Maverick's Online Den

Quotation of the Day

2009-12-10T13:16:00.001-05:00

"When it's all going downhill, sit on your bums and enjoy the slide."
- yours truly The Maverick

Rants 2 - On Economics

2008-11-22T07:11:00.001-05:00

If my previous email (Rants 1) hasn't offended, or at least alienated, everyone, then this one should do the trick.

(Because of the slight ambiguity in terminology, I want to specify that by using the term “capitalism” I refer to the whole concept of “free-market economy”)

Allow me to begin by saying that I started off as an Ayn Rand capitalist, and I am not ashamed to admit that. There is something enticing about “being in control of your own destiny”.

It is just so ridiculously clear, sensible and logical that if everyone takes care of himself/herself, then the whole society is taken care of. On the other hand, when there are community resources and community accountabilities (as opposed to individual ones), irresponsible waste is inevitable. That makes perfect intuitive sense.

But capitalism kills the capitalist ideal just the way communism kills the communist ideal. The corporation, that towering achievement of modern capitalism, can be credited with much of the success of capitalism. At the same time, by separating ownership from management, and further by turning the focus of management from long-term goals to quarter-to-quarter thinking, the corporation fosters an environment where the capitalist ideal can die a silent death.

And while the Republicans are correctly blaming President William J Clinton’s administration for a large part of the current crisis, what they forget to mention is that irrespective of the party in power, it was the policy of laissez faire that brought the stack of cards down. (Except for Republicans like Gov Palin, of course, who seem to have no qualms about saying, “Government, get out of my way” and “we need more regulation and oversight” in the same breath.)

Alan Greenspan recently talked about a “flaw” that he discovered in his philosophy. If one looks past the jargon, he essentially said that he did not account for human nature, and that left to their own devices people and corporations can act unethically. (Not to mention the presence of perverse incentives that foster quarter-to-quarter thinking)

Coming from a pillar of modern capitalism, this statement was certainly shocking. In his seminal work, "An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations", Adam Smith certainly doesn’t make that assumption. In fact, he believes that human nature is selfishness and greed and that if we are all selfish and greedy together then things will balance out in the larger picture. Hold this thought as we will return to it in a moment.

---- From this point, your head may start shaking involuntarily, your ears may experience spontaneous combustion, and your brain may lose all focus , but I implore you to look past the labels and keep an open mind as you read on ----

It’s truly a seductive concept that a society will only function if everyone knows that if they are smarter and work harder then they’ll have a bigger paycheck, a bigger car, and a bigger house. That monetary reward proportionate to ability and effort is the primary motivation of human enterprise is an indoctrination (and therefore a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy), and not a truism.

Otherwise, why would people write blogs, why would they participate in the Olympics, why would people create free open-source software, why would they sacrifice their today for the well-being of their children and grandchildren, and indeed, why would people go from door to door, campaigning for their favorite politician? In fact, why would any voluntary work exist at all?

Researchers from Herzberg to Adams have found that “more money” is not the only, and not even the primary, motivator for most people.

Socialism has been demonized for long in the American society, and even those that believe in some or most principles of it steer clear of the label itself. The power of branding, if you will. I’d like to submit, however, that as a concept it is not as monstrous as it is made out to be (with apologies to all who might have suffered unspeakable atrocities under communist regimes).

Think about it – capitalism is not a new concept; it has been around forever. There was a reason that socialism came into being. That reason was exploitation of the masses and extreme discrepancies in the standards of living of the rich and the poor under the capitalist formula. It is sort of okay when everyone is poor, everyone is in the same boat, and there is no other world that the people have seen. It is also okay when based on their work, people earn different levels of money, status or respect. However when these differences become so stark as to be extreme, it gives rise to a sense of “unfairness” and “envy”, and an unstable society.

Most importantly, irrespective of how smart or able we are, we stand on the shoulders of others – past and present, and it is quite arrogant, not just selfish, on our parts to claim the credit and rewards for ourselves.

Even *if* we were to agree that “every man for himself” makes perfect sense and is the fair thing to do, we would have trouble explaining the laws of inheritance. Why, if everyone gains as per their ability, should a rich person’s children end up owning massive wealth?

It is nobody’s case that socialism is a better system and we should move to it. My point is that the old models like capitalism and socialism do not reflect the ground realities on this century, and we need a paradigm-shift in our economic thinking.

Capitalism served us just fine when the markets were smaller & local, and the players were smaller. But in today’s world with unfathomable amounts of capital forming formidable barriers to entry for new players, virtually every market turning into a network-effects economy, patents & copyrights, government influence and lobbying, and complicated capital and labor flows, the invisible hand is not as potent anymore.

(Sidenote – it is quite interesting that the free-market advocates are not vociferously demanding the opening up of US-Mexico border a la intra-EU borders to allow for free flow of labor)

The fact is that whether one worships analytical techniques like Game Theory, or touchy feely leadership of Stephen Covey, it is quite clear that when individuals work towards a common goal everyone benefits more (and the pie is bigger), as opposed to the common capitalist belief that if individuals work for themselves, individuals benefit in an economically-efficient solution. And this particular brand of philosophy is not a part of either of the conventional economic models. We need something radical, something pathbreaking, something that can create win-win situations and an “envy-free” society.

Am I offering solutions? Unfortunately not. Not yet anyway. In any case, this issue is probably for minds sharper than mine. But in the meantime, it may be a good idea to use a hybrid of systems – instead of getting ideologically married to one system or the other, we could cherry-pick the items we like from all available systems, and work with that.

Taxes

I followed with interest the thread on taxation. The tiered income tax structure seems to be a major source of heartburn as it appears to punish people for being successful.

Let’s see what taxes are used to pay for: infrastructure, security, social services etc. Let’s take the example of a road provided by the government. How do we divide that cost? We could ask everyone to pitch in equally. But the guy who doesn’t use a vehicle probably doesn’t use the road much either, causing less wear and tear than, say, a biker, and hence should probably be asked to pay less than the biker. Similarly, a biker should probably pay less than a Mini driver, who should pay less than a Taurus driver, who should pay less than a gas tanker driver. To figure out each person’s exact share, one could go to the highest granular level of looking at an individual’s use (frequency, duration, vehicle weight, tire conditions, loads etc) of each road over the lifetime of such roads. Or we could simplify this into a tiered structure: $x for walkers, $y for cars, $z for heavy vehicles…something like that.

Now let’s change the perspective further. Let’s say income tax is the cost of working or doing business in the country. Pricing theory would suggest that pricing should be value-based, not cost-based. What is the value of the usage of a road for a guy selling bananas out of his cycle-based mobile vending-shack compared to an oil company transporting gasoline? So is a flat tax really such a good idea?

Besides, it’s not quite a level playing-field anyway. While it may initially seem that the taxes are higher at higher income levels (which they theoretically are, based on the government’s own tax structure), the fact remains that the rich actually pay a smaller tax percent than most other people. One word (okay, three): capital-gains tax. Most high-income individuals have substantial chunks of their incomes coming from capital gains through investment or speculation, and that is taxed at a lower rate than “normal” income tax, creating the paradox. Not exactly fair, wouldn’t you say?

I also do not fully buy the story of an inverse linear relation between productivity and taxes – that when taxes increase, productivity decreases proportionally. Are we to believe that at zero taxation a nation would have its highest productivity and at 100% tax it would have its lowest productivity? My sense is that (and I do not yet have proof to offer for this) a plot of these two factors would look like a reverse-S curve with a curved starting tip – for the first very few points, as tax goes up, productivity will go up – counter-intuitive, in keeping with Adams’s experiment and based on non-monetary motivations. Then productivity will decline extremely slowly for increases in income tax. This will pick up speed, somewhat like an exponential curve, creating the first bend/elbow in the curve depicting the sharp decline in productivity. Not too long thereafter productivity will actually start going up for increase in tax levels – simply a function of the fact that people will HAVE TO work harder to make ends meet or maintain a lifestyle, as the case may be. Each additional percent tax would bring the productivity up a little bit less than the previous one - culminating with slope 0 at 100% tax. Just pulling numbers out of my hat, I’d say the sweet-spot lies between 20 and 30% and the steep slope between 35 and 55%, and beyond 65% people are forced to increase productivity. But again, I’m just theorizing about this, and I do not have proof for this one.

Consumption tax has gained some currency in recent discussions, but it’s no panacea either, though it does have the distinct advantage of disbanding of the IRS. In terms of answers, though, consumption tax doesn’t provide much. In fact, most of the questions remain exactly the same as in case of income tax: Should there be a flat tax? Should goods consuming rarer community resources be taxed at higher rates? Should luxury goods be taxed at higher rates than food or other essentials?

The notion that ideology can be divorced from taxation is unrealistic, to say the least.

Budgets and Deficits

As you are well aware, the national debt is now $10.6 Trillion. To put this in context, the US GDP is $13.8 Trillion. In other words, looking at it simplistically, national debt is 77% of the GDP.

Deficit financing is the kiss of death for a nation’s economy. UNLESS of course, the deficit financing is being used to build infrastructure. That’s classical economics. At the micro level, if a company leverages its capital or borrows a lot of money, it will go down in flames if instead of building capabilities it chooses to spend the entire amount on CXO salaries and “sales summits”. At the macro level, for a nation, the only good use of deficit financing is infrastructure development.

Now let’s look at a few proposals from this (completely economic) prism.

Firstly, let’s look at war. As I will argue in the Foreign Policy rants, there are no good wars, though there can be some necessary wars. Harry Truman famously said, “War profiteering is treason.” But ignoring any moralistic musings, if we view war as a purely economic enterprise, it can be argued that war does create immense opportunities for many companies – technology, logistics, fuel, etc, apart from the more obvious weaponry and ordnance ones. And since these call for big undertakings demanding big investments, these companies earn good profits, creating more jobs and pumping up the economy via the trickle-down effect.

Closer inspection would reveal this to be a myth, particularly if the war is being financed through deficits (loans). The aforementioned corporations are usually loathe to share their profits with the rest of the economy. Also, development and building or “rebuilding” takes place in the theater of war, not in America, and so American infrastructure doesn’t achieve the long-term gains either.

We can go in with an assumption that America is so important in the world that the rest of the world cannot let her economy flounder, and it may well be true (just like the US government rushed to the support of financial institutions, which it thought it couldn’t allow to fail). But consider this: even if America’s creditors were to rush to “help”, what would the cost of such assistance be? In return for its “help” the US government has practically bought ownership to several huge financial organizations. If Saudi Arabia, China and Japan were to decide to help the US, what would they end up owning?

On the other hand, consider healthcare and education. While usually not discussed as such, these are, in fact, infrastructure investments. And while deficit financing should be avoided, if there ever was a good reason to pursue deficit financing, it’s infrastructure development. A healthier, better-educated, more competent work-force is likely to provide a very encouraging business-environment.

There has been some concern that government intervention in healthcare will mess it up completely just like government intervention in almost anything does. I believe that fear is unfounded, or at least overstated. While government involvement does bring along its own set of challenges, infrastructure projects often need government support, at least initially, as the private sector is either unable or unwilling to undertake them.

In the case of healthcare, for example, while bad policy can further entangle the mess, a deliberate, rational, and intelligent government intervention could be very helpful. It is no secret that the US ranks poorly on most parameters of healthcare (from infant mortality to morbid obesity) in spite of spending the highest amount of money per head on healthcare.

One of the reasons is the unyielding focus on clinical care and the absolute disregard for preventive care. This is particularly embarrassing because not only does preventive care lead to a healthier nation, but it also costs only a fraction of clinical care – estimates have placed preventive care costs at between a tenth and a thirtieth of clinical care costs. But the current healthcare system has a vested interest in not opting for preventive care.

This is similar to the case of the electric car, where the oil companies saw it as a threat and bought out patents to the batteries, starving development and manufacturing, choking the electric car to an untimely death.

That everyone will act in his/her enlightened self-interest is, on occasion, too much to ask for. It is well-documented that there’s a multifold increase in the number of people quitting when a government bans smoking in public places. The car companies didn’t introduce seatbelts, airbags or catalytic converters until mandated by the law. And of course, there is the whole range of companies from Big tobacco to Enron et al that suggest that self-regulation doesn’t work too well either.

So whether it is universal healthcare or socialized medicine, let’s not get hung up on labels. Whatever anyone may say about communist societies, it is undeniable that most communist nations have done exceedingly well in the areas of healthcare, education, and gender equality.

Doesn’t mean that we should become communists. Just that let’s allow for the possibility that even the communists might have done something right. Let’s not leave a good solution on the table just because it came from someone we despise. The Nazis walked on their feet…doesn’t mean that we have to do handstands and walk on our hands. If there’s a good thing out there, let’s pick it up and get on with it. Let’s see what good ideas are out there and how they can be adapted to the current society, not to create a Frankenstein, but to achieve the best of both worlds.

Civil Law

Traffic fines in Finland are based on the offender’s income, unlike most countries. In fact, as some of you might remember, in 2002, a Nokia director was fined over $100,000 for driving his Harley at 45mph in a 30mph zone in Helsinki.

Now that may seem hardly fair, and actually quite harsh. Till you consider the purpose of law, that is. Is the objective of law to punish offenders or is it to reduce future offences? It is widely accepted that the former is used as a tool to reach the latter objective, which serves as the philosophy behind law.

That being the case, a $100 fine can certainly discourage someone earning $30,000 a year, but will it deter someone who rakes in $3 million a year? While a flat $100 fine for everyone sounds fair to begin with, doesn’t it sound like the rich have the law in their pocket?

(Sidenote: Question to self – If equal income is socialism, why doesn’t equal fine reek of socialism?)

Instead of equality, if we are looking for equitability and deterrence, then wouldn’t it make more sense to impose fines based on the hardship imposed on the individual by such a fine? Of course, there are many ways an income-based fine regime can be implemented. For instance, one way is to fine everybody X days’ worth of their yearly income for each Y mph exceeded beyond speed limit. For instance, one may have to part with 2 days’ worth of income for every 5mph beyond speed limit – so if one were to be caught doing 68mph in a 50mph zone, they could say goodbye to 8 days’ income.

But even in that case I could be argued that the rich get off relatively easily, for to a rich person a week’s salary, however big, may mean just an annoying inconvenience, for a poor person, it could mean inability to purchase necessities – not quite an equal amount of hardship then, is it? And thus we could move on to a sterner penalty for the richer folk – either on an exponential sort of curve or on a step curve. And my guess is that one could argue on without conclusion till the cows come home which specific pattern is the most equitable.

Well, it seems that we aren’t looking for equitability after all; we are looking for stability in the society. In other words, we are looking for something that is considered fair by a large majority of people, if not by all the people. We are looking for an envy-free solution.

In that context, practically even the flat $100 solution works remarkably well AS LONG AS the über-rich “behave themselves”. If Mr. Richie Rich decides to flaunt his wealth and flout traffic rules speeding throughout the day and paying 20 traffic tickets because the cost is just too low for him, then that would breed unrest and “envy”.

Economics and patriotism (and bailouts)

American companies are going down. Ford and GM are crown jewels of American enterprise. One should be patriotic and support these all-American companies by opting for cars sold by them. That’s the party line anyway.

But what were these companies doing when America needed them? Turns out, that instead of helping America in her times of need (e.g. – WWII), these companies indulged in blatant opportunism and what can only be described as treachery. It wasn’t the Coca-Cola sort of opportunism either. In case of Coke, The Coca-Cola Company and its German subsidiary each supported its nation’s war effort and defense forces.

In America, Robert Woodruff made a point of supporting US troops. So metal cans were introduced to meet their needs. In 1941, when the US entered the war, Woodruff decreed, "See that every man in uniform gets a bottle of Coca Cola for 5 cents wherever he is and whatever the cost to the company".

Coca Cola (GmbH) under Max Keith, of course, sponsored the 1936 Olympics. When the export of Coca-Cola syrup to Germany was banned after US entered the war, Coke GmbH created a new soda called Fanta, and kept raking in the cash.

It is understandable (though not condonable) that businesses may be concerned only with profits and may not have loyalty to any particular countries (besides, a bottle of Coke never killed anybody). Of course, that by itself should be enough to hold them accountable for their losses just like they enjoy their gains by themselves.

But in the case of Ford and GM, there’s more. It is a well-known fact that Ford and GM factories in Germany retooled to produce war machinery for the Nazis, while at the same time Alfred Sloan and Henry Ford fought the US government tooth and nail not to retool to help the American army. And after the German plants were bombed by US military, these organizations claimed compensation from the US government.

(Similarly, during the Vietnam war, when an army strike to clear the VC caused damage to a rubber plantation, the owner Goodyear sued the US government)

And now the US government is supposed to bail them out?

Buy American (cars)? No thanks! Even in terms of economics, it is far more patriotic to buy a Toyota manufactured in Texas than a Ford from Mexico.

Freedom of Speech, etc.

This doesn’t really have much to do with economics or economic systems. But media freedom is, correctly or incorrectly, usually a property understood to be closely associated with capitalist economies, and so I decided to slip this one in.

In this respect, the propaganda-press societies and free-press societies are not as different as they may seem at first glance. What’s the difference between having a single government-owned TV channel airing propaganda, and 200 privately-owned news channels parroting government-speak (or sometimes election campaign-speak), using not only exactly the same talking points, but often even the same words and phrases? The latter is actually the more powerful form of control due to the illusion of choice and freedom.

Of course, I am thankful for the Internet and fringe channels which still provide alternative avenues for independent inquiry by curious minds. But in the real world, doesn’t a large majority get its world-view from the medium of their choice? In a sort of circular relationship, most of us go to news sources which we believe would reinforce or validate our preconceived notions, and then allow these sources to cement those notions. Ask a random person in the street a question about any of the major issues, and there’s a good chance that (s)he will repeat, word for word, the commentary of the so-called analysts from his/her favorite channel.

Fox News has often been made the punching bag for media-bias, but the truth is that there is a reason it came into existence and became popular in the first instance. While it is fashionable to say that “reality has a liberal bias” or “mainstream media doesn’t have a liberal bias; it has a ratings bias”, it cannot, in good conscience, be denied that a majority of mainstream-media professionals have liberal leanings and that probably had an influence on the editorializing, at least till the time Fox News came into existence. There was an underserved market, and Murdoch was astute enough to identify and fulfill that need, making the channel so popular. I would have thanked God for Fox News to show us the other side of the picture.

The problem with Fox News is not that it has a conservative bias, or that it claims not to have a bias in spite of that, but that it lacks credibility – one cannot be sure that they will adhere to any levels of journalistic integrity. Spin, in terms of perspective on facts is fine, but the problem arises when someone starts misrepresenting facts or outright lying. Fox's big hitters are Bull O’Reilly (2 Peabody awards etc), Sean Hannity (Harlem school vouchers etc etc), and Ann Coulter (NYT & Daytona etc etc etc etc). Now NYT has had its share of liars, but at that organization, that sort of thing gets you fired.

(Not that MSNBC is far superior in putting a sportscaster pretending to be a journalist in its “chief analyst” chair)

Rants 1 - On Politics

2008-11-04T06:05:00.002-05:00

Hopefully this is the last day of 24-hour politics that has had a 360-degree cobweb around us for almost 2 years. The 2 years have been very interesting, of course.

It is very intriguing that the party professing laissez-faire economic policies favors government intervention on social issues while the party in favor of government supervision actually supports a more “hands off” approach on social issues. It is quite clear, to me at least, that neither party believes in either “laissez faire” or “government mentoring” as a matter of principle. It is more about the voter groups that they have sewn together and what the top concerns of those groups are, however incompatible those demands may be at just one higher level of abstraction.

The only candidate to actually stick to “matters of principle” in this election season was Congressman Ron Paul of Texas, who ended up being a superflop in the Republican primaries.

In this context, I find it quite funny that the “right wing” party is represented by the red color (red states-blue states), which is also the color associated with communism (Red October, Red China, even Red Dawn).

This election has been called “historic” so many times based on the gender or race of individual candidates that many nations watch America bemusedly. Many of them are surprised that there’s (or at least was, till August) even so much talk about the gender or race of the candidates. Margaret Thatcher didn’t shock Britain probably because they had had a Queen for a little while, but even “backward” nations like Ukraine, Bolivia, Panama, Dominica and Sri Lanka had had female premiers by 1980.

India, yes that other big democracy, has had Presidents from Muslim (13.4% of population), Sikh (1.9% of population), and agnostic communities, in addition to the majority Hindu community, all without any hoopla. And yes, female too. Incidentally, in terms of party politics, of the 12 Indian presidents elected so far, 8 are identified as “Independents”.

But then again, India is a parliamentary democracy. So Prime Ministers are “more important” than Presidents. What about them? Hindu upper castes, Muslim, Sikh, Female, North Indian, South Indian, and, in a country often criticized for its legacy of caste-system, Hindu backward castes. In fact the scenario presented by the last election was very interesting: In a Hindu-majority country, a foreign-born Christian lady led her party to victory and asked a Sikh to be the Prime Minister, who was sworn-in by a Muslim President.

The point here is not to wax about how great India is, but that the candidates’ race, gender, religion, etc. should really be non-issues in the most advanced country in the world, and non-issues should not get much attention, leave alone such widespread media coverage, discussion and debate.

On that note, there has also been a lot of noise about Obama’s middle name, and the insinuation that he may be Muslim. The response from the Obama campaign, the Democratic party, almost all commentators with a pen or microphone, and Sen McCain has been that this simply is not true. It is a shame that these people haven’t stopped to add, “So what?” as in “No he is not Muslim. And if he were, so what?” You may like a candidate and his policies or not, but where and how exactly does the personal matter of faith come in?

And, as I tried to point out in the "Hamas endorses Obama..." post, unless a candidate is soliciting, seeking, acknowledging or honoring an endorsement from a person or organization, why should it matter who endorses him or her, when we clearly are unable to know the motives?

And about the candidates themselves:

We have one candidate who voted “present” as a state senator 129 times. On one hand this can be interpreted as apathy, and on the other as a meditated and measured attempt to not let real opinions known, and keep the option to choose popular positions later open.

On the other side, we have someone who ranked #894 out of 899 people graduating from Annapolis in 1958, crashed 5 planes (Aug 58, Jun 60, Nov 65, Jul 67, Oct 67…his first combat mission began summer 67), and in the past 2 years has abandoned almost everything (“agents of intolerance”, Roe v Wade, Tax cuts) that set him apart and earned him the maverick reputation that he’s fighting on.

While one has no foreign policy experience, the other claims he knows “how to win wars” without actually having won any war.

In politics one comes to expect the sin of spin, but one hopes that half-truths and misrepresentations, at least, can be avoided. But evidently the candidates themselves engage in the muckraking.

Obama says that McCain wants troops to remain in Iraq for 100 years, without disclosing that at the town hall meeting, McCain was referring to peace-time presence, not combat.

While McCain goes around telling everyone that Obama “told Georgia to exercise restraint” without bothering to mention that Obama actually asked “Russia and Georgia to exercise restraint”.

So what's my point? Just that if instead of making sure that we are talking mostly about issues and ensuring that our "well reasoned" discussions are "fact based", we see most of the discussions surrounding non-issues, misinterpretations and falsehoods, then something needs a little fixing.

Anyway, like 8 years ago, we are about to get a Harvard-educated president who promises change, who promises to elevate the level of discourse in Washington, to reach across party lines, and to exercise a non-interventionist foreign policy. Let’s see how the experiment works out this time around.

Hamas endorses Obama as well...

2008-11-02T19:27:00.006-05:00

Poster A

I pretended that following the wind of endorsements was a legitimate way to view a political candidate long enough to find this one below. One thing that struck me as interesting was that this endorsement came from a group not interested in claiming that government was the proper and most efficient mechanism to facilitate a massive wealth transfer. Also somewhat notable though is their willingness to look past inexperience....

April 16, 2008
Hamas Endorses Obama

On Sunday, Aaron Klein and John Batchelor interviewed Ahmed Yousef, chief political adviser to the Prime Minister of Hamas, on WABC radio. The interview produced a scoop which, for some reason, has not been widely publicized: Hamas has endorsed Barack Obama for President. Yousef said, "We like Mr. Obama and we hope he will win the election." Why? "He has a vision to change America." Maybe Yousef has some insight into what Obama means by all these vague references to "change."

Of course, Hamas's taste in American presidents is suspect. Yousef also described Jimmy Carter, who was about to pay a call on Hamas when the interview was taped, as "this noble man" who "did an excellent job as President."

Yousef was asked about Obama's condemnation of Carter's visit with Hamas, but didn't seem troubled by it. Hamas, he says, understands American politics; this is the election season, and everyone wants to sound like a friend of Israel. Nevertheless, he hopes that the Democrats will change American policies when they take office.

(This information was found on Powerlineblog.com, so you know it's true)

Poster N

FactCheck.org is our friend, especially in dealing with all that stuff we get in partisan emails over those Internets:
http://www.factcheck.org/askfactcheck/did_hamas_endorse_barack_obama.html

FactCheck is a service of the non-partisan Annenberg Center for Public Policy at UPenn.
http://www.factcheck.org/about/

Poster A

I’ll make a deal with you... If you can assume that it was not partisan emails that led to my questioning Barack Obama’s ability to lead, I’ll assume that your support (or apparent support) of Obama was not generated by the legion of bumper-stickered hybrids that pass us by on the highway. (I don’t know if you’ve heard but apparently a village in Texas has lost its idiot. It’s true, a 22 year old who also seems to be a fan of “Whirled Peas” told me so.)

I am not sure if you pasted the link to factcheck to draw notice to the distinction made between “endorsing” a candidate and simply making it known who one would like to win. I would hope that we are not going to split hairs in the face of an issue that would appear to be worthy of a potentially enjoyable debate.

Instead, I suppose that you pasted the link as a way of saying that you felt that Hamas’ apparent “retraction” of support was meaningful enough to counterbalance their original statement. I would argue that, after witnessing the traction that McCain was getting with the Hamas statement, the retraction was largely disingenuous. I can’t be sure of that, afterall the supposed retraction did come after Obama had made some public statements in opposition of Hamas.

It is interesting to me that Hamas did not know where Obama stood before originally supporting him. I have witnessed a lot of that lately. In fact, that concept is the reason why I am hesitant to support Whirled Peas. I do not believe that Barack Obama’s limited experience and non-existent list of accomplishments make him worthy of so much support. Hence, outside of value investing, I don’t care what Warren Buffet thinks. (Although, I have to admit that I haven’t respected Warren Buffet to the same degree since hearing his views on the estate tax.)

It was my original intention to question the concept of celebrating endorsements in that manner, especially when you consider that this forum is sponsored by an institution of higher learning. In my opinion those endorsements are irrelevant because the endorser is not here to defend their opinion under any type of scrutiny, or witness the quality of the scrutiny. We are, and therefore this is an appropriate forum to express opinions.

I think it’s far more important to think about why people are supporting the Illinois Senator and citizen of the world. What is it that they believe? (“Change” is simply not an acceptable answer to that question.) Do they think that the primary responsibility of the President of the United States is to give speeches? Does supporting someone from a race that has been seemingly under-represented in the past make them feel better about themselves? Are they making inferences about this man’s position before actually hearing this man’s position? It seems to me that Hamas may have been guilty of that. Are they willing to completely overlook a lack of experience just to feel personally vindicated in their hatred for George Bush?

So, with all due respect, why do you support Barack Obama? I’m ready and willing to listen, I just haven’t heard anything of substance yet.

the maVerick

Hamas vs Al Qaeda....hmm....

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/10/22/al-qaeda-supporters-endor_n_136779.html

Al-Qaeda Supporters Endorse McCain

WASHINGTON — Al-Qaida supporters suggested in a Web site message this week they would welcome a pre-election terror attack on the U.S. as a way to usher in a McCain presidency.

The message, posted Monday on the password-protected al-Hesbah Web site, said if al-Qaida wants to exhaust the United States militarily and economically, "impetuous" Republican presidential candidate Sen. John McCain is the better choice because he is more likely to continue the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

"This requires presence of an impetuous American leader such as McCain, who pledged to continue the war till the last American soldier," the message said. "Then, al-Qaida will have to support McCain in the coming elections so that he continues the failing march of his predecessor, Bush."

SITE Intelligence Group, based in Bethesda, Md., monitors the Web site and translated the message.

"If al-Qaida carries out a big operation against American interests," the message said, "this act will be support of McCain because it will push the Americans deliberately to vote for McCain so that he takes revenge for them against al-Qaida. Al-Qaida then will succeed in exhausting America till its last year in it."

Mark Salter, a senior McCain adviser, said he had heard about the Web site chatter but had no immediate comment.

The message is credited to a frequent and apparently respected contributor named Muhammad Haafid. However, Haafid is not believed to have a direct affiliation with al-Qaida plans or knowledge of its operations, according to SITE.

SITE senior analyst Adam Raisman said this message caught SITE's attention because there has been little other chatter on the forums about the U.S. election.

SITE was struck by the message's detailed analysis _ and apparent jubilation _ about American financial woes.

"What we try to do is get the pulse of the jihadist community," Raisman said. "And it's about the financial crisis."

Al-Qaida leader Osama bin Laden issued a videotape just four days before the 2004 U.S. presidential election directly addressing the American people.

Poster S

Game theory would suggest that *if* the source cited in the previous email is a reliable one, the subjects in question are likely to be taking that position to encourage people to *not* vote for that person because they really do not want him in office. The ol' reverse psychology thing that we all learned as children.

What is perhaps a little more reliable is the polling of Eurasian nations indicates that not only do they favor Obama but they desire a weaker US. http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0908/13312.html Russia, who just repeated its 1920s invasion of Georgia considers the US a force for evil. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/uselection2008/2049528/Majority-of-Russians-consider-United-States-a-force-for-evil-US-election-2008.html Furthermore, European nations have a historical tendency toward embracing socialism so they would more easily identify with a political candidate who espouses socialistic policy which would be Obama.

Although this is speculation on my part, I would suggest that most people view Sen. Obama relative to President Clinton similar to the way that Sen. McCain is being tied to President Bush. Clearly the foreign policies of the Clinton administration were looked upon favorably by foreign nations hostile, or at least unfriendly to the US.

The Clinton administration's response to the WTC bombing in 1993 was nearly nonexistent (most people forget that we were attacked there before 9/11 so the "How could this happen?" in 2001 question is sadly laughable), the USS Cole, bombings of US embassies in Africa Dar es Salaam, Tanzania and Nairobi, Kenya (all linked directly to al Qaeda by the way),bombing of the Khobar Towers, Somalia, rejected offerings of Osama bin Laden by Sudan (two years later the embassy bombings occurred) and the toleration of years of repeated violations of the Iraqi cease-fire and UN resolutions by Saddam Hussein (which it can be argued gave Hussein reason to believe that expelling UN inspectors from Iraq would be met with a great sigh from the US rather than a second military action) all went by the boards.

It has been suggested by some that the reasoning of President Clinton was based upon a concern for his approval ratings and place in US political history. Being an intelligent man (and I do mean that, no sarcasm intended) President Clinton was likely very conscious that addressing these issues might lead to difficult if not unpopular decisions having to be made. While the latter is pure speculation and only known to President Clinton, the former are matters of historical record.

If one were to ask the question: "Who would be more likely to be assertive on US foreign policy and employ force: Obama or McCain?" one does not have to connect too many dots to arrive at Hamas' and others similarly positioned towards the US preferences for the 44th president of the US.

A very recent case in point: Obama, while vacationing in Hawaii called for Georgia to "show restraint" after being invaded by Russia. Obama's position on foreign policy seems very similar to that preceding WWII when appeasement and isolationism was popular; policies that has proven throughout history to be folly. It is interesting to note that that the general feeling among the US population was that Europe should solve it's own problems and we should not get involved which sounds eerily similar to the opinions regarding the US recent and current involvement in the Middle East. Would Obama have encouraged Poland and China to show restraint in the late 1930s? With only his potion on Georgia to go by, apparently so.

On the other hand, while President Bush said he saw a good man when he looked into Putin's eyes McCain said "When I look into his eyes, I see a K, a G and a B" and has been very vocal about his distrust of Putin and even opposed Russia's admittance to the G8. McCain made numerous trips to Georgia, called for an emergency meeting of the G7, a joint US/EU/NATO delegation to be sent to the region as well as a force to be sent to Georgia. For what their opinion is worth, The Brookings Institute supported McCain's response. The Heritage Foundation's opinion was that "The Obama campaign has had zero policy prescriptions for dealing with the most serious global crisis since the Iraq war". So it would seem that think-tank organizations with left and right leanings have a significantly more favorable opinion of Sen. McCain's response to real world crises.

That is the long-way-around but the math here is pretty straightforward. So in conclusion to this hurricane of a long-winded posting, when it comes to Obama on foreign policy I have to agree with, and I can't believe I am going to actually print this, Sen. HR Clinton. Sen. Clinton raised a question as to Sen. Obama's ability to handle that "3 a.m. phone call" to deal with a foreign policy crisis. Now it's in the record book how Sen. Obama has answered that question.

Poster A
(in response to the maVerick's post)

Well, I posted my thoughts below in hopes of truly learning why people who are quite obviously intelligent support Barack Obama. I believe that the sincerity of my request and position is made quite clear by my thoughts accompanying the post about Hamas' endorsement. I am disappointed that all I got in return was a three letter response (hmm), as if an intellectual philosophy or political ideology can be summed up in the pseudo-dramatic pause created by a “hmm”.

I truly am interested in hearing thoughtful support of a candidate who sees the federal government as the appropriate and most efficient mechanism to facilitate a significant wealth transfer. Personally, I see that philosophy as wholly damaging to the future of our country. I do believe that Barack Obama has some wonderful personal qualities. I believe that he is a good man, good husband, and good father. He is an outstanding public speaker with an admirable ability to inspire. But very clearly, his approach to our economy is the sophomoric policy of an amateur and a complete shortcut to thinking. I could be wrong, but I don’t see how or where. Unfortunately, after posting on this forum, I still don’t.

Peaceout! Enjoy the super majority and the wealth-envy run rampant!

Poster S

A, I echo most of your thoughts however I cannot say that his public political behavior suggests he has desirable personal qualities.

Case in point: Reverend Wright. Obama attended White's church for 20 years, declared White his spiritual leader and had no idea that Wright was espousing the hate speech he was? Then when the heat was on him he threw Wright under the proverbial bus. So, either Obama knew what Wright was all about all along and agrees with it or he was just using Wright for his own personal political gain (that White used his position in the community to get Obama elected to political offices is I believe generally accepted). I do not think that this is an indication that Obama has a particularly strong moral compass but does suggest strongly that he is an opportunist with only self-interest of interest. Wright himself has said as much publicly.

One need only to contrast this with McCain's choice to remain in a VC prison camp, which began 41 years ago this Sunday by the way. He suffered two broken arms a broken leg and nearly drowned as a result of the plane crash. Then, when captured by the NVA his shoulder was crushed with a rifle and he was bayonetted before being shipped to the Hanoi Hilton. He was refused medical attention and beaten during interrogations. The following year he was put into solitary confinement (where he would remain for the next two years) he was offered release but refused because of his belief in the military Code of Conduct. Following that refusal the VC initiated their torture program (which consisted of more than putting underwear on his head and taking his picture; bindings and beatings every two hours). He also had contracted dysentery and received multiple beatings on a weekly basis. All told he was there for five years six months. Subsequent to his repatriation he expressed guilt for having made an anti-American propaganda statement during 1968 to seek some relief from the torture.

In my *opinion*, that speaks about his character to a degree that is only rivaled by how strongly it contrasts with Obama's treatment of his spiritual leader of most of his adult life. Perhaps when the issue of experience arises one should consider that McCain spent nearly 300% as much time understanding the enemies of the United States on a first hand basis than Obama has spent in the US Senate. McCain refused to meet with anti-war groups and the Vietnamese government because he did not want to give them the political propaganda victory. For Obama to state that he'll sit down unconditionally with similar foreign governments demonstrates, in my *opinion*, his complete ignorance on foreign policy and is so distasteful that it is difficult to

I read a rather disturbing but not surprising article that discusses Obama supporters.
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/10/23/MNEK13MLPN.DTL&type=politics&tsp=1

Some of the statements made include:
"particularly many African Americans who are voting early in huge numbers - say they just want to vote."

'"This is the opportunity of a lifetime for African Americans," she said. "I wanted to be one of the first to be counted."'

'"A lot of African Americans are voting now," Dudley said, proudly watching her brother vote from afar. "Even ones who never thought about voting in their life, they're voting now."'

Why the big turnout this time around? Obama has said little if anything significantly different than any of the previous Democrats.
Why are blacks who would otherwise never thought of voting before in their lives voting now?
Why is this the "opportunity of a lifetime for African Americans" other than the opportunity to vote for a black candidate?

One obvious conclusion to be drawn from this is that many black Americans are voting for Obama purely on the basis of race. It was interesting to see that among black voters polling shows a 90% lean toward the candidate who had the poorest qualifications, Obama (http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601087&sid=a.A1ueaDC_ek&refer=home). It is clear that white voters do not demonstrate a similar voting pattern across either race or gender. I admit to not being a mind reader but the facts are highly suggestive. Is it possible that blacks are statistically significantly more prejudiced than whites and this is the reason for the strong support of Obama?

I ran across a rumor today that if Obama is elected Oprah will receive an ambassadorship (http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/tv_and_radio/article4999071.ece). Oprah refused to have Gov. Palin on her television program stating that "I made the decision not to use my show as a platform for any of the candidates." but curiously she had Obama on her show (http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/Story?id=5736716&page=1).

I was studying up on Obama's health care plan. It was interesting to see that included in that plan is for legislation that *requires* private-sector insurance providers to provide insurance to people without regard to issues like past and present medical condition. This sounds eerily similar to the CRA that led directly to forcing lenders to give loans to those that they would not have otherwise. So, if Obama is elected and if his plan is enacted (with a Democrat Senate and House, both of whom have approval ratings below that of President Bush by the way) that is more than a simple possibility but rather a likelihood, we may be headed for a repeat of the banking meltdown only this time in the insurance/health care industry. So for all those who think Obama will be better for the economy I think his health care plan, among other things, demonstrates not only his lack of understanding of the issues but his inability to learn from historical events. He has demonstrated an equal ineptitude where foreign policy is concerned (see previous email regarding Georgia).

If it were not for the demonstrated bias in the media, it is astonishing to me that these issues are not being raised.

Waiting for anything in the way of a reasoned, fact-based response to your question is apparently like waiting for Godot. I think the components to the answer to your question are few in number and rather obvious in light of the facts. It is interesting however that when asked to engage in a fact-based, reasoned discussion regarding support for Obama many who sing his praises simply chose to "vote present".

the maVerick

A,

Thanks for your response. I don't think I doubted the sincerity of your position and it is unfortunate that you felt that way.

If the "hmm..." seems inappropriate vehicle to convey an intellectual or political argument, the reason is that it was not and is not intended for that purpose. It was merely intended in its more usual role as an abbreviated exclamation of, "Hmm...interesting" and referred to the fact that I find it fascinating that both the presidential candidates have been endorsed by organizations classified as terrorist groups.

Based on your last sentence (and, well, your second paragraph too), I take it that you have assumed that I am a bleeding-heart liberal or at least a democrat. Well, I don't have a horse in the race. My comment was from the point of view of an innocent but engaged bystander observing the circus from the sidelines. Of course, I can understand why you would infer that I am an "Obama supporter" - it is a high-profile and bitterly fought election and anything that is not explicitly supportive of McCain can be easily interpreted as "Obama camp" propaganda. Again, my post was from the point of view of an impartial (I use the term reluctantly as I do have opinions about issues) observer.

If you'd like to have an honest discussion about economics, foreign policy, or decision making process, I am absolutely willing to do that, but this post certainly wasn't about that (as you will see if you scroll down to the previous messages...except for your humorous reference in the original email). Yes, I understand that issues often have overlaps, but this thread wasn't even about "the impact of terrorism (or war on terror) on America's economy".

S,

Yup, that makes perfect sense.

When Obama is endorsed (yeah, let's not get stuck in the semantics) by Hamas, that's a serious endorsement.

But when McCain is endorsed by Al Qaeda, it is a game theoretical strategy (well, actually, first we question the veracity of the source, but for now let's go with the hypothesis that the source is as reliable as the one in the Hamas endorsement). Obviously Al Qaeda knew that whomever they support would not get the support of the American people and hence lose the election. So they are endorsing the guy they don't want in office. Makes sense. Thanks for helping me understand.

But wait! Maybe, Al Qaeda figured out that the American people will easily figure out that strategy, and vote for the person they endorse. So they are endorsing the person they really want in office.

Hmm....or maybe they figured out that Americans would pretty easily figure out this second strategy, and therefore not vote for whomever they endorse. So they are endorsing the person they don't want in office.

Well, actually, come to think of it, maybe they figured out....

Hmm...(yeah, I do tend to overuse it) what was that movie called? Right, The Princess Bride. The smartest guy of all, Vizzini, really has the unenviable task of figuring out which glass of wine is poisoned by the Man in Black.
Vizzini: But it's so simple. All I have to do is divine from what I know of you: are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemy's? Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool, you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.
Man in Black: You've made your decision then?
Vizzini: Not remotely. Because iocane comes from Australia, as everyone knows, and Australia is entirely peopled with criminals, and criminals are used to having people not trust them, as you are not trusted by me, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.
Man in Black: Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.
....and that's just the start....

Or if Friends is more to your taste,
Rachel: You know what? I’ve been thinking about it. I’m really coming around on the name Ruth. I think I would actually consider naming our child that.
Ross: Rach, I-I can’t tell you how-how much that means to me! Ohh… Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You-you hated the name Ruth! Why-why would you change your mind? Unless, you know we’re never going to have to use it. You did see the folder. You know it’s a boy!
Rachel: I didn’t see anything! I actually changed my mind about the name.
Ross: I don’t think so! You’re just giving me Ruth so you’ll get to name it when it’s a boy, and that’s when you’ll swoop in and name him Heath or Blaine or Sequoia.
Rachel: I would—Sequoia?
Ross: Veto.
Rachel: Fine.
Ross: Unless… (Rachel groans.) You anticipated that I would figure all this out and you know that it actually is a girl, and you really do want her to be named Ruth! Well, I’m not falling for that! Okay? Ruth is off the table!
Rachel: But Ross, you want the name Ruth!
Ross: Not like this!

If the 80's and 90's pop-culture references are too intellectually frivolous, I'm sure you can find more substantive illustrations of the game theoretical game-playing being referred to here.

Since you've mentioned Game Theory, here's another interesting bit:
If you are a tiny nation living in the neighborhood of a superpower and have a "property conflict" with the superpower, what do you do? Well, here's what: You try to annoy and provoke the superpower up to the point that it decides to annex the property (this provocation could include, among other things, fighting and killing the superpower's "property guards"), so that you can then cry foul and the rest of the world runs to support you. That's the game theoretical solution. This is not to say that's what Georgia did.

Obviously it is incredibly odd and unpresidential of Obama to ask the occupied country Georgia to show restraint.

http://www.reuters.com/article/politicsNews/idUSWBT00953020080808
Aug 8 (before the Aug 13 NY Daily News published its article titled "John McCain rips Putin, Russia while Barack Obama relaxes in Hawaii")

"I strongly condemn the outbreak of violence in Georgia, and urge an immediate end to armed conflict," Obama said in a statement. "Now is the time for Georgia and Russia to show restraint, and to avoid an escalation to full-scale war. Georgia's territorial integrity must be respected."

When there are 2 warring factions, it certainly is childish and immature to ask both of them to stop cessation of hostilities and exercise restraint. The right way to do it is to ask your enemy to stop hostile action because enemies (or rivals) are more likely to listen to and follow your advice.

Of course, we won't get into the historical, cultural, economic, social, or martial issues surrounding the Russia-Georgia conflict about Abkhazia and South Ossetia here because that is beyond the scope of this email - it is a lengthy topic by itself and warrants its own discussion.

It does come as a big surprise that a majority of Russians consider US a force for evil. I am pretty certain that if 1980's Americans were polled, they would have had a very different (very positive) view of the Russia. But this is 2008, not the 1980's and now Americans love Russia even more. Then again, it was the USSR that broke up, not the USA.

In Soviet times it was generally agreed that the Kremlin preferred to see a Republican in the White House. Conservatives were more straightforward to deal with because they acted from self-interest and were less concerned with human rights than their Democratic rivals, it was reckoned.

Both George W Bush and Jacques Chirac, the former French president, were vocal in their criticism on Russia’s war in Chechnya while on the campaign trail — only to soften their positions when they took office.

(both of above quotes from the same article that you quoted)

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7606100.stm

In 17 countries, the most common view was that US relations with the rest of the world would improve under Mr Obama.

God forbid if relations with Russia were to improve. How would we live in that world? The very thought sends a chill down my spine.

And since Europeans favor socialism, they like socialist Obama. Without commenting on the merits or otherwise of socialism, I concede that the proposition of Obama's victory poses the grave threat of improved relations with Europe. It's a scary thought indeed.

Oh, by the way, look what I found here:
http://edition.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/meast/11/01/binladen.tape/

"We are continuing this policy in bleeding America to the point of bankruptcy. Allah willing, and nothing is too great for Allah," bin Laden said in the transcript.

He said the mujahedeen fighters did the same thing to the Soviet Union in Afghanistan in the 1980s, "using guerrilla warfare and the war of attrition to fight tyrannical superpowers."

Oh, never mind, this was nearly 4 years ago (Nov 2, 2004), so it's probably not relevant anymore.

Have a wonderful day!

Poster S

There was an article in the WSJ the other day that addresses the earlier topic of taxation, specifically with respect to Obama's policies.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB122480790550265061.html

The gist of the article comes at the end.
"The Joint Tax Committee reports that the bottom 60% of taxpayers with incomes below $50,000 paid less than 1% of the federal income tax in 2006, while the 3.3% with incomes above $200,000 paid more than 58%. Most of Mr. Obama's tax rebates go to the bottom 60%. They can't possibly be financed by shifting an even larger share of the tax burden to the top 3.3%."

The responses below in gray highlight what I interpreted to be A's point regarding Obama supporters in that there doesn't seem to be much in the way of factual support for supporting Obama.

On the other hand, there are a number of significant reasons to not support Obama. It is very difficult to understand why so many people are so infatuated with him. The media loves him so that helps. The sub-prime mess has had an effect which also helps, despite the fact that it is the result of a Democratic Congress' efforts to socialize that industry. Iraq has been more of a problem than it needed to be so that helps although the fact that there have been no successful terrorist attacks in the past eight years contrasts strongly with the eight years preceeding the current administration. Oddly enough, most of that has little to do with Obama except for his support of the policies leading to the sub-prime mess and his opposition to the operations in Iraq.

Only a few more days to go, it'll be interesting!

Response to previous posting

On Endorsements

I don't know who really believes what about whom and neither does anyone else. There was some discussion regarding why some terrorist organization would seem to favor one candidate over another. Clearly Hamas does not want the president of the US to be someone who is willing to get their hands dirty. Given the the current choice, Obama fits that description much more so than McCain. So I offered a possible explanation which may be wrong. Who can really say? I do know that the article the maVerick cited does *not* in fact show that al Qaeda endorses either candidate.

The "I know that he knows that I know that he knows..." argument is generally recognized as being unproductive. At the end of the day the common knowledge is that neither Hamas, al Qaeda nor any other similar group or state want a US which is involved in any meaningful way in foreign policy. Clearly Obama has presented a much more Carter/Clinton-like approach to foreign policy which contrasts strongly with that of McCain and therefore Obama is a more attractive option to Hamas and al Qaeda. I am not sure that basing a vote only upon who Hamas or al Qaeda may prefer is the best strategy, it is something to consider to a degree.

Superpowers
Since you've mentioned Game Theory, here's another interesting bit:
If you are a tiny nation living in the neighborhood of a superpower and have a "property conflict" with the superpower, what do you do? Well, here's what: You try to annoy and provoke the superpower up to the point that it decides to annex the property (this provocation could include, among other things, fighting and killing the superpower's "property guards"), so that you can then cry foul and the rest of the world runs to support you. That's the game theoretical solution. This is not to say that's what Georgia did.

I do not know how interesting it is but I do know that things did not happen in any way remotely similar to what you have suggested above in Georgia this year or in 1921 or Afghanistan in 1978 or Kuwait in 1990 or Poland in 1939 or France or China in 1940 or any other invasion that comes to mind over the past 100+ years nor did you relate that back to Obama's ability to successfully manage foreign policy. So unless you have some good examples, can relate them to the situation in Georgia and to Obama's ability to handle international crises, I do not understand what point you are trying to make. And if you do not believe that is what happened in Georgia why would you even bring it up?

If there is some implied statement being made about superpowers, which Russia is not, there are some compelling arguments to be made that show the benefits to the world in having the US as the remaining superpower.

Obama and Foreign Policy
When there are 2 warring factions, it certainly is childish and immature to ask both of them to stop cessation of hostilities and exercise restraint.
It is childish, and I for one am not joining you in sarcasm, I really believe that. Expecting a nation, or an individual for that matter, under attack to show restraint as a means of handling such as situation is absurd.
Clearly there is a serious lacking of understanding regarding the effectiveness of the threat of credible force and how it keeps peace with hostile, expansionist nations. Examples include Israel, Taiwan and South Korea. If there was not a credible threat of fornone of those nations would exist in their current form if at all.

The right way to do it is to ask your enemy to stop hostile action because enemies (or rivals) are more likely to listen to and follow your advice.
Again, historical rather than conjecture is required. This, to my knowlege has never been a successful strategy. It is not working today in Somalia, Rhwanda, Sudan, Georgia, with Syria, Iran, al Qaeda, the Palestinian situation, and it didn't work in any of the examples I provided above and it clearly didn't work for German Jews in 1940s Germany. There is simply no reason, common sense or otherwise, to believe that what you are suggesting could ever work, it certainly never has in the past.

Anyone who thinks a rebellion is the same thing as an invasion has a fundamental misunderstanding.

"I strongly condemn the outbreak of violence in Georgia, and urge an immediate end to armed conflict," Obama said in a statement. "Now is the time for Georgia and Russia to show restraint, and to avoid an escalation to full-scale war. Georgia's territorial integrity must be respected."
Obama's condemnation of violence and war, regardless of how strong or weak his language or feelings is not an effective means for dealing with such a situation. The relevant question is: Does he have any idea how to approach the problem and develop an actionable plan?

In my previous post I outlined McCain's response and suggested initial plan for addressing the situation and contrasted that with Obama's. This is another very clear example of Obama *acting* (in the theatrical sense that is) presidential rather than *being* presidential (leading with a thoughtful course of action).

Of course, we won't get into the historical, cultural, economic, social, or martial issues surrounding the Russia-Georgia conflict about Abkhazia and South Ossetia here because that is beyond the scope of this email - it is a lengthy topic by itself and warrants its own discussion.
It is not surprising that a discussion or even a presentation of the facts is avoided; it was what I took to be A's point.

It does come as a big surprise that a majority of Russians consider US a force for evil. I am pretty certain that if 1980's Americans were polled, they would have had a very different (very positive) view of the Russia. But this is 2008, not the 1980's and now Americans love Russia even more. Then again, it was the USSR that broke up, not the USA.
I clearly do not spend as much time with sarcasm as you but on the off-chance that really does come as a surprise to anyone then they clearly do not understand Putin.
Putin has strong-armed energy companies out of billions of dollars, murdered those who spoke out against him, attempted to assassinate foreign heads of state, and used the Russian military to make explicit and public threats of action against other nations in the region such as Poland in which case a nuclear attack was stated. Putin is a bad guy, always has been, always will be.

Your have implied that the Russian people are angry with the US because the Soviet Union collapsed. Where is the evidence for that?
I disagree and point to the facts that
1. the Russian people have never enjoyed more freedom than since the dissolution of the USSR
2. the economy of Russia its integration into the global marketplace has developed greatly since
3. Putin controls the media and allows the people to know only what he wants them to know and this is a much more likely explanation in shaping popular opinion among the Russian people
(http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/09/14/AR2008091402249_pf.html).

In Soviet times it was generally agreed that the Kremlin preferred to see a Republican in the White House. Conservatives were more straightforward to deal with because they acted from self-interest and were less concerned with human rights than their Democratic rivals, it was reckoned.
Both George W Bush and Jacques Chirac, the former French president, were vocal in their criticism on Russia’s war in Chechnya while on the campaign trail — only to soften their positions when they took office.
(both of above quotes from the same article that you quoted)
Please be specific, I cited more than one article.

With respect to President Bush and Chirac: Yes they did (although it is hard to imagine Chirac being able to get any softer on anyone that is not the US) and they were both wrong. President Bush was not right about everything and Chirac was not right about anything so their paths were bound to cross eventually. What is your point? My point is that Putin is a bad guy, there is a great deal of evidence supporting that view and Sen. McCain has always warned of Putin's true colors.

Since you have brought up the Soviet Union, Obama still refers to the Soviet Union himself as if it were still in existence (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbRRd1tWbKo).

President Regan ended the Cold War and as you correctly pointed out previously the maVerick, the US-led nations won. However, the victory came over a long period of time, at great expence and was achievable only via the threat of credible force (in the case of the Cold War, MAD) which is a concept that not only kept what has been termed a great power war from errupting, but which do not seem to be understood by Obama or his supporters given their collective comments on the Georgia situation.
Credible means that the another has to believe first that you have the ability to defend yourself and second but equally and perhspa more importantly, that you actually have the stomach for war and you're actually going to hit back. Clinton destroyed the second part of this credibility for the US in the global community with his handling of the various events I detailed in my previous posting.
Somalia in particular sent a strong message to the global community (including those such as bin Laden and Sadam Hussein). Many who studied the issue have conclude that Sadam Hussein's defiance of more than a dozen UN resolutions, expullsion of UN WMD investigators was directly related to his belief that the US under Clinton would never do anything and that disbelief in the threat of credible for is what created the conditions that led up to Operation Iraqi Freedom. Had Sadam believed that the UN (led by the US of course) would actually have done something similar to what they did under President GHW Bush he would have complied with the resolutions, at least to a degree, not expelled the inspectors and might have still be running things today. The point again is that Obama's remarks on foreign policy project a Carter/Clinton-like image which history has show emboldens and encourages one's enemies to behave more aggressively (http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9905E3DC113DF936A35751C0A9649C8B63).

In that same video montage cited above, Obama states that Iran is no threat and then states that it is a grave threat. Obama also believes there are US forces in Puerto Prince and Havana, Cuba. Perhaps his self-espoused *single best* qualification to make foreign policy decisions, living in Indonesia from the ages of 6-10, is not as useful as he thinks or would have others believe.
McCain's five and a half years in the Hanoi Hilton and 22 years as a Navy officer is far more valuable formal academic training and practical expedience in dealing with people and nations hostile to the US.

You do know that they, al Qaeda and the Iranian/Syrian supported-insurgents are losing and we, the US-led forces, are winning despite the fact that the media is reluctant to admit it (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y7lROml502U)? As a matter of fact, just the other day the US aknowleged that it killed a high-ranking member of al Qaeda i nIraq and a terrorist cell leader and destroyed a base of operations in Syria. Gen. Petraeus has stated that insurgents funneling into Iraq from nations like Iran and Syria is down from 120/month last year to 20/month.

Even Obama will admit that the US is winning although he tries not to do so which is probably because he is too arrogant to admit that he was completely wrong about these issues and it would give Americans reason to have hope and believe that things are not destined for failure in which case his political case is certainly weakened (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBZHIubZWUg, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Udt92OwPOgs&feature=related).

Obama has always predicted failure for the US which is what he has based his entire campaign upon. Here he is discussing his view of the prospects in Iraq: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BCgPR3Qd2Os (the end is very childish but I dont have time to hunt for better presentations of these things and the clips are no less valid). Obama first said that more troops would be a disaster and that sectarian violence will escalate and then he says that more troops will "quell violence" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5K7NZ9ULVuk). In that same video Obama said that "anytime you put American troops anywhere in the world in they are going to perform brilliantly" while also saying that American military personnel are just air raiding villages and killing civilians (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrW4fOGIMVY). Although I would rather not have the artistic elements added to the videos, the content is unchanged.

So which is it Obama, or is it both?
Would the US military win in Iraq or not?
Would the surge work or not?
Are US military personnel performing brilliantly or just air raiding villages and killing civilians?
Both would of course be consistent with a typical Democrat position as it does have the benefit of allowing for denial of all responsibility for failures and the claim of all credit for successes.

One only needs to review the number and severity of attacks that al Qaeda perpetrated during the Clinton administration with the number over the Bush administration to see that we are safer and it is not for want of trying.

Obama, his supporters and the DNP may have missed it or perhaps suffer from selective amnesia but in Iraq the al Qaeda #2 was just killed and violence is in significant decline being pushed further and further north. Even sources like MSNBC and CNN are reporting this although I am sure it is like finger nails on a chalk board to them (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/27201846/, http://www.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/meast/03/14/iraq.main/index.html).

Obama is so disingenuous and lacking meaningful content that it astonishes me so many people are so infatuated with him.
I think the following clips get at A's original point although the limited sample size should be kept in mind:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uyJSXCZRpc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xod9wV6NKeg

Obama is claiming that he can provide universal health care, pay for the development of technology and infrastructure required for energy independence *and* cut taxes for 80% of the population? That is a great story except it is mathematically impossible to make the finances work out.

Since we are talking about the position of Commander in Chief of all US military forces...
I know that McCain has difficulty raising his arms because of the tortures done to him by the NVA over five and one half years but what is Obama's excuse (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rg1SKjptdYs)? Not wearing a flag pin on your lapel is one thing and being married to a woman like Michelle with whom he obviously has much more in common than not is another, but to show such disrespect for the flag, national anthem and by extension the nation and those who have fought and fight for it by a US senator who is seeking to become president is reaching a level of arrogance that is hard to match. Although Biden's lecturing of Palin on Article I of the US Constitution was close particularly since it describes the powers of a position he has held for decades *and* he got it completely wrong (http://elections.nytimes.com/2008/president/debates/transcripts/vice-presidential-debate.html; http://www.law.cornell.edu/constitution/constitution.articlei.html)!

Should Obama be elected I predict he will turn to the world after all the dirty, unpopular work has been done by those who went before him and then with things more or less under control, he'll build another Greek temple to himself (that is not sarcasm by the way: http://minx.cc/?post=271619), appear before the masses and claim credit for the results of efforts and people that he opposed and marginalized at every turn from the beginning.

Again, Obama has been wrong on almost every point concerning Iraq and despite what he, you, the popular media or anyone else wants to believe, we are winning in Iraq. As I stated above, the power of physical force is the only thing that can sustain the fragile conditions that allow commerce to take root and flourish. That is exactly what is happening in Iraq now (http://www.nypost.com/seven/10102008/news/worldnews/baghdad_goes_boom___in_stox_132978.htm, http://sci.tech-archive.net/Archive/sci.med.diseases.lyme/2006-08/msg00716.html, http://www.defenselink.mil/tfbso/).

Obama's Health Insurance Plan

Obama's plan for health insurance is not looking too promising either (http://money.cnn.com/2008/10/28/news/economy/health_care_and_election/?postversion=2008102807) and if past behavior is indicative of future performance I believe that with Obama forcing insurance companies to insure people they currently deem too risky there is a sub-prime-like future for the insurance industry. If Obama thinks that a national pool or government run insurance system is a good idea, that experiment has been tried in Massachusetts and has been a disaster.

Obama's Personal Character and Appeal

Obama is close friends with people like Ayers and Dohrn (she is the only person to have publicly applauded the Manson murders by the way), Farakahn (dubbed the black Hitler by the Anti-Defimation League), Wright (Mr. "God Damn America" and "US KKK of A") and others of the worst kind of character.

Obama's attempt to minimize the history of Ayers (Obama says that all happened when he was a child) was weak at best but it completely falls apart when Ayers stated in an interview with the NY Times (published 11 September 2001 of all days) that he only regrets not planting more bombs and that he did not "discount the possibility" that he would commit terrorist actions against the US again (http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9F02E1DE1438F932A2575AC0A9679C8B63). Obama was born in 1961 which would have made him about 40 when Ayers gave that interview. Obama was 40, now 47 and during that time these people openly declare their hatred of America; the little boy excuse doesn't fly anymore.

Before any Obama supporters get off on a tangent about why Ayers or any of these others did/said what they did, the question is *not* about Ayers or Dohrn or Farakahn or Wright or Pfleger (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24882600/) or Rezko, or any of the other contemptible people Obama has embraced over the years and continues to do so in his personal and political life, but rather why on Earth would any good and decent person want to associate with any of these people for any reason much less all of them, so closely (his spiritual advisors no less) and for a period of decades? Where there is smoke there is fire; if you want to know someone just look at their friends; birds of a feather flock together; once is happenstance, twice is coincidence but three times is enemy fire ... there are countless adages of conventional wisdom that we have all used at one point or another which can be called upon in situations like these but it all boils down to the fact that Obama has chosen to associate intimately with these people both personally and politically for decades and any reasonable person must conclude that he agrees with them, be using them for his own selfish ends or both. His treatment of Wright and Trinity Church shows the third case to be true. It is clear that Obama is not the sort of person that should be leading this or any other nation in any capacity.

Do supporters of Obama really believe that it is OK to associate with these kinds of people? It would seem so. In the wake of Oklahoma City, the Pentagon, WTC, and Shanksville how anyone would want to have anything to do with anyone that associates with known terrorists is at the same time astonishing and a cause of concern.

We are electing a leader and a national and international symbol of our nation. The message that Obama's long-term friendships with terrorists and enemies of the US such as Ayers, Dorhn, Farakahn and others and the strong support shown to Obama by so many is worrisome.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7606100.stm
According to the above article you have cited, the 46% of those polled who said their view of the US would fundamentally change if Obama were elected and indicated that it was because of his race.
The Turks apparently believe things will get worse with Obama but prefer him anyway. This is particularly interesting because Turkey has been threatened by Russia as has Poland in which case a nuclear attack was explicitly stated (http://abcnews.go.com/International/wireStory?id=5585656). If Turkey or Poland were to wake up to a mushroom cloud would Obama urge further restraint? What is Obama's threshold for an acceptable level of suffering of others before he gives his blessing for them to defend themselves? His arrogance is staggering.

I thank you for suggesting this article as it underscores the irrational beliefs and behaviors of many of those who support Obama and again gets at what I took to be A's point.

In 17 countries, the most common view was that US relations with the rest of the world would improve under Mr Obama. And since Europeans favor socialism, they like socialist Obama.Without commenting on the merits or otherwise of socialism, I concede that the proposition of Obama's victory poses the grave threat of improved relations with Europe. It's a scary thought indeed.
Of course it would as the polling shows that many nations would like to see a weaker US politically, economically and militarily. A weaker US would most certainly be received more positively by these nations. If appeasing these people is the road to improved relations I'll not take it. You would concede? Again with the sarcasm, change the record. Consider Turkey or perhaps India, a very peaceful, nuclear power that contributes very positively to the global economy with a population of ~1 billion people and only 9% favor Obama. It must also be noted that 40% of the people polled in the article you referenced had no view either way. All of this was contained but neglected in your review of your reference: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7606100.stm.

Oh, by the way, look what I found here:
http://edition.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/meast/11/01/binladen.tape/
"We are continuing this policy in bleeding America to the point of bankruptcy. Allah willing, and nothing is too great for Allah," bin Laden said in the transcript.
He said the mujahedeen fighters did the same thing to the Soviet Union in Afghanistan in the 1980s, "using guerrilla warfare and the war of attrition to fight tyrannical superpowers."
Oh, never mind, this was nearly 4 years ago (Nov 2, 2004), so it's probably not relevant anymore.
Have a wonderful day!

What is your purpose with the above quotation?

Are you suggesting that the US not defend itself because it costs money or that it may be difficult? Clearly history has shown the US to be correct in WWI and WWII despite the massive costs and difficulties.

maVerick, so that I am clear about your position on this one, do you prefer that the US not defend itself? If not in retaliation for numerous attacks, are there any conditions in which you would advocate the use of US military power, particularly in its own defense?

Since you are quoting people, here are a couple people I consider to be far more respectable and worthy of consideration in making US foreign policy decisions than the individual you have chosen:
Let me make this very clear: Americans will not be intimidated or influenced by an enemy of our country.
I'm sure Senator Kerry agrees with this.
I also want to say to the American people that we're at war with these terrorists and I am confident that we will prevail.
-- President George W. Bush

Let me make it clear, crystal clear: as Americans, we are absolutely united in our determination to hunt down and destroy Osama bin Laden and the terrorists.
They are barbarians, and I will stop at absolutely nothing to hunt down, capture or kill the terrorists wherever they are, whatever it takes. Period.
-- Senator John Kerry

Both of the above are found here: http://www.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/meast/10/29/binladen.tape/index.html

The only reason a thoughtful persn includes a quotation or reference is to provide support for their stated point of view. What is your stated point of view? I am still unclear as to your purpose in quoting bin Laden and your associated "Have a wonderful day" closing. Are you saying that the US is a tyranny, otherwise showing some form of support for Osama bin Laden or are in agreement with him? It is very unclear to me.

Back to the matter at hand: Obama. Obama believes that because nations like Iran have fewer financial resources they pose no threat to us (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Cnbl_2AbSU). He could not be more wrong and obviously learned nothing from 2001; I know asking him to recall his basic American history and the Revolutionary War is asking a bit much.
As you correctly pointed out maVerick with your al Qaeda example, when fighting what is referred to as asymmetrical warfare, given what is available in this day and age it is not required to have a large military budget to inflict massive damage upon a peaceful nation that embraces personal freedoms with a developed economy. There are always consequences, there is no free lunch and we must accept and deal with the aforementioned issue as an undesirable consequence of our love life, liberty and pursuit of hapiness in a world that contains people such as bin Laden.

the maVerick

----Superpowers
----Since you've mentioned Game Theory, here's another interesting bit:
----If you are a tiny nation living in the neighborhood of a superpower and have a "property conflict" with the superpower, what do you do? Well, here's what: You try to annoy and provoke the superpower up to the point that it decides to annex the property (this provocation could include, among other things, fighting and killing the superpower's "property guards"), so that you can then cry foul and the rest of the world runs to support you. That's the game theoretical solution. This is not to say that's what Georgia did.

--I do not know how interesting it is but I do know that things did not happen in any way remotely similar to what you have suggested above in Georgia this year

https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/gg.html
Georgian military action in South Ossetia in early August 2008 led to a Russian military response that not only occupied the breakaway areas, but large portions of Georgia proper as well.

But I am sure you have some more credible secret sources to claim that it wasn't so. And for lumping Russia-Georgia with some conflicts of the last century and not with others.

----Oh, by the way, look what I found here:
----http://edition.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/meast/11/01/binladen.tape/
----"We are continuing this policy in bleeding America to the point of bankruptcy. Allah willing, and nothing is too great for Allah," bin Laden said in the transcript.
----He said the mujahedeen fighters did the same thing to the Soviet Union in Afghanistan in the 1980s, "using guerrilla warfare and the war of attrition to fight tyrannical superpowers."
----Oh, never mind, this was nearly 4 years ago (Nov 2, 2004), so it's probably not relevant anymore.

--maVerick, so that I am clear about your position on this one, do you prefer that the US not defend itself?

No, just that we be smarter and less arrogant about it.

Not follow the "Neither Liberty Nor Safety" (interesting book by former Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman Gen Nathan Twining) approach.
(The title of the book comes from Benjamin Franklin's quote: "They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.")

And to spend time understanding a problem before jumping in to solve it.

----Of course, we won't get into the historical, cultural, economic, social, or martial issues surrounding the Russia-Georgia conflict about Abkhazia and South Ossetia here because that is beyond the scope of this email - it is a lengthy topic by itself and warrants its own discussion.
--It is not surprising that a discussion or even a presentation of the facts is avoided; it was what I took to be A's point.

As I have mentioned before, if you'd like to have an honest discussion about any of the issues (whether it be Economy, Decision Making, Foreign Policy, or even more granularly Russia-Georgia), please start an individual thread and I will provide an appropriate response.

As I mentioned earlier, I do not have a horse in the race, and I do not want the issues tangled up in Obama vs McCain politics. In fact, for this reason, because emotions are evidently running high in the last leg of campaigning, I suggest that we get back to these discussions after the election.
(In today's heated political debates, it is easy to forget, for instance, that historically, most American wars have been started or fanned by the Democrats and historically Republicans have been voted to power to stop the wars)

Have a nice day!

Poster S

Georgian military action in South Ossetia in early August 2008 led to a Russian military response that not only occupied the breakaway areas, but large portions of Georgia proper as well.
the maVerick has disproved his own point with the reference above. As we all know, Georgia took action to put down a rebellion and did nothing to justify the Russia invasion. The UN recognizes South Ossetia as part of Georgia. South Ossetia is *in* Georgia, not Russia. It is somewhat perplexing that for someone who has offered to present to us all regarding "historical, cultural, economic, social, or martial issues surrounding the Russia-Georgia conflict about Abkhazia and South Ossetia" that the basic geography has been overlooked. There is no justification for Russia's action in Georgia which is the attitude shared by most nations and politicians including Obama; he just has no idea how to deal with it which is the point that I have made and you have avoided. So again, this was never about Georgia per se but rather about Obama's response to what has happened in Georgia. This and everything I have been writing has all been about Obama. I hope that finally relieves any confusion.

It was a contrived scenario to which I was referring and that should have been obvious given the citation adjacent to my comment. Again:
If you are a tiny nation living in the neighborhood of a superpower and have a "property conflict" with the superpower, what do you do? Well, here's what: You try to annoy and provoke the superpower up to the point that it decides to annex the property (this provocation could include, among other things, fighting and killing the superpower's "property guards"), so that you can then cry foul and the rest of the world runs to support you. That's the game theoretical solution. This is not to say that's what Georgia did.
That fictional scenario is not what happened nor can I think of an instance where it ever happened in the past. Distancing one's self from one's own argument with "That is not to say..." is evidence that the author doesn't believe the premise of their own argument so so the question becomes: Why say it in the first place if you don't believe it?
What did happen of course was that Russia invaded Georgia without a legitimate cause in the eyes of the international community. It is difficult to believe that some have such difficulty understanding that. Rather it seems that is again an effort to direct attention away from the original point which was Obama's inability to grasp and deal with an international crisis as suggested by Sen. Clinton?

But I am sure you have some more credible secret sources
I have no idea what is meant here other than yet another example of maVerick's consistently polluting these forums with those types of personal slights. They add nothing to the quality of the discussion, are designed to inflame and should be beneath a grad of this school.

As for who I may know, where they may work and what they may do, that was never the issue maVerick and since I have consistently provided relevant references that are publicly available, your comment suggests that you are not reading what people write but rather narrowly focussed upon disparaging those who have views you do not agree with. Disagreement with ideas is fine and should not be discouraged particularly in an academic institution but when that degenerates into something personal that is something else entirely.

And for lumping Russia-Georgia with some conflicts of the last century and not with others.
I don't understand what you mean here. Not with others? What others?
The reason I mentioned those historical facts was to provide examples of the naive view that Obama has on foreign policy, which you seem to share maVerick, regarding how to deal with hostile, aggressive, expansionist nations: The right way to do it is to ask your enemy to stop hostile action because enemies (or rivals) are more likely to listen to and follow your advice. I thought I was rather clear in making my point.

And to spend time understanding a problem before jumping in to solve it.
Russia invaded a sovereign nation without legitimate cause similarly to Iraq's invasion of Kuwait. What do you not understand maVerick?

My intention was never to have a discussion about Georgia. The intention was very clearly and that was to talk about Obama's ability to handle foreign policy which, again, is why I used the Georgia situation, to highlight Obama's inability to handle an international crisis and deal effectively on foreign policy.

I also cited the Iraq situation as one in which he has been wrong about everything of that effort all the while preaching failure of US forces which does not help morale.

Another example is Obama's arrogant and damaging public remark regarding Pakistan. Why he would state that he'll invade one of the key players upon whom we rely in the effort to fight terrorism while simultaneously stating that he will have unconditional talks with Iran is incomprehensible.

As I mentioned earlier, I do not have a horse in the race, and I do not want the issues tangled up in Obama vs McCain politics.
All of these issue, taxes, foreign policy, personal character, are about Obama. All of these posting with the notable exception of maVerick's are about Obama.
The only *tangling* is being done by maVerick who for one reason or another has never directly addressed any of the issues regarding Obama which has been the subject of all of my postings. A glance at the subject line of even maVerick's own emails bears that out.

No, just that we be smarter and less arrogant about it.
Then why not just write that, elaborate upon it so we all know what you mean by being smart and arrogant and provide some supporting facts rather than quoting bin Laden and appending "Have a wonderful day!" to the quotation? The former seems far more efficient and effective in communicating whatever you point may have been than the latter.

To allow you to clarify yourself, how does that quote from bin Laden have anything to do with Obama's foreign policy, my criticism of Obama's ability to lead on foreign policy, or demonstrate arrogance on the part of the US in foreign policy makers?

As far as not being smart: The war that Obama and the far left in this nation said could not be won was in fact won brilliantly with fewer than 200 combat casualties against one of three largest standing armies in the world at the time who had months to prepare and entrench. Now the social and economic order and progress which Obama et al. said could never be achieved is becoming more of a reality with each passing day. Interestingly, for those who doubted Iran's involvement, the fighting now is occurring in the north, closer to the border of Iran which raises the question as to why the insurgents and terrorists would retreat closer to the Iranian border.

How can so many people accept Obama, someone who has led the charge in predicting US military failure at every turn, as president and in command of our armed forces?
How can people accept Obama as someone who supports and invites into his political camp people who are known by all to either be domestic terrorists or to have publicly supported foreign terrorists like the PLO and Black September? Even former president Clinton has, however subtly, challenged Obama's patriotism.

maVerick, can you clearly explain how fighting terrorism in what has been described by bin Laden as the forefront in that war, Iraq, is arrogant, not smart or otherwise wrong?
Since you chose a quotation that had so much to to do with financial cost you must be implying that cost has something to do with being arrogant. That connection is not obvious, please elaborate.
If you are concerned with financial cost, why would you chose to quote bin Laden and not a report from the GAO, the Pentagon or even the US Congress who approves all government spending any of which are far more knowledgeable and credible than bin Laden on such a subject.
maVerick, if you would address any of that particularly in the context of how it relates to Obama's ability to handle foreign policy that would be of interest.

Not follow the "Neither Liberty Nor Safety" (interesting book by former Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman Gen Nathan Twining) approach.
(The title of the book comes from Benjamin Franklin's quote: "They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.")
I think that we would all agree that the world is significantly different now than it was in the 1960s. "I entered the CIA 42 years ago, and I think that the world is as complex and in a real way more dangerous than at any time since then." - Robert Gates, former DCI and current Secretary of Defense (http://www.newsweek.com/id/165654/page/1). Incidentally, Obama's advisors have suggested that Secretary Gates remain Secretary of Defense in the event of an Obama victory.

However, since you have chosen the quotation you did, it is clear that you believe liberties have been lost. Can anyone list the liberties that they believe have been lost since 2001 and why you believe so?

On the other hand, if the potential loss of liberties were to become a topic of discussion, and I don't know what that has to do with Obama's foreign policy, I would like to hear an advocate of Obama discuss Obama's plans for Fair Doctrine and his recent treatment media organizations that have not been supportive of him with respect to the First Amendment and freedom of the press.

As I have mentioned before, if you'd like to have an honest discussion about any of the issues (whether it be Economy, Decision Making, Foreign Policy, or even more granularly Russia-Georgia), please start an individual thread and I will provide an appropriate response.
It is interesting that you are the one who consistently avoids discussing any of these issues. Anyone who has read any of my postings would most certainly recall me raising all of those issues with respect to Obama. As far as starting another thread, there is no need when all of those issues are being discussed presently and have been for some time now.

maVerick, are you are saying that the discussions thus far or I personally have been dishonest in some way. If so you really do need to explain yourself.

maVerick you say that you do not support Obama. If that is so, why do you take such strong positions that are so closely aligned with the extreme left of the Democratic Party of which Obama has been recognized by the National Journal as being the most extreme? And why are you so hostile towards people who do not support Obama?

For all of the talk regarding McCain voting with the President 90% of the time, Obama votes with his party 96% of the time and his party has a much lower approval rating than President Bush or the GOP (http://www.gallup.com/poll/108856/Congressional-Approval-Hits-RecordLow-14.aspx). Additionally, Obama has managed to get and only about 0.6 bills/year passed in a Democratic Congress and yet people somehow believe he is a great uniter? And his 96% voting record does nothing to suggest that he is an independent thinker or able to see more than his side of an issue.

I've done my best to direct the discussion to the original topic: Obama.

maVerick, since you seem to so vigorously disagree with just about everything I write, why don't you provide a thoughtful argument with some fact-based examples supporting the contention that Obama is good candidate with good character, sound judgment and sufficient experience to be the 44th president of the US and we can proceed from there. Otherwise, I see no point nor have any interest is continuing in this direction.

After this, I decided that there was no point in getting into a petty and meaningless debate with A, who seems to equate every discussion about any issue to an Obama endorsement, and that I should start other threads on specific issues.

At the End of the World

2008-09-29T23:45:00.021-04:00

The morning starts when the bright rays of sun penetrate through the windows and tickle me into getting up. I set out after quickly getting rid of the daily chores.

I’ve been told that hitchhiking is pretty common in Maramureș (this region), so on the road towards Sighetu Marmației I try to thumb down cars, but they keep driving on. Well, at least they extend their hands and point downwards with their index fingers, which I take to mean that they are travelling within the village itself.

Finally, about 1.5km and 30-odd cars later, a navy-blue BMW stops. Two young guys are on their way to Sighet. We get chatting and they ask me how to say a few words in English. And when they find out that I am Indian, they ask me to teach them a few words in Hindi! (Well, to be 100% honest, like most „we know so much more about the world than the ignorant Americans” Europeans, they ask me to teach them a few words in „Indian”, but even so...)

While they do not understand any languages except Romanian, they are big fans of Indian actress and former Miss World, Aishwarya Rai. Evidently beauty and music do transcend borders.

BUNTY AUR BABLI Kajrare (Ochi negri)
Vezi mai multe video din Muzica »

As we get closer to the town, the question of where I want to be dropped arises. I tell them that I am going to Săpânța, but before that I want to buy a train ticket from the gara. They offer to drop me at the gara, but need to stop by at a place for 4-5 minutes on the way, if that’s okay with me. That’s okay with me.

The place they need to get to is on Ștefan cel Mare street and once inside town, we ask literally dozens of people for directions. Nobody has the faintest idea of where the Ștefan cel Mare street might be or, for that matter, which street we are on.

Finally, by sheer dumb luck I see the road marker and get onto the correct street. We stop at a café with orange walls. Getting out of the car, we see some steps leading up to the, well, nowhere really. They seem to have been built for any ghosts that might be passing by and decide to enter the shop through the wall.

At the café bar, we have some ceai, which I am not allowed to pay for because I am a guest in their country. Thereafter we go to the auto-parts counter right outside where they need to get a quotation on some components. While the shopkeeper telephones his contact to get the required details and my two friends laugh inexplicably. Back outside they tell me they were laughing as the shopkeeper was talking in Hungarian on the phone.

At the station, I thank the guys and go to the ticket counter to buy a ticket for tonight’s train to București. There are 2 options for the sleeping couchette – I can choose a berth in a 6-berth cabin or one in a 4-berth version. The 6-berth cabin option sets me by back by RON 96.

Outside, I find the guys waiting for me. They asked around and nobody seems to have any idea as to where a bus going to Săpânța can be found. So they have taken it upon themselves to find me the bus stop, which they reckon, sensibly, should be somewhere towards the road going to Săpânța.

In a couple of minutes we stop by a bus stop to ask where the one for Săpânța-bound buses is and, as it turns out, this is it. I take leave of my kind friends, and as I am waiting for a bus, I figure that now time is at a premium. So I quickly buy an Africana Cocos and a Primola Lapte from the concessions stand and head across the street to the taxi stand.

I ask a driver whether he’d take me to Săpânța and bring me back, and what he’d charge for it. Asks where I want to go to in Săpânța. And before I can answer, he follows it up with „Cimitir vesel?”

Well, that’s right, my good man. The next question is about how long I am likely to stay there. About an hour, I think. I am offered a price of RON50, which I think is a fair price considering that Săpânța is about 20km away.

At the cemetery, one is greeted by a grim reaper, who is not that grim and, in fact, displays remarkable levity. It is while buying the entrance ticket that I realize that my greeting has changed yet again, this time to „Servus”.

I half-expect the cemetary to be packed with people chatting and roaring with laughter. But it looks deserted, which is par for the course for Monday morning. In fact, the „merry” part of the cemetery’s popular name comes from the 2-3 night wake wherein the „mourners” eat, drink, and make merry to celebrate the life of the deceased friend or relative.

The scaffoldings suggest that the church is undergoing restoration work. Right in front of the entrance to the church is the grave of Stan-Ioan Patras, wood-carver and the creator of the merry cemetery. It is said that Patras began carving the epitaphs on the oak crosses in 1934.

The „headstones” in the cemetery are made of wooden planks typically carved into stylized crosses and painted „Voroneț blue”. They usually also have floral motif and geometrican patterns painted in red, green, white and gold.

Additionally, they have painted on them, their subjects, mostly describing their occupation, but sometimes referring to their passions, salient qualities, or mode of death. The cemetery is almost like a collective memory or an open-field history-record of the little commune.

Another fascinating aspect of the cemetery is that instead of the typical third-person inscription „Here lies < Name>”, the headstones here speak in the first person „Aici eu mă odihnesc… (Here rest/lie I < Name>…)”

A few of these crosses also have photographs of the deceased, in line with mid-twentieth century graves from around the world. Also, while a few of the graves are covered with concrete slabs, most have little green patches growing flowers (and even berry bushes).

Not all the headstones are bright and chipper, of course. The chipped paint on many shows the many storms they have weathered. Even the flowers seem to be sun-burnt.

As I turn left by the twin candle-chambers, I discover the only human presence on the lot in the form of two girls, in their early twenties, brandishing cameras. I ask them „E frumos, nu?”

„Sorry?”

„It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Turns out that they are visiting from Bratislava. Their next stop? The painted monasteries of Bucovina!

On the way back to Sighetu Marmației, there is a Roman Catholic church in Sarasău. It is an interesting, modern-looking building with a thin, tall bell-tower.

Click here to check out my pictures from Săpânța of 29 Sept 2008.

The cab drops me off at Memorialul Victimelor Comunismului și al Rezistenței (The Memorial of the Victims of Communism and of the Resistance) as requested.

The entry fee is RON 2.50 payable at the reception desk. There is also a RON 3 photography fee, but the gentleman at the desk suggests that I should go around the museum, and if I decide to take pictures, I can buy the ticket on my way out.

The memorial has been created in the Sighet prison building, and is spread over 3 floors. Before you start going around the memorial, you may want to take the 4mts introduction, available in English or Romanian, at the entrance. You may also want to borrow a copy of the detailed museum write-up in either English or Romanian.

As you go past the timeline boards, and enter the prison, you will encounter John 8:32 „Then, you will know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” in several languages. On the board, I am delighted to see the Hindi version: „तुम सत्य को पहचान जा ओगे और सत्य तुम्हें स्वतन्त्र बना देगा”, in spite of the small errors. For one, they probably made an error converting it from a printed copy to the brass moulds – the 5th and 6th words on the wall should actually be one word. In other words, the space between the two is erroneous. The other two errors are not so much errors as lack of sophistication in the understanding of the nuances of language – the current version says „You will recognize the truth and the truth will make you free”. In my opinion, John 8:32 should read „तब तुम सत्य को जान जाओगे और सत्य तुम्हें स्वतन्त्र कर देगा”

There are cells upon cells that used to house political prisoners, but have been converted into showcases of historical record. While some cells have granular themes in terms of people (e.g. – Iuliu Maniu, the Bratianu family), location (e.g. – the one about the Pitești prison, the home of „brainwashing”) or event specificity (e.g. – the one about the formation of Solidarnosc), most are thematically wider in scope (e.g. – Art behind bars, Poetry in prison, Intellectual life in prison, Women in prison, Persecution of church and culture, Torture methods, etc.). Also marked are the respective cells where Iuliu Maniu and Gheorghe I. Bratianu died. There is even a monument in the memory of the victims in the little green patch in the backyard.

However, the most poignant and provocative, from my perspective, are the gallery of victims (wall upon wall plastered with names of people fallen) and the cell dedicated to life in the communist era. When I walk out of the memorial museum, I have improved my understanding of the era a little bit, and this understanding feeds into to formation of my thoughts and opinions.

I need to mail something, so I buy an envelope from a bookshop and finish the packing and mailing at the post office. The young lady who collects the packet saw me use my laptop when I was checking the address, and she tells me that if I want to access the Internet, I could go to Café Moka on the other side of the park, which has a bust statue of Liviu Rebreanu smack bang in the middle of it (interesting for me as I am reading his „Pădurea Spînzuraților”).

The café is being cleaned. A young guy is trying to give me some complicated directions to another café when the landlady tells him to let me come in and use the Internet. They find me a place in a private room while the floor of the bar and restaurant area is being scrubbed and washed.

As I enjoy my lemon ceai with honey, I try to connect my laptop to the supposed wireless connection, but am unable to. Not only can the laptop not recognize any wireless networks, but the Windows wireless service isn’t running at all.

On the train from Suceava to Piatra Neamț, the computer had shut off in the midst of installing an update due to insufficient battery. Could that have messed up the system files? I am able to find a „Restore point”, but restoring my system configuration doesn’t help either. This is frustrating. Maybe I should find an Internet café that has its own computers.

So thinking, I set out towards the far side of the park. A couple of cab drivers chilling by their respective taxis can’t seem to agree with each other on where an Internet café might be, so I keep going. I ask a youth standing in a doorway, and he too pleads ignorance.

As I am turning the corner around Curtea Veche, the young man comes running to tell me that he just remembered that there is an Internet café on the back side of the building. Great, thanks!

A tween, presumably going home from school, invites my attention to a dead rat; he wants me to take its picture. So I ask him to pose with it, which he does to the charging of his more coy companion.

Right in front of me is an interesting church. I decide to check it out before looking for the Internet café. The church is rectangular and the building architecture doesn’t conform to the byzantine pattern most common in these parts. The inside, though, is beautiful in the more traditional way.

Suddenly, I have a feeling that I need to check the time and that I’m probably cutting it too close to the train’s time. I ask someone on the street and, indeed, I need to make haste. Asking for directions a couple of times, and looking around for apparently non-existent cabs, I hurry down the roads.

Click here to check out my pictures from Sighetu Marmației of 29 Sept 2008.

As I run to the gara, Explorish’s words echo in my mind „This is the only train from Sighetu Marmației to București.” Knowing me, what he was actually trying to say was „Don’t miss it!”

I miss it! I reach the station at 5:44, a good 3mts after the train’s scheduled departure time, and „the trains do run on time.”

A haggard man in a worn-out suit approaches me and tells me that I could still catch the train from Petrova, and that I can take a taxi there for RON 50. I have been warned against swindlers, but I think this guy lives in Petrova (or in its vicinity) and is merely trying to make an extra buck on his trip home.

„Well, RON 50 is too much, I tell him, how about RON 30?”

„Maybe 40”, says he.

„But I don’t have 40”, I tell him. I have a vague feeling that I have RON 40 in my inside right jacket pocket, and I take them out to see that my recollection was accurate.

„This is all I have, and I need to have 10, don’t I?”

Into his battered and well-weathered car, and off we go. He explains, using as few words as possible and well-aided by hand gestures, that the train goes down to Valea Viseului, where it has a scheduled 15mts stop, and only then gets to Petrova (scheduled arrival - just before 7pm), while we will drive straight through the high road, which is why we will beat the train to Petrova.

Some places in the countryside give me a feeling as if I have crossed over into Ukraine. Even the names of places like Crăciunești and Rona de Jos etc. are written in Cyrillic in addition to Roman script. And the name of my destination, Petrova, sounds very much like an Ukrainian name. Not surprising, considering that Sighet is closer to the Romania-Ukraine border than the nearest Ukrainian town, Rakhiv.

Petrova is about 30km from Sighet and the drive affords pleasant views of the valley from positions of vantage. The station in the village doesn’t feel like a station at all – there are no buildings in sight, no benches or covered platforms – none of the usual signs of a rail station. This effect is further enhanced by the fact that in Romania, the platforms are hardly elevated and are almost level with the rails themselves. But some people are waiting there with luggage, which reassures me.

Looking at a couple of gypsy families waiting here, I realize that in his movie Crna mačka, beli mačor, while using caricatures and stereotypes for comic effect, Emir Kusturica actually hasn’t exaggerated too much, as far as the attire, looks and mannerisms are concerned.

Somehow, it reminds me that while Moldova and Transilvania have amazing natural beauty, it is the people that have really moved me. They have been very nice and generous to me, and I am grateful. And I don’t, at all, subscribe to the famous half-joking expression, „The only problem with Romania is that it has too many Romanians.”

Also, in many parts of the world, the people from the mountains (did I hear „hillbillies”) are considered „slow” or just plain stupid.

I don’t like generalizations, but even otherwise I think this is a ridiculous idea. Some of the smartest people I have had the good fortune to know are from the hills. I think what is usually referred to as their „stupidity” is a certain gullibility owing to an inherent trust in people, which I think is actually a very endearing quality. But of course I might be biased - That people are trustworthy unless proven otherwise is also my own approach.

Waiting at the Petrova station, I try, for the first time, the old movie-cliché of pushing one’s ear against the rail to hear the sound of an approaching train. While one knows that sound travels faster through metal than through air, it is very interesting to actually conduct this little experiment and see that one actually does hear the train through the rail quite a good time before it can be heard through the atmosphere, and long before it is visible.

I have waited for about 20mts when the train arrives at the station. The bogie-attendant gives me a 0.5L bottle of water, and keeping my ticket, also issues me sheets, a blanket and a pillow for the night. The journey to București is uneventful, most of it spent sleeping.

Back in București, I can’t find my eticket and only have a vague sense of the time of my flight, so it is right away 133 to Piața Romană and 783 from there. At the airport, I have to wait a while before the Swiss counter opens, thereafter I get my boarding pass for the 12:55 flight rather quickly. The return flight is to the London City (not Heathrow) airport through Geneva.

The Geneva airport has several “plug in” points, little pairs of cubicles with all different kinds of electric sockets, in most lounges and waiting areas, which is a very smart move for any city that aspires to be a global business destination.

The London City airport is small, but it is great in how close it is to the central London. And since the City is where London’s financial institutions are concentrated, it must be very convenient for the Swiss bankers to be able to fly here directly.

So there you have it folks – I have been to Romanian Moldova but not to Iași, to Transilvania but not to Brășov, to France but not to Paris, to Switzerland but not to Geneva, to Germany (though admittedly it was only a flight stopover) but not to Berlin, to Tanzania but not to Zanzibar…

Click here to check out my pictures from the journey home of 30 Sept 2008.

To the End of the World

2008-09-28T23:54:00.007-04:00

My host asks me again if I am sure that I really want to go „to the end of the world”. I am sure.

At the autogara, it is easy to find my bus, for it is the only one around. By the door of the bus, we meet a gentleman headed to Sighet, where he works though he resides in Piatra Neamț. He is a government servant who spends a couple of weeks at work, and then a week off at home. We chat a bit and board the bus when the driver arrives.

The bus snakes along the mountains lining River Bistrița through some beautiful scenery, which I enjoy ever so often when I wake up. That’s how I reach Vatra Dornei (literally „the hearth of Dorna”) – alternating between awake and asleep states all through.

At the autogara my Sighet-bound companion finds that there is a minibus that goes to Borșa (a town on our way) around noon (almost a half and one hour before the direct one to Vișeu de Sus). From Borșa it should be possible to find something for Bârsana, or at worst the originally planned bus to Vișeu de Sus. Time to get a ceai.

After we finish our teas and return to the bus station, there are still 20 mts before the departure time of our bus. So I decide to walk around town a bit and especially have a look at the church in the distance that looks interesting. The church is under renovation and construction work is being carried out even as people turn up in their best Sunday clothes.

Soon, I head back, clicking away as I walk. As I turn around after taking a picture from the bridge, a minibus stops in front of me. My good friend from Sighet is in the bus and signaling me to get on. This was serendipitous timing.

My friend from Sighet / Piatra Neamț is a frequent traveler and has a road map of Romania. Looking at it I realize that about 20km after Borșa, around Moisei, the road forks into two parallel routes to Sighetu Marmației, one through Vișeu de Sus and the other through Bogdan Vodă. The former is just 70km long compared to 85km for the latter and most buses from Borșa to Sighetu Marmației take the former. However, Bârsana is located off the latter, and therefore it is probably hard to hitch a 50km ride from Vișeu de Sus to Bârsana because certainly not many people are likely to undertake the journey involving a U-turn in their day-to-day lives. One option could be to go to Sighet and hitch a ride for the 20km and the other would be to get off at Moisei and hitch a ride for 40km.

At Borșa the bus drops us off at the Unicarm supermarket. It is quite an interesting sight – on your right you see this modern glass and metal building and on the left you see nature growing young in the mountains.

Here we try, unsuccessfully, to find if anything goes to Bârsana. So maybe I should go to Sighet and find a way to continue my journey from there. There is still time for the bus so we have lunch at the nearby restaurant with așa-și-așa food and very interesting interiors, jam-packed with knick-knacks.

At Sighetu Marmației, my companion finds his driver waiting for him. But instead of going straight home, he insists that he’d drop me at Bârsana. So a pear-juice each later, the three of us are off to Bârsana. My benefactor drops me off right at the gate of the monastery.

Mănăstirea Bârsana is a convent built in the post-communist era around a reclaimed church that was reputedly built around 1720 and had been abandoned since 1790. The village itself has been dated to 1326.

As is the norm for the wooden churches of Maramureș, the wooden structures do not employ any metal nails etc., owing to the ban on use of metal during the Austro-Hungarian reign. I don’t know if the little metal stabilizers used in the helical wooden stairs of the peripheral buildings are a later addition. The steeple of the old, main church goes up 56m from ground making the church the reportedly tallest wooden structure in Europe.

The monastery complex is a sight for sore eyes. The tall wooden steeples and floral carvings, the vibrant flower-beds and fruit-laden trees, the haystacks and the pet deer, the scenic mountains and the colorful forests on them, all weave a certain magic, which is only paralleled by the freshness of the air and the peace of the environs.

Beyond the quarters, are the fields belonging to the monastery. I believe they are used to grow food-crops. The tiny reservoir for the little spring in the complex has been converted into a wishing well by the faithful, as is evident from the multitude of coins, and even currency notes (!), in it.

I am lucky to have arrived when I have at the church, as the evening service has just started. A young nun is on her knees doing penance. Two other, relatively young, nuns standing respectively on the left and right side of the room take turns to read (and sometimes sing) from the scriptures in front of them. I like the stand that their open books are kept on – they are essentially turntables for books, and it is fascinating to see that the nuns often switch from one book to other. The fourth, seniormost, nun stands in the background, occasionally joining in the hymns but mostly praying quietly, and every so often goes out to sound the toacă (bellboard).

The monastery also has a little museum, which is surprisingly still open. The entry fee is only RON 1 and the place showcases, apart from historical and religious documentation and artifacts, articles characteristic of life and culture in this mountaneous region. It also does display and sale of handicrafts, mainly wood-carving and weaving related, from the nunnery.

Bârsana is variously spelt as Bârsana and Bîrsana, depending on which rule is followed (the pronunciation remains the same). I prefer „Bârsana” not due to any intellectual leanings towards using the grammar rule favoring the use of â, not î, but merely because in that form it resembles the name of the Indian town of Barsana. Incidentally, the pronunciation of the names of the two towns is exactly the same, though if push came to shove, Romanians would spell Barsana as Bărsana.

Like Bârsana, Barsana has religious significance. The legend goes that Lord Krrshna (Crîșnă to Romanian folk)’s lover Radha grew up in the town. While Bârsana monastery is a female monastery, Barsana town is devoted to Radha and has women in more prominent roles.

Even more interesting than the legend of Radha, though, is the Holi tradition of Barsana. From what I have heard, even as everyone is engaging in color-play, throwing colored water on each other, several packs of women set out with bamboo-staffs and wet sheets twisted into whips in search of unmarried men, especially those from out of town, to flog.

Anyway, it is dark now and I seek refuge in a pensiuna (did they use to be the only source of income of old folks?) managed by a little old lady. Romanians have a saying „Apără-mă de găini, că de câini nu mă tem. (Save me from the chicken, for of the dogs I am not afraid)”, and they probably coined it with the little old ladies in mind. Some would really try to fleece you.

Once in the room, I plug in my laptop and phone. There is a message from Explorish. Făcea treișpe-paișpe (he has been pacing up and down). He is surprised, and happy, to hear that I not only reached Bârsana, but reached here much earlier than expected.

After the SMS’s are over, I figure that I am a little hungry and venture out on the dark, deserted road. The little store is closed, but I am able to find an ice-cream and some sugary, chocolaty drink at the gas station.

Tomorrow we’ll get to see the merry cemetary and the communism museum. Good night!

Click here to check out my pictures from Bârsana of 28 Sept 2008.

The Pilgrimage

2008-09-27T23:43:00.035-04:00

As Explorish had guessed and warned against, I wake up at every stop of the train. At one such stop, I open my eyes and look outside to check which station it is, but don’t see any indication of a name anywhere. There’s no one around that I can ask.

As I am still rubbing my eyes, searching for a name, the train starts to crawl. A clock at the station says it is 1.30am. Bacău! This is where I was supposed to get down. Should I „pull the chain to stop the train” and get down? Neaah...then I'd have to wait at the station till 4.30 or so. Instead, I should go to the next station, and take the train back here, for trains are cozier than the stations.

It takes almost an hour to reach the next station, Adjud, which suits me fine as my train from Bacău is at 4.30 anyway. Asking around at the station, I discover that the next train to Bacău is at 3.30, which is cutting it a little bit too close since it is about an hour’s journey. It doesn’t matter now – the deed is done.

There is a sandwich shop open but they have no vegetarian food. Outside on the platform there is a bar-cum-game-saloon where I find a packet of potato wafers and pear nectar. The wind is cool and nice and I enjoy walking on the platform, which is deserted except for a stray dog sleeping in a dark corner.

My train arrives at its due time, and delivers me to Bacău in one hour. Unfortunately, I have missed the connection literally by seconds – I can see its tail rolling out of the station. The next train is at 9am. So I walk out of the gara and to the nearby autogara and minibus station. Nothing goes to Piatra Neamț.

So I return to the station and catch a few hours of sleep. In the morning a gypsy guy comes to me, strikes a conversation, and talks about how he knows about Mahatma Gandhi, Indira Gandhi and Rajiv Gandhi, and how Mircea Eliade spent a good part of his life in India. He tells me how the Turks are the worst enemies of Romanians, and tries to sell me some t-shirts and belts, which of course I politely decline. Finally, he asks me to swap pens with him „for friendship” and I see no harm in that (I have a very cheap ballpen with more than half the refill empty) even though I know that the ballpen he is about to give me is almost certain not to work.

The public toilets are locked, so I go up to the first floor and freshen up in the toilet-bath suite of the railway officials’ (apparently deserted) office, and get back down well in time to catch my train.

The train to Piatra Neamț is a „personal” train („passenger train” to Indians, slow train to everyone else) that stops at every station and has a lulling rhythm. Since I am still sleepy, this suits me just fine, and I doze off almost as soon as I sit down.

I am woken up by Miss Green, a 20-something girl sitting across from me, whom I have thus named in my mind since except for her hair and nails she is wearing all green stuff - from shoes to dress to jewelry to accessories. She tells me that the ticket checker is almost upon us.

I am having a little trouble finding the ticket – in my half-asleep state I have forgotten where I kept it; this jacket has way too many pockets and I am way too eccentric to have a predictable pattern of keeping stuff. The ticket checker goes on to check the tickets of the other people in the compartment and returns a little later. I have found the ticket and by now I am fully awake.

Looking around, I see a sea of faces - old, young, bored, cheerful, chirpy, silent. The compartment is packed, but I can only clearly see the faces of the folks nearest to me: An old lady a few rows down is completely focused on weaving whatever she is weaving as the rest of her companions joke around eating sunflower seeds. There is one grey-haired moustachioed man smoking a pipe as the woman sitting next to him is apparently trying to sleep. There is a bunch of tweens fighting each other in jest. There's the family whose toddler wants to roam about freely. And there's Miss Green.

Towards the end of the carriage a group of 4-5 young girls is singing folk songs to a guitar. Their songs are lively, youthful and just pure fun to hear, and they keep going tirelessly from song to song. And once as they change the song yet again, I suddenly think „Wait! That tune sounds familiar.” It seems a little bit slower than I remember it, but…yes, I know it! Involuntarily and spontaneously, I break into „Cine trece valea seacă...”

I have barely uttered 2 words when I realize that the girls have stopped singing and it feels like all eyes in the coach are on me. Well, can’t stop now! So I keep going, „Cine trece valea seacă, cu hangeru fără teacă. Și cu pieptul dezvelit..” and signal with my hands for the girls to pick up the refrain „Andrii Popa cel vestit”. Sure enough, they pick it up, but they aren’t the only ones to do so. Many others join in – it’s as if the entire coach is singing now. It is surreal!

Even though I sing (read remember) only two paras of the song, I am showered with kisses, and offered pears, grapes, and sunflower seeds along the way - as if I am a homecoming hero or something. Ah, good thing I missed the 4.30am train, I think to myself.

Stepping out of the station at Piatra Neamț at 11am, I am reminded of my hometown Haridwar in India. It’s not that this place looks like Haridwar; it’s just the orange teleferic (skilift) cars here remind me of the the ropeway trolleys in Haridwar.

Though apparently only personal trains come here, I have a feeling that the small town of Piatra Neamț is a beautiful and popular tourist destination. Of course, I could be wrong, but I do not have the time to prove or disprove my hypothesis. There is a hill waiting to be climbed.

As I am trying to find how to get to Izvorul Muntelui (Spring of the mountain), the village from where the Ceahlău climbing track begins, a taxi driver offers to take me there for RON 60. I think that’s pretty steep. Well, the driver tells me, even if I get to Bicaz by bus, I’ll have to take a taxi from there and they’ll charge me at least RON 50. Hmm…thanks for the advice, but I don’t believe you at all.

Bicaz is 20km from Piatra Neamț and soon I board a minibus that charges RON 3.50 to take people there. On the way, we pass by Lake Bicaz, which is absolutely spectacular. If I were driving down this road, I would have stopped to take a picture or two and just sit down and take it all in. The water is placid, completely devoid of waves. The mountains on the other side stand proudly with the snowy hair declaring them to be old and wise. And a bright reflection of these mountains and forests is clearly visible in the waveless lake, making it look like one of those landscape paintings that are sold as posters and greeting cards. Maybe I’ll stop by here on my way back.

Izvorul Muntelui is 20km from Bicaz, and there is no indication that there is a bus service to there. The taxi charges me RON 24 for the journey and drops me right at the gate of the national park. I have not seen a spring or a creek around the village, so I guess Izvorul Muntelui probably means the origin or the start of the mountain.

The „taxă access” (entry fee) for Ceahlău National Park is only RON 3.50, which is a steal when you consider that the entry fee at Voroneț, which one enters for a very short duration, is RON6. The guard who sells me the entry ticket also hands me a map of the national park and advises me to follow the punct albastru bandă albastră (blue point blue band) trail.

He is a little uncomfortable with letting me go up all alone, especially after I tell him that I intend to return tonight itself (it is already quarter past noon). Apparently the diverse fauna of the mountain includes the lynx and the bear. There’s absolutely no problem if you are in a group, but there is some risk if you are alone.

I shrug that off, and assure him that I will stick to the trail. Now, where can I buy a bottle of water? He directs me to a restaurant close-by.

When I return with a 2L bottle of sparkling water in my „rucsac”, I find him slightly happier as a pair of other climbers has arrived. He asks the three of us to stick together and to stay on the trail, and we assure him that we will.

My companions are a București-based computer programmer in his early-20s and his mustached, religious friend in mid-30s. They are pleasntly surprised to find that I can speak a little bit of Romanian, and I am happy to be able to practice with them. They plan to climb up to Cabana Dochia (1750m) today and rest there tonight, venturing further towards Vârful Toacă (the peak - 1904 m) only tomorrow.

Ceahlău is by no means the tallest mountain in România (the tallest is Moldoveanu), but this is more than a climb – it is a pilgrimage. This mountain used to be home to Zamolxe, the God of Dacs. So sacred and legend-rich is the mountain that it is often compared to Olympus.

Among the legends are those of Panaghia, Vârful Toacă, tower of Bugha, stone of lime, crying stone, shepherd's stone, and lilies, etc.

Ceahlău is also home to some unusual flora and fauna. Apart from the lynx and bear, it has the black stag, marten, grouse, aquila and hedgehog. Among plants, it is has lion’s paw, lady’s slipper, warrior’s blood and larch to name a few.

About halfway to Cabana Dochia, we see hoofprints in the wet ground and the programmer tells me about the tales he has heard about a government biological laboratory somewhere on the mountain guarded day and night by horse-mounted armymen.

The mountain intermittently offers clearnings that afford spectacular views of the lake and the surrounding peaks, but the most stunning views start appearing at higher altitudes, and most of them involve forests of coniferous trees, on a mountain-slope, topped with snow.

The programmer doesn't think that it is snow on those trees, and he'd hate for there to be snow on this mountain. He asks the few people we meet on their way down whether there is snow up there, and gets conflicting answers. He stays in denial till I step on a wet broken branch and exclaim „Zăpadă!”

Sure enough, there is snow on the branch and it is quite likely that this freshly broken branch fell off the tree under the weight of the snow. We are approaching a cover of snow. There are only small patches of snow to start with, but as we step out of the forest and onto a knoll, it pretty quickly transforms into an all-encompassing cover. The good news for my programmer friend, though, is that now that the forest is behind us, the cabin can not be more than half an hour away.

The snow-covered Cabana Dochia is surprising large and preceded by a 4-part signboard that says nothing. This is even more hilarious than the several "Information panel coming soon" boards that we encountered on our way.

I wonder if the cabin is named after Baba Dochia, whose legend is behind the Dragobete celebration. Apparently Dochia was an old shepherd lady who wore 9 lambskins on a particularly cold day on the mountain. But it snowed heavily and as the snow melted, the lambskins got wet and heavy. So she took them off one by one, and finally froze to death.

Another tale goes that he was the daughter of the Dacian king when the Roman emperor was on his conquering spree against the Dacians. She escaped to the mountains disguised as a shepherd to avoid marrying him. She underestimated the cold and took off her lambskin garments, and froze to death along with her herd. As is the case with so many of these legends, a heartwarming story indeed!

The reception area of the cabin is also the communal dining area and I am almost surprised to see it packed. The stewards are running around with ceaiuri and cafele as climbers gathered around tables chat animatedly.

The landlady tells us that the Vârful Toacă is 2 hrs away, each way. Since it is almost 5pm, it doesn't seem to be a good idea to take up that enterprise if I am to reach Piatra Neamț tonight. So leaving our bags at my companions' room, we decide to pay a visit to the nearby skete, even as it is snowing lightly outside.

Upon our return to Cabana Dochia, we have a cup of warm and very sweet (almost Indian sweet) ceai each, after which I pick up my rucksack and take leave of my companions and set off on my way back down to Cabana Izvorul Muntelui.

As I reach the fork in the road, with one going up to Vârful Toacă and the other leading down to the blue band trail, I stop and take a look to the left and then to the right. On one hand it makes me uneasy to leave the mountain without reaching its peak, while on the other I must reach Piatra Neamț tonight if I hope to find a night-train to București.

While I stand there deliberating, a group of 3 youngsters comes from behind me and takes the path to the left. They plan to go to the peak and return to Cabana Dochia, where they have been staying for 2 days. That does it! I didn’t come all the way here for nothing.

It gets progressively foggier and the visibility keeps reducing as I scale the heights in the last stretch of today’s expedition with the assistance of directions provided by the 3 young climbers. The peak is more of a plateau than a peak, somewhat like the peaks of Scottish hills, except that unlike the Scottish peaks the plateau here is more elongated than round. In fact, it is easy to see why it is called Toacă – there is a marked similarity to the item in question. Anyhow, I don’t have the time to ponder over such issues – the visibility is low and the cold wind is slapping my face with a pack of needles. Rushing down, I feel pretty good as I pass by Cabana Dochia again.

As I get into the forest, the fog clears quite a bit, but I can see that it is getting darker. Soon the sun will go down completely and while the moon may be bright enough for me to make out shapes, I won’t be able to see the trail markers in that light. I really need to hurry down.

One of the unsaid guidelines of hillwalking is „never run” for it can be hard to manage your momentum, especially on the way down, and hills are strewn with treacherous traps like loose gravel, tree stumps, etc. I don’t have much of a choice, though, as the sun is going down fast, which is pretty much the norm for mountains.

I am sure that I will fall, but that’s not necessarily such a bad thing – all I need to do is make sure that I fall down the right way and avoid any serious injuries. I give myself 3 falls – if I fall thrice then I will reevaluate my plan of running all the way down to the base.

Finally, I beat the sun to the base – I can see the last red sliver sink behind a mountain as I reach Cabana Izvorul Muntelui - and that too with just one fall on the way.

The guard is happy and surprised to see me again and asks if all is well. There are no taxis in sight so I ask him where I can get one. If I have a phone, he tells me, he can call one for me. Well, I don’t have a phone. Hmmm…that’s a problem.

Well, what about the restaurant? They should have a phone. I ask if he thinks the place might still be open. So he takes me directly to the establishment, which is great as I couldn’t have navigated to it by myself considering that among all the log cabins around, the restaurant is almost unmarked and easy to miss.

He requests the landlady on my behalf to call a taxi. I haven’t eaten all day so as I wait I gorge down some vegetable ciorba and munch on some delicious cașcaval pane with the best chips/ fries/ French fries/ Greek potatoes that I have ever eaten in my life. All for the grand price of RON 16.50

The cab duly gets me to the minibus stop in Bicaz for Piatra Neamț for RON 25, and another RON 3.50 in bus fare takes me back to Piatra Neamț gara. I would like to read my email and charge my cellphone at least long enough to read my messages, if any. Therefore, I walk into a grocery store and ask the middle-aged proprietor if there is any Internet café around. Truthfully, I am just taking a shot in the dark and don’t really expect her to know. But she does, and tells me to go straight down Bulevardul Republicii and the café should be on the right after the third traffic light.

Upon reaching the intersection with Bulevardul Decebal, which seems to be the spot the lady indicated, I do not see any Internet café around. So I check with the old gentleman (yes, I am picky about whom to ask about technology-related issues) manning the movie-rental place. He tells me to go straight down Decebal. When I see a church after about 1km, I should keep going as further down the road is the restaurant Laguna. An Internet café by the name De Muerte (no kidding) is in the same building. He even sketches a little map for me on a scrap of paper.

„Indian?” he asks.

„Da,” I smile back. Finally!

Upon reaching Laguna, I have trouble finding De Muerte. I even ask the girls managing what seems to be a spanking new superstore, but they have no clue. I try to look around the building in the hope of finding the café but without success. Crestfallen, I start to lumber back when I see a 12-13 year old in a parking lot. Jackpot! When I ask him, he drops what he is doing, and leads me to De Muerte, which indeed is in the same building as Laguna; it’s just that somehow from the side it looks like the building has ended much before it actually does.

Internet usage charges at De Muerte are just RON 2 per hour, and I am able to plug in my laptop and mobile phone for charging, and check my email. Explorish îmi ținea pumni (has had his fingers crossed for me) since our call got disconnected last night and I reply to his email telling him that I’ve reached Piatra Neamț safely.

He calls me right away. I tell him that I’ve returned to Piatra Neamț after climbing Ceahlău and that I do not have a plan as to what to do next. Perhaps I could go to Maramureș. I am about to scour the Net to see if there are any trains tonight, and if not I’ll check for hostels to spend the night here.

„Wait!,” says he „I have a friend from Piatra Neamț and he should be able to help you find a decent place for the night. Let me call him.”

As luck would have it, Explorish’s friend, who is an advertisement executive in București, has just arrived in his hometown for a little vacation and offers to pick me up and host me for the night.

A hot shower later I feel almost human again. My host and I talk about Explorish, România and travels. His wife and 8-month old son are asleep, but he shows me their pictures on his iPhone. They are adorable. His wife and he are both originally from Piatra Neamț, but they met each other in București – talk about meant to be.

His son is very cute and loves being in front of the camera. He also loves to suck his big toe, which is considered very lucky in India. This kid is destined to be a star.

As hunger strikes, we cook some eggs and cașcaval for dinner. And then Explorish calls. He’s been hard at work, trying to figure out what I can do for the next part of my trip.

„Here’s the deal: It’s tough to get to Maramureș from Piatra Neamț - no trains at all. But I checked with another travel guru and he said there are buses. So i checked, and found this: Piatra Neamț - Vatra Dornei : 5.45 AM – 11.01, Vatra Dornei - Vișeu de Sus : 13.30 -17.14. Can’t find anything beyond that, but from there you should find some way to get to Bârsana, which has a beautiful monastery. You can sleep there. From there you can go to Sighet and visit the Communism museum. And Săpânța, which is close by. The train to București leaves Sighet at 17.14 and arrives at 7.19. So what do you say? How does it sound?”

„Sounds impossible.”

„So, you’ll do it?”

„Yeah, I’ll do it.”

The morning begins early as I would like to catch that 5.45 bus to Vatra Dornei. My host’s wife and son are awake, and I meet them in the kitchen. The little one is perky and energetic this morning. He’s definitely among the most social and friendly babies that I have met. A quick but engaging conversation and a hot breakfast later we are off to the autogara to catch that bus.

Click here to check out my pictures from Ceahlău of 27 Sept 2008.

The Bull Country

2008-09-26T23:43:00.007-04:00

The train arrives in Suceava after sundown. I walk out of the station right into a „non stop”. The lady selling me the bottle of water has no clue where Mihai Eminescu street is, or for that matter, where Nicolae Balcescu street is, but she asks a supposedly more knowledgeable customer to help. He doesn’t know either, but thankfully I have a printout of the High Class Hostel’s webpage, which includes a small sketch-map.

„Aaaa!”, he points to the McDonald’s on the sheet of paper I have proffered „Centru!”

I am a bit taken by the prominence that was seemingly just accorded to McDonald’s, but ask where I could get a bus to get to the town centre. The bus stop is right by the side of the shop, though he doesn’t know which bus goes to the centre. At the bus stop, it turns out that all roads lead to Rome, and as luck would have it, there is a bus currently parked and boarding. Excellent! But I am still a little lost – from where do I buy a ticket, I ask the folks in what looks like a transport office? It is given in the bus itself.

The girl selling the tickets is nice and promises to tell me when to get down. And she keeps her word even though I doze off in the admittedly very short trip. The map on the hostel webpage could be better, but it isn’t too hard to find the place.

My hostess Monica is perky and welcoming. She shows me around the neat and cozy little place. My bed is in the smaller room, which is otherwise empty. So essentially I have the whole room to myself. Finally, we go back down to the lobby to complete the formalities. Like Villa Helga Bucharest, the per night per bed charges are RON 50. Unlike Villa Helga Bucharest, here one pays at check-out, not at check-in.

Monica gets folks to write down the countries they are from, and it turns out that I am the first Indian here. Don’t get me wrong – it doesn’t have to mean that I am the first Indian to visit Suceava, only that I am the first Indian to stay at the hostel, which, in any case, has been in existence for only 8 years. Even so, it still feels good.

I detect a hint of Northern England in Monica’s vocabulary and accent and ask if she has ever lived there. She nods but doesn’t answer my follow-up: “Whereabouts?” and moves on to other things, among them being the availability of wireless Internet. Excellent!

Another visit to infofer.ro reveals why I got a nonsensical schedule showing very few trains from București to Suceava the last time around – the system is station-specific. If, for instance, one searches for trains departing from Gara de Nord, departures from other București stations are not included. Moreover, if one searches just for trains departing from București the default setting is to show trains departing from Gara Basarab.

Anyhow, I manage to find a late night route to Bicaz, which is to be my next destination as the nearest train station to Ceahlău trails. Though Explorish has emailed me advising that I keep aside 2 days to enjoy the painted monasteries of Bucovina, I would really like to climb the Ceahlău, and I would really like to be back in București by Sunday morning. So, the idea is to get up early, visit the monasteries in Sucevița, Moldovița, Voroneț and Putna, and take in the culture and art (specifically, black ceramics) of Marginea, all in a day.

Of course, for all my bravado, I ultimately wake up not too long before 10 when the sun is shining brightly through my room’s window. Oh, just as well! Monica told me that the shop that sells cameras doesn’t open before 9 anyway. So I rush through the chores and head out into the town.

Suceava is a strangely interesting town. For one, it would seem that McDonald’s is the centre of life here – it is the centre of the city anyway. Secondly, the large Alexandria bookshop encourages people to read by putting up huge banners of quotes from Confucius (Natura ne aseamănă. Educția ne deosebește), Leonardo da Vinci (The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding), Constantin Brâncuși (Trebuie să încerci ne contenit să urci foarte sus – dacă vrei să vezi foarte departe), Mahatma Gandhi (Live like you’ll die tomorrow. Learn like you’ll live forever), Eugène Ionescu (Ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together), AND Donald Trump. No, your eyes didn’t fail you; you read it right the first time around: Donald Trump.

Anyhow, the Photo Shop (not my fault, that IS the name of the place) is right next door to the bookshop. They have 7 cameras in stock, 5 if you count out film cameras. They follow “What You See Is What You Get” to the T, as the display cameras are the ones that are sold – which is not surprising considering that it is a small shop in a small town.

The establishment is “manned” by three ladies – the bored middle-aged one looks like the proprietor and the two enthusiastic young ones are probably the apprentices. None of the cameras are to my liking, but the gushing shop attendants manage to sell me a crummy Kodak C743 for RON 389, which is more than I should be paying, but the proprietor has made it clear that no negotiations are possible and I don’t have much choice. I also buy for fair measure a 2GB SD card for RON 89.

Back at the hostel, Monica offers me some tea. We get talking about food, and she apparently loves Indian food. Almost 8 years ago, she used to work in București for an expensive Indian restaurant owned by a Briton of part-Indian descent. Well, that explains the slight suggestion of Northern English in her.

She is a „certified” tour guide, and takes groups on trips to the monateries and Marginea. There is no fixed schedule; she is up for it whenever there is a willing group of 3 or more people. It is a 200km roundtrip and she charges RON 100 for it (she drives the group to all these places in her car). I think it’s a good deal. She suggests I look around the town today and take the monasteries tour tomorrow. It is a great idea, but tomorrow I intend to be climbing Ceahlău, no matter what.

Leaving my bag with her, I head out for my „sightseeing”. The first stop is Biserica Sfântului Nicolai, which is just around the corner. The church is dark inside but the glimmer of the blue and gold paint still comes through.

Just a short way down from the Piața 22 Decembrie, also known as town centre, is Biserica Domnițelor (Church of Principality), which looks pretty interesting. It is white and has a small garden. As the name suggests, it was the church of the principals of the town, and the royal babies used to be baptized here. The inside of the church is pretty small, dark and austere.

I think I should grab a bite before starting my exploration. Pub Chagall is closed for some reason, so I stop by the Melibeea Pastry shop. They have a few meat-topped pizzas, but no vegetariana, so I must be content with a couple of croissants. As I pay for them, the shop attendant asks me if I am Italian. A year ago I would have laughed at that, but by now I have been called everything from a Peruvian to (most incredibly) an Irishman, and besides she is only a teenager, so I politely tell her that no, I’m not Italian.

A path by the McDonalds goes through the woods and leads to Ceteatea de Scaun (literally Fortress of *the* Chair). It is an easy walk, with a few stairs, and a sizeable wet patch, and you are at the statue of Ștefan cel Mare (built in 1977), with Moldova’s symbol – the head of a bull – carved on the plinth, before you know it. The area around the statue and the path leading up to it seem to be a favorite haunt of young folks bucking school.

The road is flatter hereafter, and goes past a large cemetery. Soon after the cemetery one suddenly finds oneself on a paved tarmac. A left turn takes directly to the citadel, which, incidentally, is not visible from the junction as it is at a lower altitude. It is said that Petru Musat built the citadel between 1375 and 1391 to protect Suceava, the then capital of Moldova, from Turkish invasions. In late 15th century, Ștefan cel Mare added 8 bastions, raised the walls to 33m high, and widened the moat. The Turkish army under Muhammad II nearly blew it off in 1675, but it is said the citadel remained unvanquished. Later it was also victim to a strong earthquake.

As a result, only ruins remain of what must have been a source of might and pride for the Moldovans. Unconquered islands in an empire become potent symbols and an eyesore for the ruling overlord. One can only imagine the battles that were fought here.

Well, anyway, the walls must have been much higher for sure. There is a definite martial disadvantage to building a citadel at a point lower than its surroundings. If the relief of this area was in the 14th century as it is today, the walls must have been very, very high. Unfortunately, they aren’t here to be seen anymore. But what we do see, and what impresses me most about the citadel, is the moat. It is deep and wide, and in my mind I imagine it being filled with water and alligators or worse.

The building itself is angular and square with black-tiled inclined roofs. From some angles they look like a human face with a black hat. Several points in the Cetatea de Scaun afford nice views of the city, and I am sure Sf. Ștefan enjoys them as he stands alone above the chapel day and night.

Click here to check out my pictures from Suceava of 26 Sept 2008.

Back in town, I ask around how I could get to Voroneț, which is at the top of my list of the Bucovina’s famous painted monasteries. There are no trains that go there, but I should be able to find a bus at the autogara. The information officer at the autogara tells me that I should get to Gura Humorolui and find my way from there. He also points me to a „minibuz” ready to leave for there.

To confirm this information, I ask the driver if the bus goes „spre Gura Humorolui” and whether he could drop me at the right spot for Voroneț monastery. He replies in affirmative to both and tells me the ticket price of RON 6, in English. After purchasing the ticket, I contently retire to the back of the bus.

As a backup, I ask the young guy in the next seat if he’d let me know when we arrive at Gura Humorolui, and he tells me that that’s where he is going so I can get down where he does. Great!

At this gent’s stop, I ask the driver if I should get down for Voroneț, and he tells me it’s a little further ahead and that he’d let me know. So I stay there, standing by the door waiting for my stop. After a while, he suddenly turns around with an „Oh, shoot!” look on his face, and tells me that we passed my stop about 2km ago. Considering my options, I tell him to drop me off at the next stop, which he does.

There’s just one other person at the spot - a young, suited gentleman who appears to be waiting for his friends rather than a bus. There are no signs indicating that it is a bus stop – no seats, no shelter, so trash cans, no signboards. So I ask the gentleman if this was the bus-stop for buses going towards Gura Humorolui. He hasn’t a clue.

Luckily, we are standing in front of a hardware store, and I am able to find the proprietor who confirms that I’ve been dropped at the right spot. Another interesting thing that has happened in my transit from cosmopolitan Muntenian city of Bucharest to this rural location in Moldova is that the greeting has transformed from „Salut” to „Sănătate”.

A minibus going towards Gura Humorolui arrives pretty soon and I board it telling the driver where I want to go. When I ask him how much the ticket costs, he tells me that though the ticket costs RON 2, I don’t need to pay anything. I try to pay nevertheless, but he doesn’t accept. I suspect my original driver must have met him on the way and told him to pick me up and drop me at the right spot, which arrives soon enough. I am told that the monastery is 4km down the side-road of this T-junction.

A peasant is herding his 2 cows, sitting on his tiny horse-cart, going in that direction. The road itself if tree-lined. The wheat(?) in the fields is golden and ripe for harvesting. In the distance, a bird is chirping. The trees are changing colors and look positively beautiful. One can see, in the hills, forests of beech, from whom the region Bucovina gets its name („buk” refers to the beech tree in Ukrainian – the Romanian name of the region was apparently „țară de jos” or upper country). These forests remind one of the lush green forests in Shi Mian Mai Fu, which was shot in Ukraine.

Soon I pass over a bridge over the nice Voroneț river with a campsite on its bank. Also nearby is a paintball arena, of all things! I have walked about 3km, consistently trying to thumb down the occasional car going in that direction, when a Portuguese girl gives me a lift. She doesn’t speak any English but speaks Romanian fluently as she has been living here for over 4 years.

The first encounter with the monastery is the high, strong surrounding stone-wall, which makes you wonder why a monastery would need to be thus fortified till you realize that the monasteries of Bucovina had to defend against Turkish invaders, and sheltered large armies inside their compounds.

Mănăstirea Voroneț was built by Ștefan cel Mare in 1487 to commemorate his victory over the Turks at the Battle of Vaslui to fulfil his pledge to hermit Daniil, who inspired him to take on the Turks. But, if my understanding is correct, the feature for which the monastery is known – the spectacular frescos – were actually made on the order of Ștefan cel Mare’s descendant Petru Rareș in 1547.

The blue-painted monastery is quite a sight: magnificent and austere at the same time. The colors are bright, and yet have a humanlike warmth to them. Depending on where you look, you can see either lines of saints and martyrs, or Biblical scenes painted on the walls. Local and periodic references are everywhere. The archangels blow the bucium and the blessed souls wear Moldovan towels while the condemned souls wear Turkish turbans.

A fresco of The Last Judgement takes up one whole wall. Kings, popes, and most importantly Turks and Tartans strive to get out of the fire of hell, while to the right and left demons quarrel for ownership of the condemned. Beasts tear apart human torsos while the deer stands alone, watching.

Another wall depics genealogy of Jesus, and interestingly includes some European philosophers like Plato.

The characteristic vivid blue color is often referred to as Voroneț blue within Romania, and the composition of the color, drawn entirely from natural sources, remains shrowded in mystery.

Such is the artistic influence and historical significance of this monastery that it is sometimes referred to as the „Sistine chapel of the East”, and it is easy to see why.

According to the Smithsonian, creation of the frescos required expertise, stability and swiftness. Teams of painters would first even out the church’s rough stone walls with a thick layer of mortar, then smooth it out with a thin layer of lime plaster mixed with natural fibers such as finely chopped straw. After that, the artists had only a few hours to complete the paintings before plaster dried. Artists had to be chemists too, mixing pigments from rare clays, semiprecious stones and common minerals: Azurite and malachite for blues and greens, heated clay for reds, yellows and browns, etc. Since no organic binders (like egg white) were used, the colors have proven to be unusually durable.

Towards the back of the church are the characteristic fixture of Romanian Orthodox churches: stalls to light candles for Vii (the living) and Morți (the dead) respectively.

The inside is as vividly illustrated as outside, and though the lighting is dim one can only marvel at how well the colors have been preserved through the centuries.

As seems customery for Romanian monasteries, there are large murals of The Nativity and The Last Supper signifying, I guess, the cycle of life. Also true to the style of the other Romanian Orthodox churches that I have visited, the church here doesn’t have any pews either. Metal sheets, whether covering ornate wooden carvings or just engraved by themselves, seem to a favorite style at least in the region.

Interestingly, there are a couple of mosaics that seem very similar to the Hindu Yantras. I wonder if they are an artistic coincidence or a matter of some lost tradition.

The Romanian Tourism website says that a portrait of the donor family presenting a miniature model of the church usually appears to the right of the door in the nave of each of the painted monasteries of Bucovina, though I do not see one here at Voroneț.

Next stop – Marginea. This comuna is supposed to be still very traditional, and is known for producing characteristic black ceramic pottery. Outside the monastery’s compound, a family is taking down their make-shift curio stall. I ask them how I could get to Marginea village, and find that it is about 40km from here and there is no way I can reach there before nightfall.

Oh, well, maybe I’ll just check out the Humor monastery near Gura Humorolui (the town name literally means „The mouth of Humor”). While it is probably the smallest of Bucovina’s painted monasteries, it is unique in at least 3 ways: For one, it was built by the boyar (the local landlord), not the ruler. Secondly, it is surrounded by a wooden stockade instead of the standard stone rampart. Finally, and most importantly, it is one of the world’s select few houses of worship from the age that depict the devil as a woman.

On the way back I have barely walked 1.5 km when a middle-aged man in a beat-up sedan gives me a lift. He drops me off at the T-junction where the minibus had dropped me earlier as he is going left from there. I don’t see any bus-stop markers around and inquiries with the locals reveal that there is, in fact, no bus stop right here, but that I need to walk down further towards Gura Humorolui.

On my way to Gura Humorolui, I try to thumb down the few cars and several trucks going my way, but in vain, which is understandable as it is past dusk.

At one point I decide to cross the road to the other side. To do so, I must step over a concrete slab before landing on the tarmac and finally reaching the other side. I take the leap, and as my foot touches down, it starts sinking in the concrete – evidently they made the slabs recently, the concrete is wet and the cement hasn’t set yet. Thankfully my other foot lands squarely on the tarmac, and I walk on. A few slabs down, I see a slab with 4-5 foot imprints in it. So, if you are ever in the area, check out the slab with a singular foot impression in a concrete slab on the right side of the road while going from Voroneț to Gura Humorolui, and if you hit the one with several feet imprinted in it, you know you have gone too far. So much for leaving an impression!

It is almost pitch-dark by the time I reach the town, so it isn’t a good idea anymore to visit Humor monastery. As I look around for the bus station, I find the first Roman-Catholic church I have seen in Romania so far. It seems fairly new and relatively straight-lined.

At the autogara, which is unlit except for one little corner, when I ask the older man, who seems to be giving directions to the other two, whether there are any buses going to Suceava, he sneers at me, „La asta ora?” (it is past 8pm). Nothing till tomorrow morning.

Well, I have to catch the train to Piatra Neamț from Suceava tonight, and I’ll get there one way or the other. So thinking, I keep walking down the road that leads to Suceava. Soon, I see 3-4 people who are apparently waiting for transportation. I ask them if it is a bus stop, and they point me to a point about 15m further down. They themselves are trying to hitch a ride in a lorry.

At the bus-stop, the woman, the only person at the stop, confirms that this is indeed a bus stop for minibuses going towards Suceava. While waiting for my bus, I keep trying to thumb a ride in vain. Soon a minibus arrives, and the people from 15m up the road and the lady board it. This minibus is not going to Suceava, however, and I need to wait a bit more. I do walk into the little grocery store close-by and confirm with the proprietor that even at this hour I can get a minibus to Suceava.

Finally a minibus going to Suceava arrives, and I board it. There aren’t too many people inside, and I take the navigator’s seat – one of my favorite spots in a bus, the other one being the last seat where I can stretch my legs, lie down, and sleep.

The driver is a young boy, and we chat a little bit even while the bus’s radio keeps piping music, mostly English. And then, I hear something that seems out of place and ask the driver to increase the volume. Sure enough, Impact FM is playing „Shikdum Shikdum” from the 2004 Bollywood hit Dhoom, which, by the way, I panned unequivocally.

Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.

Interestingly though, the song being played isn’t what I believe to be the original Hindi version, but sounds more like Telugu, though I can’t be sure as I don’t know any Telugu and didn’t even know there were any other language versions of the song.

I have barely gotten over the excitement of “Shikdum” when suddenly, out of nowhere appears a Luna-like moped, wavering all over the road. It is manned by a haggard-looking guy who doesn’t quite seem to have noticed the minibus in spite of being bathed in its headlights.

„HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNKKKKKKK,” blares the horn of the minibus and the the moped finally moves out of the way.

„Prost!” I exclaim „Sau beat.” („Idiot! Or drunk.”)

„Prost și beat (Drunken idiot),” the driver responds.

Upon reaching Suceava, I pick up my bag from the hostel and take the bus from town-centre to Burdujeni (the rail station). My train is scheduled to leave Suceava at 11:11pm and to arrive at Bacău 1:28am. For the next leg of the journey I hope to get on the train to Piatra Neamț at 4:15am. If I succeed in doing that, I should be in Piatra Neamț by 6am. After buying the ticket, I plug in my laptop and, sitting on the marble-grain floor, transfer the day’s pictures and charge my phone before walking down to the platform.

While I wait for the train, Explorish calls. He is probably even more excited that I am about my visit to the remote parts of the country. When I tell him my plan, he warns me that it would be hard to catch a good night’s sleep AND be able to catch the right connection, but I arrogantly boast about all my numerous train journeys in India, and brush off the concern.

Our conversation moves on to more interesting topics. In the meantime, the train arrives and I board it. Explorish is telling me about a funny mix-up with my phone number, the train starts moving, and the connection is lost. At first I think I’ve lost cellphone signal, but as it turns my phone has resorted to its by now extremely annoying habit of rebooting in middle of conversations and losing all battery-life. Can’t do much now, except settling down on a seat by the window.

Click here to check out my pictures from Voroneț of 26 Sept 2008.

Quotation of the Day

2008-09-24T15:44:00.001-04:00

"What is the point of attempting something you know is possible?"
- yours truly The Maverick

București din nou

2008-09-24T05:12:00.009-04:00

Swiss Air is selling tickets for flights to Bucharest leaving next day (on the 23rd) for £180, so I take the plunge and buy one online. The latest check-in time is 5.20 am, and the flight through Zurich arrives in București at 1pm. No problem, I’ve done worse times than that.

In line with the plan, I get home by 1 am on Monday night (or Tuesday morning, depending on how you look at it), grab stuff from around the place under the euphemism of „packing”, and get out of the house by 3.30am, proud of my acievement.

As it turns out, however, travelling in London at night isn’t all that it’s slated to be – many of the famed 24-hour and night services get cancelled, and all you can do is wait for the next one. And if you are stuck in an area with no taxis in sight, it could take a while to get there. Revising my plan of how to get to Heathrow a few time, I finally reach the Swiss check-in at 5.35 am, via Oxford Circus, Paddington Station and the trusty Heathrow Connect.

I’m told there is no way I can check in now even though I don’t have any luggage to check in. So I go to the Swiss ticket counter to figure out what to do. The person on duty there is extremely understanding and helpful, but he can’t get me on this flight. How about the next flight? There is nothing he can get me today that would help me catch my connection. How about from City airport through Geneva? There’s just one flight, and it has already left. I can get the same flight tomorrow for £180 if I like. Waitaminit! How about I get the same flight tomorrow, but get only one way, since I still can use the return I bought yesterday is still valid, right? Wrong! Apparently, if I miss the first leg of the flight, the whole ticket is cancelled, including the return journey. Whaaat?! And in any case, a one-way ticket is more expensive than the return ticket. Again, whaaat?! Yes, he calmly tells me – while Lon-Buc-Lon costs £180 „only”, Lon-Buc would set me back by £430 or so. Hmmm...mindboggling! That’s all I can say about that.

So the £180 is sunk cost, and the best offer he can make is same flights, with outgoing on Wednesday morning for an additional £180. Well, since I am already here, how about you get me to Zurich today, and I’ll take the Bucharest connection from there tomorrow.

„Sure! That will cost you £380”

„Nevermind, then.”

Maybe I should check Tarom, British Airways or Lufthansa, he suggests. Well, I know from my web search just yesterday afternoon that BA and Tarom are horribly expensive. Perhaps I could check Lufthansa out. Lufthansa is willing to take me there today for a sum of £520. And while Tarom counter is not open, their associates at Alitalia inform me that it will probably cost me about £600 to get on this afternoon’s flight.

Back at the Swiss desk, the helpful agent hands me a leaflet for http://www.missedaflight.com/, a service for (as the name indicates) helping passengers who have missed a flight to make alternative travel arrangements through the company’s supposed special deals with budget and regular airlines, which has been operating out of Gatwick for a while and just yesterday distributed flyers to airline desks at Heathrow indicating that they would be serving this airport too now. The Swiss agent doesn’t know whether these folks are any good, but reckons that it’s worth a shot. So I call the number, and am told to go to Terminal 5 and speak with BA because they have a direct flight and SHOULD have the cheapest rates. What about all your special deals with all these airlines, folks? I already know about BA, its flight, and its expensive fares. Ehhh!

So, it is clear: I am not leaving today. It’s like a sign – the last time I ran into so many roadblocks and missed a flight was when I was going home to India from USA in 2006…and the airline (BA, which is why I hate them with a vengeance) ended up losing ALL my luggage. But now, as then, I will trudge on.

So, back at Swiss desk to buy a ticket for tomorrow. The agent suggests that I should go up to the lobby, log in to the Net and buy the ticket online as there is a £15 fee to buy the ticket at the counter (or a £15 discount to buy it online, depending on how you look at it). Also, while I am at it, I should file a request for refund of my unused ticket for today, because though the fare class is unrefundable, I should be able to get the taxes refunded and, as it happens, taxes form almost 67% of the amount I have paid.

After buying the ticket online, I get back in town and finish off a day’s worth of work. I was scheduled to have a telephonic interview with an Australian company tomorrow morning but since I’ll be flying at the time, I reschedule it for my stopover in Zurich. The day done, I return to Heathrow the next morning with some time to spare.

The flight to Zurich is painless, and my interviewer calls dutifully at the appointed time, and I take the call in the Smokers’ Lounge which is quiet and has an electric plug to charge my phone’s battery which seems to have run out. The interview is going well when my phone reboots itself and then shuts down completely – evidently the battery wasn’t being charged. A few futile attempts later, it is clear that nothing can be done, and that I must proceed to the boarding gate. The only glimmer of hope is that I did warn my interviewer that this might happen and apologized in advance.

Thankfully the connection is slightly late too, and I get to București Otopeni International Airport safely on the afternoon of the 24th. The Immigrations Officer is having a little bit of trouble accepting that I am the same guy as the one whose photograph is affixed in my passport, but finally I am able to find a picture with short hair on a visa and thereby to convince her.

Walking out of the Arrivals lounge, one is confronted by taxi drivers aggressively vending their services. But they are not half as aggressive as those outside train stations in Delhi, where I have been trained, and hence I skilfully dodge them and make a beeline for the ATM – I have pledged to do this trip using public transportation as much as possible because for one it is the way to really discover a country and for another it provides a greater interface with local people.

I remember from the Hostelling International’s website that bus number 783 goes to the city centre and that Villa Helga is 200 metres from there. So the task at hand is just to find the bus stop. The teenager at the information desk doesn’t understand English, but when spoken to in Romanian sends me downstairs to the other side of the building. As I walk outside of the building, I am perplexed as there don’t seem to be any signs or queues or any other indications that there is a bus stop around. Did I even understand the instructions given by that boy correctly?

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a man in a reflective jacket in some distance. So I go up to him and ask, “Unde este stația de autobuz?” He tells me that it is in front of the gate, and points me back to where I came from. I turn around to see that a group of 3-4 people has gathered around the place.

On my way back towards the gate, a lost looking guy asks me if I know where the bus stop is. Come along, I say. He is a Swiss computer programmer, has lived in San Francisco for about 6 months, and is on his way to Bulgaria for the wedding of a friend. His destination is closer from here than from Sofia, which explains why he has landed here, and he plans to spend the few hours he has in București to explore the city. He tried to find a locker or a cloak room to keep his luggage at the airport, but evidently nobody understood him.

We don’t have to wait long at the bus stop after buying the RON 7 return ticket (valid for 3 months) for the express line 783 from the nearby ticket-counter. I’m impressed by the bus we have boarded – it appears to much nicer than many of the TfL buses back in London. Oddly, though, even though passengers can board the bus from either of the two doors, the ticket-validation machine is installed only by the driver’s seat. So when the bus is crowded, one boarding through the back door must have to wrestle through the crowd to get the ticket validated.

An LCD panel shows the updates on the journey – the route, approaching bus stops, connections available etc. – quite a bit like Jacksonville FL. And it is pretty amusing, due to the harried and rushed people around us, to hear the endearing calm recorded voice go “Uitați stația...” announcing the name of the stop and the connections available from it.

What throws me off a bit is that I can’t see any shelters or boards that indicate a bus-stop at the places we are stopping. I’m sure that because of the adequate help of the LCD and LED panels and the announcer-lady, we will find the right stop to get off, but my concern is about how, if one is walking down the pavement, does one find a bus stop to board a bus. Finally, I notice the tiny, easy-to-miss signs reading “RATB” and bus numbers, stuck on what seem to be electric poles near the bus stops. Well, that’s not much help, I think to myself. My concerns are finally alleviated as we enter the city and proper bus-stop shelters start appearing.

By now, I have sort of unofficially become the București guide of the Swiss guy, telling him about the places to go to and places to see (I must say that it is a strange feeling to be doing this in a country that I don't reside it). I forewarn him as we are approaching Arcul de Triumf and he manages to take a surprisingly good picture from the moving bus. Alighting from the bus at Piața Unirii, which to the best of my knowledge and belief is the city centre, he wonders aloud how to find a place to keep his bag for a couple of hours to as to freely roam about and get a feel of the town. Since the hostel is supposed to be close-by, I tell him that he could probably leave it at the reception there.

How do we figure out which direction to take, though? No problem! I grab this excellent opportunity to practice my Romanian, and ask a lady at the book stall where the Mihai Eminescu Road is. She doesn’t know, but calls over another lady from a nearby stall and asks her. Apparently, it is not too far from Piața Română which we passed by on the bus. As the ladies utter Piața Română, my brain registers something odd about the pronounciation, though I can’t put my finger at exactly what it is. In any event, the lady from the bookstalls even opens up a map from her shop and shows Mihai Eminescu Road to us.

While it is possible to take a bus, we choose to walk up there, passing Piața Universității, and turning right at Piața Română. It has been significantly longer than 200 meteres, and the hostel is nowhere in sight. The Swiss guy gives up soon, and decides that a better idea for him would be to give a few bucks to one of the building security guards and have him take care of the bag for a couple of hours.

I keep inching ahead till finally I see a window with a YHA sticker on it. It seems to be the right place - the adjacent houses have respectively the preceding and succeeding building numbers. But where’s the entrance to Villa Helga? The shopkeeper next door tells me to use the black side-gate, which I open gingerly because there are no indications whatsoever that this is indeed the hostel. Thankfully it is, and though I don’t have a reservation, the welcome is warm and unreserved. As the hostess shows me around, I have but one question: Can I use Internet in here? Yes, I can, and it would cost me €1 per hour.

After laying claim on a bed by the window, and quickly cleaning up, I ask the hosts about whether Palatul Parlamentului might still be open at this hour – I’ve been there before, but my camera’s battery ran out, and it’s worth visiting again just to take pictures from the balcony. I’m told that most places, including Palatul Parlamentului and Palatul lui Cotroceni close at 4pm. Since it is already quarter to 4, it is not even worth an attempt right now.

So what CAN I do? Not much, right now, but at night I could eat at the Caru cu Bere and check out the Lăptăria lui Enache, both near Piața Universității, my hostess tells me. Caru cu Bere serves has been serving traditional Romanian cuisine for over a century, and though the name of Enache’s Milkbar may evoke images of Korova (from A Clockwork Orange), apparently we don’t live in the 70’s anymore. She hands me a Xeroxed map of the area, and retires.

So maybe I should check my email. To this end I try to get hold of the host, whom I find in the TV room watching what seems to be a FoxNewsesque tirade-dressed-as-debate. How do I use my laptop to access the Internet? Well, I can’t because he has let people plug out the Ethernet cable from the one computer in the house for use with their laptops, and his computer has been damaged in the process. So the only way to use Internet is at the PC in the TV room, though he plans to install wireless soon. Fine by me! Oh, by the way, what’s with the 200m from town centre? He looks genuinely surprised – apparently it’s a typo, and he corrects it right away: 200m from bus stop for buses going to centre.

Hmmm...I’ll just go grab a bottle of water from the non-stop shop (24-hour store) next door before I get online.

The shopkeeper is sitting on the steps and signals me to go ahead in. Inside, I don’t see water. So I ask „Nu ai apă plată?”

Turns out the fridge is behind me, partly hidden by the door. So I get a bottle of Dorna and an Orange prepaid SIM card. He says that I speak Romanian well.

„Nuuu!”, I protest „Vorbesc numai puțin.”

„Vorbiți puțin ba pronunțarea dumneavoastră e mai bună decât niște români.”

„Haha! Mulțumesc!”

Enough of an ego boost. Now on to more important things.

So I check my emails and write a few, including one to my interviewer asking if he could call be again to finish off the interview the next morning. Surprisingly, as late as it is in Sydney, he replies almost immediately confirming that he would like to do so. Load off my head!

An English guest of Spanish origin, who has been watching the music channels, asks me, for some reason, whether I am Belgian. Well, I am not, thank you very much.

From an email I gather that a friend in London had her place broken into and robbed. These days you never know!

Anyway, so far it looks like I should go up to Moldova and be back around Saturday night. In order to visit the Moldovița, Sucevița, Voroneț and Putna monasteries and Marginea village, it seems that the best thing to do would be to get to Suceava. The Romanian Railways website says that there is an early morning train to Suceava, and the next train is late in the afternoon. I should take the early morning train so as to save daytime for sightseeing etc.

All that settled, it’s time to walk around the city and enjoy the evening breeze. I have used the Net for about 2 hrs, but when I ask my host how much I owe him, he waves me away, telling me that I don't need to pay. Some way down the Mihai Eminescu road, a little „Fructe și legume” stall reminds me that I should probably eat something. The pears look nice and the prices are displayed in kilograms, so I ask if I can buy a quarter of a kilo. The lady is so happy to see me speak Romanian that she offers the ask for free. Of course, I pay her for the pears, but it feels pretty good.

Piața Unirii is as commercial and full of bustle as it was last year. I am disappointed to see that the green lighting is gone – it made the tree-lined sidewalks look so mystical and romantic.

So I walk down to Palatul Parlamentului, which looks much more regal and interesting at night. The weather has been dry, and the cool breeze feels nice – perfect for a long walk.

Trying to find the Caru cu Bere is turning out to be an exercise in futility and I am hungry, so I decide to dine at a restaurant with badly executed ceiling replica of the Sistine Chapel murals and eminently forgettable food. Lăptăria would have to wait for another day as I haven’t slept a wink in 3 nights and I have an interview and a train to catch early in the morning.

In the morning, my Australian interviewer calls dutifully and I have a good conversation with him. A quick look at the watch at the end of the conversation, however, suggests that I have missed the morning train to Suceava has left. So I’ll just go ahead and catch up on a few more hours’ sleep.

Finally upon reaching Gara de Nord (North Station), I buy a ticket to the first Moldova-bound train, which is the 12:00 noon train to Iași for RON 73.40. Since I have over an hour on my hands, I decide to go back to Piața Română and Piața Universitații to click some pictures.

The most striking feature of the Piața Română is the Academia de Studii Economice building with bold red letters saying „www.ase.ro” on its top. While the building itself is interesting, I am most intrigued by the fact that I have never seen a public high-education institution display its website address more prominently, or even as prominently as, its official name. I don’t know whether to attribute ASE’s display to the web-marketing savvy of its public relations people or more generally to the Internet-friendliness of the Romanian people.

While crossing the street I see a statue of the Capitoline wolf with Romulus and Remus (a stone replica of the bronze statue in Campidoglio). That’s when I finally realize that it is not Piața Română (Romanian Square) but Piața Romană (Roman Square).

Piața Romană is also home to a great, big visual joke, though most Romanians probably don’t give it as much as a second glance. One of the buildings flanking the square is a residential building masted with „Lukoil Uleiuri de Motor” in bold letters. And right next to this message is a giant Coca-Cola bottle pouring its contents into a glass. Maybe I have a very strange sense of humor, but I am certainly tickled by the visual.

Next, I walk down to Piața Universității with whose name I have had some cofusion. Well, it seems that though it is usually referred to as Piața Universității, its official name is Piața 21 Decembrie 1989. Additionally, my host was correct: there is a milestone here that clearly says „București 0 km”…this is the real town-centre.

I quickly take pictures of the milestone, the four statues, students’ church and Jos Pălăria restaurant, and return to Gara de Nord. The train station itself also has a few good subjects and I happily click away.

A couple of days ago Explorish had emailed me a list of some of the greatest places I can visit. Now, in order to figure out how to organize my trip, it would probably be best to see how they are located with respect to each other. With this end in mind, I visit the bookstalls and the bookshop at the station, but none of them sells a map of Romania.

Since there’s still a little time left, I decide to grab a bite at one of the restaurants. While nibbling on my pizza, I get distracted by a loud noise for a moment, and when I turn back, my camera is gone. It's time for my train, but I like the camera quite a bit so I feel I should at least try to find it.

I ask the janitor mopping the floor, but she doesn't seem to understand one word coming out of my mouth, so I go back to the nice girl who took my order. She directs me to a stout, moustachioed man who seems to crawl when he walks, drawl when he speaks, and think even more slowly. Anyhow, he follows me to the table I was at, asks the janitor, takes me back to the cas register, shows me the board that says that the shop cannot be held responsible for items lost, and shrugs his shoulders.

My train to Iași has left by now and, in any case, I have decided that I must allow for some self-doubt and allow for the slight possibility that I might have left it at one of the bookstalls I visted after taking the photos at the station. Unfortunately, as expected, nothing comes out of that quest. Last attempt is to try to find a Lost And Found office. The Information counter lady doesn't know anything about it, nor does the Public Relations lady. The policeman directs me to an officer around the corner, and the folk there direct me back to the police station. Ehh, nevermind.

While usually I am pretty aware of my surroundings, I guess I was a bit preoccupied because it's pretty clear that someone specifically followed me with the purpose of grabbing the camera - With the camera slung on my shoulder, I was basically roaming about with „TOURIST” printed in bold letters on my forehead. Come to think of it, even if I didn’t have the camera on the shoulder, I still have „TOURIST” printed in bold letters on my forehead anyway. So there!

Another RON 73.40 ticket and on to my train for Suceava.

Click here to check out my pictures from București of 24 Sept 2008.

Fireworks!

2008-09-14T23:55:00.001-04:00

Earlier this evening as I was just hanging around reading Pushkin (just trying to sound smarter than I am - in reality, I was just playing Assassin's Creed on my flatmate's Xbox 360), I heard some loud noises. At first I thought my neighbor was using a hammer on the wall, but as the noises persisted and became louder and more frequent, I got up to investigate.

"What's wrong with my building?", I thought as the ground under my feet shook slightly. A flash of light made me look out of my kitchen window. They were having a pyrotechnic display in Trafalgar Square! So I ran, grabbed my camera, and snatched a few pictures before they stopped.

At the time I had no idea what they were celebrating, but a quick Internet search revealed a Simcha on the Square celebration. Incidentally, Simcha simply means "happiness" or "celebration" in Herbrew (again trying to sound smarter than I am - this knowledge comes courtesy of Wikipedia).

Click here to check out my pictures from the fireworks display of 14 Sept 2008.

Carnival!

2008-08-25T23:59:00.002-04:00

Billed as a celebration of African, Latin and Carribbean culture in London, the Notting Hill Festival is quite something.

The first day (Sunday) is the "family festival", meaning that many of the floats in the parade comprise largely of schoolchildren. It is loud, colorful, and cheerful.

Of course, all around the area, there several "static sound systems" - make-shift stages for musical performances. Even though it's the kids' day out, booze flows free and the surprisingly heavily deployed police force decide to turn a blind eye just this once.

The atmostphere is festive, which makes sense as this is a festival, and there is a lot of dancing in the streets involved. And, well, there's the booze and drugs, but who's counting?

Click here to check out my pictures from the Notting Hill Festival of 24 Aug 2008.

The closing day (Monday) is the "real carnival". Some floats from yesterday appear again in today's parade. The parade is much, much longer though.

The people are dressed up like trees, animals and insects. It is like a celebration of spring or the mating season....the timing in august seem a little anachronistic though until you remember that large parts of Africa and Latin America are in the southern hemisphere, and the September marks the onset of spring. Then it all fits.

There are bright colors, loud music, large crowds, good cheer, people in costumes, raunch, and alcohol all around.

Many people living by the parade path have put up signs that they'd allow the revelers to use their toilet for the princely sum of £1. With the amount of alcohol flowing around, I'd say they probably are raking in the riches.

As the sun starts going down the crowd gets more and more tighly packed. Soon it gets to the point where I can't move my fingers. The crowd is getting more and more boisterous and the manager of the trailer truck float by my side is getting more and more nervous - he is frantically barking into the megaphone, asking the crowds to stay away from the truck and the group's performers to get on it. Suddenly, a huge wave of backwards motion overtakes the crowd, which is amazing as barely a moment ago there wasn't even room to move. As I find my path out of the way of the stampede, I realize there has been a charge by the police.

As that is sinking in, I see some missiles flying through the sky. Some people at a safe distance are throwing bottles at the police. So the police charge again. And so it goes for 15 mts or so, with intermittent breaks of 30-40 seconds each. Interestingly, while there is a relatively huge deployment of police, none of them seem to have shields.

Anyhow, as I stand there, bemusedly contemplating this surprisingly surprising violent end to the alcohol-fuelled party, I see a guy rushing towards me, with several policemen in hot pursuit. Now, I am in a very narrow alley, and there is not enough room for both of us, and not enough time for me to move out. So I have no choice but to tackle the guy. He gets close, my hand goes up involuntarily, and he crashes to the ground. A split-second later the police is all over him. By some miracle, the police realize the happenstance for what it is, and don't give me so much as a second glance.

A couple of minutes later, there is silence - the calm after the storm. Hopefully. Time to find the closest tube station. As I walk past a policewoman, I can't resist asking, "Does it end like this every year?"

"Oh, usually is it worse."

Hmm...back to my question: if a face-off was anticipated, how is it that the police didn't have riot-shields?

Click here to check out my pictures from the Notting Hill Festival of 25 Aug 2008.

Kilimanjaro

2008-07-22T06:07:00.064-04:00

The word Kilimanjaro is formed by combining the Kiswahili words Kilima ("little mountain") and Njaro ("white" or "shining"); thus the name means "little white mountain".

Kilimanjaro is an inactive stratovolcano and, by some counts, the world's tallest free-standing mountain. It has three volcanic cones - Kibo, Mawenzi, and Shira; Africa's highest point Uhuru Peak is located on Kibo. While the volcano has never erupted in recorded history, it has fumaroles that emit gas in the crater on the main summit of Kibo. In fact, molten magma is just 400 metres (1,300 ft) below the summit crater. There have been several collapses and landslides on Kibo in the past; the western breach was created by one such collapse. Since 2006, when a rockslide killed 4 climbers at Arrow Glacier Camp, the Western Breach route has been closed.

The summit was first reached by German Hans Meyer, Austrian Ludwig Purtscheller and Marangu Yohanas Lauwo in 1889.

There are several routes for climbing the mountain. Marangu is the most popular route, and the easiest one too. It is quite touristy, and there are huts with electricity at the campsites. Rongai, from the Kenyan side, is another easy route; one can go to quite a high altitude in a 4x4.

I will be climbing through the Machame route; while it supposed to be a more difficult route, that is not the reason I have chosen it - instead, I chose it because it is said to have the best scenery.

We are driven up to Machame Gate in a jeep, stopping on the way at the "Highway Supermarket" to pick up bottled water. As the other members of the group are picking up other stuff at the store, I start talking with the driver. He tells me how whenever there is unrest and violence in Kenya, or Uganda, or Congo, there is an influx of refugees into Tanzania. He tells me that he doesn't like Mugabe.

"He is an old man. Why does he need to stick to power so desperately? Look at Mandela - he used his two terms and stepped down. Why can't Mugabe step down?"

I don't have an answer for him.

On the way to the gate we pass some beautiful sunflower and maize fields. We also pass by returning schoolchildren dressed in beautiful pullovers in Tanzanian national flag's colors. The government distributes these pullovers for free, the driver tells me.

At the gate, I am surprised to see the throngs of people - it's like a carnival out here. I had no idea so many people attempt the Kili. And this is not even the most popular route!

We queue up to register with the Rangers - it is a long and slow-moving queue. We meet a pair of jovial American guys who seem to enjoy taking good-natured verbal jabs at each other. There is also a Florida girl, who is a student of Kiswahili in Alabama, and has spent the last 6 weeks in Tanzania, with a bunch of her classmates, towards fulfilling a requirement for her degree.

Once done, we have to wait for the guides to get all the porters through. The national park strictly imposes a maximum limit of 15 kg of climber equipment per porter. This is easy for me, as I don't have much stuff - the tote bag that I have given to be carried by porters just has the sleeping bag, a pair of snow boots, and some other very basic stuff (the other few things that I brought, I left at the hotel in a plastic bag, and the laptop and my passport, I give to my guide company to store securely in their office). But the other members apparently need a lot of things on the mountain. Besides, the porters need to carry the tents, chairs, table, cooking utensils, food and supplies, and their own personal stuff. I don't envy them.

As we wait at the gate, we are handed boxed lunches. It seems that the food has come from Indo Italiano, because the boxes have arrived with flyers for the restaurant. I decide to eat while waiting for I don't want to have to carry the box.

The Machame Gate is at 1800 meters above mean sea level. Thus to get to the Uhuru peak (5,895m amsl), we'd be climbing just over 4km (4,095m or 13,435 ft) in altitude. I can't wait!

The path from Machame Gate to Machame Camp goes through a beautiful rainforest. It is an enjoyable, light hike, but I do not like the steps.

The land is wet and murky, and the professor holds up his pants to prevent them from getting dirty. He is very "proper", and complains about all the dirt and grime and sweat and other random stuff.

The Irishman recommends that we walk slowly, as he thinks that quick gain of altitude may cause altitude sickness.

The professor and I start chatting, and somehow our discussion gradually slides from natural beauty to photos to cameras to optics to physics.

And somehow we start talking about application of energy and work done. I try in vain to explain to him that the work done on a body can be zero, even though energy is being spent in moving it. To use a classic example, if a block is lying at a distance from a wall, and a string is tied to it and pulled vertically up from the top of the wall, the block first moves horizontally towards the wall. The work done on the block is zero till it reaches the wall because it moves at a 90-degree angle to the force applied.

"No!" both the professor and his daughter vehemently oppose me, "The angle does not matter."

I am incredulous that I am having this discussion with a physics professor.

"Okay, so do you recall the formula for work done on a body?" I ask them.

"Sure, it is force multiplied by distance," the professor replies.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely!"

"Well, it's actually force multiplied by the displacement."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, displacement is directional. In this case, we are looking at the displacement in the direction of the force applied. While distance is scalar, displacement is vector."

He is still iffy so I ask him if he agrees that speed and velocity are different.

He nods, but his daughter ask what the difference between the two is.

"Well, speed is a scalar, while velocity includes information about the direction of the motion."

Right at that moment, the guide announces that it is time to take a break. Since I have sensed that tempers have been rising through the discussion, I welcome the opportunity to change the topic; what does it matter if these two are not aware of a fundamental of physics?

The path is long and crowded, and we pass by some interesting people. Among them is a trio of Canadian brothers and sister. The elder brother is about 28, the younger is in his late teens, and the sister is about 25. They were all born in Africa, so it is a homecoming of sorts for them. They are good-natured, gregarious, and very funny. I like them.

The sun has started to set by the time we reach Machame Hut. It has been a long, tiring day, but we have go back a few hundred meters as that's where our tents have been set up.

After some relaxing tea and biscuits, we decide to check out tomorrow's path. Since it's dark already, the headtorches come in handy. The Englishfolk turn back within 10 minutes, while the Irishman and I continue upwards for another 10, till we decide to call it a day. Hopefully the adherance to the mountaineering adage "Climb high, Sleep low" will serve us well.

On our return, we are welcomed with hot dinner - "karate soupi" (carrot soup), "vegetable saucei" (mixed vegetable sauce) and bread. The professor makes all sorts of comments about the food, but I like it. For dessert, we are served some fresh, delicious mangoes.

Back in my tent before sleeping I use my mosquito repellent spray for the last time - from tomorrow onwards we'd be at altitudes probably too high for the mosquitoes.

Click here to check out my pictures from the Machame Gate to Machame Camp journey.

Before setting out in the morning, I add some glucose powder to my water. This should be helpful during the day.

As we climb up "pole pole" (slowly slowly), a Chinese man overtakes us, leaping through the steps.

"Alright, buddy!" I say to him. At this time there's no point telling him to slow down; he won't understand.

About twenty minutes later, we find him sitting on a rock, and I ask him if he is okay.

"I got a headrush," he says.

"Take it easy, mate," I tell him, "It's not about getting there fast. It's about getting there."

He nods back and smiles.

After a few hills, I finally reach the highest point we are supposed to climb today. That's when I realize that I've left the rest of the team behind. I feel a little guilty; it feels like I've abandoned them. But then again, they have all the guides with them. Besides, all these folks can talk about is hypoxia, headache, diahorrea, the importance of walking slowly, failure and other complains about everything...depressing really. I'm not sure I need all that talk.

Assistant guide number 2 catches up with me as I am resting at this hilltop. We decide to eat our lunches here. As I am having my lunch, and several other climbers are eating theirs too, several white-collared ravens make an appearance. It is good to see another form of animal life on this mountain.

Once the whole group reunites, and everyone has had lunch, we descend to the Shira plateau together. After tea while most tourists decide to relax, we decide to go down to the Shira cave and the Shira hut and check them out.

Upon our return to the camp, we enjoy the warm sun on our back and watch the late arrivals reach the camp. Among them is the Canadian trio we met on the way yesterday, and the American duo that we met at the Machame gate. In fact, both these groups have their tents right next door to mine.

As I sit out there, I marvel at how the mountain changes color through the day.

The professor has contracted diarrhoea. I hate to say I said so but in Tanzania, where the risk of contacting malaria is low, especially in the winter, Malarone could do more harm than good - it's potential side effects include increased sensitivity to sun, diarrhea, and dizziness, none of which you want on a mountain hike.

After a dinner of potato & leek soup, vegetable soup and rice, we retire for the night.

"What do you think about tomorrow? Do you feel like going up to the Lava Tower?" my Irish tentmate asks.

"Well, I think we should cross the bridge when we get there. Once we reach the junction, let's see how everyone's feeling, and then we can decide."

He agrees.

Click here to check out my pictures from the Machame Camp to Shira Camp journey.

When we set out in the morning, I see one of two American guys we had met at the Machame Gate. We get to talking, and the distraction combined with the facts that both of us are fast walkers and that the climb is very gradual, we have covered a lot of ground by the time the assistant guide number 2 catches up with us. After a while the American starts feeling queasy, and I have to leave him to rest and proceed with my guide.

Before I know it, we have reached the junction; one path from here goes to the Lava Tower, and the other directly to Barranco Camp. I'm feeling pretty good, so we decide to go to the Lava Tower.

The terrain has changed dramatically. While yesterday we were walking on barren slopes, today it looks more like a field of igneous rocks. Upon reaching Lava Tower, we take a break, during which we also each our respective lunches. It is quite windy around Lava Tower, so it's a good thing that large rocks are available for shelter.

It is at Lava Tower that I realize why the Arrow Glacier is called that - one can clearly see a right-pointing arrow made of snow from here.

There is a route from here to the summit, but it was closed down a few years ago following a fatal accident.

Following the rest break, we descend to the Barranco Camp. On the way, we see some unique vegetation, for instance the water holding cabbage.

At the Barranco Camp, I relax and listen to my MP3 player (a Creative Zen 40GB, not an iPod). The rest of the group joins me about 3 hours later.

Click here to check out my pictures from the Shira Camp to Barranco Camp journey.

We wake up late in the morning, and thus leave the camp late. In fact, we are the last ones to leave the camp.

As has become almost customary, before long I am passing by group after group, and my own group is far behind. I have taken my hiking poles along, and I realize that it was a bad idea when I reach the area that requires a bit of scrambling.

The first part of the scramble I navigate through by throwing the poles ahead and picking them up upon reaching there. But then I reach a patch where that is not quite possible. So I collapse them and stuff them in my backpack. Since my backpack is a laptop backpack, not a hiking knapsack, more than half length of the poles sticks out of the bag.

This is okay for a while till I reach a place where I need to hold onto a column and step over to the other side of the cliff - sort of reminds me of Neo's hesitation when the agents come for him while he is still in the Matrix in the movie The Matrix. I am just a little concerned that the hiking poles might get stuck in something and cause problems. So I am very relieved that just at that moment, the assistant guide number 2 catches up with me. I hand over the hiking poles to him, and complete the rest of the scramble without them. This little scramble has been the most enjoyable part of this hike so far.

I also feel pretty happy with my Danner EXO Edge Mid GTX hiking shoes. A good shoe becomes a part of your foot; it doesn't feel like an appendage. And these shoes are marvelous - the don't even need any breaking in; I wore them for the first time when I got on the plane for this trip. The test, of course, is how they hold up in a scramble, and these shoes are a Godsend.

I also like my Black Diamond Inner Core liner gloves. They are warm, and provide a grip that feels just like a bare-hand grip. That's probably because of the silicone dots on the palm and tips of fingers. They are a little smaller than their size indication though, and perhaps because of that reason the seams have come off in some places revealing holes in some of the gaps between the fingers.

At the top of the hill there are Germans and Americans taking pictures of each other jumping, seemingly in open skies. It is a little windy up here, but the skies are beautiful. Most of the Americans and many of the Germans have pounding headaches, and they are taking a variety of altitude-sickness drugs and painkillers. I think it's just the cold wind that is causing them the discomfort.

While I ordinarily love the feeling of wind in my hair, and the lure here is too high, I am not willing to risk my summit attempt for a fleeting feeling, and keep my Buff on at all times.

An Englishman asks me if I am not warm in the buff, the jacket and the gloves. I tell him I am, but that I'd rather be this than cold. His African American wife agrees with me. These two got married recently and decided to climb the Kili for their honeymoon.

On the way we run into a couple of porters carrying another one who has broken his ankle. They request us to stay behind them since they might need our help, so that's what we do.

It takes a total of two hours to reach Karanga. The rest of the group gets there in an additional couple of hours, which I spend lazing inside my tent. The other three, it turns out, have had severe complaints of headache. I hope they feel better by the morning.

Click here to check out my pictures from the Barranco Camp to Karanga Camp journey.

The hike from Karanga to Barafu is a short 2-hour one. When my guide and I reach the camp, the porters have just started setting up the tents. So leaving my guide there, I go up to check out the Barafu hut, and the Kosovo camp. By the time I return, the tents are ready, as is tea.

But I wait for the rest of the group to arrive, which they do in about an hour and a half. We have tea and chat away till it's time for lunch. During lunch we discuss the importance of climbing slowly.

Climbing slowly lowers the probability of getting altitude sickness.

"Besides," I volunteer, "walking slowly and steadily means lower probability and amount of sweat, which is really important in the freezing cold."

"And why do we have to start at midnight?", the girl asks.

I venture, "Well, one reason is that climbers can reach the summit at sunrise. Also, it is probably harder to climb during the day because of the odd combination and heat and cold - the sun probably melts some of the snow, cooling down the temperatures of the surroundings."

"Also," I half-joke, "at night you probably can't see all the people falling around you due to hypoxia."

After the discussion, we relax in the tents till dinner because the area has been engulfed by clouds.

After a dinner of "karate soupi", toast (fried thick sliced bread) and beans, we retire to our tents.

"Baraf" means "ice" in Kiswahili (and in Hindi), and there is a reason this camp is called Barafu. It is a really cold night out here.

This is the base camp, the starting point. Tonight, I will do what I came here to do.

Click here to check out my pictures from the Karanga Camp to Barafu Camp journey.

We are woken up soon after midnight for tea and biscuits, which is just as well since I haven't been able to sleep a wink anyway.

My feet are cold as ice. I'm not getting cold-feet; it's just really cold here at this time. And I know we'll be walking through snow for part of the climb. So I take out the Sorel Conquest boots for the first time, and hope that they don't need breaking in. Also for the first time, I put on the new Marmot Randonnee mitts. The great thing about these mitts, I think, is that they have separate chambers for individual fingers - they are sort of a cross between gloves and mitts. But they are a bit small, and it's not possible to wear additional insulation liner inside them.

Since the guides have strongly insisted on putting at least 3 layers of pants on, I put on my Sierra Designs Hurricane rain pants over my UnderArmour Base 1.0 legging and cotton gaberdines. While the skies are clear and we don't expect rain, hopefully the rain pants will protect me from the snow and chilly winds.

After the tea, we are handed snack-packs for the summit attempt - 2 Twix bars, a 200 mL tetrapack of orange juice, a biscuit, and a piece of brie cheese, all of which I stuff into different pockets of my Spyder Chamonix. This is the first time I'll be wearing both parts of the 3-in-1 ski-jacket - the jacket and the vest - together. I would realize only later while checking the pictures that I end up wearing the vest inside the jacket, instead of the other way around - not a big mistake in my case, but it does reduce the insulation.

After filling up my Dromedary hydration bladder, I pour the remaining 300g or so glucose powder into it. I plan to hang it on by back between the 2 jacket layers so that it doesn't freeze. The backup camera and the extra batteries, etc. are in various pockets of my jacket. And I think it should be okay to carry the camera, hanging on its neckstrap.

I put on the headlamp, but it's not really needed; it is a full-moon night, and the sky is clear, so the visibility is good despite the hour.

Ok, let's do this.

The assistant guide number 2 tells me that isn't going to work. Even though I have additional batteries, my camera will fail to work at the top since it is really cold out there. So I need to grab my bag and put everything, including the camera and the hydration bladder in there.

I don't want to hold up the rest of the team, so I tell them to go on. I'll catch up with them.

Finally, at the strike of 1 am, the assistant guide number 2 and I set off from the camp. We overtake the rest of the group just after the hut.

Then we overtake another group. And then another. By the time we cross the Kosovo Camp, we have picked up good momentum.

For quite a while we keep overtaking group after group of climbers walking in lockstep behind each other. After sometime, I feel the need to catch my breath but I don't want to stop. So we join the tail of the next group we see. I notice that they are not just walking in lockstep, but are actually taking babysteps. Hmm...whatever works! After sticking with the group for 10 minutes, and having recovered, we pick up speed once again.

When I get tired again, we join the tail of another group for a few minutes to catch my breath. Fast, slow, rinse, repeat, so it goes.

"How far to the Stella Point?" I ask.

"I don't want to say now. But if you keep walking for one hour then I will tell you."

Soon after that, we pass by three people going down. At first I think that these people are super-quick. But my guide tells me that it's a porter and a guide taking a climber down. And then I see that it's the super-fit sports instructor from Quebec that I met yesterday. He's bleeding from his nose, and a little bit from his eyes. No, he didn't fall and hit a rock; it's just the altitude.

Further up, for the first time in a long time, I see a grown man cry. He seems to be built like a tank. He's tall, he's muscular, but the mountain has broken him down. His guide is urging him to get up so that he can take him down.

"It's about a half hour to the Stella Point now," the guide volunteers.

Upon reaching a big rock, one that can shield us from the unrelenting wind, I ask my guide, "One minute break?"

Unwrapping one of the Twix bars, I share half of it with my guide, and then drink from my Dromedary.

"Are you okay? Are you feeling tired?" the guide asks me.

"I'm not tired. But I am really cold."

"It's just for today. just one day."

"Yeah!" I say and execute on my hands an anti-frostbite maneuver, namely spinning my arms as fast as I can for a minute or so.

Suddenly, my baseball cap falls off down the cliff. It's dark down there, and in any case I don't much care for climbing down there to retrieve the cap.

"Well, let's go on then," I say.

And so, we go on.

Suddenly, the guide hugs me, and says, "Congratulations!"

At first, I don't quite understand what's going on. "Sorry, what? How far are we from the Stella Point?"

"This is Stella Point, my friend. Congratulations! You have earned the diploma."

Excellent! I drink some of my glucose-mixed water, and jump about, flailing my hands. It's not that I'm overjoyed; I'm just trying to warm up my freezing hands and toes.

The guide shows me the Uhuru Point in the distance. I don't feel the need to rest. I'm feeling pretty good. So, let's go. Let's do it.

The terrain is simple, and very gradual, but it is very, very cold up here. As we walk through the tops of respectively the Decken and Kersten glaciers, the chill increases every minute. It is fun to walk through the snow though, especially to crush the tall upwards-pointed cones of snow under my feet.

I didn't think it was possible, but the freezing winds have gotten colder, and are blowing harder. Since there are no mountains around now to break them, they are blowing continuously. My Buff, which served me well during the past few days, is wet and useless, and I am missing the slight cover that the baseball cap provided. At one point I stop to cup my hands over my mouth & nose, and pant noisily so that some of the warm air exhaled would warm my nose. Moral of the story: If you have a ski-mask, bring it along on your Kilimanjaro summit attempt.

My toes are frozen stiff, as are top-thirds of three fingers of my right hand. I can't feel them at all, and am worried I might be getting frostbite. Maybe I can use the Swiss Army 3-flame lighter to warm my hands. But, as it turns out, it is so cold that even the lighter is not working - the fluid must have frozen. I knew I should have kept it in my jacket pocket, not in the backpack.

So I punch my hands against each other. And I punch, and punch, and punch some more. Then suddenly, I feel an excruciating pain in my right hand. And I laugh, for this means that blood has started flowing into my fingers once again. While my toes are still frozen, I'm not very concerned about them now that I know that they'll be fine again.

Just before 6 am, we reach the Uhuru peak, where we are welcomed by these words: "CONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE NOW AT UHURU PEAK, TANZANIA, 5895M. AMSL. AFRICA'S HIGHEST POINT. WORLD'S HIGHEST FREE-STANDING MOUNTAIN. ONE OF THE WORLD'S LARGEST VOLCANOES. WELCOME"

It's an amazing feeling to here at this time; it's almost surreal. Looking at all the snow around here, who would imagine that this point is located on the equator or that it is a volcanic cone. I can see the snow-clad crater lying silently in the depth. What could it be thinking?

The sun has just started peeking above the cloud cover. The clouds seem like an ocean. And in the distance, it is hard to distinguish between the snow and the clouds. While the sun has started spreading its orange glow, the moon stubbornly refuses to concede defeat and is standing its ground in the distance. It's sublime, and harmonious, and breathtaking. I spend a while taking it all in.

While it feels good to stand here, getting here is also a personal triumph. It has helped eliminate a self doubt; it has helped me peel off the label that I don't finish what I start. Having done Kili, I feel more confident about another specific situation in my personal life.

"Okay, so how long till we get back to the camp," I ask the guide.

"About 4 hours."

"You've got to be kidding me!"

On our way back, as the light spreads, I am able to take a few pictures of some of the stunning views. As we go past the Stella Point, it strikes me once again exactly how nondescript this place is, barely marked with a little wooden sign.

Further down, I meet the rest of my group.

"Is it much more harder than this from Stella Point to the Uhuru Peak?" the Irishman asks me.

"No, it's actually easier. Keep going, you are almost there," I sense that they are attempting the Stella Point, and at this time they have no intention of continuing to Uhuru.

Since I have my camera hanging by its neckstrap, the girl asks me if I would come back to the Stella Point to take pictures; she feels it would be hard to take her hands out of her pockets, let alone her camera out of the bag.

I turn around to have a look at where I have come from. It's not too bad - I could probably get back to Stella Point in less than a half hour. So I think maybe I should go back. But while the climb does not desist me, I remember that my toes haven't thawed yet. I am not quite sure that it is okay to let them remain in the frozen condition for much longer, so I must apologise.

Further down, stand a couple of Americans, their faces white, and their bodies shivering uncontrollably. My guide advises their perplexed, and inexperienced, guides that they need to be taken down. I feel sorry for them.

I should also get down to less cold conditions as soon as possible. Also, walking fast should help the circulation, and the thawing process.

Besides, climbing down slowly on the steep scree slope puts a tremendous pressure on one's knees. So I do what the guides would do - I run and scree (ski on the scree) down. Though it generates clouds of dust, or perhaps partly because it does so, it is fun, even though at many places one is buried knee-deep in the scree.

On the way down, some of the guides I met on the previous days hug me and congratulate me upon finding out that I had a successful summit attempt. My guide and I continue our journey downwards with reckless abandon. We take just one break, in which I share the second Twix bar with the guide.

We reach the camp at about 8 o'clock, meaning we are among the first ones to get there all morning. The return to the camp is quite an experience in itself. Most of the tourists are still on the mountain, and the ones who got sick are inside their tents. But the locals, mostly porters but also the guides that brought back the tourists that got sick, are out and about. Everybody asks you if you made it to the top. When they find out that you did, they congratulate you, shake your hand, and even hug you. Those that are too far, and busy in some tasks, shout out to congratulate you. And it seems that the word spreads by itself, as soon people just come over to congratulate you without even asking if you made it. While they all were friendly even earlier, now it seems they have developed a new respect for you. While a majority of the tourists make it to the Barafu Camp, reaching the mountain's summit is a rite of passage that changes everything.

After signing the register at the hut, we walk down finally to our tents, where we are welcomed with claps and cheers. And pineapple "juicy" (juice).

As I sit there, sipping the juice, I smile. Not just because I have done what I had come here to do, but also because I think my philosophy has succeeded.

Through this trip, my philosophy has been, and my advice to would-be climbers is, "Don't try to conquer the mountain. That's impossible. It's been here for thousands of years, and it will remain here for thousands more. Instead, try to make friends with it. When the mountain throws out a yang at you, handle it with a ying, and when the mountain lies back in a ying mode, deal with it with a yang. In other words, take it easy in the hard parts - don't loose breath over it - and seize the opportunity to pace up when it presents itself. Let people say 'pole pole' all they want. You have to find your own rhythm."

Of course, nature has been extremely kind to us throughout the hike. Bad weather can thwart any mountaineering plans very easily, irrespective of any level of competence, energy, intentions or actions of any human.

We are supposed to go down to the Millenium Camp, which is 2 hrs away, and have lunch there. I feel like I am done with walking for today, so I hope my fellow climbers return soon and we can get it over with. While thinking that, I relish the biscuit, cheese and very alkaline orange juice that was given to me before the summit attempt.

Soon enough I get tired and bored of waiting and decide to catch a nap before the rest of my group returns. So I take off the shoes, and jacket, and and slide into my sleeping bag, patting myself on the back for not having packed it before leaving for my summit attempt. Sleep comes on swift wings, and when I wake up several hours later, my group has still not returned. The guide tells me it is better that once the group is back, we have lunch here before going down to Millenium Camp. I'm fine with that.

Finally, the other three of my party return. They look extremely exhausted; in fact, I am worried that one or two of them might collapse at any moment. But as I had hoped, all of them made it to the summit, which magnifies my joy, and of course, makes our group one of the most successful to attempt the summit today.

Once again, we gather in the dining tent, and while the faces have a worn look on them, the eyes betray a gleam of satisfaction. The professor still moans about the food and everything else, but now he at least thinks that it was an experience worth having. We decide that once back in Moshi, we should go to the Sikh Union Club to have a celebratory dinner.

After lunch, I go to the guides to get directions to the Millenium Camp.

"You know, they say around here that Indians are not strong enough for the mountain. But you are as strong as the wagum," the chief guide tells me.

"Well, if anybody says that again, tell them they are wrong."

From Barafu, the Millenium camp is only a 40 minutes walk away, but the terrain has changed. And there's quite a bit of vegetation, including flowering trees. Within 10 minutes of my reaching there, the porters start arriving, and soon my faithful assistant guide number 2 reaches. They provide me a chair to relax in, and start setting up the tents. Boy! It has been so touristy - I haven't had to carry, set up or pack any tents throughout the journey. It's a luxurious life!

Click here to check out my pictures from the journey from Barafu Camp to the Uhuru Peak Summit, back to Barafu Camp and further to Millenium Camp.

We leave the Millenium Camp around 8 am. I walk with the rest of the group for a little while, chatting merrily about inconsequential stuff. But soon, partly because I have mentally checked out of the mountain and want to get it over with, and partly because the route is quite like the Machame route with many steps (I don't like steps), I need to pick up speed. Before I know it, I am at the Mweka Camp, where I need to wait for the rest of the group so that we can sign the register together.

This place is much bigger than the Millenium Camp, and has two camp site, both empty at the moment.

After signing the register, we set out again, and soon the group is far behind me.

In a little while my faithful assistant guide number 2 catches up with me, and we start chatting. Apparently, a Chinese climber went missing on the mountain a couple of days ago. Today is the third day since he went missing and they haven't been able to find any signs of him. There is serious concern for his safety as he didn't even have any food, having given his backpack to his guide to carry.

"On the mountain, you don't eat, you die," my guide says, "you get cold, you die, and of course, you don't have water, you die."

That's quite a gloomy prognosis. I hope this guy, whoever he is, is found safe and sound.

Moving to more pleasant topics, I ask the guide why is it that while ascending the Machame route was crowded while now while descending the Mweka route is not.

Many people camp at the Mweka Hut, he tells me, and so they are much further down the mountain. That makes sense.

On the way, we see a group of porters taking a break. They are singing a song.

"What are they singing?" I ask the guide.

Apparently the porters are singing about the mountain. Also, it turns out, they don't like to be called porters because when the climbing expeditions started, horses used to be used as porters; no one likes to be equated to animals. These people call themselves "wagum", which in Kiswahili literally means "the strong people".

Soon, the guide falls behind, and I keep going.

It's not long before I run into the German girl that I have met practically every day on this trip.

She asks, "Why are you always alone?"

"Oh, well, that's a profound question. I'll have to ask myself that," I smile.

"I mean, whenever we meet, you are always by yourself. Where is the rest of your group?"

"Haha! Yeah, I know. They are somewhere back there."

"So they are too slow for you?"

"Umm...well, yeah, I guess that's what it is."

Soon I see the Anglo-American couple again. The wife asks me if I made it to the top.

There is a momentary laspse in my sensing of the tone of her voice and I reply, "Of course."

No sooner have I said it that I realize it was a mistake.

"Well, we couldn't," she says, "I got sick. We had to turn back after 4 hours. People had been turning back since 1 hour from the Barafu camp."

"Yeah, that's too bad! But you know, you made that far....that's great. Besides you had fun, you spent a lot of time together...that's the important thing, right?"

Next I pass by an American girl, who asks if I am Irish.

"Oh, c'mon! Do I look Irish from any angle?" I think to myself, but presently explain to her that for my bandana I'm actually wearing the colors of the Indian flag. Oh well, I give her credit for knowing the colors of the Irish flag.

Further closer to the gate, I meet the Florida girl from the first day again. She is quite happy and excited to be going home after an interesting extended vacation in Africa.

As we pass another couple of climbers, we overhear their guide telling them that the gate is just 5 minutes away.

"Let's see if we can do it in 2," I smile.

Ten minutes down, the gate is still nowhere in site, and the Florida girl falls behind.

When I finally reach the gate, our pickup car is nowhere in sight so I take refuge at the tourist shed. There is a suggestion-box, and I want to suggest that they should use the bio-gas from the toilets at the camps on the mountain to generate electricity for local use. But there is no pen or paper available so I guess the first suggestion should be that they need to have pen and paper by the suggestion-box.

Within 10 minutes of my reaching there, the Irishman from my group joins me, as do the two assistant guides. The guides leave us at the tourist shelter and go down to manage the porters.

While we wait there, several people rally around, vending tshirts, and Kilimanjaro beer, and paintings. While the Irishman and I practically turn a blind eye to them, they have found a great sucker in a middle-aged German woman whom they butter up by calling Mama Africa, and sell one item after another.

"Hey!" I hear someone say, and turn around to see the Austrian girl whom I met a couple of times on mountain.

"Are you for real?" she says.

I don't quite know how to take that, so I just smile. Her group is leaving for a safari, so we say our goodbyes.

Finally the owner of our guide company arrives with lunch packets. I am really hungry and dig right in. It is not a minute sooner that the professor and his daughter arrive with a bunch of girls, who are apparently fascinated by the fact that I have fries in my lunchbox. Since I am not particularly fond of fries, I let them take them. These young girls evidently climbed the Kili for charity, and one of them is a friend of the professor's daughter.

After we receive our certificates, it is time to give tips. The standard amount is $50 per climber, which is given to the chief guide who distributes it at his discretion among the other guides and porters. I have Tanzanian shillings, so I give 50,000 to the head guide for overall distribution, and an additional 20,000 to the assistant guide number 2 for all his kindness to me.

Once the porters have received their salaries and tips, they express their joy and gratitude by singing the Kilimanjaro song. Soon thereafter, we take off.

On way back, there are some gardens/orchards where there are sheets of paper stuck to branches of the plants - one sheet per plant. I think this might be an agri research facility, and they probably mark vital signs on the paper.

The paved road begins at the College of African Wildlife Management.

Soon thereafter, the huge huge Arabica coffee plantation starts. The driver explains that it used to belong to the village council, but was taken over by "two white men" three years ago. They now employ the Chaga people as plantation workers, and pay a rent to the village council.

The huge building in the distance is the Kilimanjaro Christian Medical College.

Back at the hotel, we all check in. Funnily, I get the same room as before. When I go to put my stuff in there, I find that there's no bed in there. Hmm...I'll resolve that later. First let me go have a look at the town while it's still day.

Back in town, I am intrigued by the Hindu temple, and decide to go in through the gate on a whim. It is a pretty large temple, with three sancta (each with its own yajna-altar), an open shivling, a basil plant, a flower garden, a stage, a community hall, and bhajan rooms. There are blackboards with announcements scribbled in Gujarati all over the place.

The sancta are locked and there's not a human in sight anywhere, so I am surprised to see the tens of cars parked all around. As I go around the place, I come across the old, genial African caretaker, who seems to be happy to see me. He explains that the place is quiet because it is Sunday afternoon, and people are at their homes, relaxing. They just park their vehicles here because it is convenient and cheap.

Next, as I go past the famous Mawenzi Secondary School, which has strong links with Buckie High School Scotland, I notice that it easy to figure out that the name Indian Public School has been scraped off the building.

Further down the road is the town mosque. As I walk past the gates of the mosque, my attention is attracted by the sound of music. Deciding to check out the source, I walk into the large field behind the wall, and there it is: on a make-shift stage, a bunch of nattily dressed people are singing "Lord we proclaim you now."

They have amazing, silky voices - some of the best Gospel singers I have ever heard. As they move from song to song, from "Amazing Grace" to "Here I Am To Worship", their audience waves colorful flags and claps.

The most interesting thing about this Christian event is that it is taking place in a field owned by a Hindu temple and located next to a Muslim mosque!

And then I see an Indian guy - the first I've seen since my arrival in Africa. He is an elderly man watering the plants in the garden. As it turns out, he is the pujari (priest) at the Hindu temple. Originally from Ahmedabad in Gujarat, he has been living here for several decades. He tells me that there are around 450 Indians in this town of close to 140,000 people.

Since we have been talking, a few desi children have gathered in one corner of the field, where they are playing cricket.

In the large hall by the field there is, what appears to be a Sunday market. Stalls are set up for all kinds of merchandise from electronic items to furniture to household goods to clothes.

Once out of there, I pass by the very young children by the side of the street, polishing women's toenails.

I roam around a bit, and then suddenly realize that I have dropped my hotel key somewhere. So I try to retrace my steps, but am unable to find it. Oh, well, that's it for the town tour, I should return to the hotel now.

Back at the hotel, I tell the receptionist that I have lost the room key, that the room she assigned me doesn't have a bed, and that I need to collect the plastic bag that I left at the hotel before going for the hike.

She is very patient, and takes me up almost right away. She assigns me a new room, which turns out to be several times nicer than the previous one. As I am washing my face, she returns and tells me that she was able to find the spare key for my previous room and has opened it for me. After I have picked up my stuff from the old room and moved it to the new one, she sends someone with me to the storeroom, where I find my stuff quite easily.

Everything resolved, I join the party of my three climbing mates who, by the looks of it, have been getting drunk. Although, I must say, before getting on the binge they have all cleaned up rather well.

When I tell them the story about the room, they start making fun of my nonchalance.

"When he figured out that he had lost the key, he must have been like, 'Eh, I lost the key. Oh, well!'"

As this merriment is going on, the chief guide joins us. He has come to pick up the shoes and trousers that the professor is giving away as they got too dirty during the hike.

He tells us how some people want to go down to the crater, and how he has taken many tourists there. Apparently the air is so very dense down there. He has gone down up to level 3 (which, I think, is the maximum one can), and the air is so dense there that it pushes one back. While no tourists go beyond level 2, he goes down there to bring back salts for his mother.

And then, once again he starts on about how Indians don't usually climb the Kilimanjaro.

"Before you, I have taken 9 Indians on the mountain," he says, "but none of them made it to the summit."

"And he did it in record time too," the professor chimes in.

All this talk is embarrassing me, so I need to change the topic. Besides, I really am curious about the fate of the Chinese guy they lost on the mountain.

Turns out that he is still missing. It's the fourth day today, and there is talk that tomorrow they might send in helicopters to look for him.

Then we are joined by the owner of an adventure company based in Nairobi, and a girl who is making a documentary on his humanitarian work. As is fairly typical for conversation starters, we ask him where he is from.

"Kenya," he responds.

At this the guide blurts out, "You are not from Kenya. Kenyan people are black like me."

The Englishgirl and I can hardly suppress our laughter, though the other folks either didn't hear the remark, or chose to ignore it.

Once the guide leaves, we disperse, having decided to meet back in a half hour to go out for our celebratory dinner at the Sikh Union Club.

I take the opportunity to take a shower for the first time in a week. Boy, had I been reeking!

The Sikh Union Club is a large, nice-looking place, though surprisingly empty. Even though we know that it is owned by the same people that own Indo Italiano, it is somewhat strange that the menus are actually those from Indo Italiano, with a sticker saying this restaurant's name pasted over.

The service is as bad as Indo Italiano. In fact, I'd say it's worse, because though Indo Italiano took a long time to serve the food, at least they could hide behind the fact that they were very crowded; this place is practically empty - there are guests only on 4 tables, including ours. Also, if you order anything from the Italian menu, it turns out that it comes from the kitchen of Indo Italiano - so the timing could be off with respect to the other items.

Click here to check out my pictures from the Millenium Camp to Moshi town journey.

I wake up late in the morning. So I have to rush through the daily chores quickly. I don't think I'll have time for breakfast.

Downstairs, even after I've had breakfast, the shuttle hasn't shown up. So we hang around waiting after checking out.

After quite a while, the owner of my guide company shows up. He tells us that the shuttle is late and that he'll drive us to the shuttle station.

We pass the same scenery on the way back, as we did on the way here. At Arusha, we change buses, and I realize that it is the exact same bus that we rode during the Nairobi-Arusha trip, and that all of us in exactly the same repective seats.

We cross the border again at Namanga, and I give my passport to the immigration officer. He looks at my passport and says something incomprehensible to me. I can't quite figure it out.

"Sorry, what?"

"Namaste!"

"Namaste! Oh, you know namaste," I laugh out loudly.

He smiles, stamps my passport and hands it back to me.

"Ahsante sana (Swahili for thank you very much)," I say, and wave goodbye.

On the way to Nairobi, I notice further signs of Indian presence in the region. Almost every other large tranport trucks passing by is owned by the A to Z Transport, and is marked with the symbol ૐ and the word "Swami".

And there is a Reliance Industries Limited factory about 20 minutes south of the airport.

Click here to check out my pictures from the Moshi to Nairobi journey of 21 Jul 2008.

At the Kenyatta airport, the guy posted at the KLM queue doesn't want to let me through to the check-out counter because my flight is the next morning. When I insist that since it is within 12 hours, he should let me through, he starts explaining rules to me. Thus we get into a long-winded discussion (I don't want to call it an argument, as neither of us raise our voices), and he finally says that if I want to try my luck I should go ahead to the Kenya Airways counter (the flight is apparently operated by Kenya). So that is exactly what I do.

The girl at the check in counter is very helpful. She tells me that due to the regulations, I could either come back after midnight to check my bag, or she could check me in without any checked-in baggage - she tells me that my tote bag could pass as cabin luggage, and that my backpack would also go through since it has my laptop. Excellent! That's what customer service is - finding solutions. Oh, and I tell her that the airline misspelt her name - while I don't know her name, her name is spelt differently on her ID and her nametag.

So I take my boarding pass, go through immigrations, and go upstairs, where I grab a bite at a cafe, and finally lie down to sleep for the night on the floor behind a row of seats. It's been a good trip.

Pentru ce?

2008-07-17T14:52:00.022-04:00

Trandafirul moşteneşte mirosul plăcut suflării tale
Lalelele împrumută zâmbetele lor de la tine
Strălucirea rouei e din sclipirile ochilor tăi
Iar chipul tău dă dimineţii prospeţime

Râul Argeş înconjoara curbele sprâncenelor tale
Când te plimbi, clopotele bisericii cântă un cânt
Cerneala nopţii se întinde din peniţa părului tău
Prunele se îndulcesc numai când te-ascultă răzând

Îmi amintesc, a fost vară, fluturii zburau pe cer
Apoi toamna a venit şi au căzut frunzele arţarului
Iarna a fost rece, culorile primăverii au fost terne
Şi acum aştept anotimpul care îmi te va restitui

Nu sunt un poet, dar când mă gândesc la tine
Stiloul meu vrea să scrie o poezie placută
Nu sunt un pictor, dar când închid ochii mei
Sufletul meu pictează picturi cu tine o sută

Nu îţi cer să mi te dărueşti doar să nu mă restitui mie
Poate vei spune vorbele mele într-o zi
Mă vei strânge în braţe şi săruta înainte de culcare
E âtat foc că inima soarelui se va topi

Vreau să spun mai mulţi lucruri ţie
De fapt, doar un lucru mărunt: te iubesc
Şi dacă întrebi, pentru ce te iubesc
E simplu, te iubesc pentru că te iubesc

Mama Africa

2008-07-13T06:03:00.005-04:00

July is the peak season for flying to East Africa, and the ticket fares are quite steep. Thanks to the efforts of an enterprising travel agent, I am able to find a KLM fare that is about half of the best I can find online, and at least 50% less than that offered by the 10 or so travel agents I have spoken with. This guys has bagged himself a loyal customer.

The cheap ticket naturally means that it is not a direct flight; in fact, I have 2 stopovers before Nairobi. I'll be flying from London to Amsterdam (AMS), from Amsterdam to Dubai (DXB), and from Dubai to Nairobi (NBO). Then I'd board a shuttle bus to Moshi. There are are flights available from Nairobi to Kilimanjaro International Airport (JRO) aboard Precision Air, which is a partner of Kenya Airways which in turn is a partner of KLM, but the fares are relatively expensive.

In any case, there are not many airlines that fly to the Kilimanjaro International Airport. I think KLM and Swiss are the only two airlines flying direct from Europe, though I many be wrong. Thus most people fly in to either Nairobi or Dar-es-Salaam (DAR) and catch either a connecting flight to Kilimanjaro or a shuttle bus to Moshi.

So, anyhow, I'll be flying to Nairobi with 2 stopovers and taking a bus to Moshi. On the return journey, thankfully, I have only one stopover in Amsterdam.

Using my trusted Picadilly tube line, I reach Heathrow terminal 4 with enough time on hand for my 9.55 am flight to Amsterdam.

At the check-in counter, the lady tells me that she is unable to print my Dubai-Nairobi boarding pass for some reason. But I don't have to worry about the bag, as she has checked it all the way to Nairobi. Great!

The security queue is very long, and I don't like waiting in queues. Thankfully, I know how to bypass that roadblock.

If you want to get through the security queue quickly at the Heathrow airport, here's a technique that works like a charm, every single time: Have a disheveled appearance - unkempt hair, a few days' stubble and wrinkled tshirt. Oh, and brown skin.

"Sir, you've been randomly selected for additional screening. Will you please step this way? After going through the check, I'll put you right through the head of the queue."

"Right, random!" I smile. Every single time.

The flight from London to Amsterdam is even shorter than I expected. And the queue at the gate for the Dubai flight is longer than I expected. Interestingly enough, the security check in Amsterdam is at the flight gates, which seems an unjustified nuisance if you are connecting here.

The flight to Dubai is uneventful. The in-flight service is great, and I like the Red Issue of the KLM in-flight magazine.

I also check out the pilots of a few of the much talked-about TV programs available in the on-demand entertainment system.

The two episodes of Everybody Hates Chris are great. I love this show! It's genuinely funny.

While 30 Rock has broken some popularity records, the first two episodes fail to make a fan out of me. It's alright, but it's neither as funny as Everybody Hates Chris, nor as fun as Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.

Back to You is a tired comedy, though I still like Patricia Heaton.

I also catch 21 and Vantage Point.

The Dubai airport is interesting. There are date trees in the airport, as well as UFO-shaped "chandeliers". There are false façades and paintings of old Arabic palace entrances, and many, many well-known and not so well-known American food-chain outlets. And one can't help but mention the electric lights dressed up to look like wall-mounted torches.

The structure of the airport is such that to get to the atrium, one has to go through the security gates, which is an annoyance, especially if one might need to go back and forth between the ground and the first floors a few times.

Whatever the designers or critics may say about Dubai airport's "juxtaposition of the new against the old" or some such, in my opinion this is the most ridiculous airport I have seen.

To make matters worse, the airport is manned mostly by desis (Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, and Indians), and some Chinese. This probably explains the babudom manner in which it is run.

Anyhow, my flight is at 3.10 am, so I should get my boarding pass. At the connections window assigned to KLM, the clerk tells me that the next leg is operated by Kenya Airways, and thus I need to collect my ticket from them. At the Kenya Airways window, located about 250m from the KLM one, the clerk tells me that he does not see me in the system, and the flight is full. How's that possible, I ask him. After all, KLM issued me a confirmed ticket. He checks again using my eticket number, and repeats his earlier answer. If KLM issued the ticket, he tells me, then it's them that need to figure out what happens. I don't like the runaround, but for once decide to go back to the KLM window. The clerk checks his system, and yes, I am definitely on the KLM system. So, will he please tell the Kenya guy to issue my boarding pass, I ask him. Yes, he says, I should go and collect my pass from the Kenya window. So I go back there. The clerk still can not find me on the system. I tell him to call up the guy at the KLM window (I always note down the names and numbers of these folks), which he does. The confusion is so great, that the clerk from the KLM window comes down personally to help resolve the issue. When they can't figure it out, the clerk decides to call Kenya Airways (the clerks are all airport employees). His solution for me is that Kenya has now put me on standby. That's not good enough, I tell him, especially as he told me just a few minutes ago that the flight is fully booked. I demand to speak with a KLM employee. This is hard at this time of night - the only ones available are at the gates. So I go through the security and to a gate from which a KLM flight is scheduled to leave. There I speak to a KLM employee who makes a couple of calls and resolves the matter. But I'll be able to get my boarding pass only after midnight, he advises.

Thus, before going back up, I decide to grab a bite at the food court. At the Indian food outlet, I get some rice with Kadahi Paneer, which tastes like Shahi Paneer from the restaurants in Jama Masjid area in Delhi.

Click here to check out my pictures from Dubai airport of 10 Jul 2008.

On the way to Nairobi, I catch Flawless and Shutter, meaning that I don't sleep a wink through the entire journey.

The plane touches down in Nairobi soon after sunrise. The plane parks at some distance from the gate. Stepping out onto the ramp, I notice that the runways and gates are mostly empty - there's just a Virgin Atlantic plane parked in some distance, and another Kenya Airways one by it. In fact, the airport is so devoid of traffic that we walk down to the gate through a couple of taxiways; I am sure this would have been an offence in the United States under any traffic conditions.

The immigration desks are labeled to filter the passengers into specific groups, but evidently that's just an "on paper" exercise. Kenya issues visas on arrival, so it take me a while to get through the queue and past immigration even though I already have a Kenyan visa.

I am picked up at the airport by an employee of my guide company. Since the shuttles to Moshi leave early in the morning, I'll have to spend the day in Nairobi. I am pretty tired, so I think some sleep would do me good.

My host tells me that a father-son duo, also from London, has also arrived in Nairobi. They'll be taking the coach to Moshi tomorrow with me, and today our host is taking them to the Nairobi National Park. Hmm...Giraffes and Zebras, eh? Well, forget sleep then. Let's pick those two up from their hotel and get on with it.

The traffic in Nairobi is pretty crazy, and the driving insane - not unlike that in New Delhi. In fact, it is so bad that on many of the pavements, rocks have been strewn so that the vehicles wouldn't drive on them.

Most cars around are Isuzu and Toyota, but it is not unusual to see a Maruti. Similarly, while most trucks are either Isuzu or Mercedes, there are several made by Tata as well.

My host tells me that the largest hotel chain is owned by an Indian family.

I also see several signs in Chinese - an indication of the growing Chinese influence in Africa.

Surprisingly, I don't see any Indian or Chinese people in the streets. Quite puzzling, really!

After going through some back-alleys to avoid rush-hour traffic, we reach a stretch marked with the sign, "Welcome to the safest road in Nairobi". As we enter it through the traffic calming measure, I notice the Embassy of Israel on my right. That makes sense.

The hotel of my English groupies is located close to the embassy. We pick them up, and off we go to the Nairobi National Park, which, apparently is the only National Park in the world, located inside a country's capital.

The English pair is quite jolly and good-natured. The father is a physics professor at a university. He was born in Bistriţa, but moved to Vienna when he was very young. And then he moved to England at the age of 12.

The daughter is an in-training architect with a free-spirit. It is she who convinced her father to accompany her on the trip.

We enjoy the national park, and have lunch at The Ranger restaurant. On the way back, we check out The Carnivore.

They ask me if I am using Malarone; they are evidently very concerned about Malaria. "No", I tell them, "but I did buy a mosquito-repellent spray from Superdrug."

The professor starts into a discourse on how dangerous the malaria virus is.

"Well, first of all plasmodium is a protozoan, not a virus," I don't even know why I do this, "and secondly, I think the 'cure' might do more harm than good, considering the probability of contracting malaria."

Thankfully, the discussion turns to more pleasant topics, and we don't end the day on a sour note.

Click here to check out my pictures from Nairobi of 11 Jul 2008.

In the morning we are picked up from the hotel. On the way to the shuttle-station, the guy issues me a return ticket.

"So how much do I owe you?"

"$50," he tells me.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

He tries to tell me that $25 each way is actually a discounted price. That is sort of true since The Riverside Shuttle advertises its rates online as $40 each way. But I know that this is a rip-off. The "coach" is essentially a battered 24-seater minibus with worn-out seats and cracked windscreen. Don't get me wrong - I don't mind riding in a battered bus at all; what I do mind is paying that much for it.

Bobby Shuttle is another ripoff, but even they are cheaper ($20 each way) than Riverside. What's more, they have video available in the coaches to provide some entertainment.

In my experience, the best company to use is Scandinavia Express. For $13-15 each way, you can travel in a coach that is airconditioned and has a WC built in.

If you are travelling with a group, another economical option is to hire a vehicle from Regional Luxury Shuttle, who charge about $80-100 for 8 passengers.

Anyhow, there is not much I can do at this point in time, and so I hand him Kenyan Shillings worth about $43, which is all I have. He can take it or leave it; I'm sure if he refuses, I can easily find another coach company that will be happy to take me to Moshi at a lower price.

On the way to Moshi, I am amazed to see a heavy transport truck with the American flag and Barak Obama's portrait painted on it.

I also see a tank truck, driven by native African man accompanied by another African man for helper, with a large Sikh Khanda painted on it. This is especially interesting because a majority of transport trucks in India are driven by Sikhs.

We have to take a detour onto a dirt road for a long stretch as the highway is under construction. This seems to be a massive project, and will probably make the journey between Nairobi and Moshi smoother and faster. But till it's completed, enjoy the huge clouds of dust generated by the passing vehicles.

The sides of the road are lined with acacia trees. Many of them house entire colonies of weaver birds. I don't see any birds around at the moment, but the trees are laden with nests. While many are just single or double bedroom apartments, there are quite a few huge mansions with several bedrooms. It reminds me of the infamous Chambal Valley basin in Madhya Pradesh.

Every now and then we pass Masaai shepherds, not a minority of whom are children younger than 10 years.

We cross the border at Namanga. Like Kenya, Tanzania also grants visas at the border. I already have a Tanzanian visa, so the processing is somewhat faster.

The "no man's land" is that just in name, for it is populated by numerous folks vending everything from handicrafts to water to even currency. The way the hawkers hound you reminds you of the Istanbul station in Murder on the Orient Express.

Funnily, you experience the wit of the Tanzanian people as soon as you cross over into the country; right next to the border gate is the "First and Last Hotel".

We change coaches in Arusha. Apparently, a substantial number of people travel to Arusha from Nairobi and therefore the number of buses needed to transport the passengers from Arusha to Moshi is significantly smaller than those that depart from Nairobi with people whose final destination could be either Arusha or Moshi. This is all fine and good, but I can't for the life of me understand why they can't just sort the people onto different buses in Nairobi itself, and save the trouble of changing buses in Arusha. Anyhow, that's how the system works, and that's that.

All the signs on the way are in Kiswahili, which originated in these parts. I had never paid any attention to the language, but the signs set me thinking. It is incredible that the language is written in the Roman Script - it is as if it is transcribed in English. I can not believe that this is the native script of the language, and there can be only two explanations for what I see - the horrific explanation and the unlikely explanation. The unlikely explanation is that the language was passed on from generation to generation in oral form, and there were no written records till the English colonized East Africa. The other explanation is that the colonizers destroyed the records of the civilization, and forced the adoption of the Roman script either directly or indirectly.

Today's Kiswahili borrows liberally from Arabic, English and even Hindi/ Gujarati. For instance, they use the Arabic word Wazir to refer to ministers. Similarly, money or currency is referred to as pesa, which is how Gujaratis would refer to it. For a casual observer like me it is hard to determine whether these inclusions are based on common ancient phylogenetics or a result of modern influences.

As we get closer to Moshi, I am quite taken by how dramatically the terrain has changed. We have come from the barren red land of Kenya to the darker shrubbery to the lush green forestry on dark soil and finally to large fields of sunflower and maize in just a few hours.

The hotel is just outside town - I'm told about a half hour walk away. It looks like a nice place, with beautiful vegetation and cheerful, helpful people. When we arrive, it is quite busy. In fact, it won't be wrong to say that it is teeming with activity; it's probably as crowded as any hotel in Zanzibar.

The food at the in-house restaurant doesn't seem great, but apparently they plan to have a barbecue tonight. My companions think it's a great idea, but because I am vegetarian and because I am very hungry, I'm not so sure. We decide to check into our rooms and to meet up later to decide.

After keeping my stuff in the room, I return to the reception to ask if there is an Internet facility. There is one, I am told. In fact, literally there is one. There is one computer connected to the Internet, and the hotel charges $1 per 10 minutes for its use. Oh, and it's currently being used. Based on the feedback of a couple of residents, it is mighty slow as well. Hmm...

As I am departing from the reception, a waiter comes over and tells me that the gentlemen over at table 3 would like to see me.

The wiry man is an Irish-born energy-sector professional currently living in Jakarta. Sitting next to him is his teenaged son, who is on his way to college in Texas. They have just returned from their successful summit attempt.

They are accompanied a big guy from Northern Ireland who, apparently, will be a part of my group for the climb. He attempted the mountain last year via the easier Marangu route, but developed extreme altitude sickness and had to turn back.

The teen is giddy over his achievement, and is full of good advice.

"Be prepared for throbbing headaches," he says, "and do not feel bad if you have to throw up."

Apparently, both his father and he threw up at the Stella Point.

"He was trying to race a group of Australians to the top," says the boy.

"Well, couldn't let the son beat me," the father says, "besides, how is it any different from any Saturday night."

Oh, the Irish! Always full of good cheer.

How about going out for dinner, someone suggests. That seems a great idea to everyone, since nothing at the hotel appears to be too appetizing.

We wait for my other two companion for a while, and then look for them, but in vain. So ultimately, the four of us take a cab to Indo Italiano Restaurant in Moshi town.

The place is jam-packed. But we get lucky and get seated within 5 minutes. That, however, is just the beginning. It takes forever (we didn't keep count, but somewhere between 70 and 90 minutes) for the food to arrive. But I have to say that the food is worth the wait. It is among the best, if not the best, Indian fare that I have tasted outside of India.

Also, while most places in town offer exchange rate of 1000 Tanzanian shillings to a dollar, Indo Italiano has honest rates for the day hung in plain sight (today it is 1160 shillings).

Apparently, Indo Italiano and The Sikh Union Club are the only two restaurants mentioned in the Moshi tourist brochure. And they are sister concerns, with common ownership.

Even otherwise, all major restaurants in town serve Indian cuisine. Oh, and The Coffee Shop is the favorite haunt for lunch.

Speaking of food, the teen tells me, on the mountain one can easily get bored of the same stale bread and oily eggs every day.

There is an Internet cafe across the street from the restaurant. It has several computers, acceptable speed, and a more reasonable rate at $1 per hour. Maybe should come here and use the Internet tomorrow.

Later in the night I watch a pirated copy of A Mighty Heart that I downloaded from the web and saved on my computer several months ago. While the movie has been widely panned, I like it. It's not very suspenseful, or dramatic, or thrilling, but I guess I like it in the same way that I like some documentaries that tell an interesting story.

I am woken up by the unremitting barking of dogs. They are barking as if alarmed by intruders. But it turns out that they are just plain annoyed by some drunk Americans who seem to get their kicks by teasing leashed dogs.

A rooster begins to crow almost two hours before sunrise, and keeps on crowing for several hours. I am a vegetarian and animal lover, but I'm sure that if it doesn't mend it's ways, it might end up as some tourist's dinner someday.

Most of the morning is spent in introduction to the guides and a generic briefing. During this I am told about the importance of hiking poles and headtorch, which I rent at a steep price of $10 each. Additionally, I rent a sleeping bag at the same price.

For lunch, my climbing group (the two Englishfolk and the Irish gentleman) decide to walk down to the highly recommended Coffee Shop in town. Since it's Sunday, however, the Coffee Shop is closed. Thus we end up at the Deli next door. This restaurant offers Indian, Indian Chinese and Japanese cuisines. The service is way better than Indo Italiano and the food is almost as good.

After lunch, while my companions decide to take a cab back to the hotel, I decide to take a walk around town. Since it's a Sunday, the market is closed, but street-vendors have set up their make-shift shops on every pavement, and they are hawking their wares: from pirated English and Hindi movies to sunglasses and clothes to home-remedies.

The town is choc-a-bloc with craft shops and curios. Additionally, almost anyone walking down the street could be carrying a bunch of paintings, under their arm, that they'd like to sell to you.

I am surprised to see a Hindu temple and a Sikh gurudwara in town, in addition to a mosque and a couple of churches. I have also seen several establishments with Indian-sounding names, but haven't seen any Indian people around so far. Anyhow, it's getting dark, and it's time to get back to the hotel.

Nevis - Day 2

2008-07-08T10:43:00.003-04:00

It's already 10 am by the time I wake up, although one can't tell by looking out through the hostel's window; it's still relatively dark outside. Lovely Scottish weather, I think to myself and get ready, which doesn't take much time as the hostel is quiet and almost empty. As I am putting on my shoes the receptionist comes around; he's doing his morning rounds and tells me that it is 10.40 and that the check out time is 10 am.

"I'm just about done here"

"Cool"

It is very cloudy and there's a continuous drizzle. So I leave my bag, including my laptop, camera and phone, with the hostel receptionist. I take the jacket with me, hoping that it will protect me from the impending downpour.

I didn't get anything to eat last night, so am pretty hungry, and walk to the cosy restaurant down the street. As I do so, I realize that the pain in my calves has aggravated, giving me a lumbering walk.

As it turns out, the restaurant is closed on Mondays. Hmm...I lumber back to the little shop next door to the hostel, and buy the only bar of chocolate that they have left. I also buy a half litre bottle of water; it should be enough in this cool weather, and besides I can fit it in the inside pocket of my jacket.

Somehow not nearly as many people seem to be climbing up the Ben today, which, of course, is no surprise, given the weather conditions.

I still don't enjoy the stairs, but take comfort in the fact that I know exactly when they will end.

By the time I reach midway, it is raining cats and dogs and I am drenched. My jacket, which is technically my brother's jacket, which was supposed to save me from the rain is evidently not water-proof and becomes an additional load of water-soaking cotton-wool. Additionally, I am wearing old baggy denim trousers which are large enough to hold two of me, and having soaked in the rain, they aren't exactly light. So, it's getting harder, and I'm thanking my stars that I didn't bring my backpack today. Although there are very few people on the mountain today, I meet quite a few that are turning back.

About half an hour from the summit, I sit down to take a rest, panting profusely. A Spanish family that I overtook several minutes ago catches up with me. I must look pretty pitiful, for the head of the family asks me if I would like to have some water. I accept gratefully and gulp down a mouthful. I'm alive again! Then there are no stops till the top.

While I had spent quite a while at the summit yesterday, today I decide to start my descent within 5 minutes. It's still raining heavily, and the strong cold wind is making my wet bandana feel like it's slicing through my skull.

For a while, every step counts. At one point, I have a very brief giddy spell between two steps. I know I must descend quickly and get out of the high winds and pouring rain. So I hurry down the path as fast as I dare; the path is loose gravel made even more slippery by the rains, and don't want to get injured in the practice match and be disqualified from the final.

After what seems a long, long time, I finally reach the snow patch. Like yesterday, I slide down on my bums, paddling with my feet. Unlike yesterday, though, upon reaching the base of my snow-slide, I pick up a handful of the snow and shove it into my mouth. I remember having read somewhere that the snow won't harm you if you let it melt in your mouth, and that's exactly what I do. For the second time in the day, water has revived me. So I figure it's possible to get dehydrated even in cold and wet weather such as this. And I figure that that's what's been happening to me.

I diligently keep going down. While the slopes are all wet and there are puddles on the path, the incessant rain has finally stopped. I feel less battered, but quite tired. I think I need more water.

"I hope you have a change of clothes down there," says a voice behind me. I turn around to see a kindly, bearded, old gentleman in mountaineering gear.

"Yeah! But right now I am more concerned about finding the spring...need some water."

"Oh!"

So he offered me water from his backpack, and I took a sip. Third lifeline of the day.

Withing 10 minutes, I reach the little waterfall. So I climb up the rocks and drink from the cool, pure flow.

That's all I need. But the Gods seem to like me. They make the wet slippery terrain fall behind me, and make the sun shine on the remaining descent route.

On the way down I pass by a trio of boy scouts - aged around 10, 13, and 14 respectively - asking if they are doing alright. They seem to be just glad to be back, as am I. The youngest one expected some sort of a concessions stand at the top; like me, they haven't even had breakfast. So I give the little guy my chocolate bar as I know it was the last bar at the only shop for miles.

Back at the hostel, I have to wait for 10 minutes or so before the receptionist appears. I collect my backpack from him and request him to call a cab. Next, I
find the restroom and change into dry tshirt and shorts. I wear my shoes again, but without socks.

Soon the taxi arrives and takes me to Morrison's/ station. Since my bus is at 7.10pm, and it's just 4.4.40 right now, I decide to wait at the Morrison's Cafe. Good thing too, as I am really hungry.

At the cafe, I find a corner table where I can plug in my laptop, and take my shoes off and keep them to dry in the light of the setting but still warm sun.

I gorge down a cheese mushroom omelet and tomato soup as soon as they are brought to me, and promptly get another tomato soup, beans on toast and mint tea.

The Slovakian waitress thinks I am from somewhere in the Caribbean, which I guess would explain the long hair and the bandana. The bandana! Hmmm...time to take that off.

As I am working on my nice mint tea, and an Excel spreadsheet, a moustached man comes over and tells me that I can't plug in my laptop in the store's electric socket. I think he is joking till he takes away the waiter in the corner and explains him that they can't let me plug in my computer as otherwise I'd never leave.

What an idiot! The cafe is mostly empty, so there's no real reason he should want me to leave. In any case, if he wanted me to leave, my shoes could have been an easier target. Anyhow, his burning up doesn't matter to me - I have enough battery in the laptop to last me a couple of hours, and I decide that I'll go down heavy on him if he comes after my shoes. Fortunately or unfortunately, he doesn't.

At about 5 minutes to 7, I pick up a plastic bag from one of the tills to put my shoes, and walk down to the bus station. The bus departs at the appointed time.

When the bus stops for a toilet and smoking break, I take the opportunity to get some fresh air, and step out of the bus, still barefeet.

"Can you walk like that in the city?" asks a guy.

"Not really. It's just that my shoes got wet on the mountain today."

"Oh, yeah, I can understand that. You climbed Ben Nevis, eh? Once the strong winds flattened out my tent there."

After a moment, he asks, "So, are you from Peru?"

He obviously drew inspiration from a Cordillera de Los Andes Peru tshirt, a gift from a Peruvian friend, which I am wearing. That said, I've never seen a Peruvian guy wear a tshirt that says Peru (we are not talking about sports jerseys).

"No, from India."

"Wow! So this must be like a molehill for you."

"Well, it' small compared to the peaks in the Himalayas, but it's not as if I've climbed all the ones in the Himalayas, so..." I smile.

In Glasgow, I show the driver my mobile ticket and he tells me that it was for yesterday. What? I check the text message and realize that he is right. Just goes to show how thoroughly I planned this trip.

"For £15 I could fix you up," the driver offers.

"Well, I have £10", I open my wallet, "and some coins." I say, pulling out 3-4 pound coins.

"£10 is fine."

And so I reach London in the morning, barefeet and all.

Nevis - Day 1

2008-07-06T23:42:00.004-04:00

There are no direct coaches or trains from London to Fort William. So I decide that it would be best to take the first coach in the morning to Fort William from Glasgow. Since the direct coach from London that reaches Glasgow first in the morning gets there 5 minutes after the first coach to Fort William departs, I decide to book my journey through Birmingham. This way, I'll reach Glasgow with enough time on hand to catch the Fort William coach.

I decide to call my folks in India before leaving London, and somehow that conversation lasts a while, meaning that I am late for my 7pm for Birmingham. Further, after spending a little while at the city bus stop I discover that the buses have been diverted away from this road. So I run down to Westminster and catch a bus from there, and upon alighting at the Victoria underground station, I run to the Victoria coach station. I arrive at the station at exactly 7 pm (or maybe a minute before that), and do not see my coach at the assigned gate. So I go out to ask the uniformed guy outside the door.

As I am waiting for him to get off his walkie-talkie, I see my coach pulling out from behind another one, and wave the driver to stop. But he doesn't and merrily pulls away. This grinds my gears a bit, and it further riles me that the uniformed guy with the walkie-talkie refuses stop the driver, and tells me that he can't change my ticket to get me on the next coach at 7.30. And to get onto that coach, he tells me, I'll have to go to the ticket counter and buy a new ticket.

The ticket counter is crowded. The queue is long and slow-moving and there is no way I can get to the counter before 7.30, meaning the exact same thing could repeat itself. There is no point getting the 8pm ticket as then I'd miss my connection to Glasgow and thus miss my next connection to Fort William. So I go back to the gate. I need to try to get an on-the-spot from the driver. Till the last moment it seems like it will work out, as there is one no-show, but then the guy turns up, and I curse National Express under my breath.

So I go back to the ticket counter queue, which is now even longer, and wait for my turn while munching on a greasy vegetable samosa bought from one of the concession stands. I explain to the booking clerk that I am trying to get to Glasgow in time to catch my 7am Citylink coach to Fort William, and he books for me a seat on Silver Choice, which reaches Glasgow a full 30 minutes before the departure of the Citylink coach. God bless him!

After I freshen up at the Glasgow station, I realize that my cell battery is down, and is not even sufficient to power up the phone for a few seconds. This is great as while buying the tickets online, I had opted for a mobile ticket, meaning that the only ticket I have for the next part of my journey is stored as a text on my cellphone.

Nonetheless, I board the bus and explain the situation to the driver, giving him my name so that he can cross-check. He checks his list and nods upon seeing my name there, but insists that he needs to see my ticket number.

So I tell him to hold on and take a seat right behind him. With fingers crossed, I boot up my laptop, which had something like 7% battery life remaining last night, hooking my phone up with it through the USB-firewire cable in the hope that that will provide enough juice to switch it on and show the driver the text message. Thankfully, the plan works and I am able to kick back and relax till we arrive in Fort William at around half past 10.

There are no cabs at the taxi-stand. So I walk into the Morrison's store and buy a couple of Kitkats and a Scottish tablet. The Kitkats I save for the hike, but finish off the tablet as I wait for the cab. Finally one arrives and takes me to the Youth Hostel.

As I pay for the night, the receptionist tells me that I'd be able to check in only after 1.30pm. That's fine, as I plan to climb up right away without wasting any time.

Although the last time around I had vowed not to carry up my laptop, I decide that for this climb it would be good practice to carry up my backpack and everything in it - the laptop, a 2L bottle of water, a change of clothes, toiletries, and a jacket. The bandana I wear right away.

At the foot of the path I meet a pair of middle-aged Scottish men from Fife who comment on how far away from home I am. Well, I now live in London, I tell them, and thus not quite that far.

With that the flight of stairs begins. It is a nice, bright day, just as the forecast on weather.com promised, although there are clouds on the mountains.

One would think that in the better weather conditions the climb would have become easier, but it hasn't. The first half hour is still pretty hard. I don't like these stairs.

Then I see a young guy with a dog on a leash.

"Boy! If this is where you walk your dog every day, then hats off."

"Of course not," he says and we laugh.

There's a German girl vacationing with her friends. And then other. And another.

I don't know if there's something about this mountain, or about German girls, but there seem to be an awful many of them around here.

There is a 60-odd years old Scottish couple taking a slow walk.

Next, I pass by a Czech girl. She is vacationing with her boyfriend, and climbing the hill with him too, but he is somewhere far behind.

As I overtake her, I notice a dancing cloud on the mountain. So I stop to videotape. It is amazing. For about 15 minutes, the cloud forms, dissipates and prances & waltzes around again and again till becomes a thick fog.

On the way up, there are more German girls and German couples. There is also a smattering of Irish and Scottish teens and late-middle-aged folks, some of them with dogs.

It is interesting to see that one needs to cross a little patch of snow on the way, even on this summer day.

Closer to the summit, I run into the Czech girl again. She is going down.

"You are FAST," I say, "already climbing down."

Not the case, she tells me. Apparently, her boyfriend is feeling exhausted, and she needs to go to him and help him walk to the summit. Hmmm...

The peak (Scots would call it a Munro) is quite unlike a peak; it looks more like a plateau strewn with igneous rocks. The highest point is marked by an Ordnance survey trig point placed atop a large cairn. There are ruins of the old observatory around the middle of the plateau, and right by it on another large cairn is a storm shelter hut made of stone. This hut was airlifted here from Corpach in 1991. The top of the hut is higher than the trig point, making it the highest man-made structure in the British Isles.

Because of the extremely poor visibility I was unable to experience the Ben fully the last time around, and it feels great to see all this so vividly.

The view from the top is beautiful, and to add to the joy, the sun decides to make a rare appearance, albeit just for a minute or two.

As I am soaking it all in, two brothers aged 13-14 jostle up the cairn. I laugh.

"Bet you guys ran all the way up here."

"No, we slogged"

They live in Philadelphia and are vacationing in England and Scotland, as well as visiting their grandfather.

While I am chatting with them their mother catches up. She is Indian. She last came up here when she was 20, and now has come back to show her kids where she'd been. That must feel wonderful, I think.

"Oh, that's a great idea, I should have brought an Indian flag too," she points to my bandana.

On the way down, I want to wrap it up quickly. So much so, that when I reach the snow patch, instead of carefully lumbering through it like all the other civilized people around me, I just jump so as to land on my backside, and slide down all the way, paddling with my feet to direct and accelerate my motion.

And I run most of the way down. It just feels great to step from rock to rock. It' fun, it's fast, and I think it's safer too, as in stepping wide, one widens the base under one's center of gravity.

"Oh, you are faster than the wind," chirps a Bavarian girl I had met earlier at the summit. I laugh.

At the little waterfall, I drink from the cool stream and set down to rest. And as a few people (including the Bavarian couple) pass by me, I mawk (mock hawk) fresh Scottish spring water. After resting for a couple of minutes, I continue my descent.

The Bavarian couple are very jolly, and we engage in banter. I tell them that I had to shut my spring water business down as there no takers.

"Well, people are hungry...you should sell food. That might work better," says the girl.

"Yeah, I could sell some Bavarian food here, and then no one would climb up...they'd eat, and the lie down to sleep."

I tell them that I plan to climb up again tomorrow, and the guy thinks it would be great if I can get out of bed tomorrow - my muscles will be so sore, he thinks. I hope he's wrong.

Walking down the stairs, I realize that for me climbing down is harder than climbing up. While climbing up, I am moving towards a goal, an objective - to reach the top; while climbing down, I'm thinking, "Oh I've completed the task, send a chopper and take me home already."

Just before getting to the hostel, instead of going onto the bridge, I jump over the fences off the track and walk down to the little stream. It feels so good that I lie down there on the pebbles in the shade of the tall, green trees, with my backpack under my head. Before I know it, my eyes start getting heavy.

By the time I wake up, the sun has gone down behind the mountains and the birds are flying back home. So I get up and start walking towards the hostel, and suddenly sense a slight pain in my calves. Hopefully a good night's rest will fix that.

Click here to check out my pictures from Ben Nevis of 06 Jul 2008.

It's not a Warning/ Disclaimer

2008-07-01T17:21:00.002-04:00

Scenes of a Sexual Nature is a delightful, light, slice-of-life, English comedy set in Hampstead Heath. The screenplay criss-crosses, mostly smoothly, through the conversations of several pairs of people, one ordinary afternoon in the park.

It doesn't offer grand drama, overpowering romance or an unforgettable love story. Instead, it is more like a collection of warm short stories. Sunny, light, simple, funny, interesting, charming and mildly philosophical is how I would describe the movie. It's a low budget fare, but it doesn't need extraordinary production values; in fact, the low-budget feel makes it all the more endearing.

Oh, and don't worry about the name - this is not a graphic film in any way. Check it out - you won't regret this one.

They f*** you up

2008-06-22T20:49:00.006-04:00

Virtually the entire cast, in addition to the producer and director, of Mum & Dad was present at the world premier of the film at Filmhouse. The house was almost full, which in my book is another unusual happening for a movie being screened after midnight.

This film is the first Microwave feature of Film London (Microwave is a micro-budget - under £100,000 - movie project). At first this surprised me as I wouldn't have expected their first film to be in the horror genre. But then again, they say that horror is the easiest/ safest genre to start off with, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised at all.

Mum & Dad is the story of Lena, a Polish immigrant working at Heathrow, who, having missed the last bus home, ends up at chirpy colleague Birdie's house for what she assumes is just a sleepover. She is promptly knocked unconsious and transported into a living hell. As it turns out, Birdie's "parents" are no ordinary people; they are an abhorrently twisted pair, perhaps loosely based on the Wests, that unleash horror beyond poor Lena's worst nightmares.

The rest of the movie is pretty much a carbon-copy of almost every captivity-ordeal-desperation-dash horror flick ever made. Sheil does not attempt to break any molds; there are hardly any genuine chills here. However, he does set out to shock and some of his graphic imagery may delight sickness-and-gore fans, while offending many others in the audience.

The biggest shocks, of course, come not from the graphic nature of the movie, but from the implied banality of the nasty and horrific acts in the house. In fact, the bright sparks of the movie are in the sly satire and dark humor, which have unfortunately been used sparingly; it would be nice to see more of that.

It's great the way Sheil uses juxtaposition of banalities from everyday lives of regular families with his "special" family. It's a closely-knit, principled household with family values, with a generous dose of gruesome thrown in. Taken out of the context of the sadistic milieu, the dialogs might seem like what you might hear in your own house.

In terms of story, the premise is interesting, but I would have been so much more interested in Birdie's story than in Lena's. It would still be following a formula, but the transformation of Lena into Birdie would have added quite a bit of depth and chill-factor.

The acting is mostly good. Dido Miles is efficiently chilling as Mum. Perry Benson's Dad is an everyday familyman with some horrific quirks, although I can't help but think that he would probably be a good addition to Simon Peggesque comedy movies. Ainsley Howard and Toby Alexander frankly don't have all that much to do, but they are professional with what they are asked to do.

The bulk of the film rests on the slender shoulders of Olga Fedori. In the beginning, she seems to have been miscast - she is too sophisticated to be a janitor at Heathrow. And her accent is certainly more American than Polish, or what's stereotypically associated with Polish immigrants, which would have been fine had the director not foolishly stuck to the word of the script and actually identified the accent as Polish in the film.

Thankfully, Lena enters the house of horrors within the first few minutes, and once there Olga comes into her element and shines; she has excellent physical and emotive acting capabilities and she uses them well. If she can further develop accent/ dialect imitation, she is destined to go places.

Sound leaves much to be desired - it's simply not up to snuff for this day and age. That said, this IS a micro-budget movie, and they probably had many demands on whatever limited resources they had. I love the excellent way the traditional song Nine Hundred Miles has been used. You can check it out in the trailer.

An editorial gaffe strangely reminds me of Hitchcock's Oscar-nominated North By Northwest. In one sequence towards the end of the movie, Eva Marie Saint's character (Eve Kendall) is supposed to shoot someone, and takes out a gun out of her purse. As she does so, a boy, sitting in the restaurant with his back towards Eva Marie, covers his ears in anticipation of the shot though his character had no way of knowing about the impending shooting; he had obviously sat through quite a few takes. And somehow, this was the take that made it into the film.

In Mum & Dad, there is a defining moment quite early in the film when Lena is hit on the head and is knocked unconscious. Now the assailant comes from behind her, and Lena has no way of knowing what's coming to her, but Olga flinches in anticipation just before being hit; like the boy from North By Northwest, she had probably gone through some rehearsals/ takes. Why this particular take made it, we'll never know. They even use this same take in the trailer.

Overall, if you are a die-hard gore fan, and have nothing better to do on a Saturday night, you might want to pick up the DVD from your local store.

Quotation of the Day

2008-05-06T06:31:00.001-04:00

"S'il Vous Plaît sounds just like See, Woo, Play."
- yours truly The Maverick

Turning Back Time

2008-04-12T17:55:00.003-04:00

After a long while we spoke today
Today the sun shone after long
Everything is alright in the world
My head is humming an old song

All was beautiful, good and pure
Roads were short, weather was fine
My heart, it pines for you, says
O my dear, let's turn back time

Let's become strangers once again
And meet again in a strange land
Let's start over, and once again
For first time let me kiss your hand

Let's discover the sights and sounds
Let's travel together on the train
Maybe under one umbrella we'll soak
Once again, in the pouring rain

And once again on that winding road
Maybe you will call out my name
That's all the fame I would need
Somethings would remain the same

And perhaps some would change too
Things'd be better, nothing to rue
Maybe I won't make the mistakes
Maybe you'd love me even if I do

Maybe we could start from there
And create our beautiful domain
We can not be strangers anymore
Let's meet again, let's meet again

Belgique

2008-04-11T17:37:00.004-04:00

Eurolines runs an overnight coach service from London Victoria to Brussels, which suited me perfectly for quick getaway. The coach deposited me at Gare de Nord at 5.30 am just as the city was beginning to shake out of its slumber.

I wandered around the station a bit before finally heading south on Boulevard Jacqmain. The Grote Markt is almost right behind the Bourse. To me, the area beween the Bourse and the Grote Markt seemed to be intensely Greek.

The Grote Markt was almost entirely empty when I reached there. The city’s largest and most famous square is a world heritage site surrounded by Hôtel de Ville (Town Hall), L'ange (The Angel), and Broodhuis (Bread House).

Hôtel de Ville is built in Gothic style, complete with a 96 m tall tower on which Archangel Michael, the patron saint of Brussels, stands and watches over the town. It also houses the Tourist Information Center. Broodhuis, which used to be a bakers’ outlet, is now a Museum better known as King’s House. Interestingly, the only diamond jeweler on the square is Indian, not an Antwerp Jew.

Next, like any first-timer, I headed to the Manneken Pis, the 24-inches tall naked and urinating bronze boy. In fact, in Brussels it would seem that all roads lead to him, since almost all road-directions include directions to the mannequin.

The legend goes that the troops of the two year-old Duke Godfrey II of Leuven put him up on a tree to inspire them in a battle against the Berthouts. Perched in the tree, he urinated on the troops of the Berthouts, who ended up losing the battle.

I have also heard an alternative version that is funnier and also makes more sense: While Brussels was under siege in the 14th century, a little Brussels lad named Juliaanske chanced upon the enemy plot to blow away the city walls. The smart little one urinated on the fuse and the charge, thus saving the city.

While the Jérôme Duquesnoy statue itself is from 1619, it is said that it was preceded by a similar stone statue that delivered alcohol, and stood in the same place. (Naturally then, both the restaurant-bars next door are named after Manneken Pis)

The inscription under the statue says, “In petra exhaltavit me, et nunc exaltavi caput meum super inimicos meos,” which is funny because the statue has been stolen numerous times.

In 1747 after the Manneken Pis was recovered from a strip club, where the French soldiers that had stolen him left him, Louis XV offered him a costume. Since then the Manneken's wardrobe has grown to include several hundred costumes that he dons on the directions of an organization called The Friends of Manneken-Pis.

While there, I also discovered that there are similar statues in Geraardsbergen, Hasselt, Ghent and a French village called Broxeele (I don’t understand French, but my sense is that Brussels and Broxeele would probably be pronounced identically in French). In fact, Geraardsbergen says that its Manneken Pis is older than the one in Brussels, a claim that Brussels naturally vehemently rejects.

There is a nice little waffle shop just a few meters up the Rue de L’Étuve that offers amazing fresh waffles. Interestingly, the chocolate shop right next door to the statue is at least managed exclusively by Chinese.

The souvenir shops all over the town have collectible metal and resin effigies, keyrings, corkscrews and chocolates shaped like Manneken Pis, which is hardly surprising considering that this little boy is Brussels' most famous landmark and icon.

Also quite naturally, there are homages to the Smurfs and Tintin all around the town. And if one is vigilant, one can also notice some references to Asterix. Surprisingly though, M. Poirot is conspicuous only by his absence. Like all good pollsters, I didn't ask anyone about it but am speculating that perhaps the Belgians never embraced Englishwoman Agatha Christie's fictional detective as their own.

Back at the Grote Markt, life had started buzzing. Almost right in the middle of the square, some people were setting up what seemed to be a flower market, and on closer inspection turned out to be a flowering-plant market. The stewardesses had starting scribbling the day’s menus on the menu boards outside the restaurants. And some tourists had already started clicking pictures.

Brussels is an island of French in an ocean of Dutch/Flemish. In the lower town, French is almost the exclusive tongue used. That said, most shopkeepers around Grote Markt and Manneken Pis do also converse in English, a consequence of having to deal with a large number of tourists on regular basis.

As one makes one's way through the Rue des Bouchers, which is packed with restaurants as the name suggests, one is told of a female counterpart to the Manneken Pis.

Call me a sexist, but somehow the concept of a naked boy taking a leak in public sounds less obscene than that of a similarly attired girl squatting to do the same.

Located at the end of Impasse de la Fidélité, which is marked mainly by the blue signs of Delirium Café bearing a pink baby elephant, Denis-Adrien Debouvrie’s Jeanneke Pis statue/fountain was installed in 1987 as, one assumes, a gender equality statement. She is also geographically a counterpoint to Manneken Pis, being located as she is about the same distance away from Grote Markt in the opposite direction.

Jeanneke Pis is much bigger than Manneken Pis, though. The statue itself has about the same height as Manneken Pis does, but since Jeanneke is squatting, she is probably about a meter tall. Therefore, proportionally she is probably eight times the size of Manneken Pis in terms of volume. Notice, I didn’t say “in terms of bronze used”; that’s because Jeanneke Pis is made of limestone.

Once you have traversed your way back through what I call the “Food Lane”, and emerge at Place Agora, you’ll find an underground market at Grasmarkt. The stalls in this market sell everything from beads, clothes and shoes to luggage to store the beads, clothes and shoes. I think of this market as a miniature version of Palika Bazar in New Delhi’s Connaught Circus, not the least because quite a few of the shopkeepers are Desis and Tibetans.

From the Grasmarkt it is a short walk on Rue de la Montagne to the Cathédral and Musée. The building is impressive as are its numerous stained glass windows. While I was there, a choir of little schoolchildren sang a motet enthusiastically and beautifully.

Oh, one thread that I caught there, but am yet to explore is the involvement of Hungary and Hungarian church in Belgium. There were breadcrumbs to pick up all over the church, not the smallest being a large chart detailing "Medieval Dynastic Saint-Cult in Hungary"

Considering my day done, I headed north, past the Opera and the Place des Martyrs.

My day was hardly done though, as I ended up chatting till 3 am with a bunch of people that just gravitated into the group. There were the three Americans, of respectively Korean, Chinese and American ethnicities, who had been out “doing Europe” for about six weeks, and were returning to Los Angeles the next morning. There was the Chinese academic doing research on what makes people happy. There was the unusually quiet Spanish guy from Madrid.

And of course, there was a Canadian figure-skater who, having graduated from college last year, had spent the last six months in Croatia and was headed to Bucuresti to do some volunteer work for 2 weeks. On her way from Toronto she had stopped over in London for a couple of days to see a friend, and had had her luggage stolen, and yet had soldiered on to Croatia where she did an au pair on a farm.

It was in this esteemed gathering that I learned that the only reason anyone would want to visit Brussels is the beer. Compared to the Belgian beer, Budweiser tastes, to use a direct quote, “like piss”. This might well be the case, as these were the strongest beers I had seen anywhere. While most beers available worldwide have somewhere between 3.5% and 5% alcohol by volume (7% to 10% proof) and the ones that have 5.5% alcohol are considered extra strong, I actually saw beers with up to 17.5% alcohol, and was told that it went up to even 20% for some beers.

The next day, while I did check out the Jardin Botanique, I spent most of my time in the upper town.

The most imposing structure, of course, is the Palais de Justice, the Law Courts of Brussels. Described as the biggest secular building constructed in the 19th century, the Palais was built using money from Leopold II's Congo Free State.

Straight down from Place Poelaert on Rue de la Régence lies the Petit Sablon, a pretty little garden surrounded by 48 bronze statues representing different guilds. The flowers and fountains apparently have been an inspiration to local artists, and I found at least one girl drawing on the beauty to write poetry in French.

Right behind the garden is Parc d’Egmont, that can be reached through the stairs about 50m to the south on Wolstraat. While this is a bigger park, it is more of a green field than a garden, and not quite worth a visit, unless you are planning on an afternoon siesta.

Just a short way further down from Petit Sablon on Rue de la Régence is the Musea Voor Schone Kunsten, followed by Place Royale. Place Royale provides the entrance to the cathedral of Palais Royal. The church is much smaller inside than it looks from outside, though it does house two splendid paintings: Venite Ad Me (Come to me) and Consummatum Est (It’s over).

When I was visiting, the outside steps of the building were serving as an outdoor studio for a class of some young artists who, I assume, were drawing inspiration from the excellent views of lower town afforded.

From there I took the side alley that opened into Brederodestraat and followed it all the way down to Troonplein. As you might have guessed, I was headed to the European Parliament building a short walk down the Rue du Luxembourg. While it is not the most impressive glass and steel structure I’ve seen, I quite liked the modern architecture.

Considering that the European Parliament is located here, it is not surprising that this part of town is quite cosmopolitan.

By circling around Parc Leopold using the pathway starting immediately to the right of the EU Parliament building, one can reach the tiny Museum of Natural History. The Jubilee Park and Museum of Military History are located a short way down on Rue Belliard, but I decided to skip the Jubilpark, which seemed as unexciting as the Parc Leopold.

Instead, I headed back towards the city center on Rue de la Loi. The surprise encounter on the way was Bank of Baroda, an Indian regional bank, before I reached Palais de la Nation. While the building itself is not massive or highly ornate, it is located next to Parc de Bruxelles, which is home to characteristic statues. This peculiar style focuses in a great deal of detail on the bust part of the statue, and chisels out the rest of the body in rough, eroded stone.

I was also lucky to reach Parc de Bruxelles at a time when the park fountain was dressed in a rainbow. It was quite something, I have to say.

My last stop on the way back was the Congresplein, erected in the memory of the unknown soldier.

Overall, Brussels works very hard to maintain its vintage “character” and is quite a beautiful city, but if you are tourist, it is not more than a one-day destination. I spent about two half-days there, and was able to absorb most of the sights and sounds of the city. And I was essentially just walking around! If you use public transportation, and plan your trip, it should definitely take less time to “do” Brussels.

Since I normally prefer a laid-back attitude of gradually discovering the nature and character of cities and their people, the above statements and advice might seem quite uncharacteristic. But the fact remains that Brussels just didn’t quite pique my curiosity enough.

The most amusing incident of the trip came at the fag-end. I had reached the Eurolines office at Gare de Nord a little early and was waiting to check-in when something caught my attention. I thought my ears caught the sound of “…prezece…” being uttered, though I’d like to believe that I had sub-consciously heard substantially more than that before venturing out to ask: “Ești Român?”

The middle-aged gentleman at the receiving end of my query was startled out of the conversation with his companion. And now both of them were looking at me with an unwavering expressionless gaze.

Maybe I hadn’t gotten through, I thought, and repeated the question. And it was then that I saw him give, almost nervously it seemed, the slightest of nods, which I had noticed the first time around but dismissed as my imagination.

I suppose that it was only logical for him to ask, “Și ești Român?”, however ridiculous it might have seemed.

“Nu, Indien”

“Locueşti în Brusel?” he asked, or at least I think that’s what he asked.

“Nu, Londra”

“Vorbeste Româna?” he pointed to the clerk at the counter.

“Cred că nu”, I tried to summon my Romanian vocabulary.

“Italien?”

And I arched my eyebrows and shrugged my shoulders in the international gesture for “I haven’t a clue.”

To cut a long story short, the gentleman under question was trying to find if he could get a place on a coach to Romania on the 16th. Unfortunately though, he spoke only Italien and Romanian, and the counter clerks spoke only Dutch/ Flemish, English and French. So I ended up acting the interpreter, gasping for breath while swimming in the linguistic ocean.

Before you ask, the funny thing is that I understand only a word or two of Romanian, and do not know it well enough to have even a simple conversation in the language.

So there.

Oh, and I managed to wrap-up this trip, including travel, boarding, lodging, and souvenirs, for under £150.

Click here to check out my pictures from Brussels of 09 and 10 Apr 2008.
P.S. - There are three pages in this album! If you're not running the slideshow, don't forget to check out the second and third pages :-)

Olympics, Tibet and Snow

2008-04-06T17:18:00.030-04:00

I woke up pretty early for a Sunday, and looked out of my window to see a strong snowfall. That's right! It snowed in London in April, after a relatively warm winter. The climate change surely is happening faster now (click here and check out this must watch BBC documentary).

Within an hour or so, the falling snow thinned, and the flakes became much smaller, to the extent that they became the kind that float in the air. It remained that way for an inordinately long time, as far as I was concerned. I needed to go out, but didn't as I knew I needed to take many pictures and if any of the floating flakes landed on my camera's lens, they'd spoil the photos.

By the time I reached Westminster, the torch had already left Trafalgar Square and was headed our way. By then, there had been an attempt to snatch it and another to extinguish it. At least three explosions had happened (compressed sodium bicarbonate explosions - can't quite call them bombs), and police had barely managed to prevent a conflagration between passionate protestors and zealous Chinese youth in Trafalgar Square.

In fact, the torch was making only crawling progress, surrounded respectively by Chinese security officials in blue tracksuits, Metropolitan Police in reflective yellow jackets and rapid action/ riot police in black, by the time it had reached us at Westminster.

The torch and the bearer were so well concealed in the multiple layers of security cordons, that it took me a good while to comprehend that the Olympic flame had gone past me. By the time I realized what had happened, the entourage had disappeared behind a corner and several ambulances and police vans were rushing down the Westminster Bridge making a grand ruckus.

I didn't know exactly what route the relay was to take, but since I had seen, just this Friday, workers put up make-shift bleachers for the relay at South Bank Centre, I had a sense that the next stop would be a ceremony at the Centre. So after leisurely clicking a couple of pictures of the snow sliding off the slanted roofs of some landmarks, I ran towards the South Bank Centre, past the Town Hall and the London Eye.

The area was jam-packed by protestors weilding Tibetan flags and placards that read "Free Tibet", "China, Talk to Dalai Lama" and "Human Rights Before Olympics". A score of coppers were trying desperately to make sure that the venue didn't look "too dangerous" to the Chinese. Oh, and there were also two huge flailing-arm inflatable tube dolls sporting pro-Tibet banners. After a few attempts, I gave up the idea of getting closer to what would be the core of the festivities.

Instead, having spotted the Relay buses arrive on the Waterloo Bridge, I slid past the banner-wielding, slogan-mouthing crowd towards the stairs leading to the terrace; if the torch were to come down here, it would have to come through somewhere, and these stairs seemed at least as good as any other entrance.

Luckily, the Chinese decided to use these very stairs to bring down the Olympic Flame. That's correct: There was no torchbearer, only the blue track-suited Chinese, which perhaps made sense as there was no torch either, only the flame in its lantern.

So far, so good. But what next, considering that the ceremony at South Bank was likely to take a while, and there was not even a fleeting chance my being able to witness any of it, leave aside capturing any of it on camera?

I decided I wanted to beat the flame to the bridge and get to the parade before it started. So I ran to the Waterloo Bridge and discovered a barrier erected at the bridge's approach stairs. As I jumped over the barrier and ran up the stairs, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a policeman at the top of the stairs taking a couple of steps towards me. Thankfully the torch was nowhere in the vicinity, and he decided not to tackle me.

On the bridge I was greeted by a seemingly interminable line of police mobikes parked on either sides of the relay buses. Oh, and also by the slogans, imprinted on the official vehicles of the relay, "Lenovo: New World. New Thinking.", "Light the Passion, Share the Dream", which seemed so ironical in the situation.

Since I did not have a good sense of the scheduled route of the torch, I sneaked a good look at and committed to memory the stops scedule pasted on a police motorcycle's petrol tank; apparently, most police riders had pasted the schedule onto their mobikes for easy reference. This would stand me in good stead later on in the day.

There were about 10 Chinese students on the bridge, joyously waving a large Chinese flag and sporting Chinese-flag temporary-tattoos on their cheeks. There were also small groups of protestors, all over the bridge, adding up to about 100. They were mostly patiently holding on to their Tibetan flags, "Free Tibet" banners, and "Flame of Oppression" placards while chatting about and strolling on the bridge. Oh, and while I was there, which ended up being a long while, a group of 5-6 "hired Olympic supporters" in blue clothes and wigs went past, trying to hand out Samsung's balloons, pom-poms, little flags and assorted cheering material.

By the time the torch arrived, the bridge was packed with protestors waving flags, placards and banners, and shouting slogans. The contingent was caught in a vast sea of protestors just a short-way down from the bridge, and there it decided that instead of taking the straight road down to Somerset House, it would make a detour, at least the second in the day. The first one occured when the Chinese Ambassador had to carry the torch through China Town instead of the originally scheduled path.

After an unpublicised change to the route, the Chinese ambassador carried the torch through Chinatown. - BBC

China's ambassador to Britain, Fu Ying, carried the torch through Chinatown, following a different route than originally planned, before handing it over without incident, AP said. - CNN

Demonstrators swelled in number near the spot where Chinese Ambassador Fu Ying had been expected to carry the Olympic torch. Instead, Fu emerged with the torch in the heart of London's Chinatown, managing to jog unhindered before handing it over to the next participant. - AP
The real kicker came on Regent Street though when, for the first time in Olympic history, the torch had to be boarded on a bus and sped off. The protestors kept up with the bus, though, and we arrived at a jam-packed St. Paul's. There was supposed to a grand ceremony on the steps of the cathedral, but even after waiting and planning for at least 20 mts, the security were unable to get the torchbearers off the bus. They sped off again!

There was no way to tear through the crowd, so I decided to go through from behind the cathedral in order to catch up with the rocketing bus. It was a long detour, however, and I missed it. After running in the general direction in which the bus had been pointing before scooting away, I figured that I had lost it.

I knew, from the police schedule on the motorcycle tank, that the procession was to go down across the Thames before returning to the north side of the river. By the time I reached the bridge, though, the torch had cleared quite some distance on the south side, as indicated by the hovering helecopters. So I dashed to the Tower Bridge to catch the torch on its way back from the south side.

Thankfully, I reached there with enough time to spare to find myself a good spot before the police pilot arrived to clear the crowds. The torch came shortly afterwards; apparently they had resumed the running just before the Tower Bridge.

And then as a protestor, quite some distance ahead of the torch, got onto the road and waved a Tibetan flag, a police officer sprinted and dived on him to take him down. My camera was slow to respond and, regrettably, I couldn't capture the moment.

Photo source: NewsMax

I had a great angle on this shot - much better than the above picture shows. I remember rueing the wasted opportunity. While it lasted only a second, it was my first brush with the journalistic dilemma.

To be fair, on one hand I was no journalist or reporter, and on the other there was hardly anything I could have done for the poor guy being pounced upon at that moment. But what shamed me was that my first thought was that of a photo-op rather than the injuries sustained by the protestor in question. Had I become so self-absorbed and conceited that getting a good picture was somehow more important than suffering of a fellow man?

The incident also set me thinking about the question of safety and freedom, and the way our law enforcement works.

It is not an accident that George Orwell's 1984 is set in London, nor that this town is the background for the Wachowski Brothers' movie V for Vendetta. It is easy to see how a little bit of push could convert England into a police state.

Throughout the relay till then and after then I saw the police tackle and handcuff protestors on their whim and fancies. I'm not trying to demonize the Met; I spoke with many of the policemen and most of them were quite jolly and good-natured when you engaged them in a good way. However, there were quite a few consistently nasty ones that took upon themselves to keep London safe from the voices of discontent. This minority bunch acted pretty heavy-handedly and to a good extent abused the carte blance afforded to them.

I couldn't help but think back to Philip Zimbardo's famous Stanford Prison Experiement, wherein perfectly healthy and nice students were transformed into sadistic guards and depressed prisoners by a mere role-play game over the short period of 6 days.

The funny aspect of it was that the Met Police behaved as if it were concerned for the well-being of the torchbearers when the fact remains that the safety of the torchbearers was never under threat, before, during or after they bore the torch. Not from the protestors, anyway.

The only harm that befell any one of them came from the security forces themselves. Specifically, Konnie Huq was “bashed about” when the Chinese security officials tried to prevent the torch from being snatched by an enterprising protestor. As Huq later recalled on a BBC program,

“…they wrestled him to the ground. There were so many people and everyone was shouting 'just keep going'…I was a bit bashed about but I guess that's par for the course in such a little brawl.”
The torch and torchbearers had to be packed off onto the bus and sped away again at Mile End.

There were quite some festivities planned at Stratford, with London 2012 welcoming Beijing 2008. But there was no stopping the Olympic torch bus, which just zoomed past towards Canary Wharf, leaving in its wake, just confusion and disappointment for the many colorful-costume-clad London 2012 performers, most of them children.

Even if one were unaware of the politics behind it all, one would have had to admit that there's something seriously wrong with a picture where the torch and the torchbearers are on a coach, and it's the police that's running all the way.

This was reminiscent of George W Bush’s inauguration wherein he made history by becoming the first president not to be able to walk over, and had to be sped off in his limo. And we all know how that turned out.

Anyhow, since it was impossible now to catch up to the torch, I spent some time participating in the London 2012 festivities before boarding the Jubilee Line tube to North Greenwich.

At the O2, the path and time of arrival of the torch was shrouded in mystery due to the by now familiar game of "keep 'em guessing" being played by those "responsible for the security of the sacred Olympic flame". Even so, when the torch arrived the thousands of protestors made the whole area echo with shouts of "Free Tibet", "Talk to Dalai Lama" and "Stop the Killings" though they did not attempt to break down the barricades, much to the relief of visibly nervous law enforcement officers.

The closing ceremony was cut short with the news that The Sugababes, whose performace formed the major part of the ceremony, had withdrawn from the event.

Instead, all that the crowd had the pleasure of was a speech in Mandarin by Jiang Xiaoyu, Executive & Vice President of the Beijing Olympics Organising Committee. And what a fantastic speech it was!

I use the term "fantastic" rather literally here to refer to the fact that Xiaoyu's speech seemed to be delivered from a fantasy world. While there were thousands upon thousands of protestors shouting slogans, jeering, and booing, Xiaoyu had his rose-tinted glasses firmly on, and his speech strictly scripted.

Xiaoyu delivered, with a wide smile, words completely contradictory to reality, choosing not to even acknowledge any glitches or deviances from the plan. Essentially, he thanked London for the "warm welcome" and waxed on how "successful" the torch relay had been. One would have expected him to at least have toned down the exuberance, but then again, the people in attendance that night weren't his audience, nor were the people around the world; his audience were the people back home, watching him on the state-run television.

This experience gave me some sense of what life might be like in a totalitarian regime. Don't get me wrong. I don't mean to say that I saw the kind of suffering that many have witnessed and endured in the communist societies; I'm not daft enough to even imagine that. Many nations have endured, and many continue to endure, unspeakable atrocities under closed governments. What happened here wasn't even a minuscule fraction of that.

What I do mean is that it opened for me a little window of understanding and insight into what it might be to live under an oppressive regime. I caught a slight, little glimpse of what it might be like when not just one is persecuted for having an opinion and voicing it, but also that one's voice is prevented from reaching the ears of one's fellow man. I caught gained a slightly better understanding of what it might be like when those in positions of power not only draw wrong conclusions based on the facts, but actually can choose to completely ignore the facts...choose to not acknowledge the facts.

And if the behavior of the Vice President of the Beijing Olympics Organising Committee surprised you, what would you say if I were to tell you that the Chinese media demonstrated a complete lack of journalistic integrity by completely omitting the protests from its news reports?

As the BBC reported:

Pictures of the London relay were broadcast on China's state-controlled TV, but not of the protests and disruption.
And while the world press covered the event variously as:

The Times: Arrests and scuffles as Olympic torch crosses London

...Olympic flame was detoured away from its pre-planned route and placed on a bus on the advice of police, who said they could no longer guarantee to maintain order in the face of vigorous protests.

At points on the 31 mile route a phalanx of police officers, marching with their arms locked around each other's shoulders, had to form a protective ring around the flame in order to ensure that the torchbearer could continue to make progress.

Two activists were taken away by police after attempting to put out the torch with fire extinguishers.
“Like many people in the UK we feel that China has no right parading the Olympic torch through London,” they said. “Our protest is not directed at the Chinese people whatsoever but instead at the brutal Chinese regime that rules them.”

“It is deeply sad that the Chinese through their brutality in Tibet have contaminated the Olympic ideal,” said Norman Baker MP, president of the Tibet Society, in a statement on the Free Tibet Campaign’s website.
The Guardian: Chaotic scenes at London Olympic torch relay

Three rings of guards, both British police and Chinese officials, ran alongside anxious-looking torch bearers throughout the 31-mile (50-km) journey.

"We're here to get the message to the Chinese government to fulfil their promise to improve their human rights record, which they made when they got their Olympic bid in 2001," (Lizzy Pollard, 35, China campaign coordinator for a north London branch of Amnesty International) said.

The torch's journey was plagued from the start as snow showers covered London and kept many people away.

AP: Scuffles During UK Olympic Torch Relay

Demonstrators tried to board a relay bus after five-time Olympic gold medalist rower Steve Redgrave launched procession at Wembley Stadium — presaging a number of clashes with police along the torch's 31-mile journey.

The protests have forced officials to make unscheduled changes to the relay route, Metropolitan Police said. Thirty people have been arrested.

Activists demonstrating against China's human rights record and a recent crackdown on Tibet have been protesting along the torch route since the start of the flame's 85,000-mile odyssey from Ancient Olympia in Greece to Beijing, host of the 2008 Summer Olympics.
The Telegraph: Tibet protests disrupt Olympic torch parade

The Olympic torch has arrived at the O2 Arena after chaotic scenes during its tour of London as more than 35 protesters were arrested.

The parade was brought to a temporary halt five times in its first few miles as anti-China protesters made repeated attempts to breach security, including one man who tried to extinguish the flame with a fire extinguisher.
Sunday Express: 30 Protestors Arrested at Olympic Torch Relay

Former Blue Peter presenter Konnie Huq fell victim to one angry protestor who tried to snatch the torch from her hands and another tried to put the flame out with a fire extinguisher.
BBC: Clashes along Olympic torch route

Thirty-five arrests have been made after clashes between pro-Tibet protesters and police as the Olympic torch made its way through London.
CNN: Angry protests as torch reaches London

Protesters angry about China's human rights record and its recent actions in Tibet scuffled with police and made attempts to grab the Olympic torch and douse it with a fire extinguisher Sunday.
CBS WHP TV 21: Protesters force changes to Olympic torch relay route

Unscheduled changes to the relay route and demonstrators trying to snuff out the Olympic torch are what police have been dealing with in London during today's torch relay.

France 24: Scuffles disrupt Olympic torch relay in London

Scores of Chinese officials in blue suits and British police on foot and bicycles guarded the celebrities and athletes carrying the torch but demonstrators repeatedly broke through their security cordon.
The London Paper: Olympic torch protest

Hundreds lined Bayswater Road, many wearing Tibetan flags and carrying signs which read "Stop the killing in Tibet", "No Olympic torch in Tibet" and "China talk to Dalai Lama".
(You may also check out the photo story at Monster and Critic)

While the world media was reporting as above, the Official Torch Relay website had this report:

Olympic flame crosses London amid snow

The heavy snow in London exerted slim effect on people's passion of seeing Beijing Olympic flame as large crowds lined along the street to greet the relay of torch on Sunday in the host city of 2012 Games.

London boasted the longest relay of nearly 50 kilometers among cities outside China's mainland.

"It's really a great pleasure to see Londoners smiling and waving."
alongwith a feel-good photo that had the caption

(Torchbearer Giles Emily (C) holds the torch during the Olympic torch relay in London, capital of Britain, April 6, 2008)
There was not a single mention of any protests, let alone disruptions. Not one mention!

And the organizers cannot even simply shrug and say that they merely used the news item filed by the state-controlled Xinhua News Agency, because they strategically omitted one sentence from the Xinhua story:

Redgrave just criticized the binding of Olympics and politics days before the relay.
This is a strong indication that the Olympic organizers don’t even want to let out the fact that there were any protests. It would seem audacious and foolhardy on their part to believe that they could keep 1.3 billion people in the dark. Unless it were true.

Oh, and their Found a mistake link, meant to allow readers to report errors, was not working on the page carrying this news story.

Most Chinese media outlets toed the Xinhua line, with the "happy news" pictures:

British Prime Minister Gordon Brown (4th L), British Olympic Minister Tessa Jowell (5th L) and torchbearer Denise Lewis (6th L) applaud as disabled torchbearer Ali Jawad (3rd L) starts with the torch outside 10 Downing Street in London, capital of Britain, April 6, 2008.

Torchbearer Fu Ying, China's Ambassador to the United Kingdom, runs with the torch during the Olympic torch relay in London, capital of Britain, April 6, 2008.
and several pictures showing cheerful crowds bearing Chinese flags egging on the torchbearer. Of course, what they fail to mention is that these photos are actually from China Town to where the torch had to be detoured when the protesting crowds had made it impossible for Chinese Ambassador Ying to carry the torch through the scheduled route.

As far as I have found, the only Chinese media outlet to have mentioned any disruptions is Shanghai Daily (I am guessing that its audience consists, in large part, a Western-expat population working in Shanghai):

25 held as protesters fail to sabotage London relay

Of course, it quickly qualifies that headline with:

As part of a grand festival in London, tens of thousands people lined the route of the relay to cheer the event, far outnumbering protesters.
This, of course, is utter rubbish. The “Journey of Harmony” was so marred by disruptions that it cost London over £1 million to provide security for the event.

Many spectators voiced disapproval of attempts to disrupt the torch relay by those who claimed they had done so for "political causes." Cathy Sing, a London resident, said that she was puzzled by the protesters who said they were supporting the "independence of Tibet."
"Tibet has been part of China for several hundred years," she said, adding that the disruption had been well-planned to tarnish China's image.
I have no doubt that Cathy is a London resident. I do wonder, though, what sort of a surname "Sing" is. My money is on Chinese.

Nick, a British university student who was watching the event in central London, said that "sports should be separated from political things."
And what, pray tell, be your surname "Nick"? I am betting that Shanghai Daily meant British-university student, not British university-student.

This is not to say that the Western media is completely objective and journalistically rigorous.

For instance, while all world media outlets except the Chinese ones reported that The Sugababes backed out from their closing ceremony performance,

In a blow to the relay's finale, pop band The Sugababes withdrew from the closing event saying one of their singers was suffering with laryngitis. - The Guardian
some failed to report that, as BBC noted, they had participated in one leg of the relay earlier in the day.

Girl band The Sugababes withdrew from the finale at the last minute, saying singer Amelle Berrabah had been diagnosed with laryngitis. They had earlier carried the torch on an open top bus down Oxford Street.
As far as I have been able to determine, in the aftermath of the protests, only France24 reported the Dalai Lama's statement, "The hosting of the Olympic Games this year is a matter of great pride to the 1.2 Billion Chinese people. I have, from the very beginning supported the holding of these games in Beijing. I feel the Tibetians should not cause any hinderance to the games."

1 mt 11 secs

Please click the Play button above. Video source: France 24

Similarly, the media's discomfort with "lawbreakers" surfaces when it seems to imply that torchbearer Konnie Huq was in some way harmed, "bashed about" to be precise, by the protestors.

The fact, of course, is that Huq was bashed about in the Chinese security personnel's efforts to save the torch from being snatched (Naturally! Where did you think the loyalties of the Chinese security agencies lay - with the torch or with the bearers - when you allowed them to be the first ring around the torch?). This is clear from the videos of the incident as also from Huq's statement. Most media outlets simply chose to not use her full quote, and to plant some seeds in the readers' imagination.

However, the Western media occasionally just indulges in the sin of spin. It hardly ever, if ever, completely fabricates stories or buries news. The extent of media manipulation in the West is usually limited to ideological representation, not distortion of facts. (If you are Al Franken and want to call me to tell about Fox News etc. in the US, don't bother. I've read your books - they are excellent and hilarious)

Besides, due to the multiplicity of voices, the biases of one vehicle are typically balanced by those of the other. Thus, a person committed to the truth can, at least theoretically, examine all available evidence and make up his or her own mind about issues.

Not so in China, where the press apparently has no professional integrity at all.

After such blatant disregard for truth shown by the Chinese reportage of the London relay, the question is exactly how willing are we to accept China’s claims that about the scale, extent, and intensity of oppression in Tibet? How honorable are China’s intentions, and how credible are its promises?

But the Olympics are about bringing the world together and it is not right to mix politics with sports, most critics of the protests will tell you. In fact, this is the strongest rationale presented by pro-rally, anti-prostest speakers, both Chinese and non-Chinese.

Beijing Olympic torch relay spokesman Qu Yingpu told the BBC: "This is not the right time, the right platform, for any people to voice their political views."

Julie Li, 28, also from China but living in Britain, said sport and politics should be kept apart. - The Guardian

(Sir Steve) Redgrave just criticized the binding of Olympics and politics days before the relay. - Xinhua
My gut reaction is to label this as disingenuity. But if any of these speakers actually believe what they are saying, then they are displaying incredible naïveté. The fact is that the international relay of the Olympic torch was started in 1936 by Adolf Hitler to make a statement about Germany's status in the world.

For the 2008 games, China has taken the sentiment to heart and has already irrevocably mixed the Olympics with politics by declaring that the Olympic torch would go through Tibet, in order to make the statement that Tibet is a part of China. Having made such an overtly political move, it is hypocritical and unbelievably audacious on China’s part to appeal that there be no political statements around Olympic-related activities, and no sensible person would buy into China’s rationalization.

Protesters are particularly incensed that the torch will be carried through Tibet by Chinese officials in June. The Free Tibet Campaign accuses Beijing of using the torch for its own propaganda purposes. - The Times
Besides, of course, it is no secret that the Olympics have seen wide-ranging boycotts in 1956, 1976, 1980 and 1984 for political reasons. The People's Republic of China itself did not participate in Olympics till 1984 protesting Taiwan's participation.

So please don't tell us that politics has no role in sports or vice-versa. Politics and sports have always gone hand in hand, and always will.

It is widely believed that China annexed Tibet in 1959. China may sincerely believe that Tibet is and has always been an integral part of its territory. It may be possible to arrive at a peaceful solution to these political differences. But instead of talking with Dalai Lama (who has always advocated peace and friendship towards China), China chooses to import Hun Chinese into Tibet (so much so, that the Huns now outnumber Tibetans in Tibet) and to persecute and even execute Tibetans. If this doesn't give the world a genuine reason for an outcry out of outrage, what would?

Some critics of the protests also point to the fact that Dalai Lama himself has supported the games and asked that they not be boycotted. These statements betray a misunderstanding of the protests.

When Beijing had bid for the 2008 Olympics, China had promised to improve its human-rights record in Tibet. However, just last month violent oppression of Tibetans protestors has raised the heckles of the likes of Amnesty International. While Beijing puts the casualties down to low two digits, there is no way to independently verify this as China has completely locked Tibet down.

This is a regime that gunned down hundreds, if not thousands, of its own students (remember Tiananmen Square?); would it have and would it in the future hesitate for a second to kill or torture the Tibetans?

...human rights campaigner Peter Tatchell jumped into the road carrying a sign calling for the release of Chinese activist Hu Jia, who was jailed Thursday.
"The arrest last week of human rights activist Hu Jia shows that China is not fulfilling its human rights commitments which were part of the deal for them to get the Olympics," Tatchell told PA, "At the very least, world leaders should boycott the opening ceremony and athletes should wear Tibetan flags when they go on the podium to receive their medals." - CNN
(Buddhist monk Ngawang Khyentse) said, "We can't just remain silent. We have no other choice than to protest because there is no other voice for Tibetans inside Tibet, so we have to speak out for human rights."
"At the very least the British government has to speak out and condemn the crackdown in Tibet. They must not keep silent." - The London Paper
The protests are really demands that China fulfill its promise by stopping the massacre and allow Red Cross and international journalists in Tibet.

(Olympics Minister Tessa Jowell) told BBC Radio 4's The World This Weekend: "I hope that the message that will go round the world is that, yes, there are many citizens of the UK who feel very strongly about China's human rights record, there are people in the UK who feel very strongly about the importance of dialogue with the Dalai Lama, and that in the UK we cherish the right to lawful and peaceful protest which, by and large, is what we have seen today." - The Telegraph
While organization of Beijing Olympics almost seems inevitable at this point in time, the event has been irreversibly politicized, and sooner or later every country will be called upon to take a stand on the issue one way or the other.

Click here to check out my pictures from the Olympic Torch Sunday of 06 Apr 2008.
P.S. - There are three pages in this album! If you're not running the slideshow, don't forget to check out the second and third pages :-)

--- Update 8 April: Paris ---

By now it has been widely reported that the relay route was cut short and altered in Paris and that the torch completed a large part of the route on coach because of the intense protests. It is also well known that the Olympic flame was put out on at least three occasions in Paris.

On Eiffel Tower - A gift from Reporters Without Borders to the torch relay

Photo source: France 24

Photo source: CNN

- France 24: Protests cut short Paris leg of Olympic torch relay

Three times in the course of its 28-kilometer route through the City of Lights, the Olympic flame was extinguished by security officials due to the unprecedented number of demonstrations, forcing authorities to put the torch on a bus for security reasons.

A planned ceremony at the city’s grand City Hall, to mark the torch’s passage through Paris was cancelled, according to the office of the Paris mayor.
Now consider the news piece put forward by the Official Torch Relay website: Olympic torch relay in Paris conludes (sic)

And while this report does acknowledge for the first time the presence of protestors and concedes that part of the relay was continued on coach, there is no mention of the fact it was extinguished on several occasions.

Instead, it goes on to state something you may not have heard before:

Spectators of the Beijing Olympic torch relay were greatly annoyed and angered by Tibetan separatists and their supporters attempting to disrupt the Monday event in Paris, the fifth leg of the flame's global tour.

Tens of thousands spectators went to the street of Paris to watch the torch relay, which covers 28 kilometers starting the Eiffel Tower and ending at the Stade (Stadium) Charlety in the south of the city.
For a humorous and satirical take on the relay, check out The Daily Show's report:
3 mts 13 secs

--- Update 17 April: New Delhi ---

My interest in the torch's relay through New Delhi is quite natural. For one, I was curious to see the attitudes of my own people towards the relay. But even more importantly, what happens in India is extremely important from the perspective that India houses hundreds of thousands of Tibetan refugees - the largest Tibetan population anywhere outside of Tibet.

And I had to satisfy my curiosity by parsing media reports.

France 24: Scores arrested as Indian leg of Olympic relay ends

...security personnel far outnumbering the schoolboys and the other few select onlookers allowed to watch.

An estimated 16,000 police, soldiers and even elite commandos were deployed to throw up a huge security cordon around the central thoroughfare between the presidential palace and India Gate, two of New Delhi's main landmarks.

Another 46 Tibetans were arrested in India's financial capital Mumbai as they tried to storm the Chinese consulate...

In neighbouring Nepal, police said they had arrested more that 500 Tibetan refugees as they protested outside the Chinese embassy...
CNN: 200 arrests as 'fortress' New Delhi hosts torch relay

...officials shortened the original 5.6 mile (9 km) torch route to 1.5 miles (2.3 km), and lined it with more than 15,000 security personnel for the 30-minute event.

Officers detained another 32 protesters even before the torch touched down on Indian soil...
The Times of India: Low-key torch run, protests elsewhere

There were almost no crowds apart from some flag-waving Chinese and a few dozen school children bussed in by officials. Surrounded by Chinese attendants, Indian security guards in tracksuits, and police and troops with automatic rifles, runners could only wave to the television cameras.
Having lived in New Delhi for several years, I have to say that the short straight stretch between Rashtrapati Bhavan and India Gate is like a huge stadium, and if the access roads to it are blocked, it's pretty much like having a private ceremony.

The numbers of police and army depolyed are astounding. Exactly what does a deployment of 15,000 law enforcement officials mean? Well, consider this: if on average an officer measures 40 cm wide shoulder-to-shoulder, then 15,000 of them standing shoulder to shoulder could line the whole 2.3 km stretch 2.6 times!

Since the torch doesn't quite need the whole 2.3 km at the very same second, here's another way to look at it: If the 15,000 officers were to cordon-off the torch by standing in adjacent concentric circles, with the closest one being as far away from the torch as 5m, then there would be at least 75 layers of policemen's bodies between an observer and the torch!

I would have been disappointed with my people's showing, but I take solace in the fact that Indian Football's biggest star Baichung Bhutia and International Cricket's biggest star Sachin Tendulkar opted out of the relay (three booes to Leander Paes, Dhanraj Pillai and Aamir Khan).

Additionally, there's some comfort in CNN's words:

Public sympathy in India lies with the Tibetans, the majority of whom have sought refuge there since a failed uprising against China in 1959...But Indian officials had to balance public sentiment with diplomatic needs. Since India and China fought a border war in 1962, they have tried to thaw their frosty relations and forge close ties.
That said, while I understand the need to be polite to China, and to make all security arrangements necessary, I can not, for the life of me, understand why Delhi's Chief Minister Shiela Dixit felt the need to personally participate in the proceedings. That she herself handled the torch is untenable.

The most amusing part of the New Delhi leg of the relay was not at the torch relay at all.

Apparently, (to use CNN's words) "...to wrongfoot protesters, Indian authorities did not disclose the relay route or the start time until 24 hours before the event", and then "...sealed off roads..."

Faced with these formidable challenges, the protestors demonstrated remarkable but characteristic ingenuity, and organized their own torch relay, which started off at Rajghat, Mahatma Gandhi's memorial. This was a cross-community event, with at least Muslim, Hindu and Buddhist religious leaders participating.

While security forces were deployed at this torch relay as well to prevent unpleasant scenes, most media descriptions of the atmosphere at this relay include the word "festive". In fact, CNN reported that at this event, the police were merrily chatting with the participants, and even passing around drinking water.

So while the Olympic Torch's "Journey of Harmony", which is supposed to be a people's event, was effectively held behind closed doors, the Tibetan torch relay had all the elements of a festive, participative, grassroots event.

Of course, as you would have come to expect by now, the news report at the Official Torch Relay website is: New Delhi leg of Olympic torch relay concludes

--- Update 22 April: Comedy ---

A satirical take on the Chinese coverage of the protests
0 mts 59 secs

The Orange, the White, and the Green

2008-03-17T22:51:00.007-04:00

Dia daoibh! Howaya?

Sunday at Trafalgar Square was an all-Irish day - right down to the weather. There were light showers all day long, and the sky was overcast without being dark.

I had expected the square to be jam-packed when I reached there about 1 hour into the programme schedule of the St. Patrick’s Day Festival. To my surprise, it was relatively empty. So I checked the schedule again, and it seemed that the 12 Irish tenors and Ann Scott should have completed their respective performances. I checked with one of the security guards, and she confirmed that that was indeed the case.

So where were all the Irish folks? Could it be that they were dissuaded by the gray skies?

I forgot the questions for what turned out to be a very short while as the Celtic Masters took stage for their impressive but ridiculously short-lived clogging performance.

So, again, where were all the Irish? Turned out that they were in the parade that starts at Hyde Park Corner and culminates at Whitehall. It was probably the arrival of the parade that had cut the Celtic Masters’ gig short.

As people started pouring out of the parade and into the square, it started to feel more like a Trafalgar Square festival. That said, I have to say that there weren’t nearly as many people in the square as there were at the Russian Winter Festival.

There were droves of teens and tweens: the most I’ve seen in one place outside of a school. And of course, there were the infectiously enthusiastic and completely dressed up old folks.

It took a while, but as the people started settling in with their beers and whiskey, it was time for speeches.

Mayor Ken Livingston was greeted and treated with such enthusiastic cheers that made me wonder where exactly his opponent Boris's lead in the opinion polls is coming from.

Ireland's minister John Gormley observed, "As the minister for environment, I am happy to see so many green hair in the audience", referring to the lengths people had gone to in order to dress-up for the event.

"10% of people in the world are Irish", he said, "and the remaining 90% want to be Irish!"

He closed his spiel by inviting all the non-Irish people in the square to be Irish for a day, and have a good crack. And that was something everyone was ready for.

To mark the official opening of the festival, balloons with the Irish flag's colors were released. While the orange and white ones flew off smoothly, the green ones had a rogue element among them. This one balloon took the net with it and flew towards the stage with the result that the net got literally stuck in spotlight. When trying to pull the net down didnt help, someone had the bright idea to cut the net. But that left half the net hanging, so ultimately a ladder was pressed into service, and the net was untangled and the baloon released. The lucky Irish indeed!

Joe Brown, celebrating his 50th year in show-business, took the stage with classics like "A Picture Of You", "It Only Took A Minute" and "That's What Love Will Do" as well as his newer works like "I'll See You In My Dreams". He started off on the acoustic guitar, but quickly changed over to the ukulele, and stuck with that through to the end. After every song he’d shake his hands vigorously – it was evident that he was cold and playing the strings with cold fingers was taking a toll. That didn’t stop him from performing with all his heart and he even went on to do some interesting country numbers, which isn’t surprising since he started off fronting the likes of Johnnie Cash and Billy Fury.

A bunch of teens on my left took out a bottle and a flask of whiskey; while a sign at the gates advised everyone to pour any alcohol into glasses before entering in an obvious attempt to check teenage consumption, whoever has ever been able to stop teens from doing what they want to do? They hadn’t even started downing their whiskeys to Joe’s music when a security guard noticed and told them to at least keep it under wraps and be discreet about the consumption.

About midway through his gig, Joe was joined on the stage by John Devine with uilleann pipes and Orlaith McAuliffe with a flute. This brought in the sweet, rustic Irish touch to the proceedings, and quite a few traditional Irish songs followed, with the crowd joining in on many occasions.

To add to the fun, a bunch of kids behind me started to have their own clogging crack.

Joe’s act was followed by the performer known as Luka Bloom (Kevin Barry Moore), whose name reminds one of James Joyce’s Ulysses. Luka used his electro-acoustic strumming to good effect in songs like “I’m not at war with anyone”. Clearly he doesn’t shy away from being political. In fact, most of his songs were about his world view – about harmony, world-peace, environment, and putting a stop to hatred and warmongering.

While the gig was in progress, an old lady tore through the crowd and reached right for the front. She was at least 70 years old, if she was a day and intriguingly had made her way through the crowd with surprising agility for her age.

And then, she mooned Luka. Thankfully, both the singer and the cameras took no notice, and she went back without being manhandled by the security folks.

The next act was Roísín Murphy. Murphy, now a solo act, used to be part of Moloko (which name, incidentally, is the Russian word for Milk, молоко, and is the term used in A Clockwork Orange to refer to milk mixed with narcotics).

She enthralled the crowds with several of her popular numbers, including “Ramalama Bang Bang”, “You Know Me Better”, “Let me know” and “Overpowered”.

Roísín is evidently a major hit with Irish men, and I’ve heard people say that she is one of the greatest vocal talents of our day. While I do like "Sing It Back" a bit, I have say that I was unimpressed by her performance in the square. To me, she seemed more interested and, frankly, more proficient in changing hats and attire than in singing.

The last act of the day was the Dublin-rockers Aslan (Aslan means Lion in Turkish), who probably take their name from the lion in C.S. Lewis's chronicles of Narnia. They were energetic and peppy, and the crowd evidently knew their songs. The audience sang along during almost all their songs, with a smattering of shouts of “IRA, IRA”.

One of the little tweens tapped on my shoulder and asked, “I am unable to see Aslan, and they are my favorite band. Could I please climb up your shoulders for a song or two?”

“Uhh…yeah, sure! Why not? Hop on”.

For the finale, all the performers came together on the stage and sang along with the crowd traditional Irish ballads including “The fields of Athenry” and “When Irish eyes are smiling”.

Click here to check out my pictures from St. Patrick's Day Festival in Trafalgar Square of 16 Mar 2008.
P.S. - There are two pages in this album! If you're not running the slideshow, don't forget to check out the second page :-)

Mărţişor

2008-03-01T00:01:00.004-05:00

Spring is here, said a drop of dew
Spring is here, said Dêmêtêr's statue
Spring is here, and the lady in blue
has woken up, but still in a dream
and walks down in a dress lime-green
whispered the wind as it blew

Spring is here, so where are you?
a songbird asked and then it flew
Earth's desires stifled by winter virtue
erupt through its heart in forms many
sarso, sunflowers, trandafiri galbeni
all bright as sun, beau beaucoup

Spring is here, maybe it's true
The evening sky's taking your hue
Your laugh's verve in brook's revue
And when your smiles my lips grace
bright warm sunshine washes my face
Your fragrance in the air you imbue

Spring is here, I know it, I do
For poems, hopes and flowers too
vie to be as beautiful as you
My wish for you is, plainly said,
May spring kiss your forehead
everyday, all year through

Ben Nevis, vanquished!

2008-02-28T10:09:00.010-05:00

The C10 to Victoria Coach Station was late on Tuesday night. In fact, it was so late, that had I known, I could have walked down from my place and reached the station before the bus. Anyway, I was able to run into the 22:30 bus as it was getting ready to depart. Good thing I opted for the mobile ticket!

The London-Glasgow overnight bus reached its destination minutes late and I "just missed" the 7am to Fort William. The next bus is at 10, meaning it would deliver me there only around 1pm. Not good, considering that the forecasted sunset is for around 5.30pm.

"You might be able to get a train", suggested the girl behind the Scottish CityLink counter, and I took from her directions to the railway station. Once I got to the Central Station, I was told trains to Fort William depart from the Queen's Street Station, which thankfully is a short walk away. At the correct station, it turned out that my train would leave in about an hour and reach Fort William a couple of minutes before noon. Noon is better than 1pm...every minute of daylight is worth it.

So I bought the ticket and walked around the station, clicking a few pictures along the way. Glasgow is a fascinating city - cosmopolitan, modern, and working-class.

My camera's batteries died before I could take the 5th picture, and I replaced them with Duracell Ultra M3 batteries (this would be an interesting little detail later on).

Of course, due to technical trouble the train never departed at the scheduled time, or with the schedules coaches. The one time in my life when I was on time to catch a train, this had to happen! :-) The train finally chugged away about 20 mts late and with only two of the originally planned four coaches, with me inside one of them. This means that I'd need to change over to a conneting train in Crainlarich.

In Fort William, a £5 cab ride took me to the Youth Hostel. On the way there, the driver regaled me with tales of how he does a lot of work for the movies, and how he was the director's driver for the third Harry Potter movie. He told me how the area where we were going is a favorite with movie-makers (Highlander, Rob Roy, Brave Heart, and the Harry Potter movies have been shot in Glen Nevis) because the scenery is beautiful and being a protected area it doesn't have any power cables etc to be edited out later.

They had been having some awful weather for the past week or so but this day was looking good - there was still sunlight at 12:35pm.

Right across the road from the Youth Hostel is the beginning of the ascent to Ben Nevis. The pony track, the sign says, takes most people 7-8 hours to complete, though the record stands at about 90 mts, accomplished during the Ben Nevis race, which is organized every summer. The scramblers' path, I hoped, would be somewhat shorter.

Ben Nevis is the highest mountain in the British Isles, which makes it sound impressive. Ben, of course stands for Mountain, while Nevis is a Gaelic word that can be translated as either Clouds or Poisonous. Thus, Ben Nevis has been variously described as the "Mountain with its head in the clouds" and the "Poisonous mountain". This adds a certain mystique to it. However, as I've been telling everyone who'd care to listen ever since I decided to climb it a few days ago, its summit is a mere 1,344 metres (4,406 ft) above sea level.

The height numbers are slightly deceptive from comparison perspective, though, as here one starts at 50 metres while for many other mountains the starting point is much higher, meaning that at Ben Nevis one has to climb up almost all its height above sea level.

Also, as I dicovered going up Ben Arthur a couple of years ago, the apparent height of Scottish mountains can be deceiving to passers-by going by the foot of the hill. This is because unlike the Himalayas, the Rockies and the Alps which are young-fold mountains and are almost conical, the Grampians are old fold mountains and rarely allow a view of the peak from the foot.

Anyway, enough talk. Down to the action now!

The first half hour was the toughest - with my lungs crying out that they could take no more. Thereafter one gets a bit acclimatized and the rhythm sets in. I suspect that part of it is also that till the time that one can see "home" upon turning around, one's brain thinks it can persuade one to return to base, but once the visual contact is severed, it is psychologically the point of no return.

Since I didn't have the luxury of a whole day of sunlight, and since the skies were getting overcast pretty quickly, I kept going up at a good pace, stopping only to click a photo or two here and there. One of the people I passed by on the way up was really interesting - he looked thin and tired and was making slow progress with his large mountaineers' knapsack. Apparently he was planning to camp in the mountain for the night!

Much faster-moving were the folks climbing down in full mountaineering gear. As we exchanged nods and hellos, a few of them told me about the bad visibility up there. Hmmm...just how bad could it be?

And suddenly, I was at Lochan Meall! While one knows how high above the sea level valleys and lake surfaces can be, it is some experience to climb up a mountain and find a lake up there! It was beautiful there and the clouds relented just about enough to let me click a few pictures.

It was also at that point that I got my first snow. The "snowfall" lasted about 5 minutes along with the gale. I think it wasn't really a snowfall; instead, the strong wind had picked up some of last night's fresh snow from the higher reaches and was depositing it as flakes. In any case, it was so light that by the time I got my backpack off, and took my camera out, most of it had been brushed off my t-shirt by the winds.

Withing 10 minutes or so, there was another strong gale with snow. This one was much colder, faster and longer-lasting. A tiny, little snowstorm, if you will. By the time it subsided, my hair was frozen stiff, which reminded me that I desperately need a haircut. Or a bandana.

Patches of snow started appearing on ground soon after that. I was prepared for this - off came the sport-shoes/sneakers (I don't know the difference), and on the socks went a set of polythene grocery bags before the sneakers went back on.

It seemed like I didn't have much daylight left - the sun had been playing hide and seek for while, showing its face for short and infrequent bursts of time. So maybe it was time for some final pictures before the summit.

The camera refused to work and said the battery was dead. But I had just changed the batteries in Glasgow, fewer than 100 photos ago! My hypothesis, later to be proven correct, was that the alkaline batteries had stopped working due to the cold and would work once again once it got to room temperature.

Before I knew it, I was walking in almost knee-deep snow. My loose-fit denim jeans, that I have overused and abused for almost 2 years, have taken a lot and I was sure they'd take this too.

Additonally, though, it started to get pretty foggy. One can see how one may lose one's way around these parts.

As for me, I followed in on the tracks made by others. It is relatively safe to use the tracks, especially the deeper ones as the snow locks your legs and makes the movement steadier and, dare I say, easier. One should take care while using the shallower tracks on not-so-fresh snow, though. The pressure caused by the body-weight of the person who created the tracks melts a thin layer, which freezes again when the pressure is released, i.e. when the person has moved on. However, this refreezing process yields slippery ice, not nice, powdery snow. So there!

Climbing up, I crossed paths with a kindly-looking man and his teenage son. They never made it to the peak and had decided to turn around as it was cold. Hmm...good point, maybe it's time to get my jacket out from the backpack now, I figured. As for the father-son duo, I think that had I been climbing with my son, I would probably have turned back too, considering how quickly the weather was becoming more and more inclement and the light was getting less and less.

As I kept gaining altitude, the snow started to get harder and slipperier. After a particularly tough portion, I decided I had earned a gulp of water. The water was surprisingly warm - perhaps because in my backpack it was insulated from the outside weather by an insulated vest (see? I went prepared), and an extra pair each of socks and shoes (in case the ones I was wearing got wet and cold). It felt good that I was doing well on the water - of the 3L I was carrying, this was my first sip.

And suddenly I saw it - my notebook computer! Why in the world I took it along for the ride, I still don't know. Here's what I do know though - never ever carry a laptop on a climbing trip, unless you really really really need it. And even if you must, get a light small one. But please never carry a huge 17" one that, combined with the power brick, forms a dead weight of 5kg on your back.

The terrain kept getting tougher, and I kept trudging on till I met the group of five professional mountaineers in impressive gear, the kind that one has only seen in movies like Vertical Limit, probably about a third of a mile from the top.

"You're not getting anywhere in that, mate", said the leader of the pack, presently pointing to my sneakers though I suspect he was referring to the whole of me. He went on to show me his spiked snow-boots, and said that as we were going up, we were leaving behind the easy powder-snow and getting into hard-ice territory, which is why they needed ice-axes and such. Of course, I had noticed that the climb had been getting harder for a while, but the tracks had been helping me along even though they were getting shallower and shallower.

"About time to turn back around, mate", another one chimed.

I turned to have a look down. I was not about to drown after reaching the shore like the gypsy.

"Folks, at this point, I think you'd appreciate that it's harder to go back down than it is to go up. I don't think we're that far away from the top. If you could help me, I'd be very grateful."

They grudgingly accepted, and I happily became a dead weight for them. I was given an end of their rope, and the nice Welsh guy in front of me stomped his steps really hard in order to make good foothold tracks for me.

The top of the mountain is not what one would expect. It's a large, open, almost flat area - quite like a plateau! The visibility was so bad that I could barely see the outline of the Welshman in front of me, though he wasn't more than 3-4 ft away. Thankfully the mountaineers had a map which we followed to find the "summit", which is essentially a point, on the almost flat surface, marked with a few rocks and a sign. Stupid Scottish old-fold mountains!

It would have been nice to have been able to take pictures at the summit, if only just to show how one couldn't see a thing. Woe be unto alkaline battery manufacturers, especially to Duracell.

My mountaineer friends advise me to climb down quickly, at least up to Lochan Meall, as there seemed to be a storm gathering. They themselves were planning to camp for the night by the ruins of the observatory whose walls would provide their tents some cover.

Climbing back down really did prove to be very tough, especially when at one point I lost the tracks. But then, the clouds parted a bit, and I could see the tracks some 20-25 ft to my left, down a slope that led into a cliff. I tried lumbering towards them, but kept slipping and falling. I was losing daylight quickly, so I decided I needed to use the slippery surface to my advantage. I sat down and slid towards the tracks, ready to dig my heels in were I to slide past the tracks - it would be painful to ram my heels again and again on the icy-surface, but the prospect of sliding into the cliff wasn't too appetizing either.

Thankfully, all that concern was dissipated as I made a perfect landing and fixed my foot into a comfortably deep track. Some swift progress, and I was out of the woods (icy snow?) before I knew it.

The jacket came off pretty quickly as it was restricting my movements. Upon reaching Lochan Meall, I took a break and celebrated by ravaging both my granola bars - the first food I had had since the morning. It's good that I climbed on an empty stomach - I was travelling light. It would have been impossible to do on a full stomach.

Further down, I met the father-son duo from earlier, sitting on a boulder sipping coffee.

"Did you make it to the top?"

"No, I turned back", I lied. A father is not just a human being to his children. He's a hero, an idol. He's strong and wise and capable. I'm sure my little lie made both the father and the son feel much better about their trip.

On my way down, I saw 3 black sheep grazing, evidently oblivious to the darkening skies - maybe this is an everyday affair for them. Bemused, I made a bleating sound, and the one closest to me looked up, startled. So I repeated the sound and the confused little thing stopped grazing, looking at his other two companions in turn to see where the source of the sound was. Very amusing. I had had my entertainment for the day.

Once at the bottom, I used the Youth Hostel phone to call a cab which arrived in 10 mts and took me to the bus station. I don't think there is an evening train to London from Fort William. Besides, the trains are pretty expensive compared to the buses.

The timetable said the next bus to Glasgow would leave in about 1 hr 40 mts. A little hungry, I went into the Morrison's store, whose back serves as the bus stop by the way, and bought myself some unhealthy, fried, greasy Indian snacks.

As I was walking out, I realized I was out of cash! I needed cash because I needed to buy the ticket from the driver in the bus - no ticket counters around here.

No problem! I was sure I'd be able to get it from one of the two ATMs outside the store. Neither turned out to be in working order. Hmm...so I walked back in to Morrison's to figure out what cheap stupidity I could waste some money on. And found the perfect one - I like Ice Age and Chicken Run, and Robots was alright, so I bought the £6 triple pack, and got some cashback from the store.

Back at the bus stop, I started to enjoy my cold vegetable pakoras. Arrghhh! Cold! She didn't warm these up. Oh, well! There was no way I was going back in just to get the snacks heated - the trip from the bus stop to the far end of Morrison's is too tiring, you see?

Just after I got done with the food, a girl with a familiar face came over and sat down next to me. Oh, I remembered - I saw her on the train while coming here. So I asked here if she communted from Glasgow, which would have been pretty odd if it were true. No, she told me, she had just come over for a meeting. She was born and brought up in Dublin and works as a project manager for a communications company in Skye. She had had a morning meeting in Glasgow and an afternoon one in Fort William and was looking forward to returning home to Skye. When she had checked a half hour ago, the driver had told her to come back around now, but when she tried getting into the bus just now, she was told to come at 7.

"You do realize that this bus in front of us is going to Glasgow?", I had to say.

"Oh! Oh, that's right! My bus is that one a few stances further down."

"Alright! Have a safe journey."

My bus left punctually at 7.10 pm. Evidently not many people like to travel from here to Glasgow at night. At the Buchanan Bus Station, I was able to find a London-bound bus ready to board. By the time I had breakfast at Dnister Cafe by the Victoria Coach Station, I had slept for a whole 11 hours - throughout the 3 hr journey from Fort William to Glasgow and the 8 hr journey from Glasgow to London.

Nevis, you are a tough little brat, but I beat you!

Click here to check out my pictures from this trip of 27 Feb 2008.

There Will Be Boredom

2008-02-20T22:16:00.008-05:00

A £10 ticket at Curzon Soho got me into a screening of the much talked-about There Will Be Blood. I came out thinking what a waste of money it was.

Don't get me wrong, this is a mildly interesting movie; I would rather have waited for the DVD though...in fact, I would have waited for the DVD to become available on Amazon for $3.99

The plot about oil and greed in the West is an interesting one, and in some ways contemporary (though the movie is set at the turn of the last century). However, I suspect that the book makes for a far more interesting reading than the film makes for a viewing. That said, I haven't read the book, so take that comment with a grain of salt and don't blame me if you buy the book and it turns out to be as bland.

Here's the problem: As a thriller, it lacks pace. It lacks suprises and twists in the tale. Essentially, it lacks the thrills. As a drama, it lacks drama. And there was absolutely no need for it to be this long (almost 2 hrs 40 mts).

By half-time one starts to wish for the film to get over so one can get out of the hall and do something meaningful. And let me assure you, having watched numerous Bollywood capers, I've sat through really long films.

The high point for me is Eli's payback, when Daniel has to join his church. It's interesting how getting into the fold of religion could feel like a sell-out.

The British press is slating Daniel Day-Lewis as the frontrunner for Best Actor Oscar. I don't know if that's true or if the press is going crazy just because he is a Brit.

Maybe I am too thick in the skull to appreciate fine cinema, but I found his performance more wooden than understated. If rolling about in grime and slick is all there's to acting, then maybe he's the best actor of the year (though I have a feeling that there must be some video of Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton mud-wrestling or oil-wrestling somewhere on the Internet). But I suspect there's more to it, and Day-Lewis falls way short of furnishing the menacing quality that the Plainview character demands. He does have a couple of moments in the last third of the film, but those are just flashes in the pan.

Henry Brands is a long way for Kevin O'Connor from The Mummy's Beni. And yet, in his treachery, the character is strangely similar to Beni.

Paul Dano is mostly efficient as Paul/Eli Sunday, though occasionally he does show a jagged edge. As an aside, one can't help but notice a bit of Ed Norton's character from Primal Fear in Eli.

The sound effects are good. But that's what we've come to expect ever since Dolby and DTS were introduced. And there was absolutely no turning back after Saving Private Ryan.

The mining accidents quickly get repetitive and banal.

The background score is jarring on more than one occasion. And not intentionally either.

Maybe this film will end up sweeping the Oscars this year, and maybe it will even go on to become a modern classic, but I came out unimpressed. Wait for the $3.99 DVD on Amazon.

Happy Birthday India

2008-01-26T00:17:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday, the Constitution of India, anyway!

Enjoy the Vande Mataram video here.

The Soviet Square

2008-01-14T20:19:00.004-05:00

The difference between life expectancies of males and females in Russia is almost 15 years. Staggering, isn't it? One of the commonly cited reasons is rampant alcohol abuse - those "just one more glass"'s of vodka or samagon quickly add up, it would seem.

And though mostly no justification is needed for downing another Jurij Dolgoruki, trust the Russians to find more reasons to drink (or as us marketers would put it, "more consumption occasions"). Apparently one day of new year celebrations wasn't enough to get them adequately drunk. Or perhaps, after 3% of the new year is over, the hangover of the booze consumed on new year's eve becomes unbearable. Eitherway, on 13 January, they celebrate the new year again. And since the Russian people had very little experience with alcohol before Christianity was introduced, they pay a tribute to Christianity by celebrating Christmas twice too.

All jokes aside, the lively Russians do celebrate Christmas and New Year twice. After the October Revolution, in 1918 Russia gave up the Julian calendar in favor of the Gregorian calendar by Lenin's decree, moving all dates forward by 13 days. So while Russia celebrates Christmas on 25 December with the rest of the world, the Russian Orthodox Church's official Christmas falls on 7 January and is widely celebrated.

Just as well, since we could all use a little more celebration. Some puritans might argue that it would be absurd to celebrate Christmas (contraction of Christ's Mass) on any day other than on the birthday of Jesus Christ. But the fact is that nobody really knows that date.

The Biblical narrative certainly does not provide any reference to it, just like it doesn't to the number or names of the wise men that followed the Star of Bethlehem. And while historians have pinned down the year of birth to between between 8 BC and 4 BC, they don't seem to be able to make up their minds about the actual date.

Sextus Julius Africanus' Chronographiai circa AD 221 is often credited with popularizing the idea that Christ was born on December 25. In keeping with the Jewish belief that prophets live for an integral number of years, he assumed the traditional date of crucifixion (March 25) to also be the date of the Incarnation and contended that nine months thereafter should be the date of birth or nativity. Some scholars assert that Constantine may have chosen the date of December 25th to celebrate Christmas so as to coincide with the celebration the birth of Mithras, the Persian god of light.

Eitherway, 25 December is hardly the only celebration of "chirst's birthday". For instance, early Eastern European Christians celebrated the birth of Christ as part of Epiphany (January 6), which focused on the baptism of Jesus. Considering that Jesus was baptised in adulthood, this date probably makes more theological sense as it symbolizes spiritual birth. Besides, since technically the date of birth is shrouded in uncertainty, it might appear more rational that this date would be more widely accepted for the celebration.

That said, baptism of an adult does not evoke an emotion nearly in the same vicinity as that evoked by the birth of a child, however devout one might be. I would also speculate that the leadership of the early Christian Churches needed to give their new adopters a winter festival, if not to let them keep their winter festivals.

Winters are a hard time - days are short, there is not too much work that can be done, and yet there is a lot of leisure time at hand though the prolonged darkness makes it unnatural to socialize. Hence, many cultures have a festival of lights in winter, providing the followers a means, an occasion to defy nature's edict for gloom, and to socialize and make merry.

Winter solstice has special consequence in this context. The day after the solstice is the first day in the natural cycle that is longer than the previous day. No surprise then that many cultures celebrate this day for the same reason that the new moon is such a vital motif in Islamic tradition.(1) And a new religion would probably not be very appealing to prospective adopters if it were to take away their one day of joy in the long, cold, dark days of winter.

Conspiracy theorists suggest that perhaps Christmas was created to mirror the Roman Saturnalia, a week long period of lawlessness between December 17-25. According to Greek writer Lucian, Saturnalia was marked by a human sacrifice, widespread intoxication, going from house to house while singing naked, rape and other sexual license, and consuming human-shaped biscuits.

According to these hypotheses, Christianity imported Saturnalia in about 4th century CE to convert pagans by allowing them to continue to celebrate the Saturnalia as Christians. To remedy that there was nothing Christian about Saturnalia, they named Saturnalia’s concluding day, December 25th, to be Jesus’ birthday. However, they didn't focus on changing how the festival was celebrated. According to University of Massachusetts Amherst history professor, Stephen Nissenbaum, “In return for ensuring massive observance of the anniversary of the Savior’s birth by assigning it to this resonant date, the Church for its part tacitly agreed to allow the holiday to be celebrated more or less the way it had always been.” The earliest Christmas holidays were celebrated by drinking, sexual indulgence, singing naked in the streets (a precursor of modern caroling), etc.

While speculating, perhaps it was the adoption of these pagan traditions because of which Origen, one of the most distinguished of the early fathers of the Christian Church, denounced the idea of celebrating Christ's birthday and contended that only sinners, not saints, celebrated their birthdays. In fact, allegedly due to its pagan origins, observance of Christmas was illegal in Massachusetts till as recently as 1681.

But I digress. Back to the Russian Christmas.

I guess the Russian Christmas might well be the reason that some of the Christmas decorations in London streets aren't taken down even after Gregorian Christmastide or the Twelve Days of Christmas despite the superstition that keeping Christmas lights up after the twelve days bodes back luck.

And yes, the Russians do also celebrate the new year again on 13 January. They call it the Old New Year. Oxymoron, you say? Yes, that did come to my notice, but that's not what this post is about.

Come to think of it, though, were the Russians to think of pre-1700 (pre-Gregorian) times, would they also start celebrating the Old Old New Year on 1 September? Psst, my Russian friends....I am giving you an idea, and I haven't even copyrighted it. Just don't forget to invite me to the party!

Anyway, fortunately this year the 13th January was a Sunday. Naturally I was in Trafalgar Square to participate in the London Russian Winter Festival, which has quickly become a tradition withing four years of its existence.

By the time I got to the square, the festivities had already started, and a group of colorfully, majestically clad ladies was performing a folk song-dance sequence. The square was beginning to fill up quickly so I wasted little time, and sneaked my way through the crowd towards the stage, till I reached an acceptable distance (translated: as close to the stage as I could get before the way was completely blocked by revelers).

Slavyanye obviously love what they do. These folk-singers were full of energy and exuded unbridled enthusiasm and good humor on stage. They sang one lilting, uplifting tune after another, and even made several valiant attempts to get the crowd to sing along or dance or wave or do something. Unfortunately, it was noon and the crowd, with notable exceptions of course, hadn't had a sufficient number of vodkas by then to accede to the request. Whatever anyone may think of these girls, I thoroughly enjoyed their gig.

Quick on their heels was Baikal - the Buryat National Ensemble. They showcased Buryat traditional costumes, customs, song and dance, which were exotic and charming. At the back of my mind, I couldn't help but think that their folk music and dance resembled those of some cultures in north-east India to quite some extent.

They were followed by a couple of young celebrity acts by wannabe stars. The first was an irreverent latex-clad concert by a "group" that calls itself the Aqua Aerobics Project. Essentially, it's a lead singer covered from head to toe in pink latex, and some random people doing random things around. All said and done, though, its sound is not bad.

Next on stage was Mark Tishman, the winner of a TV talent contest. He has a decent voice, and seemed to be crowd-pleasing performer. In fact, he got off-stage and into the crowd during the act, and performed his last song from there.

The first top of the class performance of the day came from Kostroma, the Russian National Dance Show. They performed several songs, and in every single one of them they were enchanting, charming, elegant, and, most importantly, inspiring. They were zestful, masterful, and full of good humor. I would have no hesitation in paying to see them perform.

I was also thoroughly impressed by the electric atmosphere and the enthusiasm of the crowd, although I have a sneaking suspicion that the intake of the free booze available at the stalls might have contributed to that in some small way.

It was during Kostroma's performance that little Russian flags were distributed among the audience. These were dutifully waved to soulful renditions of some songs, and the crowd even pitched in with their vocal cords.

Then there was the customary "this event is important" talk by London Mayor Ken Livingstone, Russian Ambassador Yury Fedotov and Russkiy Mir General Director Vyaceslav Nikonov.The highlight, I guess, was that Vasily Vanovoi was present, and chimed in with Pushkin's words: “(Eat, drink and be merry) Delight in the time we have left”.

After the dignitaries got off-stage, stand-up comic Sasha Revva joined the compere, who initially tried to translate his words, but gave up pretty soon. Sasha joked about how many Russians coming to London know only "four" English words - Hello, Bye, Thank you, and Orange juice. While I did not understand most of his jokes (because most of the jokes were in Русский), I could see that this guy was born to be a comedian. No, he is not a physical comic, but his mannerisms betray his profession. He coaxed us to sing "moroz moroz" in what he described as a bid to create the world record for the world's biggest karaoke. Fun stuff!

Next, Sankt Peterburg occupied the stage. Their performance was relatively lackluster - a little off, even though it wasn't bad at all. In any case, I am almost certain that this was not the Sankt Peterburg band that I have heard of. It just was not that band, despite what the organizers would have everyone believe.

The yesteryears' super-group, thereafter-pretty-much-spent-force and recently-reassembled-with-fanfare Zemlanye showed why they ruled the rock scene in their time.

The two girl band KuBa was peppy and I can see why they would be popular among teens.

The Fabrika trio was pretty casual and laid back. Their music sounds chic, and might become pretty popular with a little bit of refinement.

I had to leave shortly before the draw of the day, Dima Bilan, was to take stage. What a bummer!

All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable event. Why can't 52 countries just decide that they'd celebrate new year in different weeks, and then have their festivals in Trafalgar Square during the respective weekends? Hmmm...

Dasvidaniya!

Click here to check out my pictures from Russian Winter Festival in Trafalgar Square of 13 Jan 2008.
P.S. - There are two pages in this album! If you're not running the slideshow, don't forget to check out the second page :-)

1. My hypothesis: Islam spread quickly through Arabic countries and Egypt and became relatively dominant there before most of the rest of the world. A substantial portion of these geographies is covered with desert, and hence outdoor activities, especially travel, are extremely limited during the day. During the night, the moon is a chief source of light and a navigational aid. Thus moon is a vital part of life. And after a dark night, new-moon night is when the light starts growing. Hence the significance of the new moon crescent symbol.

And Life Goes On. Or Does It?

2008-01-04T09:55:00.000-05:00

While the website said that they were showing 4 luni, 3 săptămâni şi 2 zile at Curzon Soho from today, it turns out that they aren't after all. So I take the short tube ride on the Picadilly line to the Renoir in Russell Square.

The Renoir, I discover, is a decrepit old place and not in an artsy or charming sort of way. I am just over an hour early so I get the bitter £1.50 freetrade coffee and hang around in the empty "lounge" finishing off some "stuff". When they open the screen 1 hall, there is another surprise - a pillar right in the middle of the hall, meaning the back few rows are practically useless, especially the middle aisle seats.

Patru Luni, my first movie of 2008, more than makes up for all that. It is the story of an extraordinary day in the life of Otilia, a polytechnic student living in a dorm in România of 1987. I have not seen Cristian Mungiu's previous four movies, and judging by this one, I have missed out on some good cinema.

On one hand the movie is fascinating in that it provides a slight glimpse into what it might have been like to live in Ceauşescu's România. While I am normally wary of learning about "other cultures" from movies, the "signs of the times" are a relatively safer pick. For instance, having to carry around an ID card everywhere for everything is an explicit sign. More subtly, the lingering undercurrent of fear and treachery is palpable throughout.

The film is even more captivating in the manner in which Mungiu crafts the movie and eases the audience into the story. The opening sequence, for instance, is just another day in a dorm room with a girl talking to her roommate. But even then, there is this sense of uneasiness in the air, like something is very very wrong.

And that sense persists even as Otilia goes through the ordinary tasks of everyday life like getting bani from cutie de nesc, buying săpun or taking public transport without a ticket.

And then Mungiu chooses his moments to hit you in the face with what's going down. For instance, the deal proposed by Bebe, the man who assists Otilia's roommate Gabita have an illegal abortion, comes as a shock relatively quick on the heels of the revelation that the abortion is the big highlight of the day. But while you are still reeling from that, it is his nonchalant (dare I say "professional") manner after the fact that is really unsettling.

Of course, this is not a movie about abortion. It is about the "life and times"; it is about despair and coping. And it surely packs loads of grit and realism.

The table-talk at Adi's home sounds so very real too - it's the things that regular people would talk about. For instance discussion about the "posting" of educated people in the country, or jokes about being turned in for going to church. By the priest.

There is also the quintessential generational quabble: "It's proper that a girl should not drink", "A girl like you, smoking in front of her boyfriend's parents (shrug & head shake)"

The light table-talk aside, Patru Luni is dark and gritty, and almost as emotionally draining as Oldboy.

What sets Patru Luni apart is how Mungiu uses lighting and sounds and pauses and banality to connect his audience to Otilia. Sitting there, one can actually feel her helplessness, disgust, confusion, angst, and dread. Sometimes separately, and sometimes all together. It's there in the uneasy silence in the hotel room. It's there in the dark alleys and railway bridges at night. And it's there in the relationship talk in Adi's room. In fact, it is pervasive.

In some strange way, perhaps in how it makes you uncomfortable on occasion, Patru Luni reminds one of Ôdishon. But more importantly, due to the "life goes on" theme, it is reminiscent of Volver. That said, the gloomily-textured Patru Luni is far superior to the brightly-colored Volver, despite whatever contrasts Pedro Almodóvar may have intended to invoke.

Anamaria Marinca is truly a director's actress; she is excellent as Otilia. She has tremendous potential and is destined for big things. It's a shame that she's wasted in a minor role in Youth Without Youth. Laura Vasiliu and Vlad Ivanov provide her efficient support as Gabriela/Gabita "Dragut" and Viarel Bebe respectively.

Now for the trivia: It was interesting that Otilia says "No not an even number" to buying 48 flowers for her boyfriend Adi's mother because someone just recently told me that even numbers are considered bad luck in România. One also gets an inkling of how români speak of Bucureşti and România as mutually exclusive entities, as I discovered during my visit.

Speaking of the strange things one notices, there is prominent mention of Unilever brands like Lux and Rexona that are megabrands in India, but are hardly even seen on supermarket shelves in western Europe or America (except Rexona deo, perhaps).

As you might have guessed, my final verdict is that this is a must-see movie. Of course, steer clear of it when you want to be cheered up.