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The New Year

Happy New Year from the Mommywizards!

December 31st, 2006 Posted by admin | General | no comments

With Special Thanks to…

If you’ve been following our blogs for any length of time, chances are you’ve already got the idea that we MommyWizards have been through our share of adventures. And now here we are at the winter holiday season, and ready to celebrate our usual Happy-Holi-Hanu-Kwanzaa-Mas time. Since we’re in a part of the world where sending or receiving physical presents is a logistical nightmare, this year I’m sending out mostly good wishes, and a heartfelt endorsement of the people and businesses who made our adventures possible. Please pass along the good cheer by giving these fine folks your custom–or at least paying them a visit–should you have an opportunity.

And ya know, over the past couple of years, we’ve surfed a lot of couches, cried on a lot of shoulders, and shared many laughs over cups of coffee. If you are someone who blessed us with your help and aren’t listed here, consider yourself well hugged by the three of us anyway.

Tien Chiu @ Traveling Tiger, San Francisco, CA

Dr. Michelle Riddel ( and family! ), Oakland, CA

ShDiva Black, Oakland, CA

Allison Walton and Filomena Serpa @ FLOAT, Alameda, CA

Linda Cleary @ Savvy Travel, Berkeley, CA

Lori Bushbaum @ Hawksong, Berkeley, CA

Dr. Ellen Gurian, Albany, CA

Earle Jennings, Kensington, CA

Winna Hofstetler, Bolinas, CA

Tom Strickland, Seattle, WA

Sheila and Jonathan Bosworth @ Journey Wheel, Acton, MA

Elaine Miller @ Elaine Miller Dot Com, Vancouver BC Canada

Silva Tenenbein, Vancouver, BC Canada

Lama Wangdor Rimpoche, Rewalsar, HP India

Thupten Gonpo Hara, Rewalsar, HP India

The Lotus Lake Hotel, Rewalsar, HP India

The Chopstic Restaurant, Rewalsar, HP India (contact: Vijay Kumar)

David Broman @ Mani-Tech, Rewalsar, HP India

Pasang the Tibetan Herbalist, Rewalsar, HP India

Surfers Paradise Internet Cafe, Mandi, HP India (contact: Inderjeet Singh)

Himalayan House, Majnu-Ka-Tilla, Delhi, India

Wongdhen House, Majnu-Ka-Tilla, Delhi, India

Gangchen Tours & Travels, Majnu-Ka-Tilla, Delhi, India (contact: Karma)

The Souvenir Guest House, Thamel, Kathmandu, Nepal (contact: Madan Karki)

MSN Cyber Cafe, Thamel, Kathmandu, Nepal

Tashi Deleg Restaurant, Thamel, Kathmandu, Nepal

The “red shack”, Thamel, Kathmandu, Nepal (Ask for “Momma”)

Dragon Travel, Bouda, Kathmandu, Nepal

The babes at Babeland

The folks at Fiber Universe

The souls at Sheep Thrills

eBags.com

PortableApps.com

December 25th, 2006 Posted by admin | General, Travel | no comments

The Tennis Ball on a Stick

Once upon a time in Oakland, I noticed an interesting thing about the meter readers employed by Pacific Gas and Electric. In addition to all of the other arcane tools attached at belt level for sensing, sniffing, and adjusting anything to do with gas or electricity, was one tool whose purpose I really couldn’t guess. It was always a stick, painted in the PG&E’s corporate color of sky blue, and topped with a tennis ball. More often than not the tennis ball was colored fluorescent yellow, but not always. And there was always one close to hand on the meter reader’s belt–it was obviously not one of those infrequently used tools that could be left in the utility truck.

Finally, on a day when a meter reader came to the office, I stopped him and inquired about the tennis ball on a stick.

“It’s for dogs,” was the reply.

Well, of course. The average meter reader, whose job requirements include entering people’s backyards, climbing in and out of basements, and peeking through fences, face their share of loose dogs who are really invested in defending the very patch of real estate in which a meter might be located. While there are any number of high-tech solutions for repelling dogs–including whistles, tasers, and even a doggy edition of Mace©–the most effective dog repellent is one any child could construct in about ten minutes, and use immediately.

The stick keeps the dog a safe distance away, while the tennis-ball tip alternately offers the dog a non-human appendage to gnaw on, or safely pushes it away without injury. It’s all about proven technology.

In India many technology decisions follow this pattern–if something is cheap, involves few or no moving parts, and is easy to use, that’s the technology in use. “Western” solutions involving complicated mechanisms, expensive electronics, or extensive training just don’t make the cut.

Recently the Delhi city government decided they wanted all bus drivers to keep to a certain speed limit. That in turn meant putting some kind of governor on the buses. In the States, the solution might involve some kind of electronic Black Box under the bus’ hood, ready to throttle down the engine as soon as it gets close to the limit, and record any attempt at circumvention. The Indian solution?

A block of metal under the accelerator pedal.

Effective, easy to implement, and any traffic cop can inspect it for tampering. A metal block is either in place doing its job, or it’s not. Simple, no? Similarly, the power is out in Rewalsar as I write this. Very little other than the town cyber cafes are shutting down. Most wallahs keep their money in a box or drawer; cooking is done using a propane stovetop; and it’s daytime, so no need to break out the candles. The local chai wallah crushing spices for the next batch of masala chai uses a convenient chunk of cement, rather than a fancy grinder.

Recently Lena discovered a good source of wool and roving for us to spin up. Joy was able to purchase a bag of raw fleece for a hundred rupees or so (about $US2). Somebody in the village owns and runs a carding machine, so we took the fleece down there to be processed. Alas, the carding machine was down, and waiting for a replacement part to come from Mandi, “maybe Monday.” Which Monday never really got specified; the carded was obviously down until further notice. Time to break out the handcards…

December 18th, 2006 Posted by admin | Tech, India | no comments

The road to Kathmandu (II)

I think I’ve already mentioned that the bus I took to Kathmandu was not the tony, more tourist-oriented “Volvo” bus but a more proletarian Tibetan-style “deluxe” bus. Everyone else was either Tibetan, Indian, or Nepali. The bus stopped every three hours or so for the men on board to hop out and water the nearest trees. More female oriented stops happened every six hours or so. The ride takes approximately 36 hours, starting from afternoon in Dehi. Unlike other trips I’ve taken, the traditional morning tea-and-pee happened at about 3:30 AM, as usual at a dhaba set up in the middle of nowhere. A couple of gentlemen wrapped in shawls casually toted rifles over the shoulders. They didn’t have police or military uniforms. My best guess was that they were either hunters, guards for the dhaba, or dacoits (bandits) on break.

Some hours later, the big daylight morning stop was at this dhaba in the middle of bumfuck India off to one side of the highway. Eastern India, right before the Nepal border, is extremely rural, extremely dusty, and extremely desolate. You can look out the window and be very hard pressed to guess what year–or even what decade–it is. Off to one side of the dhaba, where tea and food were available, was a huge cement block with several water spouts set into it for everyone to wash at. The bathroom was a nice big open field, with room for everyone to pick a spot.

Things changed dramatically at the Nepali border. Or rather, they changed just before the Nepali border. One of the bus crew informed me I needed to get off the bus to deal with my Indian exit visa. With me in this adventure were a mixed race couple who seemed to be the only other bus riders who weren’t Nepali or Indian. Both were dressed Western style–he in dress shirt and jeans, she in black t-shirt and black pants and sporting a facial expression I came to think of as “disaffected Heroin addict”. Before I learned otherwise, I’d assumed the woman, with her pale, peaches-and-cream complexion, black outfit, and sullen expression, was someone’s 14-year-old daughter who’d been dragged to India on some kind of budget educational tour. I kept checking around the bus for her parents. Come to find out that she was not only an adult, but was traveling with her Nepali husband, who, like me, had a relative or two in the States.

Alrighty then. First the Indian exit visa, where once again I put up with the question as to whether the Indian man who was looking over my visa could come back with me to the States. Just to save y’all any suspense, the answer’s always “no”. Next came the surprise: rather than reboard the bus, we were expected to walk into Nepal for the Nepali entry visa, while our luggage rode the same distance.

All of fifty meters, but, still.

Those fifty meters’ worth of walking immediately brought us under an overpainted arch that crossed the street and into a place called Behaliya, which is evidently Nepal’s answer to Tijuana. Outside the office where we picked up our Nepali entry visas were no end of liquor stalls, hotels, kukhri knife sellers, fruit vendors, beggars and touts. One guy just marched right up to us, explaining that everyone from the bus was already at his restaurant, and all we had to do was follow him. Uh-huh. Instead, we stayed where we were, eventually got back on the bus, only to get off after a left turn of about ten yards.

From then on, the bus magically turned into a party bus as the Nepalis on board started seriously drinking and dancing during the ride. The Nepalis were partying hard partly because they could–Nepal, as opposed to India, is not a “dry” country–and also partly because they were celebrating leaving India. Having been there myself, I can understand how most Nepalis might feel about India the way folks from Vegas might feel about New Jersey. It’s more expensive, less festive, and the food just isn’t as good. We rolled into a Nepali dhaba to have “thaklis”–a Nepali style thali plate festooned with a dal soup, curried water buffalo or chicken, a vegetable pickle, and all the rice you can sock away. Throughout all this I’d been hanging out with the other Western couple. The festive atmosphere might have continued from there if the following conversation hadn’t ensued after the husband had an extensive phone call in Nepali with somebody.

“Well,” he chirped, “I finally found you a room…”
“Er…what?” I said. “I have reservations already.”
“It wsn’t easy, the first place didn’t have any spaces…”
“That’s okay,” I insisted. “I already have a room set up.”
“The other place though, has a room for you. I didn’t get a price. If it’s too expensive, you can always move the next morning…”
“Um. But. You’re not understanding. I already have a room, reserved, through a family friend…”

Believe or not, this man kept insisting I stay at his hotel in the unpriced room he’d just set up. I politely and firmly kept refusing. This particular reservation at a Nepali guest house had been set up via the same guy who’d put Joy and Lena up throughout the little revolution Nepal was having back in May, so we knew he was pretty trustworthy. Meantime, I was having to argue a complete stranger out of finding me another room. The disagreement continued, I kid you not, until after 2 in the morning–at which point I actually had to tell the taxi driver to drive me away from him to my guest house. The driver couldn’t find the place for about an hour, but that’s another story.

The main thing to know is months ago, on my first day in India in fact, I’d already gone through the “no record of reservation” scam at the Mumbai airport. This time in Nepal, I stuck with my reservation without thinking about why–until much later that I realized that my new-found friends might have been insisting I put up at their guest house, so they could get a discount on their own room for bringing me in….

December 12th, 2006 Posted by admin | Travel, India | no comments

The billion little gods

I’ve spent six months in India. Before that, I was always somewhat eclectic in my religious beliefs, following the workings of Santeria and Yoruba while at the same time receiving Buddhist empowerments. So I’m more than a little accustomed to the practice of polytheism.

Kathmandu, however, takes the concept to a whole new level. Walk anywhere outside, even if it’s just the fifty meters to the local general needs stall, and you’ll pass a small shrine here, or a mini-temple there, where one can stop in and say hello to the deity of the minute. A small niche set in a wall, a small rock daubed with vermilion and precious oils; look anywhere, and you’ll see a deity in residence. Like people, each one is different from its neighbor in appearance, outlook and temperament.

In the old African religions, the categorization is a little more systematic. It’s understood for example that you don’t just have a deity in charge of things like death, or wisdom, or wealth. That deity in turn has dozens of avatars, some wrathful, some benevolent, some younger, some more ancient. And each one is described in detail, down to the colors of the last eleke bead.

A couple days in Kathmandu is all it takes to see the same thing at work. Each little shrine feels different as I walk by, a product of the neighborhood and the people tending it. The other day I passed a shrine covered in Nepali rupees that had been nailed into the wall, the deity’s iconic representation so covered up I could no longer tell what it was. Other shrines and temples seemed to house imposing residents, whose worshippers would have to come as supplicants on bended knee. One temple seemed set up for the busy commuter, it’s god-greeting bell set out in the sidewalk for people to touch in the middle of that run for the bus.

A billion deities, little, big and inbetween, all equally respected…

December 6th, 2006 Posted by admin | Travel, Nepal | no comments

The Road to Kathmandu

If you’ve been following this blog and Joy’s blog with any attention, you’re probably already aware that bus rides in this part of the world are somewhat fraught with peril. Nonetheless, the truth is that to get anywhere from Rewalsar in Himachal Pradesh to anywhere else beyond Mandi, you’re looking at two bus rides minimum, even if it’s to get to the train, or the airport. If you’re not planning on train, plane or automobile to get you where you need to go, then making sure you’re prepared both mentally and physically for the trip is absolutely crucial.

By now I’ve become an old hand at the Mandi-Delhi bus run, a 12-hour red-eye trip that can feature either a highway to heaven or a road trip to hell, depending on the bus company, the condition of the bus itself, and the drivers. Often the dhaba and rest stops can be an adventure in themselves; other times the drivers will conveniently forget there are women on board the bus, and just make “men’s stops” next to any convenient stand of trees. Another important thing to know about Indian bus rides, and something I haven’t mentioned before is this: it’s been my experience that on about one bus ride out of every four, somebody will get ill, and need to puke out a window.

Yep, that’s how it works in India. If you’re on a bus and don’t feel good, the bus won’t stop for you. Just make sure you have a window seat, and sit somewhere near the back so the other passengers can use their windows, if they need to. This is one situation where spending the extra rupaiyah for a high-end Volvo AC bus is not a good idea, because the windows on Volvo buses do not open. I’ve been in a Volvo bus someone puked in, and it actually took 45 minutes of concerted complaining before the crew would agree to clean up the mess.

Anywho, it was my mission this time to get from Rewalsar, all the way to Kathmandu in Nepal, a trip that requires:
–45 minutes mountain driving by taxi
–2 hours wait for “deluxe” bus in Mandi
–12 hours ride overnight to Delhi
–6 hours wait for Kathmandu bus departure
–36 hours ride from Delhi to Kathmandu.

(Counts on fingers, carries the one) That, according to the old math, is about 51 hours straight travel, to travel the entire northeastern edge of India, and land in another country.

Did I explain how departures work for long distance bus rides in India? No? My bad. While the following description is somewhat extreme, it actually incorporates everything you can expect to happen (or not) from the time the bus can actually be boarded to the time the bus gets on the road (a time frame ranging anywhere from 15 minutes to 2 hours). This is how the Kathmandu departure went.

I showed up at the travel agent’s in Majnu-Ka-Tilla Tibetan colony at my 1:30 “reporting time”, with my luggage. “Boarding” time was 2:00. The agent would be taking me to my bus. This bit turned out to be a walk back out of Majnu-Ka-Tilla’s main gate, turning right past the auto-rickshaws and bicycle rickshaws to walk down a dirt road that ran towards the Yamuna river, which runs behind Majnu-Ka-Tilla. The agent helped carry my bag after he saw that I was having problems with the distance, which was “just up here”. The other MommyWizards and I have learned to our detriment that any walking directions that include the magic phrase “it’s just up here” invariably mean a twenty minute hike that involves negotiating seriously rocky ground, and may or may not involve hand-over-hand climbing. No climbing this time, just a nice long walk in the dust, until we reached a large open space filled with garbage. An official looking blue sign from Delhi’s Municipal government proclaimed in English, Hindu, Urdu, and Bangla that we had reached “Majnu Ka Teela Park.”

In the middle of the garbage were a couple of buses, a large crowd of Tibetans, Indians and Nepalis, and a couple of ticket takers for the buses. My agent marched up to one ticket taker, had me hand over my ticket, which the taker shuffled up with some other tickets, while the agent argued with him and tried to get my ticket back out of his hands. All the while my agent yelled at the ticket taker in Hindi at top volume, with the ticket taker yelling back. The shuffling and the yelling continued. Finally something got ticked off on a clipboard, and the ticket taker pointed to a bus. The agent turned to me, pointed at the same bus, and explained that was my bus. I turned back to the agent and the ticket taker, pointed at my bag, and explained that I would not be getting on board, until I saw where my luggage ended up.

The next ten minutes were spent watching the only baggage handler in Majnu-Ka-Tilla with absolutely no spacial logic take 10 minutes to put my one bag in the bus’s empty holding space. I could afford to take the time, because the bus was pretty much guaranteed to be leaving late. That accomplished, I got on the bus, and proceeded to be entertained by other happenings. Surrounding the buses, the ticket takers, the agents, and so on like a flock of seagulls were various fruit sellers, kids selling water and chips, some guy selling Q-tips and lighters, several beggars, and of course the requisite cows and a pregnant dog or two.

Inside the bus, of course, was the other part of the boarding process: people were randomly getting on the bus, choosing a seat whose number seemed to resemble what they remembered seeing on their ticket. These folks would plunk a small bit of luggage on the seat, and then leave the bus again, mostly to buy fruit or visit one of the many bushes and trees that stood literally in lieu of any sort of functional bathroom. Others would then board, select the same seats, and shovel around the luggage to settle in. Then the first folks would return, and more high-volume yelling would commence, to end only when the ticket-taker and his clipboard would board the bus to settle the disagreement for good. Little by little, the buses would fill up. The bus engine might start up and idle for a bit, then be turned off again. Finally, some sort of magic consensus took place, and the buses actually left, no more than an hour or so behind schedule.

December 3rd, 2006 Posted by admin | Travel, India, Nepal | 8 comments