they were sending her back to Brussels for not having the proper visa. We spent time until our respective flights shooting candid pictures of airport passengers. Quite fun actually!
When I arrived in Seoul, it was a monster 28-hour lay over, but here I could leave to get a hotel and walk the video-game-esque streets of Incheon (new neighbor city to Seoul). Again when I arrived at the airport, they had no ticket number for me. Ahhhh! I managed to call Continental Airlines and sort the whole thing out. The women at Korean Air were then very apologetic and offered me business class. "Well, this is a business trip after all!" I said. I enjoyed the massaging chairs, free tea and wine, and watched "Chinatown" while practicing my best Jack Nicholson imitation.
The arrival into Kathmandu was shocking. Hot and muggy, and streets FULL of Chaos. It seems many in Asia are now wearing surgical masks or bandannas around their face because of exhaust, and lousy air quality. I can see why. I could barely breathe...again. Many of the kids shout when they talk, and I am convinced this has to do with the endless barrage of traffic horns. I did a cartoon drawing about it entitled "The Buddah's ultimate test: Kathmandu Traffic". On top of the routine chaos it was a huge Nepalese Hindu holiday, which made things extra alive. People pouring milk, flower petals, and ground up spices over the city's numerous Hindu statues and shrines. Nepal is fascinating because it is the convergence of Hindus from the lowlands in the south, and the Buddhists from the Tibetan plateau to the north. They seem to gradually blend together some how. I enjoyed watching the goats, and footloose urban cows grazing all of the flowers and spices off the statues after they had been blessed.
After a few days, I took off with the loose plan of doing some trekking through the Himalayas. As always, I like to say that the plan is that there is no plan, and some how it congeals into the perfect plan. I took a bus to Bisisahar, a town to the west of Kathmandu by way of a hair raising 6 hour bus ride. The connecting bus ride goes down as the worst of all. Hot muggy air, the seats in the bus literally have "NO" room for your legs. There is a baby with bumps all over his face being held by his mother, who just kept looking at me in agony. I had to straddle my guitar as I was not about to put it on the roof with the 40 careless guys up there spitting tobacco. The town of Besisahar is a bit above sea level at 2,400 ft. I did a few sketchings here, and again the people stare and giggle. The next morning, I packed a few things and set out with the intention of going as far as I could in order to get back in time for my rapidly approaching flight. The trails through this Anapurma region link into a nice giant loop. 211 kilometers (125 miles or so)long going over what I later learned is the highest walking mountain pass in the world at 17,800 ft., before coming back near the fairly large city of Pokhara (back at a few thousand feet). I managed to do the entire loop in 10 days, which shocked many people including myself! I actually always hike at a very rapid pace, as I seem to enjoy the mindset that I slip into. After the first day or two of getting your body adjusted, you start to forget about the aches and pains of the robot body and get to have this completely detached mind! Since this is Nepal's high season for tourism, many people were out and about roaming in the wonders of the world's highest majestical mountains. Most hire guides and porters. Neither are really necessary for this trail. The trail is well marked, and I feel that anyone in reasonible health should bring only what they can carry. Everything you need you can find in the villages along the way. Sometimes i would meet a person or a group and walk for a while chatting, and often just walking with a nice empty mind. When you reach about 10,000 ft or so (on either side of the pass) the villages and culture turn to much more Tibetan Buddhist from the lower altitude Hindus. On the whole trek there seems to be a village on average every 6 km. or so, so there is really no need to pack food or camping equipement. Infact, the hotels or lodges are very cheap, and the food is excellent. Part of the reason is that everything is grown pretty much right there. One morning, I ordered a "Milk Coffee" from the menu. I heard a door close, an old Tibetan woman waddle out next to a Yak, and start pulling on her udders! It was an Excellent coffee by the way. Since the Himalayas ascend so rapidly over such a short distance, you are passing through a different landscape everyday. First the humid sub-tropical jungles, then the moist waterfall ladden forests, then drier oak woodlands, then thick pine forests, and then dry high alpine areas with no trees at all, then Mars. It was crazy to see marijuana grow wild between about 8,000 and 10,000 feet....EVERYWHERE, even on moist rooftops, between cobblestones, and on top of logs. Yup, it is a plant that has to be native to some area of the world! But equally facsinating to see the Nepalese complete indifference to it. Not some magic weed that will save all of the world, but just as beneficial as any of the other fruits of the landscpe. Each having their purpose and special time/circumstance. Many of the very young children in these villages sadly take to asking "You like hashish?". They hold out there charcoal black hands from rubbing the plants to extract the oily resins. I noticed a severe attention deficeit in some of these children. Often, i would stop to play a few songs in the villages, as they would get so eager to see that I was carrying a guitar up to these elevations. A few times these boys with black stained hands would reach out and smack the guitar. The slightly older (or maybe more logical girls) would then smack the boys on the head and say something in Nepalese to the extent of "knock it off stupid". Most of the time it was a pleasure. The kids would say "Namaste" (Thank You) and bow with their hands together with impossible gratitude. On the third day I had a real incredible experience. The afternoon seemed unusually quiet and not many hikers. I arrived in a one-restaurant village with a number of abandoned stone Tibetan buildings. I set my things down at the restaurant, and stretched out to nurse my wounds. The only other customer was a Buddist monk sitting cross legged on a bench sipping his tea. He waved me over without saying anything, and made the sign of the "the sun is too strong for you out there with no roof, so come sit at the table here with me". So I did. I ordered my first Coca Cola in a long tiome, as it sounded really good. When I twisted the cap off, the coke bubbled out. Oh that rascally elevation change! The monk giggled a bit and I did too. He offered a tissue to wipe up the puddle. We had a quiet lunch, and when he got set to leave I told the owner that I would pay for his lunch. He explained that the monk had already paid. The monk then looked at me and gave a bow. He said that he would wait on the trail along the way and we could walk a bit. I finished my lunch and continued on. I got a little lost on the way to the next village, and never crossed pathes with the monk. That evening, I arrived at the village of Pisang. I took out my guitar and played for two of the most weather worn old women you could imagine. I then strolled past the Gompa (Buddhist temple) and monastery at the top of the hill. I heard the carved wooden window sash open and there was the monk so happy to see me. In his very limited English, the said that he waited an hour and a half on the trail for me, and was wondering where I had gone. He then invited me into the little communal kitchen room where there was a handful of monks who made some of the most delicious tea I have ever had. The monk that I had met "Tshering Chopel" and another monk, "Kalzung Sultim" seemed to be the older monks teaching at the monastery to maybe 8 other young monks. They were both from Bhutan, limited in English, but limitless in wisdom. It was readble from the calmness on their faces. Tshering had completed a 3 year solitary-silent meditation. Kalzung had completed one of 9 years! It was incredible to sit in this little cozy wooden building and watch all of them work as a machine making dinner. One pouring the boiling water into a bowl another was stirring, another rolling out the dough, etc. A well tuned machine. Everyone singing or talking and making joy from the work. I taught one of them to strum a few chords on the guitar. They all looked with curiousity at my sketchbook, and were enthralled with seeing the videos of all of the places I have travelled on my video camera. Tshering was completely taken back by the camera, and I gave it to him. The crazy thing was that he had recently bought a mini DV tape for a video camera dispite not having a camera! He had a friend who was going to lend him his camera, and bought a tape so he could learn. We then ate one of the most delicious dinners I have ever had called "Tupa", a Tibetan pasta-like soup. I had three bowls, and so did many of the monks! One young Tibetan guy there named Sangay and his wife lived there as well, and were good friends with the monks. They helped with meals, fixing things around the Gompa,
and keep the general upkeep. He was very cool guy, and was struck at how all of these guys got along. Growing up Catholic, I always thought of priests/monks as kind of creepy, dark, secret and intimidating. These monks would laugh like school chums at how to use a cellphone. We then sat around with a few candles and only the light of the fire and talked about their views of the the universe/reality. You know, usual after dinner discourse! Sangay, who spoke good English translated. As these two Bhutanese monks so patiently listened and then confidently replied. Many of the young studying monks just sat quietly listening to this strange white guy's questions, and the responses from the Bhutanese. I heartliy thanked them for one of the most unusual and interesting evenings of my life, and skipped back to my hotel under a clear Himilayan sky. They invited me for tea in the morning, and so I scampered up the hillside again. Inside the temple, the monks were already busy with a puja (prayer/ceremony), the doors were closed, but there was smoke from juniper needles as incense, drums beating, and the blowing of horns that sounded like an old Sun Ra albumn. Others were making tea and chatting. I was told that the puja was for all of the animals that were being slaughted that week in the Hindu festivals around the country. Amazing! I taught a few of the young monks to work my old 120 mm. film camera, and they enjoyed taking a few shots. I then sat with Tshering and Kalzung and had a final tea. We talked more about things...slowly. They packed me a gift of dried fried rice and dried red peppers from Bhutan, carefully in a bag. They said it was a really good snack while hiking. They were right. Still I have plenty to bring home and share! They were adament they I come to visit Bhutan in the future (they return next year). They waved me off as I started the long trek down to the valley floor. When I looked up at the walls of the gompa, they were staring with the most incredible serenity. I waved and got back on the trail. The next two days were spent getting all the way to the high camp, which is the last overnight lodging before you cross the pass. I decided to rest the whole day here and get used to the lack of oxygen, before setting out at dawn the next day. I had a very troubling night of sleep as I was so tired but could not fall asleep! As soon as I drifted into sleep I would suddenly wake up to a sharp gasp for air. Finally, I took a Tylenol thinking that it could thin my blood a bit and drank a lot of water. I dozed off into a sound slumber. In the morning, I was one of the last to leave the lodge as other hikers left at 4 a.m.. It is about 2 and half hours from the top, and the wind gets unbearable up there by about 10 a.m. So I started the slow and steady climb, and felt very good. About half way there, I came across a porter leaning on a rock. He had fallen way behind his guests, and I asked if he was feeling okay. He said that he was not feeling well today, but maybe tomorrow he would be better! I rested with him a bit, and offered him water. When he tried to drink, he ended up just pouring the water all over himself. I then offred to carry the bag he was carrying, and he could carry my guitar. So I had my pack on my back, his on front, and just imagined I was the toughest donkey in the world. Actually, the weight was not the real problem, it was that I could not see over his pack, and so had to stop every so often to turn sideways and see the trail. I repeated the old Tibetan prayer "Om Mani Pema Hom" (which I think translates to something like "The beauty is in the Lotus Flower') to keep the mind nice and retired. Many of the old Tibetan men and women repeat this all day everyday as they go about their life. Incredible to see. I finally reached the pass, left his bag on the side of the tea house so that he would not have to explain to a quiet obnoxious woman who he had to carry it for...yep....there is a guy who has a little shack and boils up tea with snacks up there at al,ost 18,000 feet. Guess i'm not so tough afer all! I had a tea and started the long decent back down the mountains. I stopped in a little village called Marpha, and it was home to some of the world's best apple pie. I ended up staying there two days and reading Ghandi's autobiography (abridged...again not that tough). The next day I did a marathon day... just about the same length as one all the way to a village called Totopani. During the last hour as the sun was getting low, I came across a purple crab in a puddle. (Alive). I was so amazed to see an animal that looked like it belonged back on the beaches of California! I was so confused and excited I started to shout at a hiker a hundred meters ahead of me on the trail. "hey"....no response...."Hey", as I am running after him. I finally caught up with him and showed him, and realized he was deaf. He replied in very good English that he had seen many of them as well. I let it go in the next puddle, and we talked for a while. His name is Louis and he is a 22-year old Frenchman travelling the world. He can read lips in both French and English, and speaks better English then most Frenchmen (and probably many Americans too!). Really quite amazing. After soaking my achey muscles in a hotspring that night, I set out for the last two days back to Pokhara. I met up with Louis again, and a Brazilain woman, and an Isreali guy durng the last morning. We hiked together down the final steep grade, and got to sit on top of a bus for a bit heading back to the city of Pokhara. My calves are much harder....and my mind is a lot softer. Once again, spelling does not count on these blogs...till very soon, jg

Kyrgystan

Here I am in the very landlocked capital of Bishkek, Kyrgastan. As mentioned before, my ticket allows me 6 stops around the globe, the first three all being Africa, and now a quick introduction to Asia before I arrive home (October 19th, for inquiring minds). This stop was done by spinning a globe with my eyes closed, and it landed here in Kyrgystan. So glad it did! So the posts will continue here for the Asian Invasion. Quick notes: My mom mentioned that in a past blog posting I used the term "pink" bodies, and that not all bodies are this color. Really strikes home as I read one of Obama's books (the only one I could find in English on the Ethiopian sidewalks!). I was referring to the interiors of these bodies and not the epidermis. Sorry for any confusion there. Also thank-you to Marianne Romeo for posting the blogs in Ethiopia. The government there has strict control over which websites can be accessed, and blogger.com is not one of them. So the flight here from Adis Ababa was a long one. I flew out on New Years Eve from Ethiopia, so the timing was not great one my behalf. Happy 2002 everybody! Get to relive it all over again! The plane ride was packed with young European couples and their brand new adopted Ethiopian babies. They were so cute, and remarkably well behaved for having to leave on New Years Eve. All except one baby who made up for the rest with cries that were on the verge of hysteria. I felt bad for it, because it was certainly due to the pressure of taking off and landing. Rather than fighting the sound, I tried to turn it into an Arabic song with all of the subtle pitches and that it was just singing. It kind of worked. After the flight landed in Amsterdam, I had a few hours till a connection to Moscow, and figured this would be my last chance to buy some more quality colored pencils, as my black and brown ones were worn thin from drawing so many Africans. I am going to begin sketching everyone with their skin pulled off so that I will use up that slow going pink pencil! The Dutch being so efficient had that public transport so well set up, I made it to the art supply store, and back with enough time to have my first Starbucks coffee in 5 years, and all 50 oz. of it were quite disappointing after Ethiopia. Onto Moscow, where I performed another concert in the airport. Many people were curious and shyly (word??) gathered around, always pretending they were doing something else though...scroll through the cellphone, look at watch...hey listening is not a crime! Even after a few cold beers my throat sounds better than the airport paging machine. Now the sport is hockey, and everyone gathers around the TV with drink in hand. The Russian men seemed to all be stocking up on the Vodka from the duty free stores. Enough to kill an army. Many of them ordered Cokes on board the plane and made themselves little cocktails. No free drinks on Aeroloft...no one would ever leave the plane. The meals are always the same too! Salmon pate, rice, and cabbage mix. Not too bad, except a bit much at 7 a.m., and two more of these meals to go. So interesting to see where all the connecting flights are to after Kenya's African cities: Kiev, Tashkent, Budapest, Siberia. While waiting to pass customs, people just kept cutting till finally, I became fed up and said "Hey" to this big Russian guy, and nodged my bony rump between him and the clerk. It worked. You just got to fight your way around with a little more muscle in Moscow. One man was dressed in a polyester gold suit! He was the first one to cut me, and later I saw him pacing back and forth at the gate to Bishkek, Kyrgystan. I loved the way he would slide around on his penny loafers! Bishkek is a funny little capital. Quite modern looking, but in that "Soviets were here" look. The people could not be nicer. Sometimes people will walk up to you and shake your hand with a slight bow, not saying a word, and then carry on walking. They look so unique: a blend of Chinese, Mongolian, Russian, Middle East...and every other silk road wanderer. I took a bus on Monday up to lake Issy-Kol at the base of the Tian Sian mountains. Absolutely gorgeous mountains with brown foothills all around, and snow capped peaks in the background. I stayed the first night with a family in a town called Karakol. Kind of like a Colorado mountain town with long bearded Kirghiz men in strange hats. The family was incredible. The father's name was Timor, and he built the house himself. Also the pool table inside, the furniture and virtually everything insight. The mother was also an artist. They painted together, made rugs together, all in the stillness of their little house. The son and daughter, both in their late 20's, lived in the house and also made art, and helped run a section of the house as a guest house. The son was the only one who really could speak English (he was also a lawyer!). Timor was just so cool. I enjoyed so much being in his presence. He would always say in his soft patient voice "John, John, John", and smile as if he were reading my future and it looked good! I showed him my sketch book, and he took me upstairs to a library of books on mainly Russian artists. There I spent many hours drinking some red wine and thumbing through prints in the big silience. In the morning, the daughter had prepared a breakfast the size of the landscape...Omlettes, pancakes, coffee, tea, cheese, bread, juice, honey, candy, cucmber, tomatoe, and more. Ludicrious, even for my appetite! I then hiked about 16 km. up one of the mountain valleys to a place called Altyn Asharan, where there were oodles of hotsprings and concrete tubs. Big pine trees, glaciers, and a fast moving river. Every now and then, a yert would appear. And maybe a few guys doing some work outside. The nomads just kind of spend their life camping...like a Grateful dead tour. When things get stale, they pack up their horses, trucks, and house and find another spot. I stayed in a little old cabin run by two alpine-plump Russian immigrants. There I ate soup in a quiet room with two old Kirghiz men as a thunderstorm rolled in high above the snowy peaks. All I could here was the occaisonal thunder roar and the slurping of th esoup and tea. Too good to speak! After pretending I was a boiling potatoe in the hot spring (very meditative by the way! Just curl ina ball and feel starchy and rootlike), I went in side for what I thought would be a peaceful night sleep. Two Russian guys in the next room were shouting at each other. Not because they were fghting, but just because they felt that this is the way to communicate with each other only one meter apart in a serene mountain setting. I could almost smell the vodka underneath the door and down the hallway. I woke up in the middle of the night quite thirsty. I walked with my bottle down to the river underneath a now brilliantly clear sky. Countless stars. I stopped on one rock, and bent down to look at a small frog. I wondered if it was cold. When I put my hand in the water to fill the bottle up, I could feel the blood slow down in my hand. My bones bean to ache the water was so cold. It tasted so delicious. In the morning I sketched and then talked with a nomad grandpa and his grandson. I tried to teach him how to yo-yo with m friend Tom's handmade yo-yo gift (If anyone passes by my shop, please alert Tom to check the clip out here on the website. I think he would enjoy this...). After eating more of those littel Russian candies, I set of back down the mountain with a lighter head (and belly). Matt, Dustin, Alex- please make sure the Russian shops are well stocked with these treats upon my next San Francisco visit. I collected trash on the way back down the hill, and managd to fill up three bags! There really is not that much around, but it all added up quickly. Mostly cigarette butss and.....uh oh....candy wrappers. When I returned to Karakol, it seemed like the autumn had arrived with that small storm. Apples for sale everywhere, and a cool golden sun. I walked through a field to an old Muslim cemetry, and it seemd like you could hear the grass moving for miles around. Grasshoppers everywhere. I took a bus ride half way around the south end of the lake, and from there took a taxi (a nice Audi) another 2 hours to a city calley Balyckyk. The cab driver, Turkenbek, was really a great man. He just kept speaking Russian to me as if I understood (sometimes I did!), and I just kepy speaking English to him. We got dinner, and then he found me a hotel room in this depressingly grey city. He picked me up at 7:45 (EXACTLY when he said he would) and drove me to the mini-bus station. When I offered him money he refused. I took his picture, and then he carried my bags to the bus and sat with me in silence for a while as we waited for more passengers. When He left, he hugged me as if I was one of his 3 sons with his big military arms. I think he started to weep a little bit, and left the bus waving periodically. I played a concert for he and the woman and her daughters who ran the ramshackle guesthouse, and they all sat around and listened with the most precise attention. Always clapping just at the right time. Off to Nepal tomorrow a.m. With Love, jg

Picture Description:

1. Nomad grandpa, son, and other

2. Mountain High

3. The moustached woman I bought handmade wool socks from for $1.00 a pair.

4. School requirement in Kyrgystan: Girls wear puffy white bows.

Video:

1. I rock Bishkek

2. Nomad Yo Yo

The end of Africa....for a while

It has been been almost 5 monthes here on the mother continent. Boy time is a trickster! Tomorrow I fly out of Ethiopia after visiting 10 of the 54 countries here. I was able to travel up through the north of Ethiopia last week, and it was quite wild. I first took a long and windy bus ride (they seem to all be this way) to the city of Bahr Dar on Lake Tana. The lake has many islands that have old Orthodox Christina monestaries on them, which have been in operation since as early as the 10th century...and nothing has chanegd. Old bearded monks sit in the shade and read old scriptures written in Geez (the older more religious language of Amheric) that are printed on goat skin paper. I was able to visit some of the islands by boat, and play tourist for a day. One afternoon, I walked to the Muslim part of town around the large mosque. Of course I got many stares, as there are few white people in the town, and even those that do do not meander into that part of town. Two boys (about 12 -ish) broke out in a fight in the street. They were swinging punches like there life depended on it. A few of the Muslim woman ran over and tried to pull them apart. My reaction was also to get between these two little shits and cool it off. I shouted one of the only Amheric words I know "Salom" which is a greeting, but literally means "peace be with you". They had this intensity to fight that is quite strange to see someone so young having. Like those Chineese fighting fish, they would have fought till the death I think. As I walked away, I looked back to see all of the men laughing. Then I did a big psuedo-Hunch Back of Notre Dame laugh too in kind of a childish mimick. Then dumb expressions on their faces! I took another LONG and tiring ride towards the city of Lalibela. This tiny town in the remote mountains of northern Ethiopia is kwown for its 11 monolithic churches that are carved into the ground. So imagine rather than building a building up, you dig out an entire building in the subterranean rock, with the roof at ground level. The builder in me was fascinated, and so mystical being in these dark stone churches, with beams of light shooting through cross windows. I had to stop in the town of Gashina, where I waited hours for another truck to pass to take me to Lalibela. Usually only one or two buses run a day to towns in Ethiopia early in the mornings. This means ride all day, stay over night in a room, and continue in the morning. Anyways, I gave another African concert in the town, and everyone stared with confusing looks! They really enjoyed it, and so did I. So mind-boggling to watch these shepards herding their donkies or goats in from the BRIGHT green mountains. The children stare at you in bewilderment, and usually the only game they know is chase the lamb or donkey around. Sometimes you pass an old naked man laying on the side of the road. Sick with something, but I don't know. One guy I passed had testicals the size of a basketball between his legs, basking them in the afternoon sun of Adis....ouch! I have been sketching 3 or 4 drawings a day, and the people are also bewildered at this. They whisper to each other as they watch me, "oh, now he is drawing the persons shoes!" and then laugh with excitement. I believe Ethiopia is the safest country I have ever been to in the world. In fact, I do not think crime exists, with the exception of maybe an occasional pick pocket in Adis. The most difficult thing to deal with is the over load of greetings. About 100 times a day you will hear: "Hey YOu!", "Hey Mister!", "Where you from?", "Where you go?", "You want guide?", "Money!". Especially the children. They all want money, and I like to ask them why. They very well here, despite its fictious reputation from the 1980's famine. Often times if they ask me where I am from for the hundreth time I will reply "Mars" or start speaking Portuguese or Spanish to them. There is always the occasional exception. A child that glows. While walking through the mountains one day, I came across a very young girl with the most beautiful face you could imagine (Ethiopians are shockingly beautiful people with rich features). She had an enormous load of grass on her back, and was sweating in the afternoon sun. I asked her to stop and rest for a bit on the rock, and she epalined that she lived with her grandmother and that she had to work, because the grandma was too old to do so. She was saving some to get supplies and books for school. I have heard this all over the world before, and many children just take the money and buy candy (which can sometimes be rewarding itself!). This girl was special, and I gave her a few Birr and reminded her that all things are possible. The ride back to Adis was again long and windy, and the guy next to me puked from motion sickness the whole time. I was very entertained watching the men tie lambs to the roof of the bus with all of the luggage, and often thought about what they thought about up there driving through the majestic mountains. Ethiopia does have desert in the east near Somali, and in the west near Sudan, but most of it is high mounatains contrary to popular conception.

A-Dis A-Dat

I had been fighting a flu all week in Adis. Sleeping marathon sessions, that I would wake up so tired from sleeping, I’d take a nap. Very fatigued, but I thought it was so incredible that the women who run the hotel brought me tea and juice, and all of my newly acquired awesome friends called to ask if everything is okay. I am still deciding if it is not directly related to the air quality here. Adis is above 7,000 ft., and coming from sea level, that is a lot less oxygen. In addition, the exhaust here is just overwhelming for me. I can almost taste this sweet sickening diesel exhaust, which makes me gag and almost vomit. I do not remember being so hyper-sensative to it, but it is a day to day reality here now. Then there are the smells of strange goat/sheep cooking, goat/sheep living, foreign spices, garbage, and that occasional feces (lets hope that it is just animal!). I just hit a breaking point as far as automobile/transportation is concerned: Humans have got to do better. We are destroying these little pink tender bodies, with hidious pollution. We might be trying to do that back in the States, but it makes no difference if it is not a global effort. Air does not use passports or stop at imaginary boundries. It is not just the automobiles either, the city has massive electricity cuts sometimes for an entire day. Therefore, almost every building and shop has a generator kicking out more fumes. Strange to imagine 5 million people with no electricity, and it is handled so casual. Can you imagine if all of Los Angeles had no electricity for a few days??? Anyways, I did get tested for malaria Saturday morning at the hospital just to be on the safe side, and thank-goodness it was a "No”. I am now back to operating speed and eating my normal “John intake”, which for many of you know that is quite a bit for a skinny guy!

Time in Ethiopia is a strange thing. First, they operate on a true Julian calendar, meaning 30 days in every month. This leaves 5 extra days at the end of the year, because the five months we assign to have 31 days. Instead, they make this a 13th month called Poaguma, only five days long. It comes just after Ethiopian New Years, which is Sept.11, which means I'll be here for it! Apparently, the business world just kind of relaxes during this time as some stores close, and people celebrate with meals and visits. They also have a different clock. 6:00 p.m. is actually midnight, so it is shifted back 6 hours. The country has such a fascinating history as well. The Ethiopian history states that the powerful and wealthy Queen of Sheba paid King Solomon a visit in Israel. King Solomon invited the Queen of Sheba to a banquet, serving spicy food to induce her thirst, and inviting her to stay in his palace overnight. The Queen asked him to swear that he would not take her by force. He accepted upon the condition that she, in turn, would not take anything from his house by force. The Queen assured that she would not, slightly offended by the implication that she, a rich and powerful monarch, would engage in stealing. However, as she woke up in the middle of the night, she was very thirsty. Just as she reached for a jar of water placed close to her bed, King Solomon appeared, warning her that she was breaking her oath, water being the most valuable of all material possessions. Thus, while quenching her thirst, she set the king free from his promise and they spent the night together. The Hebrew Bible does not acknowledge this account. It is said that their son Melenik I, was the first in a long line of Ethiopian emperors who trace their origins to King Solomon. The last being Emporer Haile Selassie, who was deposed in 1974. It is also said that many early Christian artifacts were brought to Ethiopia. Half of Jesus's cross is hidden in the northern Ethiopian city of Axum, near the border with Eritrea.
Aklilu is one of my new frineds here. He is a 42-year old shoe-shiner, welder, poet, businessman. He has a little bench that is his office on one of the Adis city streets. People stop to get their shoes shined or drop off shoes clothes for repair that he takes to people who fix them. The young kids come, and he teaches them business. In the evenings, he retreats home and diligently writes his poetry. He does not publish as he does not want recognition. This is partly because he was very active in writing critical literature against the government some years back. I was shocked that he read the entire James Michner book "Hawaii", among thousands and thousands of other books. I explained that I had good reason to read it while I was to deliver a boat to Hawaii last year, but still could not tackle that monster. I delivered him some of my friend Barry Spack's poems that Barry had just emailed me. Aklilu, sat down and so carefully read these words, and processed them all. Quite amazing. Barry- if you are reading the only word he could not quite understand was dimwit...I struggled for a good analogy. We walked through the giant Merkato, said to be Africa's largest market. So fascinating seeing and smelling all of the colors. He was one of seven children from a very poor , but shockingly intelligent family.

Another new friend is Ady. Ady is from Eritrea, the country to the north of Ethiopia, which for most of history was part of Ethiopia. It was in a brutal war with Ethiopia that finally ended in 2000. Ady is also extremely bright and gifted. Both of his parents were school teachers in Asmara (the capital) and he went to the mandatory military service after high school. Here many young Eritreans get stuck, because the government decides what you do upon your completion of service. Many times, there are no work options anyway. You just stay in the military. Last night, he told me some of his fascinating stories. He was a communication officer/ radio transmitter (the guy who carried the radio on his back for the commander). He told me about one battle his troop ended up in, in which both the Eritreans and Ethiopians ended up mixed up on a giant hot desert plain. There was so much confusion that everyone just started shooting each other. Their uniforms were similar colors, the language is virtually the same, and they look the same. Pretty chaotic I imagine. He was standing behind one of his best friends who was carrying one of those plastic backpack jugs full of water ( a very important job in the summer time in those latitudes). A bullet went right through his friend’s heart, and exploded the tanks of water on Ady behind him. He said he was so spun out he thought that all of the water on him was blood for a while, and began to feel around his body for where the “Blood” was coming from. A year later or so, he was crouched behind a trench on the frontlines of a battle. It was June 11^th, and at 7:00 that morning the two countries signed a peace accord. However, the news was a few hours late in arriving to the frontlines of the battles. His commander was trying to make a radio contact (which probably would have alerted him of the ceasefire), but could not get reception so he stood up. Ady, who was holding the pack just a meter or so away, felt a mortar land just above his head on the trench wall. The next thing he knew his commander was blown far away, and there was metal from the mortar in his hands and stomach. A devout Orthodox Christian, he feels God had other plans for him, as it is quite bizarre to be that close to a mortar, and be able to live to tell about it. I believe so too. And if you knew how gentle, soft-spoken, and generous he is, you would too. His current job is editing video, but like many of us survivors, he can do(and is good) a quite a number of things. “Always learning!” we cheer. He lives with his longtime friend/sister, Feven, who works for the US ambassador here. Family in Ethiopia can extend beyond blood, to those friends close to the family, who are involved in all of the family affairs. Once again, I believe I have found some of the best jewels that Adis has to offer as friends.

Some cheery thoughts: Coffee! Yep, it’s the best in the world. In traditional coffee ceremonies, which is pretty much just sitting around with friends, roasting the beans, boiling them in a little ceramic kettle, and talking, there is a name for each number of cup of coffee up to for:

1.Awel

2.Kal-Ay

3.Bereka

4.Dereja

5. I invented a name for this- “Bathroom!”

The blue and white converted pick-up taxi trucks that take you around town are called “Wiyiyit” which in Amheric means “Conversation”. This is because there are two benches that you cram into, and so you begin to have a conversation with everybody, since the 10 of you or so, are facing each other. So delightful. I got a real kick out of this one little shoe shine boy the other day (so many of them!!!!). He said “Shine Shoe???” in this funny accent that they have. I said “No, thank you”. He said “Yes, please.” With this serious face, without even knowing what this means in English….my shoes look great!

ETHIOPIAN ARRIVAL

The flight from Tana to Adis Ababa, Ethiopia once again passed through the Nairobi airoprt...and by popular demand, I performed another concert. This time the front row spectators were not 5 Burmese Buddhists, but 8 very intense Pakistani Muslims. I invited to sit down with me and played them one song I have written called "Inchallah" (or "If God Wills" in Arabic). We talked at length about God, Mouhammed, Jesus, the works. They could not eat the bread and oranges I offered them as it is Ramadan, and they do not eat until after dark. We didn't come up with many solutions, except that I would probably would not see them in the eternal garden of bliss after death...well, I might get a job as a gardener there or something. All of the airport staff recognized me there, and said "You are Back"! The flight did not get in to Adis until very late, but I managed to get my visa and untampered luggage in record time! The first impression of the Ethiopians is that they are beautiful, well-mannered, and very relaxed. The cab driver I got drove me to one of the few hotels I had an address for, but when I got there it was all locked up. Then there was some shouting in Amheric (the language here), from inside of a little corrugated coffin in front of the hotel. Some buildings have these little coffins, where someone sleeps/guards the business. The cab driver then took me to a neighborhood where we knocked on a big blue steel door, and inside was a cheap, clean, and safe hotel!
When the sun was up, I took to doing what I spend a lot of my time doing. Walking the streets and people watching. Observing the world in action. I must say Ethiopia is one of the most wildly bizzare places I have ever been. Amheric letters slightly resemble Arabic, but are unique to themselves, and it helps having some of the signs (at least here in the capital) in English, or other languages as well. Many speak a little English here, so it is not quite as difficult as Madagascar was. I walked down the street and stumbled upon the largest Orthodox Christian Church in Ethiopia....and soooooooo fascinating to see all of these people cloaked in white garments, and very cool beards. They were pounding out beats on drums, and singing together, strange smells of incense in the air. Many of the ceremonies have not changed in over a thousand years, and must say they seemed together. The country is 30% Orthodox Christin, 30% Muslim, and 30% Wild tribal religions....very wild. Big Black robed priests in Red, Green, Yellow (these colors are everywhere), walk around with gold cross-staffs and say prayers as people come up to kiss it. They kiss everything....the ground, walls, each other.
Later, I walked more. There was this beautiful little girl standing on the street corner looking at me as traffic went with quiet eyes that seemed to ask for something. Then a man walked up without saying anything took her hand, and we crossed the street. I thought maybe she was is daughter or something as she was maybe 6. But at the other curb, they just walked seperate ways....no thank yous or goodbyes. It flattered me with sweetness. Later, I walked upon a large mob in the street that seemed to be discussing something. One person would talk, and everyone would listen. Then someone else would talk and there weere policemen there involved in the discussion. In the center there was a young boy sobbing. An old woman cloaked in a white dress was gently comforting the boys head. I could not quite make out what was going on, so I asked a well dressed old man next to me. He explained that the boy was getting physically abused by his father, and they were resolving it...right there on the street corner. I then walked upon a few guys chewing ghat, a leave indigenous to Ethiopia, Somolia, and Yemen. Many of the men chew it as the have tea or beer. I sat with this guys and chewed some, but it really does nothing...tastes like asprin! Its legal by the way...Then as the thunder clouds rolled in in the late afternoon, a bunch of guys showed up at the little bar and huddled around the TV. The big 5 km. run in some quasi-olympic event taking place in Berlin. Ethiopia won! U.S. took second! We cheered! Truth is, marathons and track are the National sport here, and they go bezerk for it! I can see why, its like horse racing without the astronomical stud fees.
There are a number of NGOs here....ALL OVER. U.N. trucks and relief agencies. I imagine the modern streets of Adis are not the same as the country side. I see many people begging in the streets with all sorts of wild sicknesses and ailments. Then right in the middle of a busy city street, a sheperd who looks right out of Biblical times comes trotting through with his herd of sheep or goats. Then there is this beautiful dark Ethiopian music that seems to sound sometimes like jazz, sometimes like Arabic yodeling, and sometimes like a great mystery. But overall there is a real feeling of chivalry here. Tolerance. If one country can solve the world's religious or ethnic clashes it is Ethiopia.

Au Revoir Madagascar...

Tomorrow is the day to leave. I catch a flight back to Nairobi, to perform a second concert for the immigration officials (by popular demand), and then connect on to Adis Ababa, Ethiopia. Madagascar was wildly different, and thanks to all I met here as well. I spent the last few days in city called Antsirabe, south of Tana by 3 hours. It is high rolling hills and rice fields all over. On the bus ride down, I met a guy named Nehemia who lived there, and invited me back to his family's house in Antsiribe for a night as we arrived late in the evening. I had a great meal and experience everday life in Antsirabe...dried shrimp and rice! The next morning, I rented a bicycle and rode about 25 kilometers through the country side to Lake Trivalty, a small lake considered holy by local taboo. What a magnificent ride... All of the children would yell "Salam Vihaza!", or "hello white man!". They all wanted to know my name. When I arrived at the lake, there was a stick fence in which a few guys charged 3,000 ariary (1.50 USD) to pass. Okay, so I went to a little brick store in the village. There was a cow screaming tied to a log. Inside the smokey little hut, there was an old man buying 6 little oyster crackers and 3 peanuts. THis is commerce here! When I arrived at the lake, there was the usual crowd of people following me trying to sell me something. I sat down quietly and meditated at the lake. They thought this was so peculiar, and went about taking. Now the strange thing is that I do not speak oe word of Malagasy, but there were moments were I could understand what they were talking about! Quite bizarre. Anyways, when I finished, I asked the few remaining people to allow me to walk around the lake in silence. They now all understood completely. There was two little girls who followed me around the whole lake....in silence! It was so cute, as sometimes they could not hold back and I could here them whisper to each other, and the other would whisper back..."Sheesh...he wants to walk in silence!". One girl said..."Moisseur, attencion!", just as we passed an enormous spider. I thanked her, and this opened up a bit of discourse for the last quarter of the walk...but always at a whisper. They could not hold back from getting into guide mode, and tell me how deep the lake was, and that there was no fish because of the carbonic acid, and that Jacques Cousteau once dove there. When we returned to where we started, we sat down and shared a piece of bread. I bought a rock from them, and rode back to town....down hill all the way! I woprked on a few ne songs in my hotel room, and often stopped to stare at the rickshaw drivers down below on the street. Running all day barefoot through the streets. The streets themselves are painted with florescent green phlem that the Malagasys love to cough up. You also see them often covering one nostril and blowing a high note out of the other...the old farmers blow. Well, the last night is a nice one. The usual gas lanterns romantically light up all of the small street kiosks casting big shadows of the old ladies wide brimmed hats. There is a choral ensemble rehearsing in the cathedral across the street, and I do believe I saw a few stars through the city's haze. (pictures are not cooperating, so will add to this post later).

Back to Tana

The bus ride from Mahambo to Antananarivo was long, and I have very long legs to be in those little seats. It was a lot of coughing children and there mothers. It was very cute to see all of the fathers leaning in the window to sat goodbye to their wives and children...the kids cried and cried and the mothers laughed and laughed. Often times, the kids will also cry if they see me. White people or "Vahazas" as they call us here, are a strange sight for the kids here. In some villages, they have never even seen them. After traveling all night and having a sore ass, we drove into a little gated compound. I thought it was just another one of those stops for the driver to get out and have a cigarette or bowl of soup. So I stayed in the bus for 2 hours trying to sleep. Finally, I got out and asked the driver when we continue on to Antanarivo. He looked a little confused, and his friend came over. After a little while, I learned that we were already in Tana!!! There is this very team like spirit on the bus rides though, and I believe every single male in Madagascar smokes cigarettes. It seems every bus has a mix of some great American Pop love ballads. They love Chicago, Celine Dion, and I have to say, I have been singing along. When you arrive at the bus staion by taxi, there are men that come running up to the car. It is a bit frightening at first. I now know how the Beatles felt when they got in and out of taxis. But instead of screaming teenage girls, its screaming 40-year old drunks with no teeth or shoes. The buses stop frequently at police check points, and a lot of these dudes look rough. There was a coup here in Madagascar about 5 monthes ago, and the new president (a 35 year old ex-disc jockey) is trying to get them on track. He is actually very well liked, and seemd bright and courageous to stand up to a long history of corruption. He is still trying to gain allies in the West as the US and Europe do not recognize him as the official presdident because he was not democratically elected. The president they ousted ran out the back door of the palace and caught a flight to Maputo, Mozambique.
There is a lot of cultural taboos in Madagascar. They follow an Indonesian tradion for many centuries. When a person dies, they bury them. SEven years later, they dig them up and wrap clothes around the bones. This is done in conjunction with having a grandiose party in which every person the dead guy knew is invited. It is apparently in order to help the person ring in the new life. Very expensive, and its a no wonder they remain one of the poorest countries in the world. they also have a tradition in the south that when you die, your village has to eat all of your zebu (the horned cattle here). Then the horns arre hung from your grave. This is to show the wealth you had...If you had 1,000 cattle, thats a lot of steak! You also never point at a tombstone...
The firsttime back in Tana was more pleasant than the arrival. You can understand a country's cities more by spending some time in the country. Walking around on Sunday was very comforting. I passed a big chubby black man who had his beard died bright yellow for some religious reason perhaps???? He just looked at me and started to laugh in a deep rich voice. I then passed a man selling scorpion bites on the street. Out of curiousity, I had to stop...only 20,000 ariary (10 bucks) to get bit by a scorpion! The man was saying that it is a way to know Madagascar. He was very nice, and I am sure it would have been a great experience, but I thought I would choose a differnt way to know Madagascar...what can I say, those things are scarey looking! We did go for a nice long walk through the city, as he showed me a market where I could find some old LPs...boy it is quite a hunt searching for them in Africa.