Addo Elephant National Park

One of the highlights of our road trip in South Africa was Addo Elephant National Park. We decided to pass on Kruger Park, the largest and most well known of the wildlife refuges in South Africa, primarily because we wanted to avoid the malaria zone with the kids. We burned a bunch of time trying to find an organized safari to go to. We went to all the usual suspect web sites like go2africa.com and found the packaged safari thing didn't work for us, as we initially suspected. Neither Ameen nor I have ever been interested in organized group tours, for multiple reasons, but mostly because we don't like having a rigid predetermined travel schedule. We also love chatting with folks we meet on the way and asking them where the best places they've been. So we chatted with well traveled locals in Cape Town who assured us that our rental car in Addo and Mountain Zebra parks would fill our game viewing fix. They were right, Addo's an amazing park, and not obnoxiously overpriced like all the tours and game parks we researched.

In the 120,000+ hectare park, I felt like I was in Jurassic Park, the movie. The main rest camp is surrounded by large electrified fencing, inside of which are humans, outside of which lie many very large beasts including but not limited to: elephants, lions, hyenas, rhinos, zebras, wart hogs, and lots of cool African deer-like creatures. Some of the oddest areas were the "picnic" spots deep in the gaming area. One we considered entering was wrapped in multiple layers of 8 foot tall fencing topped off with layers of electrified wires. Multiple dents about the size of an elephant head could be seen. Next to a skinny gate were a few more warning signs. It felt like voluntarily entering a massive jail cell. Needless to say, we chose to picnic in the car.

The sign next to Ameen reads: "Beware of Lions, Alight from Vehicle at Own Risk." Instinctively and laughing, we hopped out of the car to shoot this photo. Once out of the vehicle, we were quickly overcome with paranoia. Ameen was looking for lions over her shoulder, I was looking behind us. The bush is very thick, so you can't visually be certain there are no predators for more than a few feet. We rushed the photo (hence the lack of focus) and quickly hopped back into our car. A few minutes later we drove by this not so lucky critter.


There are a number of sneaky areas called hides, where you can hang out and watch the animals undetected. The hides are usually located near a watering hole. Its an amazing way to spend a few hours.

By far the most fascinating part of the park for us, was watching the elephants in their natural habitat. Back home, we have a rather nice zoo, but it is a zoo, and it lies in a cramped urban setting. The elephants there have such a depressed look in their eyes. To see elephants living in the wild, albeit managed, but with vast space and their family structures intact was a real treat. Elephants are such social animals; we observed for hours how the adults treat the children, the teen interactions with each other, the assistance elephants gave to one another, and the discipline ( a baby was pestering her mother, and the mother slapped her trunk into the baby launching it off into the water).

Indian Club, Left. Pakistan Club, Right.

I look forward to my first impression of a country, in part because the contrast between my cartoon-like first impression, and richer departing impression is so stark. In Dubai, the first sign I noticed once out of the airport was at our hotel, and it read:

Indian club, left. Pakistan club, right. Arabic club, straight.

I started laughing as soon as I saw it, and the hotel owner asked what I was laughing about. Many things hit me at once about the message a sign like that conveys -- I chose one; I said something in Punjabi to the effect of, "well I understand we can't live in the same country, but I'd think we could at least visit the same club in a far off country." He laughed -- a portly Indian gentleman bald with a few hairs combed over. Needless to say, Dubai is not too bothered about social integration, another lesson from the sign. Beneath the sign was a photograph of the Indian club featuring the hotel owner and 12 women smiling -- all looking rather fashionable in a village-girl-visits-Manila sort of way.

Later in the evening, my wife said I had to go check out the club and report back to her. She was dying to find out what went on inside. My wife had been in the hotel lobby and saw some colorful characters disappear down the dark hall. I was curious, especially since it sounded a bit like the socially fascinating Bombay dancer bar joints Sukhita Mehta describes in one of my favorite books of all time, Maximum City. I assured her, I'd spin in, but needed to go out and grab us some dinner first. We were bushed after our 9 hour red eye flight from Capetown, and a rather bizarre time at the Emirates Mall, home of the world's only giant indoor ski mountain which is so kooky in concept that I absolutely had to check it out. I wandered down the street in search of some hummus and lubne. I passed 3 herculean muscle men with black tank tops, rubbery sandals, extremely well coifed facial hair, standing next to 3 cherry red Bollywood motorcycles. One of the gang had odd looking tennis ball shaped lumps shooting out of his shoulders. While standing out front of the hummus joint waiting for my meal, the manager and a couple guys interrupted their chats to cat call women. I have no idea what they were saying, but they made squeezing gestures with their finger tips each time a woman passed by.

So after eating dinner, I held up my promise, and wandered near the club corridor. I was immediately herded into the Indian club. "Yes sir, yes sir, please sir, come this way only." I wonder how often the shepards get it wrong and drag a Pakistani into the Indian club, or vice versa. It was definitely bizarre inside -- 4 of the woman from the photograph, fully attired in club gear, dancing on stage and singing karaoke to American pop songs. The audience had one dude and about 15 worker guys tasked with getting me to sit down next to the other dude. I stayed only a few seconds, long enough to scan the surroundings and provide a decent report back to my wife. So first impressions of Dubai: a giant kooky mall of a city full of steroided looking muscle men gawking over imported Geisha-like dancer girls.

Kooky Characters in the Karoo

One of the most interesting things about traveling is the people you meet. We've met all sorts of interesting characters. Last night was a classic example of the social outliers you meet while backpacking around in the middle of no where. We are currently in Nieu Bethesda, a tiny town located at the end of a long dirt road connected to a paved road which is a long way from just about anywhere. Last night Nayan and I were lounging on some plywood benches out front, when an elderly gentleman appeared wearing one very old sandal and one large hiking boot, neither the laces on the boot, nor the straps on his sandals, were done. He had a neatly trimmed white beard, and looked about 65 years of age. We started chatting and he described himself as retired and permanently in a state of travel with his shortest travels to his homeland of England. The gentleman described his 50+ year career as that of a "bureaucrat serving bureaucrats bureaucratically." Something about a now disbanded office of government real estate assistance related services. He has been traveling non-stop for over 7 years now, having been to any country I could think to name for many months on end. The town we're in is infested with mosquitos right now, so I was making small talk about the annoying creatures. He said he had no idea there were any, saying, "they don't bother me any more." When I asked him about his shoe, he related this story, "A few weeks ago I was in a very rural area in the Northern Cape camping in a backpackers place surrounded by the usual razor wire and ADT signs. In the middle of the night I awoke and 2 thieves demanded I give them my wallet. I started shouting and yelling and raising quite a ruckus. The thieves were annoyed I wouldn't give them anything so they stole one of each of my shoes which were outside my tent. They did this just to spite me." He laughed and then said, "fortunately for me they took one right and one left shoe, so I am hardly affected. I refuse to buy new shoes just to show them that they did not win."

A Taste of the South African West Coast

We had a nice trip up the west coast of South Africa. We didn't go too far, but little distance is required to get a flavor for the vast open space of the west coast. Only a few miles north west of Cape Town the landscape becomes incredibly barren and lonely. It felt like Wyoming in the summer. It didn't take many miles for me to abandon my fantasy of driving for days on end deep into the Namibian desert. We made our way to a little town called Langebaan which is set on a very white, flat beach. Its a popular spot for kite boarding. It was incredibly windy. Our sun umbrella caught wind and flew almost half a mile until we could eventually run it down. The bright white sand is extremely fine, 3 days later and we are still trying to scrub it out of Ananya's hair.

Escape from Water World

Perhaps a week into our stay in Buenos Aires, the kids and I got caught in a torrential downpour. It was dark out, and we were sheltered under a restaurant awning, laughing about the rain and milling with other folks. The kids insisted we go for it and head home, despite my many warnings that we would be totally soaked. I relented, and so, we three started running; perhaps not 20 feet into our journey it was as if we had jumped into a lake. Nayan and I had a blast, laughing all the way home, enjoying the mixture of heat and heavy rain. Ananya shreaked after losing her flip flop and remained totally spooked that night, and for weeks after; for the remainder of our time in Buenos Aires, anytime Ananya saw clouds, or signs of rain, she stubbornly refused to go outside. We bribed her with a push button umbrella and lots of ice cream, and we spent much time convincing her that the rain was nothing to fear, and not much could happen. Looks like we were wrong. Our friend Maria who lives in Buenos Aires, just forwarded this article published in La Nacion, about the torrential rains. Take a look. Many of the pictures are from our neighborhood with water levels rising over 1 meter. The first shot is of a group exiting a bus while clutching a rope to cross the currents. Looks like we indeed escaped just in time.

Ridgebacks, Rottweilers, and Razor Wire

You know you're in South Africa when you see a sign like this next to a nice hotel. We're still getting used to being greeted with huge Rodesian Ridgebacks, German Shepherds, Rottweilers, and other slathering doobers while heading out for a hike. The locals don't seem to notice, and the dogs seem friendly enough when you're introduced, nonetheless, it is a bit nerve wracking. One of the hardest things to get over here is this ever present security obsession. From what folks tell you, the ubiquitous razor wire, electric fences, heavily armed ADT guards, and oodles of huge barking dogs is all necessary to keep people from being robbed. Its still tough for me to tell if this is the truth, or a bit of a hangover from the tenuous apartheid days -- it does, however, seem to be a bit overkill. When you chat with folks, most say something like, "we haven't had a break in before in the past 20+ years," or, "its usually just petty break ins, folks looking for quick getaways with a lap top, cell phones or other electronics." If so, I can't help but wonder why everyone cares so much -- get some insurance, a dead bolt, and be done with it; the rest of this hoo ha just freaks out the tourists. I also wonder if this isn't a bit of a self fulfilling prophecy -- razor wire wrapped home owners assume massive crime is just one tenement away, and the tenement folks see these armed fortresses presuming attempts will be made to rob them, and conclude, perhaps it is their duty to rob them. Even if the crime is truly this extreme a concern, isn't this race to the most hardcore security obsessors just pushing the crime to one's next door neighbor? After all, in between the hardcore homes are seemingly unprotected homes with little more than a friendly lab meandering about.

Buenos Aires Nose Beatings

So a few minutes after arriving in Buenos Aires, I noticed some woman with a broken nose sipping coffee at a cafe. A day later I saw another broken nosed woman chatting with a well coiffed tough looking guy; I wondered if she was a domestic violence victim. Then yesterday I saw another one, and thought, wow, are the men here abusive? Maybe its all that hot Mediterranean blood. Then today I saw another one, and thought, okay, something is up; all of the broken noses have the same exact bandaging. Later, we met a tour guide who started cracking jokes about the "lions" here in the BA jungle -- she pointed out plasticated boobulation examples everywhere; she said the national health insurance even covers it. So I did some searches, and a bunch of weird things showed up. I don't typically follow the Miss Universe news, so I missed the fact that Miss 1994 Argentina died recently from a botched buttocks implant. And this freaky woman has issues with hers as well. Apparently though, this is all old news. This 1999 Newsweek article has a punchy quote:

In "The Masks of Argentina," author Luis Majul estimates that one in every 30 Argentines has undergone cosmetic surgery. And with prices plummeting, face-lifts and nose jobs are becoming "democratized," says plastic surgeon Maria Cristina Zeaiter. But the country's elite sets the tone; everyone from Diego Maradona to President Carlos Menem has gone under the scalpel. Menem's ex-wife, former First Lady Zuelma Yoma, is a frequent client of cosmetic-surgery clinics. But few Argentines are put off by such dangers. "Mankind suffers two great ills: aging and ugliness," says cosmetic surgeon Jose Juri. "Plastic surgery can treat them both."

So, it turns out that, not only do folks here get a lot of plastic surgery, but BA is actually a major plastic surgery "medical" "tourist" destination. Here's a rather disturbing CNN expose.

Homeschooling at La Campana National Park in Chile

We're still working out many of the kinks in our home schooling efforts. One of the things that seems to be working is field trip based learning. So recently we hauled the pod out to La Campana National Park which is in the Vizcachas Mountains about 60 kilometers from where we are staying in Valparaiso.


This was probably the most public transportation we have ever taken for a day trip, so we started out the lesson discussing how to catch the train, how the automated ticketing system works, where to find the bus, and how to find a toilet at a bus station without eating a meal. Since we haven't had a Lonely Planet guidebook with us, we're flying a bit blind relying heavily on our hosts for some advice; stuff like: "I'm pretty sure if you make it past the land of the big tomato to Olmue, you'll find a bus that will get you close to the park. From there, just hike into the park." Our homeschooling lesson continued by a colorful illustration of how to look really clueless on a bus in the middle of no where while butchering a major world language; our illustration rendered perfectly, inspiring a wonderful Chilean gentleman to help us flag down the next ride in our route. This photo below shows the man running away from us as fast as possible, fleeing the half baked field trippers.


Along the way, we continued our lesson discussing what horses eat in the Cordillera de la Costa, apparently smooshed tomatoes from the back of a truck.


And more information on why you might hang a cow skin from the ceiling.

Here was another quick lesson on why National Park's are located on the end of really long dirt roads:


And another one on why you might build a blue shack on top of a well a half mile up from the rangers station.


Ah yes, and the environmental lesson we originally set out on, which was to witness and understand the very unique ecological system of this region in Chile.

So we also spent some time understanding how a plant ecosystem can remain shielded from the world at large (in the case of Chile, huge mountains a short distance to the east, and a big ocean to the west). And of course, we chatted about who this Charles Darwin guy was, since he climbed this mountain during his "Voyage of the Beagle." Darwin was interesting to the kids, in part since Manuel, one of our hosts, while recommending the park, described how he came here with Darwin's great, great, ... great grand daughter, who herself is also apparently a scientist.

So there you have it, a serendipitous field trip based ecological homeschooling lesson on the last of the Jubaea chilensis (Chilean Wine Palm) forests.

Downhill Distractions in Valparaiso

My wife has grown tired of me constantly checking out the lines here, as in, me imagining how I would hit a set of stairs, or launch out into the street off a nice drop with a downhill bike. Obsessing over lines is something I've done ever since I was a kid and I first started skiing. It seems I can't enjoy a hike unless I convince myself first that it wouldn't be that great of a mountain bike ride. I've never though, had this problem in a city, since I normally think of cities as terrible places to mountain bike. Valparaiso changed that; it is simply so obviously built for 8 inches of suspension, a downhill helmet, and some armor.

So, after feeling a bit OCD, I was thrilled to discover that I am not the first to obsess on the Valparaiso lines. This morning, I was chatting with Manuel, a very relaxed gourmet Chilean chef who cooks for guests here at the cozy Valparaiso Experience; I was telling him how amazing the streets are. He asked me what I meant, and I explained. He then asked me if I was one of those crazy guys. I laughed while my wife nodded. So Manuel went on to tell me a story. Apparently the traditional male Valparaisians are a pretty hardy stock of fisherman and port people. When they first saw an army of "green haired, pierced skinny kids" parading through the streets on their beefy rigs, they laughed. Then, they witnessed the Valparaiso Urban Downhill, and were hand-on-forehead impressed at the kids "bravery." Manuel even described his personal shock at witnessing a hard core rider get some fat air while jumping out the window of a house; upon landing, this rider removed their helmet revealing long flowing locks of blond. Manuel said, with a starry look in his eyes, "we have wonderful women here in Val, they are artists, painters, architects, but wow, I'd never seen anything like this. She was amazing."

After some quick YouTube sleuthing, I've dug up some footage of the 2007 Downhill race. Enjoy.

A Day at Pablo Neruda's

We had a wonderful day visiting Neruda's house here in Valparaiso, Chile. The gardens are beautiful. Slideshow courtesy of Smilebox, a friend's company in Seattle.

Flip Cam Cruising Through Valparaiso

I'm convinced there's a light weight way to make a decent video and quickly get it onto this blog, though I haven't yet found a good made-for-grandma webware solution. This is my first attempt with minimal editing and slim formatting. I'm experimenting with shooting lots of clean, short clips and then basically rapidly stacking them together. Where I usually sink a lot of time is in splitting clips in iMovie and going too high res, so I'm intentionally avoiding these slow downs. This video of us cruising the colorful streets and wonderful waterways of Valparaiso, Chile went from Flip Camera to blog post in an hour and a half, not bad, though still an hour and 25 minutes too long I think. I wish I could just plop in my Flip Cam, pick a song, and walk away; alas, perhaps a little video geekery project is in my future.

Put a Dagger in the Steering Wheel

A few months ago I was on a business trip in San Francisco having dinner with a friend who'd spent a number of years working in Kazakhstan. He said to me, "sometimes in life Deep, you just have to put a dagger in the steering wheel". After a moment of staring into the air picturing my high school 75 Ford Maverick with a butcher's knife in the steering wheel and a stack of pizza boxes on the passenger seat, I said, "Eh?"

Recently, folks have been asking me how I could just pack up and take off for over a year with a wife, 2 kids, a mortgage, dog, blah and blah; I do remember feeling overwhelmed by the forthcoming details about 4 months ago when we finalized the decision; so instead of doing what comes naturally to me and analyzing myriad complicating factors, I thought of Patrick and decided we just need to focus on the dagger. So we sunk a bunch of cash on pricey non-refundable plane tickets, and then, the mortgage, dog, kids schooling, house, and all the remaining hoo hah just became part of the path.

Poem of the Day from Pablo's Hood

On occasion I feel a conflict between my multiple selves. I thought I'd include one of my favorite Neruda poems titled We Are Many which contains such lovely words on this topic.


We Are Many

Of the many men whom I am, whom we are,
I cannot settle on a single one.
They are lost to me under the cover of clothing
They have departed for another city.

When everything seems to be set
to show me off as a man of intelligence,
the fool I keep concealed on my person
takes over my talk and occupies my mouth.

On other occasions, I am dozing in the midst
of people of some distinction,
and when I summon my courageous self,
a coward completely unknown to me
swaddles my poor skeleton
in a thousand tiny reservations.

When a stately home bursts into flames,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and he is I. There is nothing I can do.
What must I do to distinguish myself?
How can I put myself together?

All the books I read
lionize dazzling hero figures,
brimming with self-assurance.
I die with envy of them;
and, in films where bullets fly on the wind,
I am left in envy of the cowboys,
left admiring even the horses.

But when I call upon my DASHING BEING,
out comes the same OLD LAZY SELF,
and so I never know just WHO I AM,
nor how many I am, nor WHO WE WILL BE BEING.
I would like to be able to touch a bell
and call up my real self, the truly me,
because if I really need my proper self,
I must not allow myself to disappear.

While I am writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I have already left.
I should like to see if the same thing happens
to other people as it does to me,
to see if as many people are as I am,
and if they seem the same way to themselves.
When this problem has been thoroughly explored,
I am going to school myself so well in things
that, when I try to explain my problems,
I shall speak, not of self, but of geography.

Ballard Pundit Reveals a Year of Wandering

Virtually every Sunday morning, my family and I head down to the Ballard's Farmers Market. We meander past the stalls and sample the latest organic goodies, while our kids suck on honey sticks and pester us for caps and Pop-Its from the toy store. So last Sunday, on a whim, I decided I'd pay $10 to a fortune teller and see what my future had in store.

The last time I went to a fortune teller was about 15 years ago, so its not something I do every day, nor is it something I take very seriously, but I figured worse case scenario, I was helping our local market economy out. So the fortune teller asked me whether I used to write a lot of fiction. I said well yes I did. She said, "it looks like you stopped about ten years ago for some reason, and I think you are going to start up again in full force." Then she asked, "are you going on a big trip? I see you surrounded by laughing kids and you are a teacher." I said, "well yes, actually we are going on a trip." She said, "I see you in Thailand, is that where you are going?" I said, "well to be honest, we haven't planned that far ahead, but it is certainly a possibility that we wind up in Thailand." So then I went ahead and explained our plans, rough as they were. Then the fortune teller said, "I also see that you were a philosopher working in academia on the French and Belgium border in a past life." I laughed. She then said, "make sure you start writing again, you must return to your writing, it is essential to your soul."

So while I'm not sure whether I wore a beret and a Dali mustache in a past life, I am sure that I am sitting on a plane heading on a year plus long adventure. Turns out the fortune teller did pretty well, I have no idea how. Ever since my wife and I got married, we've tossed around the idea of a long global trip with kids in tote. Even before my wife and I met, we both traveled a fair amount, and it was something we assumed we would continue, even when it was more challenging, i.e. while hauling kids about, paying a mortgage, feeding a dog, and taming the many items of modern life competing for attention.

There have been multiple points in the past decade that Ameen, my wife, and I had thought seriously about leaving. Mostly they were disrupted by my strong desire to see a project I've had the great privilege to be a part of take off. A prior post of mine, titled Evri Exposes the Web that Always Was is perhaps my best attempt to articulate why I've felt so attached to this work for the past 8 and a half years. After much thought, I feel now the time is right to make a change; the company has strong leadership, an amazing team, and committed investors. I have stepped back from my full time role with the company and will be continuing on as an advisor. My time with Evri has been one of the most exciting in my career. It has truly been amazing to see a nascent unformed idea grow into such a wonderful and promising content discovery engine.

So what are our plans? Well the truth is, things are only half baked; we're basically escaping the wet northwest winter, and following the sun through South America, southern Africa, Dubai, then on toward India. Once in India, I'm not too sure on the details, we want to help out a non profit building sewer systems in rural Punjab in some capacity, and of course we have lots of friends and family we'll be visiting. We'll also be homeschooling the kids on route until we can get them enrolled in India where we'll be stopping for a longer duration.

If you're interested in following along with our trip, I'll be blogging here on Chalo Bolo and tweeting as zang0. I'll also be available all the usual means, Skype, Facebook, email, Seattle phone number, etc. First stop: Valparaiso, Chile, home to one of my favorite poets: Pablo Neruda.

The Making of the N7

One, boy... one vision... space, by rocket. With the advanced joining of ordinary baking soda, aka sodium bicarbonate, and white vinegar, Chief Rocket Scientist, Nayan, was able to build a rocket that reaches new heights by leveraging the gaseous output of an ordinary chemical reaction. This film, this cinematographic work, captures the marvelous triumph of boy over bottle -- this is the story behind the making of the N7.

At Nani's

I had some time on my hands yesterday, was without an Internet connection, and started playing around with my Mac. I stumbled across iMovie and thought I'd try to make my first video using the built in camera. So here you have it, starring ChaloBolo's very own Nayan and Ananya.

Photos from India Trip

You can see my photos from our recent to trip to India HERE.

More Wonder in Wonderland

We returned to Wonderland, and things have indeed changed since our 2005 trip; there is now a water park -- the perfect place to cool off and listen to bhangra.

Ameen modelling Jalandhar's latest swim wear fashion...

And the kids 5 minutes after returning home...

The Progress of Safety - Indian Style

So for any of you who may have recollections of 70s travel on India's famed GT road, things are much different, generally for the better. My childhood trips to India virtually always involved an accident of some form or another. Once my father, grandfather and I got ran off the road by a bus overtaking another -- our motorcycle went down, and we all suffered some serious breakage. I can't recall a single trip to India during that period where at least someone we knew was not in a serious accident.

Now things are very different. The road from Delhi to Amritsar in general segregates traffic moving to Delhi, from that moving away from Delhi. I'm no traffic engineer, but in general, this seems a good thing. In addition, the moon crater size pot holes, while by no means an endangered species, generally have dwindled on main thoroughfares. Things get even more amazing -- many cities now have very strict helmet and seat belt laws. When you look out onto the streets, it really looks like the laws are being enforced, and folks are following them. But on closer inspection, I realize this is not quite the case.

Upon entering a taxi, virtually every one of them tells you to put on your seat belt. So I reach for my belt, and realize there is no buckle on the end -- its been cut off. The driver usually smiles and says something like, "just lay it across your lap, so the police won't notice." I was wandering the bazaar and noticed a man selling helmets - they looked like hard baseball caps. He had a pair of scissors and was busy cutting off the straps. I asked him what good a helmet was with no straps -- he looked at me like I was completely daft, "so the police don't bother you, obviously."

I also realize that woman don't wear helmets. So I ask my driver why that's the case -- he says, "oh the ladies were furious that their hair was being messed up. Woman have many rights you know. Men in the goverment also realized that so much of life's beauty is gone if one can no longer see woman and their long flowing hair on the back of a motorcycle." All I could think was, ok, here's a country with an out of control infanticide rate driving a major gender imbalance, and the government decides to start favoring women by allowing them the option to die in statistically larger numbers. After thinking about it for a while, I realize I'm wrong -- after all, the straps are cut off the mens helmets, and there is no functioning Snell helmet approval organization, so virtually anyone can manufacture helmets; they can even make them out of tupperware if they want to.

The best part, of course, is that if you have 500 rupees on you, you can totally ignore the laws, since a little palm grease goes a long way. And I must say, all cynicism aside, it really is liberating knowing that virtually every law out there is easily skirted, leaving one completely free to do what they want. Our kids love romping around seat belt free in the car. And in general I let them, not just since the belts are broken, but back in 70s America, that's how I grew up.

A Trip to Manikaran Sahib

We recently returned from a few days up in the mountains with my cousin and family. We went to Manikaran Sahib, a Gurdwara that is located in the Parvati valley near Kulu and Manali in Himachal Pradesh.

The ride up was pretty twisty and turny. We had multiple vomit related pit stops. We've driven around the Cascades quite a bit without incident, but apparently the Himalayan mountain roads were too much for Nayan's stomach. Nonetheless, the drive was just spectacular. One of the things that is so different here, is that people, lots of people, actually live way up the mountain sides. Often there are no roads, just little trails; folks hike up many thousands of vertical feet to get to their houses. There's also an interesting network of rather sketchy cables and baskets to help people and goods traverse major valleys. Pictured below is me standing on one of many jerry rigged rafts that folks use to cross rivers.

The Gurdwara is built around natural hot springs; there are multiple baths where you can soak. The Gurdwara itself has a very universalist bent -- virtually every religious prophet is pictured throughout the Gurdwara; each time I went into the hot spring I had a different experience -- once with a group of Hindu priests, again w/ a number of Buddhist monks, more with Sikh pilgrims.
Here are a few snippets from SikhWiki.org on the history of the site: Guru Nanak Dev ji was with his Sikhs in the Himalaya mountains of India. His sikhs were hungry and there was no food. Guru Nanak sent his good friend Bhai Mardana to collect food for langar (the community kitchen). Many people donated rice and flour(atta)to make parsadas(bread). The one problem was that there was no fire to cook the food. Guru Nanak than lifted a rock and a hot spring appeared. The sikhs were able to make rice and beans.

Legend has it that once Lord Shiva and his divine consort Parvati were wandering in this sublime environment. Shiva liked the place and started meditating. Meanwhile, Parvati started taking a bath in the blue waters. While she was playing in the water she lost her earring. Shiva was enraged when he could not get back the earring, he started doing Tandav, the dance of destruction. The atmosphere got tense and Shiva threatened the serpent, the probable thief. The serpent fished the jewel out from the waters. Thus the river came to be known as Parvati and the place was called Mani(ring)Karan(ear).