Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Happiness
For much of my life I’ve felt that the purpose of human birth was to be happy – to be in a state of genuine, unfettered, unbounded happiness that comes from feeling connected, in the flow, seeing the perfection of it all. When in this state I’ve thought, “this is it - I just have to work to maintain this – this is the natural, ultimate human state.”
But now I have a somewhat different view, because as a particular emotional state happiness will always be transient, and the life situation of some people makes it all but impossible to feel truly happy in the midst of their suffering. The true purpose of human birth is to become free. And a state of freedom needn’t be accompanied by happiness. Rather freedom is characterized by acceptance and equanimity in all situations. Not necessarily devoid of emotion, but free of the desire for a state of happiness.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Spiritual Tourists in Northern New Mexico
Descending into the San Luis Valley from La Veta pass, then turning south at Ft. Garland, the New Mexico vibes start to sink in. The sun is setting as we pass through the town of San Luis and out onto the llano where signs warn of wild horses on the highway (we see several of the beautiful creatures right next to the road), the sky alight with fiery hues and the snowy peaks of the Sangre de Cristo range aglow in the final rays of daylight.
Just north of Questa we are trying to spot the stupa which we know exists among the juniper and pinion pine forest to the east but which we have never visited. Rather remarkably we do catch a glimpse of the white and gold spire in the dark, pull off the highway and follow a rutted dirt road until we reach the Buddhist shrine. It's a magnificent sight, locked at this hour but peering through the door's window we can see beautiful paintings on the walls and ceilings and vow to return sometime during daylight.
We arrive in Taos around dinnertime and are happy we have reservations at what has become our favorite restaurant there, Antonio's, housed in an old hacienda. We are now fully immersed in the spirit of New Mexico and feeling immense gratitude for all that it offers. After dinner we walk to the historic Taos Inn and sit in the lounge and listen to the ballads of a singer-songwriter from Oklahoma.
The next morning we visit the Neem Karoli Baba ashram and Hanuman Temple, a Taos landmark we have never before been to. We sit in the temple while Hunman Chalisa is recited, then tour the grounds, chat with some devotees and visit the gift shop.
A walk through the backstreets of Taos, with its old adobe houses and cottonwood trees, leads us to the historic plaza where shops display Indian jewelry, western wear and tourist trinkets.
New Mexico sits atop the Rio Grande rift which means there are lots of hot springs, some famous, some known to only a few. We decided to seek out one of the latter which we had only recently learned of. Ponce de Leon hot springs had once been a thriving resort but all that remains to the present day is a few cement pools in the forest. It is on private land but we read on the web that access had been permitted at various times in the past. The directions we found were rather vague but with GPS coordinates I was confident we could get there.
The drive from Taos didn't take long and after several miles on a dirt road we saw a gate and a sign giving temporary permission to enter (at your own risk). Nothing about a hot spring but we figured we had found the right place. A beautiful hike along the road and then a short climb through the forest led to the springs which had a small, unlined source pool and two lower cement pools. The larger of the two cement pools was our favorite place, because it was the warmest (we could feel seepage of hot spring water through the gravel-lined bottom) and because it was large enough to allow swimming laps.
We had planned to stay there for an hour or two. But it was one of the most enchanting spots among the many we have found in this our favorite part of the country, and we didn't leave until after the sun had set.
One other visitor came to the springs while we were there and he made the afternoon all the more enchanting. Herrero arrived dressed in a cowboy hat and boots with sarape over his shoulder. He greeted us warmly in Spanish and proceeded to undress and slip into the far end of the pool. I could see that he had huge shoulder muscles but the muscles in his left arm were deformed and his leg was badly scarred. We began to converse, Jitka and I pooling our limited Spanish vocabulary and learned that he came from Chihuahua state in Mexico, had 12 children, the youngest being 20, and he had been trampled by a horse when he was seven. He came to the springs to wash and be healed. We talked about our daughter and how I had family in Mexico. He asked if ours was the blue car parked by the gate and when we said yes he advised that there were "mal gente' (bad people) that broke into cars there and there was a better place he could show me. So when he was ready to leave I followed him on a narrow path through the woods, down narrow washes and up to the road where his dilapidated van was parked. He drove me back to our car, so I could move it, and there we said goodbye. I asked for his phone number but since he could neither read nor write he pulled a worn business card out of his wallet and said it was his "patron" (employer). So I wrote that down.
That evening we ate dinner and slept at the Rancho de Chimayo. In the morning we visited the two rustic chapels there and then headed towards Santa Fe, taking a back road (Bishop's Lodge) into town so we could stop at the Shinoni sculpture garden near Tesuque Pueblo. That evening we strolled the streets of Santa Fe, ate another great New Mexican dinner at the Guadalupe Cafe and then hung out on the plaza where they had just illuminated the Christmas lights for the season.
Heading back north the next day we journeyed into the country around Abiquiu and the Chama River. After reading about it in a local magazine we had decided to visit a Benedictine Monastery, "Christ in the Desert," situated in a beautiful valley at the end of a 13 mile dirt road. They accept visitors and even rent rooms for those seeking quiet and solitude for prayer and meditation. We very much enjoyed the majestic surroundings and the austere and peaceful feeling that pervaded there. Earlier Jitka and I both had wondered, after reading the magazine article, what it would be like to lead a life of contemplation and quiet work there (all are welcome - the author of the article was a Buddhist/pagan) but decided that Baba's ashram was more our style. But there's no question that New Mexico offers peace and inspiration where ever you go.
Just north of Questa we are trying to spot the stupa which we know exists among the juniper and pinion pine forest to the east but which we have never visited. Rather remarkably we do catch a glimpse of the white and gold spire in the dark, pull off the highway and follow a rutted dirt road until we reach the Buddhist shrine. It's a magnificent sight, locked at this hour but peering through the door's window we can see beautiful paintings on the walls and ceilings and vow to return sometime during daylight.
We arrive in Taos around dinnertime and are happy we have reservations at what has become our favorite restaurant there, Antonio's, housed in an old hacienda. We are now fully immersed in the spirit of New Mexico and feeling immense gratitude for all that it offers. After dinner we walk to the historic Taos Inn and sit in the lounge and listen to the ballads of a singer-songwriter from Oklahoma.
The next morning we visit the Neem Karoli Baba ashram and Hanuman Temple, a Taos landmark we have never before been to. We sit in the temple while Hunman Chalisa is recited, then tour the grounds, chat with some devotees and visit the gift shop.
A walk through the backstreets of Taos, with its old adobe houses and cottonwood trees, leads us to the historic plaza where shops display Indian jewelry, western wear and tourist trinkets.
New Mexico sits atop the Rio Grande rift which means there are lots of hot springs, some famous, some known to only a few. We decided to seek out one of the latter which we had only recently learned of. Ponce de Leon hot springs had once been a thriving resort but all that remains to the present day is a few cement pools in the forest. It is on private land but we read on the web that access had been permitted at various times in the past. The directions we found were rather vague but with GPS coordinates I was confident we could get there.
The drive from Taos didn't take long and after several miles on a dirt road we saw a gate and a sign giving temporary permission to enter (at your own risk). Nothing about a hot spring but we figured we had found the right place. A beautiful hike along the road and then a short climb through the forest led to the springs which had a small, unlined source pool and two lower cement pools. The larger of the two cement pools was our favorite place, because it was the warmest (we could feel seepage of hot spring water through the gravel-lined bottom) and because it was large enough to allow swimming laps.
We had planned to stay there for an hour or two. But it was one of the most enchanting spots among the many we have found in this our favorite part of the country, and we didn't leave until after the sun had set.
One other visitor came to the springs while we were there and he made the afternoon all the more enchanting. Herrero arrived dressed in a cowboy hat and boots with sarape over his shoulder. He greeted us warmly in Spanish and proceeded to undress and slip into the far end of the pool. I could see that he had huge shoulder muscles but the muscles in his left arm were deformed and his leg was badly scarred. We began to converse, Jitka and I pooling our limited Spanish vocabulary and learned that he came from Chihuahua state in Mexico, had 12 children, the youngest being 20, and he had been trampled by a horse when he was seven. He came to the springs to wash and be healed. We talked about our daughter and how I had family in Mexico. He asked if ours was the blue car parked by the gate and when we said yes he advised that there were "mal gente' (bad people) that broke into cars there and there was a better place he could show me. So when he was ready to leave I followed him on a narrow path through the woods, down narrow washes and up to the road where his dilapidated van was parked. He drove me back to our car, so I could move it, and there we said goodbye. I asked for his phone number but since he could neither read nor write he pulled a worn business card out of his wallet and said it was his "patron" (employer). So I wrote that down.
That evening we ate dinner and slept at the Rancho de Chimayo. In the morning we visited the two rustic chapels there and then headed towards Santa Fe, taking a back road (Bishop's Lodge) into town so we could stop at the Shinoni sculpture garden near Tesuque Pueblo. That evening we strolled the streets of Santa Fe, ate another great New Mexican dinner at the Guadalupe Cafe and then hung out on the plaza where they had just illuminated the Christmas lights for the season.
Heading back north the next day we journeyed into the country around Abiquiu and the Chama River. After reading about it in a local magazine we had decided to visit a Benedictine Monastery, "Christ in the Desert," situated in a beautiful valley at the end of a 13 mile dirt road. They accept visitors and even rent rooms for those seeking quiet and solitude for prayer and meditation. We very much enjoyed the majestic surroundings and the austere and peaceful feeling that pervaded there. Earlier Jitka and I both had wondered, after reading the magazine article, what it would be like to lead a life of contemplation and quiet work there (all are welcome - the author of the article was a Buddhist/pagan) but decided that Baba's ashram was more our style. But there's no question that New Mexico offers peace and inspiration where ever you go.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Morning Practice
Every morning that it is reasonably possible I commit the first portion of my day to yoga and meditation. I do this not because I made a vow to, or because I am seeking merit or some big spiritual payoff in the future. I do it because I know the payoffs, in terms of greater mental equipoise and a more vital energy through the day, are immediate. There is a deeper purpose, of course. It is the eternal longing to consciously reconnect with that which is greater than all things, that is within all things. Getting up early, for me, is not a chore, but neither is it routine. It is a conscious choice, gladly made, every day.
I've stopped expecting that my practice will eventually erase all my shortcomings. My desire is only to see things clearly and to always act in full awareness. I value my morning practice because I know how easy and common it is to fall into a limited and mundane state of mind during the day, acting without drawing on the infinite source of wisdom that lies within. So, yes there is a desire to evolve, to spend more time in an elevated state of consciousness. I sometimes wish I could go on retreat to focus intensively on dissolving ego barriers and hanging out in the bliss. But I know that the most rewarding and fruitful thing I can do is a consistent morning practice and I am infinitely grateful that I found the practice that works for me.
I've stopped expecting that my practice will eventually erase all my shortcomings. My desire is only to see things clearly and to always act in full awareness. I value my morning practice because I know how easy and common it is to fall into a limited and mundane state of mind during the day, acting without drawing on the infinite source of wisdom that lies within. So, yes there is a desire to evolve, to spend more time in an elevated state of consciousness. I sometimes wish I could go on retreat to focus intensively on dissolving ego barriers and hanging out in the bliss. But I know that the most rewarding and fruitful thing I can do is a consistent morning practice and I am infinitely grateful that I found the practice that works for me.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Meeting Jitka in Prague (20 years ago)
One day during our vacation in the Czech Republic Jitka and I were wandering around Prague. We stopped in at the Charles University Faculty of Arts, where Jitka had studied, toured the Old Town square, grabbed a bite at Country Life, walked across the Charles bridge, then ascended to the Prague Castle. On the way back into town we stopped to rest in a small garden at the foot of the castle. The place immediately evoked a strong memory - it was where Jitka and I had sat during a tour of Prague she had taken me on twenty years ago. I had been attending a meeting in Vienna and had rented a car in preparation for a drive to Germany that would follow. While visiting the site of some Roman ruins outside Vienna I had picked up two hitchhikers, Jitka and a friend, who were going to Bratislava. I drove them there and we wound up having dinner together and touring the city. Over dinner I remarked on how interesting the city was, This evoked from Jitka the comment that I should see Prague, which was much more beautiful and interesting. I replied that I would like to and she said that if I did decide to visit she'd be glad to show me around. I thought, well, why not? I have a car and I could come on the weekend between my meetings. So, I said I would try to come next Saturday. We made an arrangement to meet at a certain metro stop in the city at 10 am in the morning.
We did meet up and Jitka took me on a tour. This was not long after Czechoslovakia had gained its independence from the Soviet Union and there were still many vestiges of communist rule. After touring the city Jitka asked me to drop her at the train station because she was going home for the weekend. Since I was very much enjoying her company I offered to drive the 100 km to her town. We arrived in the evening and I needed to get gas for the car, a VW Golf that took only lead-free fuel. Unfortunately (or not), the only station in her town that sold lead-free fuel was closed and wouldn't open until the next morning. So I stayed, in a hotel, and that evening we walked through a hillside meadow above the town. And again, this summer, on hike into the Cesky Raj (Czech Paradise) we passed this place where we had walked 20 years earlier, leading me to reflect on the remarkable circumstances that had brought us together (we didn't see each other again for 5 years) and how amazing our time together has been.
We did meet up and Jitka took me on a tour. This was not long after Czechoslovakia had gained its independence from the Soviet Union and there were still many vestiges of communist rule. After touring the city Jitka asked me to drop her at the train station because she was going home for the weekend. Since I was very much enjoying her company I offered to drive the 100 km to her town. We arrived in the evening and I needed to get gas for the car, a VW Golf that took only lead-free fuel. Unfortunately (or not), the only station in her town that sold lead-free fuel was closed and wouldn't open until the next morning. So I stayed, in a hotel, and that evening we walked through a hillside meadow above the town. And again, this summer, on hike into the Cesky Raj (Czech Paradise) we passed this place where we had walked 20 years earlier, leading me to reflect on the remarkable circumstances that had brought us together (we didn't see each other again for 5 years) and how amazing our time together has been.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Unexpected Group Dinner in Geneva
I went for a run through the parks and lakeside chateaus of Geneva after a day of meetings at the WMO. It was late when I got back to the hotel, so I headed out for a quick dinner by myself. I was exploring a side street about a km from the hotel when I found a small Indian restaurant that looked good. I stuck my head inside and soon realized there was a group party going on - all the tables were lined up and people were sitting talking, without any food in front of them. I turned to leave but someone came to the door and said "come, join us." I responded "no, I don't want to crash your party." The Swiss woman, speaking English, kept encouraging me. I still hesitated, figuring that everyone worked for some company and I'd feel awkward not having anything in common with them. When she said, no, it's not a company party I asked what everyone had in common. She said "we're all runners!"
Now I couldn't say "no," so I came in and was guided to a remaining seat. It was a great mix of people (expats mostly) doing all sorts of different work - humanitarian, IT, market research. And they didn't all know each other. They came together through a Facebook group. So, not only did I avoid eating alone, I had some great interactions with the locals.
Now I couldn't say "no," so I came in and was guided to a remaining seat. It was a great mix of people (expats mostly) doing all sorts of different work - humanitarian, IT, market research. And they didn't all know each other. They came together through a Facebook group. So, not only did I avoid eating alone, I had some great interactions with the locals.
Monday, February 28, 2011
My Review of Vibram FiveFingers Sprint Multisport Shoes - Men's
Set your feet free with the Vibram FiveFingers Sprint multisport shoes, which provide the benefits and comfort of barefoot adventuring with the added protection of rubber soles and supportive straps.
changed my (running) life
By SiriJodha from Boulder (where else?), Colorado on 2/28/2011
Sizing: Feels true to size
Width: Feels true to width
Arch Type: Average Arch
Pros: Fast, Durable, Good Traction, Lightweight, Comfortable, Breathable
Best Uses: Road Running
Describe Yourself: Avid Athlete
Was this a gift?: No
These shoes transformed the way I run and the way I experience running. Before buying the shoes I had started shortening my strides and would occasionally go to the track to run laps barefoot. So no major adjustment was needed when I started running in these shoes. Before, I almost always ran mountain trails near my home. With the FFs I discovered that I had to concentrate too much on foot placement to avoid sharp rocks or stubbing my toes (very painful!). So I started running on roads and found that I was putting in more miles and not even looking at my watch because I was enjoying it so much. These shoes really transformed my running life. When you re-learn to run, running on asphalt and concrete for hours is no problem.
(legalese)
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Are Your Spiritual Endeavors Effective?
There is a simple touchstone for determining how effective your spiritual practice is, whether it involves sitting in stillness, being absorbed in movement, letting devotion and worship flow from your heart or giving yourself in service. Does it take you to the Source of your being? Does it dissolve your sense of being separate from everything else, or at least weaken the illusion that your are a solitary being in an indifferent universe? This, to me, is above all other measures and benefits.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Adventure in the Bush
Ranger in Namagdi National Park Visitor Center: most of the trails are closed due to recent flooding but there's a nice hike up this valley. Just watch out for the snakes, with this sun they'll be out and in the tall grass they'll be hard to see. Me: Snakes? What kind of snakes? Are they venomous? Ranger: Oh, yea they're all poisonous. There's the brown snake, the tiger snake, the death adder, the mulga,… Me: uh, what'll happen if I get bit, is the area patrolled? Ranger: well, you might die. Cell phone coverage is a spotty back there.
I drove to the Orroral Campground, where there was a single car, 2 kangaroos munching the grass next to it. I put on my running shorts and shoes and took off into the forest, following the Orroral river upstream, treading carefully and slowing to a walk when the grass obscured the trail. The trail climbed, then descended into a lush valley. I could see hundreds of kangaroos in troops about the valley, and rabbits scampered in all directions as I followed a barely-visible trail further upstream. Eventually I came to the site of a former NASA tracking station, now just concrete foundations. Aside from the 3 people I had passed on the trail just a short ways from the campground, I didn't see a single other person or car in the valley for the whole afternoon. The valley was magical, enchanting, dreamlike. The songs of birds I had never heard before, the breeze dancing in the tall grass, the brilliant blue sky adorned with billowing white clouds all made me very happy that I had come. And I didn't see a single snake.
I later learned that Australia is the only continent where venomous snakes (70%) outnumber non-venomous ones.
I drove to the Orroral Campground, where there was a single car, 2 kangaroos munching the grass next to it. I put on my running shorts and shoes and took off into the forest, following the Orroral river upstream, treading carefully and slowing to a walk when the grass obscured the trail. The trail climbed, then descended into a lush valley. I could see hundreds of kangaroos in troops about the valley, and rabbits scampered in all directions as I followed a barely-visible trail further upstream. Eventually I came to the site of a former NASA tracking station, now just concrete foundations. Aside from the 3 people I had passed on the trail just a short ways from the campground, I didn't see a single other person or car in the valley for the whole afternoon. The valley was magical, enchanting, dreamlike. The songs of birds I had never heard before, the breeze dancing in the tall grass, the brilliant blue sky adorned with billowing white clouds all made me very happy that I had come. And I didn't see a single snake.
I later learned that Australia is the only continent where venomous snakes (70%) outnumber non-venomous ones.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Belief (with a Captial "B")
"Is Religion a force for good?" was the topic of discussion at a evening gathering of friends last weekend. The nine of us (an instructor at Naropa, the local Buddhist university, a Christian physicist, a Sikh, several agnostics and 2 high school students) greatly enjoy exploring the diverse viewpoints each of us brings to these intimate gatherings. Although we didn't arrive at a consensus on whether religion was a force for good or not (lots of evidence on either side of the issue), we did spend hours talking about why religion exists, whether it's necessary or inevitable, and what the purpose of prayer was. During the discussion I came to realize that belief in God (or the Divine, or the Ultimate Reality), if it is not based on an experience of God, can be a double-edged sword. It can comfort us in difficult times, but it makes us vulnerable to those who would promise to take us God. Belief, if based solely on faith, i.e. something you accept on the basis of what someone else has told you, can keep a person from growing spiritually rather than helping them. It has been well established that we do not see what does not fit in with our beliefs. It takes courage to be a seeker of God - to be open to the Truth in whatever form it is presented to us in. On the other hand, as someone in the gathering said, relentless examination and questioning of your beliefs can distract you from finding the Truth.
I believe there is within each person a longing to fully awaken, to see and experience all dimensions of existence with unfettered eyes. I also believe this is only possible by transcending the analytic mind, and this takes commitment to a practice. A true spiritual practice originates with someone who has succeeded in fully awakening and through this experience realizes that the only worthwhile endeavor is to help others awaken. Because everyone, on some level, longs to awaken, they are drawn to those who have awakened. When a seeker only has the teachings and spokesmen of an awakened one who is no longer present, it is all to easy and common to embrace dogma and settle into unquestioning belief. But having a glimpse, even a fleeting one, of the Transcendent, makes the longing to awaken an inescapable imperative.
I believe there is within each person a longing to fully awaken, to see and experience all dimensions of existence with unfettered eyes. I also believe this is only possible by transcending the analytic mind, and this takes commitment to a practice. A true spiritual practice originates with someone who has succeeded in fully awakening and through this experience realizes that the only worthwhile endeavor is to help others awaken. Because everyone, on some level, longs to awaken, they are drawn to those who have awakened. When a seeker only has the teachings and spokesmen of an awakened one who is no longer present, it is all to easy and common to embrace dogma and settle into unquestioning belief. But having a glimpse, even a fleeting one, of the Transcendent, makes the longing to awaken an inescapable imperative.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Mishaps and Opportunities
After a desperately busy week Jitka and I both felt we needed some time in the high country. So on Sunday, despite having a mountain of unfinished home tasks, we drove to Brainard for a quick hike to Blue Lake. Getting back to the car about four hours later, feeling refreshed and happy that we'd get home well before dinner time, we found ourselves locked out. Yes, I had split the keys and pocketed the office keys rather than the car keys.
This mishap didn't really dampen my spirits. It'd all work out. We're just going to spend a little more time in this beautiful setting than planned. We asked a few fellow hikers returning to their cars whether they had a coat hanger, of the metal variety, with them. This, predictably, did not yield the desired breaking-into-car device. So, we found some kind folks who agreed to give Jitka a ride into Boulder, where she could call AAA road service. Having used this service once before I knew it would be a long while until they showed up. So, I set about looking for makeshift tools. I walked to the campground (which was closed for the season), but it was quite clean of debris. I found a maintenance yard with a junk pile in which there was a long fiberglass rod that had served as a flag holder for a kids bike. Then I found an old nail and bent the tabs on the mounting bracket for the pole around it. Now I had my tool. But since the door lock knobs are smooth it was quite difficult to get purchase with the tip of the nail. Suffice it to say that it took at least an hour configuring the tool and maneuvering it just so until finally I was able to raise the knob and get in. I met the tow truck driver on the road as I was about to hit the Peak-to-Peak Highway.
Both Jitka and I met some very nice people through the incident. Plus, while I was wandering through the woods looking for the right piece of wood to pry the door frame I stumbled across the CMC mountain hut, which I had known about for many years but didn't know the exact location of. So, in the end I was grateful for the opportunity to engineer a solution from makeshift materials and for the chance to interact with kind and interesting people I might have only said "hi" to otherwise.
Photos of the hike and the makeshift tool: http://picasaweb.google.com/sjskhalsa/BlueLakeFall2010#
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Gettin' out of Ankara
I knew there was a whole country out there, but should I risk missing my flight to experience it? Anakra is not a particularly attractive or interesting city, although it did ease my way into Turkish culture and taught me a few words of the language. My meetings in Ankara ended at noon and Friday, and my flight wasn't until 6 am the next morning, so i rented a car and headed west, towards Istanbul. Getting out of Ankara was harrowing. Everyone drives fast and reckless, I couldn't understand the signs and my Google maps directions were almost too complicated to follow. I missed a turn off the main thoroughfare (it was a center lane exit) so had to loop back through narrow, crowded streets. It didn't help that my map had the highways numbered but these were not used on the highway signage. They used placenames, cities that I didn't know. Eventually, I manage to get on the correct road heading out of town, navigate a few more interchanges and finally get to where I could relax and enjoy the drive, knowing I was on the right road.
The countryside of the Anatolia plain is dry and mountainous. I was following a valley, where a river fed many small plots of fruits and vegetables on the bottom land. Roadside stands selling produce were quite common.
I would have missed the turnoff to the spa if I hadn't coded the waypoint into my GPS. The single-lane road climbed through hilly grasslands and then down into a small valley where the resort was. I was led into to the lobby and introduced to an English-speaking woman. She said rooms were 65 TKL (about $42). I said I was staying a short while and only needed a bed. So, I got a room with three single beds, a table, a locker, 3 chairs and bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Perfect. It was $5. Oh, and a prayer run and beads were included.
I headed straight to the indoor hot pools. They were a steaming 46deg C (117F). Wow. The waters were available to drink as well and I availed myself of about a quarter liter. While I was hanging out in changing room after soaking a man respectfully asked me where I was from, because his grandson wanted to know. We talked and others in the room moved closer, because they were curious too. They asked - how did you know about this place? Only one man spoke English. He was a retired electrical engineer. After we'd talked for a while I asked if I could take a picture. When I went to leave I asked the Engish-speaking man where I could get a towel. It then dawned on me that it was a "bring your own towel" affair and they hadn't supplied one with the room (what do you expect for $5?). The man very kindly offered his towel, if I took a shower first (appropriate, since I was still sweating from the soak).
I then drove to the nearby city Beypazari. I had no idea where the downtown was, but when I got to a place where there was nowhere to park I figured this must be it. I found a spot a little ways away, parked and walked into the shopping district. Exactly what I wanted. There was one thoroughfare with hardware, clothing, grocery etc. and then an open marketplace with produce stalls, and, well, every kind of merchandise you can imagine in a maze of narrow streets. I ate it up. I had read in the guide that the town was famous two things - silver jewelry and carrots. In fact, there was a statue of a carrot in the one roundabout near the market. The jewelry was indeed remarkable, and one shopkeeper literally pulled me into her shop to look at what she had. I came out with a pendant of intricate silver meshwork with a garnet set in the center. Price: $10.
When I got back to the spa with bread (two sizable loves for $0.75), cheese, peaches, a melon, and, yes, some carrots, I ran into the English-speaking man again, and he invited me to share dinner with him and his family. I knew that would be a long affair, and I would have to decline the meat, so I apologized and said no.
The adventure continued on the drive back to the airport early next morning. I had set my alarm for 3 am but when I awoke at 1 am to pee (I had misgauged in rehydrating after the baths) I decided to pack and leave, allowing extra time in case unforeseen events extended the time it took to get to the airport. Although I had pre-paid the $5 for the room, the guard at the gate would not allow me to exit until i formally checked out at the front desk. So, we walked back to the hotel where the receptionist didn't speak a word of English, and had trouble working the computer to check me out. I eventually left, still relaxed because of the extra 2 hrs I had.
I was using the GPS and maps in my phone as I got near Ankara (I had to be sure it wasn't connecting to the network, because I had unknowingly run up hundreds of dollars in data charges after using it in S. Africa and Greece a few months ago.) Well, at 3pm, just as I was approaching a critical interchange, the alarm on the phone dutifully went off, and the screen froze as I fumbled to turn it off. Completely locked up. Map didn't change. So I'm fumbling to cycle power and I won't. So, still driving on the expressway, getting closer to a point where I will most need guidance, I'm taking the back off the phone, to remove the battery. I finally get the phone restarted, but it's too late. I had to make a decision and it was the wrong one. So here I am wandering the outskirts of Ankara trying to get back on the expressway. Still, no worries, flight isn't for another 3 hrs.
I'm finally on the road approaching the airport. I'm looking for a 24-hr gas station. I spot one with its lights on and pull in. No one in sight. I'm about to drive off when the attendant walks over from a nearby parking lot. I ask for diesel. He cheerfully fills the tank but when he goes to remove the nozzle, it's stuck. He tugs and twists, gives me a "what's up with this?" expression, then goes back to struggling. I watch for a while, then open the trunk and get out a flashlight so he can see better. Still no luck. He goes into the station and gets a screwdriver. He's fiddling, i'm holding the flashlight. More time goes by. Now I'm beginning to wonder how this will get resolved. But eventually he pokes the right and the nozzle comes free.
I got to the airport, through checkin and up to the business lounge in enough time to take a shower (I still smelled slightly to the mineral water, since the showers in the bathhouse used it). Refreshed, relaxed and ready to go home, I grin with the satisfaction of knowing that my gamble paid off.
Photos here
The countryside of the Anatolia plain is dry and mountainous. I was following a valley, where a river fed many small plots of fruits and vegetables on the bottom land. Roadside stands selling produce were quite common.
I would have missed the turnoff to the spa if I hadn't coded the waypoint into my GPS. The single-lane road climbed through hilly grasslands and then down into a small valley where the resort was. I was led into to the lobby and introduced to an English-speaking woman. She said rooms were 65 TKL (about $42). I said I was staying a short while and only needed a bed. So, I got a room with three single beds, a table, a locker, 3 chairs and bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Perfect. It was $5. Oh, and a prayer run and beads were included.
I headed straight to the indoor hot pools. They were a steaming 46deg C (117F). Wow. The waters were available to drink as well and I availed myself of about a quarter liter. While I was hanging out in changing room after soaking a man respectfully asked me where I was from, because his grandson wanted to know. We talked and others in the room moved closer, because they were curious too. They asked - how did you know about this place? Only one man spoke English. He was a retired electrical engineer. After we'd talked for a while I asked if I could take a picture. When I went to leave I asked the Engish-speaking man where I could get a towel. It then dawned on me that it was a "bring your own towel" affair and they hadn't supplied one with the room (what do you expect for $5?). The man very kindly offered his towel, if I took a shower first (appropriate, since I was still sweating from the soak).
I then drove to the nearby city Beypazari. I had no idea where the downtown was, but when I got to a place where there was nowhere to park I figured this must be it. I found a spot a little ways away, parked and walked into the shopping district. Exactly what I wanted. There was one thoroughfare with hardware, clothing, grocery etc. and then an open marketplace with produce stalls, and, well, every kind of merchandise you can imagine in a maze of narrow streets. I ate it up. I had read in the guide that the town was famous two things - silver jewelry and carrots. In fact, there was a statue of a carrot in the one roundabout near the market. The jewelry was indeed remarkable, and one shopkeeper literally pulled me into her shop to look at what she had. I came out with a pendant of intricate silver meshwork with a garnet set in the center. Price: $10.
When I got back to the spa with bread (two sizable loves for $0.75), cheese, peaches, a melon, and, yes, some carrots, I ran into the English-speaking man again, and he invited me to share dinner with him and his family. I knew that would be a long affair, and I would have to decline the meat, so I apologized and said no.
The adventure continued on the drive back to the airport early next morning. I had set my alarm for 3 am but when I awoke at 1 am to pee (I had misgauged in rehydrating after the baths) I decided to pack and leave, allowing extra time in case unforeseen events extended the time it took to get to the airport. Although I had pre-paid the $5 for the room, the guard at the gate would not allow me to exit until i formally checked out at the front desk. So, we walked back to the hotel where the receptionist didn't speak a word of English, and had trouble working the computer to check me out. I eventually left, still relaxed because of the extra 2 hrs I had.
I was using the GPS and maps in my phone as I got near Ankara (I had to be sure it wasn't connecting to the network, because I had unknowingly run up hundreds of dollars in data charges after using it in S. Africa and Greece a few months ago.) Well, at 3pm, just as I was approaching a critical interchange, the alarm on the phone dutifully went off, and the screen froze as I fumbled to turn it off. Completely locked up. Map didn't change. So I'm fumbling to cycle power and I won't. So, still driving on the expressway, getting closer to a point where I will most need guidance, I'm taking the back off the phone, to remove the battery. I finally get the phone restarted, but it's too late. I had to make a decision and it was the wrong one. So here I am wandering the outskirts of Ankara trying to get back on the expressway. Still, no worries, flight isn't for another 3 hrs.
I'm finally on the road approaching the airport. I'm looking for a 24-hr gas station. I spot one with its lights on and pull in. No one in sight. I'm about to drive off when the attendant walks over from a nearby parking lot. I ask for diesel. He cheerfully fills the tank but when he goes to remove the nozzle, it's stuck. He tugs and twists, gives me a "what's up with this?" expression, then goes back to struggling. I watch for a while, then open the trunk and get out a flashlight so he can see better. Still no luck. He goes into the station and gets a screwdriver. He's fiddling, i'm holding the flashlight. More time goes by. Now I'm beginning to wonder how this will get resolved. But eventually he pokes the right and the nozzle comes free.
I got to the airport, through checkin and up to the business lounge in enough time to take a shower (I still smelled slightly to the mineral water, since the showers in the bathhouse used it). Refreshed, relaxed and ready to go home, I grin with the satisfaction of knowing that my gamble paid off.
Photos here
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Czech Vacation 2010 (and a midnight visit to a Czech emergency room)
Jitka's parents live in Jicin, a delightful historic town at the boundary between a verdant agricultural plain dotted with picturesque villages and the "Czech Paradise" of mountain parks, lakes, castles and fantastic rock formations. During the summer they move to Jitka's mother's ancestral home in a nearby village, Hubalov, and it's here that we stay during our summer visits.
This year we rode bikes, hiked, swam in the rivers and backpacked in various parts of Bohemia and Moravia (the northwestern and southeastern parts of the Czech Republic). The photo album highlights the beautiful places we saw.
On our next to the last day we went on a day-long excursion to a region in the Czech Paradise around the village of Mala Skala. Our 13-km route climbed a ridge where we visited 2 castles, then down through a valley, through several forests to the Jizera River, where we took a break, putting on our swimming suits and buying some cold brews (NA for me, of course).
Czech are sporting types. There are always many hikers of all ages out on the trails, and here there were canoes and nearby camps for kids with rope courses. Where we had stopped someone had run a cable between two tall riverside trees and in the middle affixed a climbing rope hanging above a stump. The rope had a knot on the very end, for shorter people to grab, and a wooden bar about 2 feet higher for taller people to hold onto while swinging out over the river. Barbora and I took turns swinging and dropping into the river. What I didn't realize was that since the rope was very elastic, there was a tremendous recoil when I let go and on my final swing I was facing the shore when I let go, as opposed to facing away, and when the knotted end of the rope whipped up it hit me violently in the eye. It was left in a great deal of pain and later that night, with no abatement in the pain, we decided that I had scratched my cornea and needed to visit a doctor, because infection is danger in such cases. The hospital in Jicin did not have an eye specialist so Jitka's dad drove us to the nearest large city, Hradec Kralove, where there is a teaching hospital with an emergency room for eye injuries. Not only were we admitted immediately, but the lead doctor examined and treated me. The best part: total cost (no insurance), including antibiotic eye ointment, was around $30.
Photos from our time in Czech are here.
This year we rode bikes, hiked, swam in the rivers and backpacked in various parts of Bohemia and Moravia (the northwestern and southeastern parts of the Czech Republic). The photo album highlights the beautiful places we saw.
On our next to the last day we went on a day-long excursion to a region in the Czech Paradise around the village of Mala Skala. Our 13-km route climbed a ridge where we visited 2 castles, then down through a valley, through several forests to the Jizera River, where we took a break, putting on our swimming suits and buying some cold brews (NA for me, of course).
Czech are sporting types. There are always many hikers of all ages out on the trails, and here there were canoes and nearby camps for kids with rope courses. Where we had stopped someone had run a cable between two tall riverside trees and in the middle affixed a climbing rope hanging above a stump. The rope had a knot on the very end, for shorter people to grab, and a wooden bar about 2 feet higher for taller people to hold onto while swinging out over the river. Barbora and I took turns swinging and dropping into the river. What I didn't realize was that since the rope was very elastic, there was a tremendous recoil when I let go and on my final swing I was facing the shore when I let go, as opposed to facing away, and when the knotted end of the rope whipped up it hit me violently in the eye. It was left in a great deal of pain and later that night, with no abatement in the pain, we decided that I had scratched my cornea and needed to visit a doctor, because infection is danger in such cases. The hospital in Jicin did not have an eye specialist so Jitka's dad drove us to the nearest large city, Hradec Kralove, where there is a teaching hospital with an emergency room for eye injuries. Not only were we admitted immediately, but the lead doctor examined and treated me. The best part: total cost (no insurance), including antibiotic eye ointment, was around $30.
Photos from our time in Czech are here.
Greece Travels, Summer 2010
As on our first visit to Greece in 2002, we started in Thessaloniki, the de facto northern capital. We used frequent flier miles to get to Prague, found cheap airfares to Thessaloniki on Malev, the Hungarian airline, and good rates on a rental car from Thrifty. Our plan was to drive across the breadth of mountainous northern Greece to the Ionian Sea, in one day. The recently-completed EU-funded highway made this possible. However, we encountered a detour about 3 hrs into the drive, which took us over a high mountain pass on narrow, winding roads, adding probably 1.5 hrs to the drive. We had no complaints, though, as the route was very scenic. We arrived a little after 10 pm, thankful that the maps on my new cell phone guided us through the narrow streets of Parga to our pension.
We chose to make Parga, a fishing village on a picturesque bay, as our base. Although tourism is clearly a large factor in the local economy, many still work the olive groves and fishing boats, and life on the backstreets away from the waterfront appears have remain unchanged for centuries. The town is built on a steep slope dropping into a bay with several small islets, giving the town the feel of a Greek island. The tourist season had not quite gotten into full swing when we arrived, but by the time we left 10 days later, the waterfront was noticeably more crowded on our evening strolls.
One of the main reasons for choosing Parga was the numerous beautiful beaches available - three within walking distance of where we were staying and many more up and down the coast, ranging from small coves accessed by really bad dirt roads (built for the olive groves) to broad sandy beaches that we had pretty much to ourselves.
We stayed in a family-run pension 2 blocks from the beach. We had a refrigerator in our room and access to a kitchen, so we prepared our own breakfasts and lunches, but ate out every night. There were probably 30 or more tavernas to choose from within walking distance. One thing we never lacked was access to good food. That's one of the things we love about Greece. The smallest village will have 1 or 2 tavernas in which you can always get a good vegetarian meal.
One day we made an excursion to the Pindos mountains of Ioannina Prefecture. The region of deep canyons and thick forests has been difficult to access through much of history, remaining autonomous during the Ottoman Empire and flourishing through the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries. The Zagorian people who live there (zagoria meaning land behind the mountains) established 46 mountainside villages, building houses entirely from the local slate and constructing a series of amazing stone bridges that are still standing. Dominating the landscape is the Vikos gorge, deeper, it is said, than the Grand Canyon. We hiked to an overlook on the eastern rim and then drove to village of Monodentri and visited the nearby Agia Paraskevi Monastery, built in 1412, which is perched on the western edge of the gorge.
Another interesting spot we visited on another day was the Nekromanteion of Acheron, or oracle of the dead, where evidence indicates worship of the gods of the underworld has been carried out since the 14th century BC. It contains the palace of Hades and Persephone, where people went to meet with the souls of the dead.
I should add that we encountered no problems related to the current economic situation in Greece (but did see a sign in the window of a shop in the tourist section of Parga that read "crises prices"). Also, it seems that now a great deal more signage is in both Greek and English.
In all a great trip. We vowed to return, especially to Zagoria and spend more time roaming those mountains and villages.
Photos from the trip are here.
We chose to make Parga, a fishing village on a picturesque bay, as our base. Although tourism is clearly a large factor in the local economy, many still work the olive groves and fishing boats, and life on the backstreets away from the waterfront appears have remain unchanged for centuries. The town is built on a steep slope dropping into a bay with several small islets, giving the town the feel of a Greek island. The tourist season had not quite gotten into full swing when we arrived, but by the time we left 10 days later, the waterfront was noticeably more crowded on our evening strolls.
One of the main reasons for choosing Parga was the numerous beautiful beaches available - three within walking distance of where we were staying and many more up and down the coast, ranging from small coves accessed by really bad dirt roads (built for the olive groves) to broad sandy beaches that we had pretty much to ourselves.
We stayed in a family-run pension 2 blocks from the beach. We had a refrigerator in our room and access to a kitchen, so we prepared our own breakfasts and lunches, but ate out every night. There were probably 30 or more tavernas to choose from within walking distance. One thing we never lacked was access to good food. That's one of the things we love about Greece. The smallest village will have 1 or 2 tavernas in which you can always get a good vegetarian meal.
One day we made an excursion to the Pindos mountains of Ioannina Prefecture. The region of deep canyons and thick forests has been difficult to access through much of history, remaining autonomous during the Ottoman Empire and flourishing through the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries. The Zagorian people who live there (zagoria meaning land behind the mountains) established 46 mountainside villages, building houses entirely from the local slate and constructing a series of amazing stone bridges that are still standing. Dominating the landscape is the Vikos gorge, deeper, it is said, than the Grand Canyon. We hiked to an overlook on the eastern rim and then drove to village of Monodentri and visited the nearby Agia Paraskevi Monastery, built in 1412, which is perched on the western edge of the gorge.
Another interesting spot we visited on another day was the Nekromanteion of Acheron, or oracle of the dead, where evidence indicates worship of the gods of the underworld has been carried out since the 14th century BC. It contains the palace of Hades and Persephone, where people went to meet with the souls of the dead.
I should add that we encountered no problems related to the current economic situation in Greece (but did see a sign in the window of a shop in the tourist section of Parga that read "crises prices"). Also, it seems that now a great deal more signage is in both Greek and English.
In all a great trip. We vowed to return, especially to Zagoria and spend more time roaming those mountains and villages.
Photos from the trip are here.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Why isn't it natural and easy to become liberated?
Isn't it strange how, as humans, we have this gift of consciousness but squander it by allowing our minds to run wild and not using it to perceive the true nature of reality thereby releasing us from suffering? Why isn't it self-evident what we are here to do? Or at least why isn't it common knowledge, widely taught and shared? I suppose Truth has to have a cultural context and so we find it expressed in many different ways, each expression becoming progressively more narrow in its interpretation of Truth and therefore more inaccessible, or unpalatable, to all except those steeped in that culture or subculture, as time goes on. Perhaps even if the mind does get a glimpse of Truth and the path to end suffering, it resists. Why? Because the path to fully awakening is arduous? Why would this be so? Why does the mind create obstacles? Is it simply that the ego, the limited self, fears the annihilation that would come with awakening? I don't understand the purpose of this. Is our culturization somehow responsible - instilling in us the notion that we have to fend for ourselves? If we grew up in a society where everyone cared for each other, where no one had to worry about defending what was theirs, would a less dominant ego make it easier to live in an awakened state and be more fully human?
But this is not how most people grew up, and so the world is full of people who are suffering, and more often than not blaming their suffering on other people, institutions or fate, but still, on some level of consciousness, knowing that there is a greater Truth that can free them of their suffering. So this brings me back to the question of why, if we have the capacity to grasp the Truth and there is a longing in everyone to awaken, is it not a natural, spontaneous process? Or at least a process that can be simply and universally explained and understood?
But this is not how most people grew up, and so the world is full of people who are suffering, and more often than not blaming their suffering on other people, institutions or fate, but still, on some level of consciousness, knowing that there is a greater Truth that can free them of their suffering. So this brings me back to the question of why, if we have the capacity to grasp the Truth and there is a longing in everyone to awaken, is it not a natural, spontaneous process? Or at least a process that can be simply and universally explained and understood?
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Attuning to the Spirit of Jesus on Easter
Today Jitka, Barbora and I stood outside in the early morning light and invited the Spirit of Jesus to be with us. We began facing east, the place of Light, and recalled the inspiration that Jesus brought, and thought of Jesus in his transcendent form. Then we turned south and thought of the fire and passion with which Jesus worked to awaken humanity, and remembered Jesus as the tireless servant. Then we turned west and thought of the blessings the he brought, of the purification of the holy waters that wash away our sins that keep us from seeing the truth. Then we turned north and remembered Jesus as the teacher, as the channel for divine law that is our foundation – the immutable, timeless guideposts to living a worthy life. We then stood close, facing each other, and remembered Jesus as he is manifest in our hearts, in every heart, and read aloud words that Jesus had spoken. Our selections were:
I am the light that shines over all things. I am everything. From me all came forth, and to me all return. Split a piece of wood, and I am there. Lift a stone, and you will find me there.
If those who lead you say to you, "Look, the Kingdom is in the sky," then the birds will get there first. If they say "It is in the ocean," then the fish will get there first.
But the Kingdom of God is within you and outside of you.
Once you come to know yourselves, you will become known.
And you will know that it is you who are the children of the living Father.
They said to Him: "Shall we then, being children, enter the Kingdom?" Jesus said to them: "When you make the two one, and when you make the inner as the outer and the outer as the inner and the above as the below, and when you make the male and the female into a single one, then you shall enter the kingdom."
You are the light of the world. A city set upon a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and be led to glorify your Father who is in heaven.
I am the light that shines over all things. I am everything. From me all came forth, and to me all return. Split a piece of wood, and I am there. Lift a stone, and you will find me there.
If those who lead you say to you, "Look, the Kingdom is in the sky," then the birds will get there first. If they say "It is in the ocean," then the fish will get there first.
But the Kingdom of God is within you and outside of you.
Once you come to know yourselves, you will become known.
And you will know that it is you who are the children of the living Father.
They said to Him: "Shall we then, being children, enter the Kingdom?" Jesus said to them: "When you make the two one, and when you make the inner as the outer and the outer as the inner and the above as the below, and when you make the male and the female into a single one, then you shall enter the kingdom."
You are the light of the world. A city set upon a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and be led to glorify your Father who is in heaven.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Appreciation for Critical Thinking
A typical dinner table conversation in our family involves someone taking a position or making an assertion and me taking the opposite viewpoint so we can explore the dimensions of the issue and expose the basis of our beliefs. This sport was never embraced by Jitka, and she would get quite mad at me when it upset our daughter. But as Barbora matured she also grew to enjoy the mental sparring, even though the debates sometimes brought out strong emotions.
Our beliefs and assumptions so strongly influence how we see the world that it behooves us to critically examine them and measure them against opposing views. Firmly held positions should be traceable to a set of fundamental values that, ideally, express the goodness shared by all humanity.
It warmed my heart today when Barbora thanked me for the dinnertime debates while she was growing up because it helped her become adept at identifying faulty thinking, taking opposing views for the sake of argument, and discerning what her core beliefs are.
Our beliefs and assumptions so strongly influence how we see the world that it behooves us to critically examine them and measure them against opposing views. Firmly held positions should be traceable to a set of fundamental values that, ideally, express the goodness shared by all humanity.
It warmed my heart today when Barbora thanked me for the dinnertime debates while she was growing up because it helped her become adept at identifying faulty thinking, taking opposing views for the sake of argument, and discerning what her core beliefs are.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Welcome 2010
January 1, 2010 was a day to savor. I hope it portends a good year. It began with a joyous welcoming of 2010 at midnight, under the stars and the full moon directly overhead, with 3 generations of family as well as good friends. Despite getting to sleep at 1:30am, I still awoke early enough to take a cold shower and sit for a long meditation before everyone else in the house got up. After breakfast we worked on a complex jigsaw puzzle that we had begun on Christmas day (a family tradition) and other deliciously unhurried leisure activities. After lunch we headed up to Eldora ski area, where Barbora did training for Nordic racing while Jitka and I did a backcountry XC ski trip up Jenny Creek. The conditions were perfect: sun and plentiful, dry snow. When we got back home, we quickly showered and prepared for a dinner party at a friend's house. There was perfection here too - a warm-heated and gracious host, good food and animated, thought-provoking discussions that everyone participated in (i.e. there was only one conversation going on). The night started on politics (is democracy possible or appropriate in Afghanistan?), progressed through contemporary physics and causality, lingered on lightweight topics such as existence of the soul, ventured into various conspiracy theories and the threat of extraterrestrials and ended with everyone rating the current state of their life on a scale of 1 - 10. Among the 5 men and 3 women present we had Buddhists, Christians, Atheists and a Sikh, and we all thoroughly enjoyed each others' company. A great finish to a delightful day.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Dances with Chainsaw
Big wind a couple of weeks back broke a sizable limb in the ash tree in our front yard. I climbed up with a bow saw and cut down all but an 8' section that was too thick to tackle with a hand saw - it would have to wait until I got the chainsaw working again. I finally replaced the sparkplug this weekend. Fired up on second pull, figured I was good to go, so I got out a 16' extension ladder and climbed up there with the saw. But I couldn't quite manage the vigorous pull required to get it started while balancing on a limb, so I climb back down the ladder, started it while standing on the ground, then climbed back up, holding the running saw in one hand, throttling it to keep it running, thinking to myself, "is this such a good idea?" Well, better than calling a tree service. I get up there, position myself to have enough leverage on the saw to cut through the limb. Fortunately, the teeth were sharp so the cutting was easy. Cut it in 2 sections so that there was less chance of things going awry as the pieces fell. Short of it - I survived to tell the tale.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Week in the Land of Enchantment
The Land of Enchantment draws us in many ways – the land, the light, the people. We came to relax, explore, and experience her charms. Rather than making our usual straight drive to Taos or Santa Fe, we took routes we had never been on and saw places that were new to us, arriving in our usual haunts only towards the end of our trip. New Mexico rewarded us, and revealed herself to us in new ways.
Three cultures – Native American, Spanish and Anglo – coexist and blend here in unique ways. We had rich and enlightening encounters with all three. Near Crown Point, driving west on a back road of the Navaho Nation, we saw a man galloping a horse along the side of the road. This got our curiosity up so when we saw a cluster of trucks and people at a show grounds we slowed and realized there was a rodeo happening. We drove in, parked among the horse trailers and walked into a Navaho rodeo. We were the only white faces there, but no one seemed to mind or pay any particular attention to us. We sat and watched a youth rodeo - young girls roping sheep, young boys riding bucking bulls, and young men competing in tandem cow roping. On our tour of the Sky City on the Acoma reservation we met a native who had worked in casinos but had returned to being a tour guide because it allowed him to be more true to himself and tell the story of his people, which he did with pride and undisguised resentment for what the Spaniards had done to his ancestors.
Along the sparsely populated stretch of highway 53 between Zuni Pueblo and Grant we passed a café and campground. It had all the trappings of a New Age enclave – selling trinkets and serving organic meals made with homegrown produce. We stopped, ordered espresso and spent time chatting with the owner and his lover (presumably, flowery outfit, long painted fingernails) who waited tables. They had fled Salt Lake City and were now running this remote outpost together.
South of Santa Fe we visited el Rancho de las Golondrinas, a living history museum spread across 200 acres. With restored buildings, exhibits and guides in period costumes it recreates, as authentically as possible, the living and working conditions of Spanish colonial New Mexico in the 18th and 19th centuries. While we rested on the steps of a small chapel, a well-dressed Hispanic gentleman, who we had seen earlier on the rancho, approached and asked “con permiso?,” gesturing with his camera. We nodded and he took our picture. Later, while we were browsing the merchandise he approached and began a conversation. His refined, courteous manner reflected that of the Spanish landowners who had been in the area for generations.
The encounter we enjoyed most, however, was with Carlos and Alfredo in the small village of Chimayo. Carlos Medina sells chilies, crosses and a large array of other tourist trinkets from his family home near the famous Chimayo Sanctuary. He thoroughly enjoyed letting customers sample the amazingly flavorful chili blends, which he scoped up with pistachio shells and handed over with specific tasting instructions. He also liked to tell stories, so after we had bought a few bags of his product we stayed on, listening to him tell of his encounters with supernatural powers, his extraordinary dreams and his philosophy of life. When we shared our interpretations of his experiences he always listened attentively. We talked long after his mom had locked up and his coworker and friend since childhood, Alfredo, had left.
We returned the next evening, also, as it happened, at closing time. Nevertheless, Carlos happily prepared some food for us and then both he and Alfredo stuck around while we ate on the patio. This time it was Alfredo who told stories of his life. He was like a cat with 9 lives – having nearly drowned as an infant, having been rushed to the hospital with a quarter stuck in his windpipe as a child, having been crushed between 2 cars in his driveway, having been hit by a van crossing the highway and thrown 25 feet, leaving him in a coma for 21 days, and having been in surgery to remove a tumor in his neck where the tracheotomy failed and he again nearly died. He said that all this taught him to not think of money, possessions or family, but to think only of God. Carlos added his stories of near-death experiences and again, with no one apparently feeling like they had to be anywhere else, we sat and talked for a long time. These times gave us a remarkable glimpse into the life of people who work the land and seldom venture far from the place where they were born.
Another distinct subculture in New Mexico, of course, is the artist – both the indigenous type (Native American and Hispanic) and the transplanted Anglo. While walking the streets of the small village of Truchas, we stopped in a gallery of a woman, who had moved to the US from Sweden. After browsing her paintings we began talking (we had actually spent some time speaking with her a couple of years ago when we had visited the same gallery). After sharing stories of our backgrounds we talked about the economy, rural life and the trials of raising children. In the same village we spoke several other artists in their studios, including a Hispanic man whose family had been carving wooden religious figures for generations. In Taos we visited with an Anglo artist we had become friends with on a previous trip. We picked up previous conversations as they had started yesterday.
Each person we met in New Mexico gave us something – a story, a kind smile or gesture, a visual statement of who they were. We felt incredibly blessed to have felt part of the dynamic and diverse cultural landscape of a very special place.
Three cultures – Native American, Spanish and Anglo – coexist and blend here in unique ways. We had rich and enlightening encounters with all three. Near Crown Point, driving west on a back road of the Navaho Nation, we saw a man galloping a horse along the side of the road. This got our curiosity up so when we saw a cluster of trucks and people at a show grounds we slowed and realized there was a rodeo happening. We drove in, parked among the horse trailers and walked into a Navaho rodeo. We were the only white faces there, but no one seemed to mind or pay any particular attention to us. We sat and watched a youth rodeo - young girls roping sheep, young boys riding bucking bulls, and young men competing in tandem cow roping. On our tour of the Sky City on the Acoma reservation we met a native who had worked in casinos but had returned to being a tour guide because it allowed him to be more true to himself and tell the story of his people, which he did with pride and undisguised resentment for what the Spaniards had done to his ancestors.
Along the sparsely populated stretch of highway 53 between Zuni Pueblo and Grant we passed a café and campground. It had all the trappings of a New Age enclave – selling trinkets and serving organic meals made with homegrown produce. We stopped, ordered espresso and spent time chatting with the owner and his lover (presumably, flowery outfit, long painted fingernails) who waited tables. They had fled Salt Lake City and were now running this remote outpost together.
South of Santa Fe we visited el Rancho de las Golondrinas, a living history museum spread across 200 acres. With restored buildings, exhibits and guides in period costumes it recreates, as authentically as possible, the living and working conditions of Spanish colonial New Mexico in the 18th and 19th centuries. While we rested on the steps of a small chapel, a well-dressed Hispanic gentleman, who we had seen earlier on the rancho, approached and asked “con permiso?,” gesturing with his camera. We nodded and he took our picture. Later, while we were browsing the merchandise he approached and began a conversation. His refined, courteous manner reflected that of the Spanish landowners who had been in the area for generations.
The encounter we enjoyed most, however, was with Carlos and Alfredo in the small village of Chimayo. Carlos Medina sells chilies, crosses and a large array of other tourist trinkets from his family home near the famous Chimayo Sanctuary. He thoroughly enjoyed letting customers sample the amazingly flavorful chili blends, which he scoped up with pistachio shells and handed over with specific tasting instructions. He also liked to tell stories, so after we had bought a few bags of his product we stayed on, listening to him tell of his encounters with supernatural powers, his extraordinary dreams and his philosophy of life. When we shared our interpretations of his experiences he always listened attentively. We talked long after his mom had locked up and his coworker and friend since childhood, Alfredo, had left.
We returned the next evening, also, as it happened, at closing time. Nevertheless, Carlos happily prepared some food for us and then both he and Alfredo stuck around while we ate on the patio. This time it was Alfredo who told stories of his life. He was like a cat with 9 lives – having nearly drowned as an infant, having been rushed to the hospital with a quarter stuck in his windpipe as a child, having been crushed between 2 cars in his driveway, having been hit by a van crossing the highway and thrown 25 feet, leaving him in a coma for 21 days, and having been in surgery to remove a tumor in his neck where the tracheotomy failed and he again nearly died. He said that all this taught him to not think of money, possessions or family, but to think only of God. Carlos added his stories of near-death experiences and again, with no one apparently feeling like they had to be anywhere else, we sat and talked for a long time. These times gave us a remarkable glimpse into the life of people who work the land and seldom venture far from the place where they were born.
Another distinct subculture in New Mexico, of course, is the artist – both the indigenous type (Native American and Hispanic) and the transplanted Anglo. While walking the streets of the small village of Truchas, we stopped in a gallery of a woman, who had moved to the US from Sweden. After browsing her paintings we began talking (we had actually spent some time speaking with her a couple of years ago when we had visited the same gallery). After sharing stories of our backgrounds we talked about the economy, rural life and the trials of raising children. In the same village we spoke several other artists in their studios, including a Hispanic man whose family had been carving wooden religious figures for generations. In Taos we visited with an Anglo artist we had become friends with on a previous trip. We picked up previous conversations as they had started yesterday.
Each person we met in New Mexico gave us something – a story, a kind smile or gesture, a visual statement of who they were. We felt incredibly blessed to have felt part of the dynamic and diverse cultural landscape of a very special place.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Dancing Through the Day
I attended the 33rd International Symposium on Remote Sensing of the Environment (ISRSE-33) in Stresa, Italy last week. On Thursday I gave a talk in a session that I was co-chairing, which started at 11 am, ended at 12:30. The GEO Architecture and Data Committee (ADC) meeting also started at 11 am, so I knew I'd miss the beginning. In addition, I was to make a presentation to the GEO Science and Technology Meeting (STC) at 2:15 pm, and had to help someone make a presentation remotely to the ADC at 2:40 pm. On top of all this, I was to meet and introduce the president of the Italian state Telecom Company (the research division) at 1:00 - 1:30. Recipe for disaster? You guessed it.
When I loaded my presentation into the central computer system of the conference (Windows based) some of my figures did not show, because I had prepared it on a Mac. This was discovered 20 min before the beginning of the session. I desperately tried to convert the images, but no go. Ok, I'll use my laptop to project. But I didn't have the video converter cable with me. Desperately looked for a mac owner who might have one. My co-chair shows up. She has the mac connector. whew! Wait, wrong version, doesn't fit my newer computer. Now 2 min before start of session. I got it - copy presentation to her Mac and use it to project. It works!
Okay session goes well, I introduce speakers, ask questions, moderate other's questions. All going well. Then it's my turn to present (had not done any dry runs - no time. final adjustments to slides was that morning, not sure what I'm going to say). I start talking. Feeling confident. Good material. Audience engaged. Phone rings in my pocket. Fumble to turn it off while keep talking. Stops. Continue talk. Phone rings again. This time while fumbling in my pocket I not only answer it but turn it on speaker phone. Continue making my ad lib presentation with a voice "hello? are you there?" coming out of my pocket. It was the Pres. of the Italian telecom calling to say he was waiting for me at registration.
I end my talk, hand off the session to my co-chair and run downstairs. Bring Roberto up to the ADC meeting, make some introductions, run back to my session. On last paper. Final questions. I thank the speakers and audience. Dash back to ADC meeting. Engage in the discussion. While discussion is going on, I try to be unobtrusive and set up my computer at the speaker's table and try to connect with the person making the next presentation. Skype shows he's not online. Sandwiches brought in for working lunch. Grab a bite, dash down to STC meeting, listen to introduction of topic, make a presentation. Sit back down (I thought it impolite to dash right out). Jay (ADC co-chair) calmly comes it. I figure it's time to go back to ADC. I get there and they're on break, waiting for me to get skype going for the next speaker. He finally logs in. We connect. No sound. His microphone is not working. Chair is asking what's up. I punt, and call his office line with skype. That works. We get started. All goes well.
That evening at the social hour following the meetings I speak with the director of USGEO - a feisty woman who carries around a cane which you are certain she uses to whack people when she is really unhappy with them. I needed to talk to her about some meetings in D.C. in November. When I approach her, before I can say anything she says "converted to Sikh, right? treat women as equals. that's good". A director of the Australian science and industry body (CSIRO) says he liked my presentation to the STC and saw that I could appreciate work he had done on digital elevation models and tells me all about it. People at random come up and compliment me both on the session I chaired and my brief presentation to the ADC. So, in all I'd say the day was successful
When I loaded my presentation into the central computer system of the conference (Windows based) some of my figures did not show, because I had prepared it on a Mac. This was discovered 20 min before the beginning of the session. I desperately tried to convert the images, but no go. Ok, I'll use my laptop to project. But I didn't have the video converter cable with me. Desperately looked for a mac owner who might have one. My co-chair shows up. She has the mac connector. whew! Wait, wrong version, doesn't fit my newer computer. Now 2 min before start of session. I got it - copy presentation to her Mac and use it to project. It works!
Okay session goes well, I introduce speakers, ask questions, moderate other's questions. All going well. Then it's my turn to present (had not done any dry runs - no time. final adjustments to slides was that morning, not sure what I'm going to say). I start talking. Feeling confident. Good material. Audience engaged. Phone rings in my pocket. Fumble to turn it off while keep talking. Stops. Continue talk. Phone rings again. This time while fumbling in my pocket I not only answer it but turn it on speaker phone. Continue making my ad lib presentation with a voice "hello? are you there?" coming out of my pocket. It was the Pres. of the Italian telecom calling to say he was waiting for me at registration.
I end my talk, hand off the session to my co-chair and run downstairs. Bring Roberto up to the ADC meeting, make some introductions, run back to my session. On last paper. Final questions. I thank the speakers and audience. Dash back to ADC meeting. Engage in the discussion. While discussion is going on, I try to be unobtrusive and set up my computer at the speaker's table and try to connect with the person making the next presentation. Skype shows he's not online. Sandwiches brought in for working lunch. Grab a bite, dash down to STC meeting, listen to introduction of topic, make a presentation. Sit back down (I thought it impolite to dash right out). Jay (ADC co-chair) calmly comes it. I figure it's time to go back to ADC. I get there and they're on break, waiting for me to get skype going for the next speaker. He finally logs in. We connect. No sound. His microphone is not working. Chair is asking what's up. I punt, and call his office line with skype. That works. We get started. All goes well.
That evening at the social hour following the meetings I speak with the director of USGEO - a feisty woman who carries around a cane which you are certain she uses to whack people when she is really unhappy with them. I needed to talk to her about some meetings in D.C. in November. When I approach her, before I can say anything she says "converted to Sikh, right? treat women as equals. that's good". A director of the Australian science and industry body (CSIRO) says he liked my presentation to the STC and saw that I could appreciate work he had done on digital elevation models and tells me all about it. People at random come up and compliment me both on the session I chaired and my brief presentation to the ADC. So, in all I'd say the day was successful
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