Madmen, Melons and Miracles

2 November 2009 - Sivananda Kutir Ashram, Netala, Uttarkashi - bed sheets of 29 guests being handwashed after everyone left the ashram.

A madman drove Elly and me from Netala, Uttarkashi to Rishikesh, about a six hour drive through the Himalayas on windy rocky roads that peel around sharp corners along steep drop offs. We were in a lull of ashram tranquility that morning when [bxA] I learned my scheduled driver had had a heart attack and a replacement driver was just ten minutes away.

Two hours later a wiry quiet man with dark skin and crisp black hair arrived in a tiny banged up car that had no rearview mirror on the passenger side, a demolished rearview mirror on the driver’s side, and no seatbelts for the passengers. I watched the driver haphazardly cram our rucksacks into the tiny hatchback compartment, which permanently dislodged the backs of our seats for the journey and gave me insight as to how his spatial perception massacred both rearview mirrors. He immediately drove too fast and swerved too much, jarring us right out of our misconception that we could somehow bring most of the ashram peace with us back to Rishikesh.

During our month at the ashram, Elly and I had only a handful of brief conversations, usually by the sink while scrubbing our tin plates after silent meals. She was the first to comment that the driver’s driving was a bit unsteady. I suggested we chant a hundred and eight repetitions of Om Trayambakam (Maha Mrityunjaya) – a five verse life-giving mantra that wards off death and accidents of all kinds and should be repeated 3, 9, 27 or 108 times and always repeated before any travel. “He’ll think we’re mad,” Elly said in her lovely British accent. “We think he’s mad,” I reminded in a slight Texas drawl and without further discussion we simultaneously put our hands in chi mudra, closed our eyes and sang together, ohhhhmmmm ohhhhhmmmmm ohhhhhhhmmmmm ohm trayambam yajamahe sugandhim pushtivardhanam…

I don’t know if the driver thought we were mad, but in the least he thought we were annoying. He glared at us in the sole rearview mirror on the windshield with his beady black eyes glazed by a thick permanent red sheen. He touched the volume of the radio ever so slightly, increasing the volume just enough to make a point. We continued the chant, unfazed. He only occasionally honked to let oncoming traffic know we were coming around the bend, which meant frequent slamming on the breaks just before seemingly near-death head on collisions. He passed every car in our path regardless of how narrow the road, how sharp the turn, how fast the oncoming traffic or the likelihood that his crappy little car could overtake our competition. He never veered from the right side of the road, which, in India, is the wrong side of the road. Elly saw him negotiate these self-imposed dangers while on the mobile phone and for a few moments neither hand was on the wheel. Ohhhhmmmmm trayambakam…

We made many stops at his leisure regardless of Elly’s clear instruction that we wanted to be in Rishikesh as soon as possible. At an isolated hotel with no guests, we were engaged in conversation by a fiftyish Indian woman with a suddenly beautiful face and a Lauren Hutton gap between her front teeth. Elly asked her about the swami whose photo hung on the pendant around her neck (we Sivananda TTCers now have similar double-sided pendants with photos our masters, Swamis Vishnu and Sivananda). The gap toothed woman spoke no English but told the madman, who was very slowly sipping his chai, that the swami on her charm is her guru who lives in the United States. She then poured us small handfuls of uncooked rice from a cone-shaped envelope made from an old sheet of newspaper. We looked to the madman for direction in nibbling away at crunchy rice grains one pinch at a time.

At another stop, high on a hill over a steep drop off overlooking a magnificent valley, Elly and I made our way to the toilets down the stairs along the cliff side drop off. I was negotiating the bright blue squat toilet with the door slightly open to let in sunlight while I could hear Elly outside, overlooking the stunning valley and singing “I believe in miracles…”

I don’t know if it was belief in miracles or the 18 repetitions of Maha Mrityunjaya (we didn't quite make 27), or a little bit of both, but we made it to Rishikesh safely and reunited with about 15 fellow TTCers for dinner at Chotiwaja in Ram Jhula, just across the bridge from Sanskriti spa, where I’m at home in Room F.

The first verse of Maha Mrityunjaga, “Om Trayambakam Yajamahe, Sugandhim Pushtivardhanam, Urvarukamiva Bandhanam, Mrityor Mukshya Mamritat,” translates to ‘Ohm – we worship Lord Siva who nourishes well all beings; may He liberate us from the bondage of death for the sake of Immortality, like a watermelon which effortlessly separates from the vine.'

It’s a metaphor - the watermelon (Urvaruka) grows on the ground attached to a vine and when ripe, does not have to be plucked. It detaches itself effortlessly, remaining where it is, but free from the vine. This represents the attainment of Amrta, the total freedom from the sense of all inadequacy and limitation, which requires emotional maturity gained by the process of inner growth, by living a life of values and prayer. This maturing of the mind is likened to the ripening of the fruit.

Since Elly and I are not yet ripe watermelons, we were relieved to survive the journey and enjoy another day on earth, in these bodies, in this life.

"I believe in miracles, you sexy thing…"

--Hot Chocolate

Birthday balloon art...YAY!

Happy 39th Ali!

Happy Shared Birthday Auntie Ali :)

as i'm sure most of you know, ali shares a birthday with her insanely adorable nephew, jonny. here's a picture of him at his reptile encounter birthday bash.

himalayan birthday

hey thanks everyone for the birthday wishes! i just have a few minutes at the icafe and my laptop won't connect so all my good intentions of blogging and emailing are lost. had a great day today. it was our day off and we did a trek high into the mountains to a temple and a lake. weather is perfect. another girl, rebecca, is celebrating her birthday today too so i'm not alone. it's my nephew jonny's 7th birthday so...happy birthdy, jonny!

i miss everyone and i saw all the facebook posts...thanks! i appreciate all the good wishes as i enter the last year of my thirties! i'm thinking of everyone lots and will hopefully be able to post soon. more to come!

[nad, so glad you found the blog. i've been thinking of you...you're next! assiee & myra...thanks for that donut shaped cake! i think i know what happened to the middle;)

Alyssa's Cake and Birthday Wishes!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR ALIIIII!!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!! HIPHIP...HOORRAYY!!!!!!! HIPHIP HOORRAYYY!!!!!! HIPHIP....HOORRAYYY!!!!!

Happy birthday bestest travel buddy!!! Wishing you a wonderful day in India with many happy returns!!! I hope you like the cake!!! It's the Toblerone cheesecake that I wanted to make back in Beirut. Nancy asked me to make it for you!!! Hope you have a lovely time!!!

Lots of love, hugs, kisses, car horns, snickers bars and giggles....

Love Alyssa & Nancy xxx's

YALLAYALLA PLEASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

Little Yellow Ashram

9 October 2009 - Sivananda Kutir, Netala, Uttarkashi, India

Okay, so here's the ashram. It's my "day off" which means that after 6am satsung, 8am yoga and 10 am breakfast, we are free until 6pm dinner. Mathaji sent us off to the little town of Uttarkashi with the warning in a thick Indian accent, 'try not to eat...or in two days the diadea will come." I'm in an internet cafe trying to handle a maddening little tax problem that arose my first night in New Delhi. So...about life in the ashram... [bxA] Obviously it's beautiful up here. It's a tiny little ashram with just forty of us on the course and three teachers.

Everything is yellow. The walls of the ashram, our uniforms, our yoga manual, the sunshine. My favorite color.

These are my roommates...from Spain, UK and Japan. We have another roommate who came late so isn't photographed here. She's from Houston, Texas! Small world.

This is Swami Vishnu, a disciple of Swami Sivananda. There are photos of both of them all over the ashram. From what I've learned and observed, the two swamis were happy, funny guys and the Sivananda school is quite joyful. This is good because I've had a serious case of the giggles since I got here. Almost everything reminds me of the Millennium days since our first big sail took us from Thailand to India. All the struggles of travel remind me of Alyssa and I get the giggles all the time. (Alyssa, it started when I peeled a banana during the silent dinner session and saw the little squiggly part of the peel that ordinarily I wouldn't eat, but... and then there was the time i was in the shower - which of course was a cold bucket of water - and the gong for satsung rang so i had to rush back into my dirty clothes in five minutes while thinking "maldives shower"...and then there are the never ending toilet issues that seem to distress my roommates yet i am completely unfazed ...and the meals are always rice rice rice and more rice... and someone gave me the best gift ever: a block of dates.... I could go on for days. I'm always laughing.)

The environment is bright...the alters are painted yellow and have all the fun Indian gods adorned with flowers and offerings. It's really laid back, not at all like what I'd imagined. I never actually got to the India part of Eat Pray Love, but there's no one like what's-her-name in this Ashram. It's cool and fun and casual....and people aren't weird and trying to escape stuff....and no one is obsessing about the personal drama she obsessed about in the first section of the book.

Here's the satstung room where we meditate/pray and hear the lectures. This is after class so most of the people are gone. We are busy all the time - mostly chanting in Sanskrit then studying the chants later and having lectures on meditation. We meditate a lot too. There are two 2-hour yoga classes, but the morning is mostly lecture since it's a teacher training course. (No, I am not becoming a yoga teacher.) There is no time in between the meditations/chants, yoga, lectures and meals so it's go go go until we drop around 9pm.

Okay, that's all I can think of to tell you. Any questions?

Journey to the Ashram

3 October 2009 - Journey from New Delhi to Rishekesh to Uttarkashi, India.

the last few days have been mayhem and magical...

this was my super posh hotel in new delhi. photo was taken at 6am otherwise there'd be a zillion people, cows, bicycles, rickshaws, motorbikes and dogs everywhere.

this is rishikesh where i spent the night...it's a little yoga town halfway between uttarkashi and new delhi. i read in an old dusty lonely planet at a tiny restaurant that the place became well known in the 60s when the beatles came looking for their guru - whom apparently they found because he's named in the lonely planet.

this is where the mountains became spectacular, about an hour into the 5 hour journey today.

my last communication with the outside world before entering the ashram includes (1) a maniacal exchange between me and two friends regarding a massive tax bill i received by email my first night in delhi, and (2) an email i got this morning from a guy with whom i went to middle school and haven't heard from since! I replied and forgot to tell him I'm dying to hear about his time in the middle east (in case he reads this). funny what comes up at the last minute.

i'll have a day off on friday so hopefully i'll post again, unless i decide to forego the internet altogether.

miss y'all!

ps shift key doesn't work on this computer

In India

30 September 2009 - New Delhi, India - outside the Vivek Hotel, City Center

I made it to New Delhi...easy as pie. Had a fun leaving drinks in Beirut last night...at Graffiti, the icafe-by-day-pub-by-night hangout in Hamra where Arezoo and I have become part of the furniture. Just before midnight Derek and Osama walked me back to my apartment where they observed me in travel-tizz mode. They were sweet, asking "where's your money? do you have your passport? your plane ticket details? you should wear your money belt...." They wanted me to put the money belt on right then, like somehow the New Delhi Danger awaited me on the airplane. I haven’t worn a money belt in years, but plan to for the train ride. I’m 36th on the waiting list for a seat on the train, so everyone keeps teasing I’ll be riding on the roof like in the movies…in which case money will be the least of my worries. I’ve been told most Lebanese aren’t interested in travel to India, which seems true since I couldn’t find one India travel book in Beirut, not even at Virgin Megastore. I've had several genuinely concerned Lebanese people lean into me and warn, "Why India? It's dangerous there. Be careful."

Photo taken at Relax Apartments, Beirut-Hamra, Lebanon, room 31.

Kelli's Blog

Photo taken 12 July 2009 - Richard & Kelli's backyard, Charlotte, North Carolina, USA.

29 September 2009 - Beirut, Lebanon (sitting in Graffiti in Hamra, as usual)

I just read the very first post of Kelli's totally hilarious blog. I'm in my usual pre-travel tizz because I'm flying to New Delhi at 3am tonight and working through a ridiculous itinerary of planes, trains and automobiles to get me to the ashram in the Himalayas by the 3rd. It was such a treat to read a day in the life of Kelli's life. I worked with Kelli's husband, Richard for 8 years at BofA. He and I are the same age but he was always many rungs above me on the corporate ladder. It was Richard's persistence in luring me to the London office that laid the foundation for my leap of faith out of the country. Back in the early BofA Houston Energy days, Richard and I were both in long-term relationships for roughly the same number of years, a number which grew each year that we worked together. I remember (not sure Richard does) a few big conversations we had over drinks about the possibility of marriage to our respective others. Eventually we made our decisions: I broke up and went solo, Richard married Kelli. When I moved to Lonon, Kelli came over the day I moved into to my flat at Elizabeth Court and we talked for hours. I realized then that she and I had very similar lives but made opposite choices. Kelli's funny, smart and cool - and she knew what she wanted: marriage and children. That day as we sat in the beginning stages of my new, uncertain, single & childless London Life, I remember admiring her clarity. I still do. What I admire even more is her honesty, which I find humorous, poignant and wise. I've always thought she and I should write a book together, a back and forth between divergent paths from the same fork in the road (the fork, specifially, was being a female, urban dwelling corporate late-night worker in Houston, Texas circa 2002).

Yesterday is a great example:

At 1am last night, I was out with Chloe, walking past a barbed wire military patrol point on the Corniche in Beirut, Lebanon. Chloe's a fascinating an kind humanitarian Peace Corps NGO person who is not the least bit afraid of war zones. We were discussing the infinite madness of being in our thirties, single, childlesss, working abroad, traveling in the Middle East, what we're doing next, if we could ever get married, have kids, live in the States. Do we want it? Could we have it? Are we happy? What do we want to do next? Is my return plane ticket (returrning to Beirut December 09) a safety net?

Meanwhile, Kelli was writing her first blog entry about landscaping and cooking MSG fish sticks for toddlers. And you know what? Kelli could have just as easily been walking with us past the rifled soldier behind the barbed wire on a cliff in Beirut; and I could have just as easily been hanging out with Kelli, lamenting landscaping decisions, fish sticks and dishes in the dishwasher. We're both fortunate, we're both living lives which so many people do not have the privilege to attain. And we're both grounded in the reality that neither of our lives is all it's cracked up to be. Everything in life is a trade-off.

Link to Kelli's blog: My Life as a Stepford Wife

Lazy Warrior

7 September 2009 - Yoga in Gemmayzeh- Beirut, Lebanon.

Chloe had never been to my favorite yoga studio so she didn’t know what to expect. She arrived before me and sms-ed me, “All the women are skinny and look like dancers. Am I going to be okay?” Ha. The first time I walked into a class I thought it looked like a Victoria Secret’s fashion show dressing room – all the women perfect, clad in tight yoga clothes with long luscious Lebanese hair and flawless skin. “You’ll be fine!” I lied back. I had no idea if either one of us would survive. It was a crowded Yoga 2 class and the room was hot. The beautiful peace-cool teacher, whom I’d not had before, was totally hard core. Tough class. She said some really cool things that helped me get centered, and a prayer where we acknowledged our best teacher is the one inside ourselves. She played great music including an old version of Black Hole Sun which I did not realize was not a Soundgarden original. As she directed us to go into Warrior One pose then Warrior Two, she meticulously corrected our form, telling us technique and admonishing us not to be lazy warriors. I was thinking, lady, you’re lucky I’m being any warrior at all. I was about to crumble to the floor. She invited us to a Global Mala yoga day in the mountains on the 19th September where we do 108 sun salutations in dedication to world peace. I decided I kind of wanted to attempt it. Gave the teacher my email after class and made a note in my mental calendar.

After class I hung out with Chloe and we talked until after midnight about everything under the sun. She invited me to Moscow with her in October. Plane tickets are cheap and she’s got a friend with whom we could stay. I’d had my heart set on doing the yoga course in the Himalayas in October, but the course was fully book and I’d been waitlisted. Moscow sounded like a great alternative. Chloe and I hatched our plan.

Swimming with Saudis

6 September 2009 – Somewhere near EcoVillage - Dmit Valley, Chouf Mountains, Lebanon


After breakfast Chaz, French NGO Girl, and I went with the Singer and her friend for a walk away from EcoVillage. We stumbled upon a make-shift tree house in the woods [bxA] that was filled with Lebanese guys. There was a guy with a rifle guarding the entrance. Charles asked to no one in particular, “is this a militia?” as they invited us into their, um, makeshift campsite tree house place. They offered to show us a hidden lagoon just down the way.




One of the guys said proudly about the beautiful, secluded lagoon, “yeah, no one comes down here.” The Singer said gently to no one, “is that because you have guns?” Charles and I weren’t in swimsuits, but we improvised with the help of the Singer’s Friend who loaned me her bathing suit top. After a while, a group of the Treehouse Guys’ Saudi friends arrived at the lagoon. There were a few men, two fully covered women and some kids. The kids kind of got in the water with us but kept getting out. Eventually one of the Treehouse Guys kindly asked us to get out of the lagoon because the Saudi kids couldn’t swim with The Singer and me in the water. Ouch. All of a sudden I felt like a slutty half-naked American tourist. To make matters worse, I then had to stride out of the lagoon in my pink and white panties & mismatched bathing suit top, while the Saudi women graciously pretended not to be appalled. The Treehouse Guys were apologetic and said we could come back at night when the Saudis were gone.

Song by the River

6 September 2009 – EcoVillage - Dmit Valley, Chouf Mountains, Lebanon

Chaz met crazycool American singer chick at the campfire Saturday night. The Singer is in town from L.A., on a summer contract singing in the Beirut nightclubs. She and her friend joined Chaz and me for breakfast and we became fast friends. After breakfast, a few of our crew found ourselves at The Singer’s tent for an impromptu song...

Try this link to the video: EcoVillage Video

(link will go to Picasa where video should load)

Halfhearted Hitchhiking

6 September 2009 - Road to Beiteddine, Chouf Mountains, Lebanon.

Chaz and I decided to leave EcoVillage early Sunday and take a bus to Beiteddine. No bus came so we tried our hands at hitchhiking. [bxA] I felt silly peeling my thumb up slowly out of a lazy fist as the cars swept by, leaving us in a warm windy wake of rejection. It's times like these I miss Alyssa's long blond hair and short tan skirt (though she and I never hitchhiked, for the record.) I'm not sure our thumbs were actually up when a guy in an Audi came to our rescue. Audi Guy had a long career as a banker in the treausry department of a Lebanese bank - said he often provided interbank loans to BofA. He lost his job after Nine Eleven, lamenting that "Bin Laden thought he was hurting America, but ..." and we reflected on all the collateral damage Nine Eleven caused in the Middle East. Audi Guy invited us to see the Cedars and his house in the mountains before dropping us in Beitaddine on his way back to Beirut. Chaz stays on course a lot more diligently than Alyssa and I ever did, so we declined the offer. Audi Guy dropped us 5km away from Beiteddine , where we failed miserably at hitchhiking and finally got a bus about 50 meters from the town.

At one of the churches, we met a French Canadian Lebanese Woman who works in Kurdistan for an oil company (that was in the Houston E&P portfolio) and knows a few Houstonians. She insisted we call her later so she and her friend could drive us back to Beirut. We tried to hitch to Deir al-Qamar, just a few miles from Beiteddine, but ended up in a service taxi . Our poor rejected thumbs! We saw the sights and ate fresh figs from a tree overlooking the valley - Chaz is tall so the figs were plentiful (and sticky).

We were exhausted when we plopped down for an Almaza at a trendy dining spot next to the mosque. From our shady table we could see a pair of travelers on the curbside trying to hitch their way back to Beirut. Meanwhile, I phoned the French Canadian Lebanese Woman and she picked us up in a Land Rover twenty minutes later. That's my kind of hitchhiking.

Here are more pics on Picasa.

EcoVillage People

5 September 2009 - Dmit Valley, Chouf Mountains, Lebanon

On Saturday morning I threw a change of clothes and a toothbrush into my backpack and headed to Starbucks in Achrafieh to meet Chaz for a road trip. I was surprised to learn we were going camping. For once in my life [bxA] I was under-packed. I had no swimsuit, no mosquito repellent, no warm clothing, no hiking shoes, nothing. And you’ll never believe this: I survived.

Chaz’s friend is a cool French Girl who works for an NGO involving torture victims. The EcoVillage excursion was arranged by an American-Lebanese Actor Girl who recently produced a non-profit play for children that toured Lebanon all summer. Two cute boys brought guitars and sang – at least one of them was an actor in the Actor Girl’s play. There were three girls from Bristol, UK who arrived in Lebanon days ago to do a medical school internship at a Beirut hospital. The girls were all young, smart, beautiful and cool…made me think our future is in good hands.


A young Lebanon-born Palestinian guy drove Chaz and me into the mountains, indulging us frank and funny conversation about religion and culture. He lives with his parents but refuses to conform, smoking hash in his bedroom and expecting to someday have a girl in his room, “khalas, let me be.” Chaz would interject from time to time to ask things like, “How do you say ‘crap’ in Arabic? How do you say ‘mumbo jumbo’ in Arabic? What does ‘jihad’ mean?” The Palestinian guy told us that ‘jihad’ is a response in a divine form, and "sometimes violence is necessary for freedom…or to fight back…. they’re using religion for political means. And of course that’s bullshit.” At this point Chaz already knew how to say ‘bullshit’ in Arabic. Our driver spoke well of Buddha, Jesus and Mohammed while never missing the humanity of the prophets, “there was nothing holy about Mohammed. He killed people, he fucked, he shit, he had emotions just like everybody else.”

After a little confusion, a lot of stops and a minor car accident, our caravan arrived at EcoVillage late afternoon. The nine of us piled into the back of a small pick-up truck and held on for dear life during the speedy and windy drive to the main site (someone videotaped the ride - I'll try to post it) . We settled into our tents, ate dinner, opened the wine and played games.


We had some Pictionary culture clashes, like when I illustrated a “loose tooth” and my British teammate guessed “wobbly tooth.” Eventually we ended up around a campfire with the rest of the EcoVillagers, which was mostly a bunch of environmentalist NGO people. Our guys played their guitars. French NGO Girl has a beautiful voice and sang some Cranberries’ songs including ‘Zombie’ – which brought back my favorite memories of the teenage metal band in the Maldives that played mostly Metallica but also loved to play ‘Zombie.’

What’s in your head? In your head? Zombie. Zombie. Zombie

Link to my EcoVillage Photos on Picasa

Three Deadly Sins

4 September 2009 - Beirut, Lebanon, Sinners on Gouraud Street in Gemmayzeh.


Friday I went to yoga in Gemmayzeh, Beirut’s party district, which requires a little less than an hour to walk from Hamra. People tend to think I’m nuts for walking in the Beirut heat, but this was my routine in London – to walk 45 minutes through Regents Park to get to Triyoga in Primrose Hill. I like having a similar routine here.

Chaz, the American guy I met at the ruins in Palmyra, met me on the sidewalk when I finished yoga and we went to dinner down the street at Le Chef. Arezoo, a traveler I met at a film festival a few weeks ago, sms-ed from Hamra that she was ready to meet us. I abandoned my original plan to shower and change out of my yoga clothes (gross, I know) and we moved a few blocks west for a drink. Spoon was too smoky for Chaz and me so after two drinks we moved to Sinners for decadent slushy vodka drinks. I sampled Envy, Chaz sipped on Sloth and Arezoo went for Lust. After we indulged our respective sins, we wanted somewhere quiet. Walking east on Gouraud Street we saw the collision between a speeding car and the door of a Mercedes being opened by a valet parking along the curb. The speeder jumped out of his car, a yelling match ensued, the speeder jumped back into his car and sped away. Hit and run is commonplace. Minutes later we were ejected from the Green Door because Chaz was wearing shorts. Next round was at a little Italian pub that looked like an old cave/castle inside and the music was good. Around 2am Arezoo arranged for a friend to take us to B018, the big after hours dance club that would surely keep us up ‘til well past dawn. By the time our friends came to pick us up, it was after 3am and we’d decided to head home instead. I needed some sleep before meeting at 11am at Starbucks in Achrafieh, packed for an overnight road trip with Chaz and his friends.

Arezoo and I shared a taxi back to Hamra and I was asleep by 4am with the alarm set for 9am.

Living in Lebanon?

3 September 2009 - Beirut, Lebanon - Le Cremier in Achrafieh

I haven't been blogging lately because this is a travel blog and I don't really feel like I'm traveling when I'm in Beirut. I'm starting to think I maybe kinda...live here? My trip to the US combined with Alyssa's recent arrival in the UK reminded me that I don't have a home. My last home in London has been re-letted to a young, ambitious, female ibanker who was made redundant in the US but found a new job right away with a Japanese bank in London. She's living in my former flat in Marylebone, working until all hours of the night and likely ordering take-away from all my favorite restaurants. I hope she's enjoying Regents Park.

I was certain I'd return to London after this year, but I don't know anymore. So, I keep thinking no one wants to hear about what I'm doing in Beirut since I'm really just hanging out...but since everyone keeps asking me what I'm doing...I'll try to post some of the random stuff I do around here.

It's Ramadan and lots of people are fasting until iftar in the early evening. Osama starts thinking about breaking fast early in the morning, so around 9am we were chatting on msn and he suggested ice cream in Achrafieh late in the evening. So I did whatever it is I do all day to kill 12 hours - which included writing, napping and running on the Corniche - then he picked me up and we drove across the 'green line' to Achrafieh, which is the non-Ramadan side of town, Osama reminded me. Beirut has all these cool art installations up for Ramadan...and I think I saw one in Achrafieh. I'm going to have to investigate...which is another good example of things that occupy my time.

On the Border

From Bordertown

11 August 2009 - Lebanon - Syria border, driving from Beirut to Damascus.

It takes a long time to cross the border on a bus. First there's the Lebanese exit process, then the Syrian entry process.... and there aren't orderly queues - it's just a bunch of taxi drivers, bus drivers and regular drivers cramming their way to the windows to get the proper stamps. It's hot and there's nothing to do but wait.

From Bordertown

While we were milling around outside the bus, a young boy asked me to take pictures of him and the locals with my camera. The kids like to see the photo replay on the camera screen...and I think the adults get a kick out of it too.

From Bordertown

Here are are few more pics on Picasa.

The bordertown shook my hand

It was the gateway to some other land

The bordertown is the great divide

Just the gateway to some other side

I got to get across

-Chris Whitley, Bordertown

Richard & Kelli

18 August 2009 - Latakkia, Syria - Dixy Chicken

This reminded me of all my Aggie friends in Texas (and the ones that migrated to London). I didn't attend Texas A&M but [bxA] I've been to a few football games, heard all about the Dixie Chicken, and I listen to Robert Earl Keen sing about life in College Station.

When I was in the US in July, I spent a few days with Richard & Kelli, two of my favorite Aggies who now live in Charlotte, NC. We were all living in London when their son Nicholas was born (so he's like 2 and a half years old now, I think). Nicholas is the cutest happiest little guy ever - he sang in the car for over two hours...every children's song under the sun. A week later I was playing with my six year old nephew and when he suggested we employ "teamwork" on some Lego-type project, I burst into song, "What's gonna work? Teamwork!" My nephew was perplexed, "how do you know that song, Auntie Ali?"

The Dixy Chicken in Syria reminded me that I owe Richard & Keli a major thank-you note for hosting me in their lovely home...it's on my very long list of things to do. It also reminded me of that time we did a recruiting road trip to College Station - Kelli looking for junior consultants; Richard, Joe S and I looking for young banker upstarts. Did we find any?

And anything A&M always reminds me of Scott J, another favorite banker friend, who always says "howdy."

Bugs and Backpacks

18 August 2009 - Latakkia, Syria

So do you want to hear about the human-size roach in our basement hotel room in Palmyra? Or the stomach bug that bit Alyssa days ago and his finally stung me today? Maybe a little bit of both? The couch-surfing only resulted in free accommodation in Damascus - which was really great and the couch-surf host will be a friend for life. We crashed in an office he no longer uses - over a textile factory in a no frills neighborhood in the south of Damascus. On day two, we hung out in the big mosque with Hemingway Mohammed and his 22 year old Uncle Ali (I had no problem remembering his name). Then Couch Surf Host took us to his home for dinner with his wife and sisters...the food was amazing - fried aubergine and zucchini with garlic in flat bread -and I vow to find this in Beirut (Osama, this is your assignment until I return) or I'm going back to Damascus with the one remaining entry permitted by my visa. The reason I tell you this is because that was the last meal not on the suspect list. There was breakfast in the workmen's food stalls near the factory, where no one spoke English but a young cute guy rolling dough lifted two flour covered fingers for 'peace', smiled big and yelled "Obama!!!" The guys there insisted we have sweet tea in their stall and surely they were surprised when we stayed for a second cup. Alyssa and I love hanging out...no matter the language barrier. So let's assume that lovely experience did not give us the bug. Or the fruit we bought in the nearby market and possibly washed with unfiltered tap water? We both brushed our teeth with unfiltered water but we've been doing that for months.

Okay, so then there was Palmyra where the food seemed dodgy and my new American Friend said the Pancake House made him sick. Alyssa was down for the count by sunrise our first day in Palmyra. She is a major good sport about such things, I'll probably be a whiney baby upgrading to a decadent hotel in Latakkia if my condition worsens. Banker scum, I know. After the dodgy dinner in Damascus, we went to our dungeon room in the basement of the Sun Hotel, where it never gets cooler than 90 degrees F (I still haven't converted to Celsius, but it was effing hot.) There was no ventilation and an enormous roach dancing around in the sink basin. I did all my teeth brushing and face washing while the roach scurried in circles around the water flow. Pretty impressive. I wondered if that roach might be the previous guest, possibly overcome by a Kafka beetle-like Metamorphoses...so I almost wanted to feed him, pity him and ask the clerk if the previous guy ever checked out. We were there two nights, while Alyssa slept and I hung out with the American Friend, the French Guys and had dinner with the Aussie Dude, who accompanied us to Hama, which was great except he's a rugged "real" backpacker and didn't even consider getting a taxi from the bus station to the hotel, which we could not find and absolutely no one spoke English. I am sorry to say it, but the food was entirely dodgy in Hama. It's a lovely city, bustling with men while women weave around in groups wearing massively hot looking trench coats and hijab. There's a river running through the city with those wooden wheels I think I mentioned last time. The Cairo Hotel wasn't bad for a backpacker hostel, but let's face it: I'm really old and my budget of banker bonuses does not require things like five flights of stairs with a fifty pound backpack to a room with no a/c and a bathroom down the hall. Still, I'm having fun and it's always impressive to watch Alyssa plow through these difficult experiences. And the modest budget will add a few weeks to my hiatus, so that's definitely the half-full portion of the cup full of [filtered] water.

After two days of castles and ruins in the sweltering Syrian heat, we shared a taxi with a Spanish couple through the mountains to Latakkia - a Syrian version of Beirut and very interesting. We slept in, wandered the city, sipped sodas under an umbrella at a modest "cafe" on the rocks with the Med crashing at our feet. Did I mention we upgraded to a decent hotel after wandering into a massively horrible dive on recommendation of a couch surfer? There was no power so no lift and six flights of stairs to a dingy room with a shared bathroom. When we reneged based on the shared bathroom, the abrasive old man in a white gown scraped together enough English to say "but it's only one other room and they're from Holland."

We're at the Al-Cozino blowing our budget at $60 a night, but well worth it and we're not sharing a bathroom with anyone, Kafka-esque or otherwise. If we're better, tomorrow is beach day. If I'm not better, Assie will go without me. The one thing I want to do in Latakkia is get a driver to take me to the mausoleum that holds the remains of Hafez al-Asaad and his son who died in an auto accident. Doubt I can pull it off, but meanwhile I'm photographing the ubiquitous posters of Bashar, Hafez's son who took over in 2000. I met a Tall Guy in Houston who will likely be the only one interested in seeing my OCD album (I'm still working on the Lebanon album, Tall Guy).

We're trying to figure out the best way back to Lebanon - the plan is to hit Baalbeck on our way back to Beirut, but turns out there's no bus from Tripoli through Bcharre (the Cedars!) to Baalback. We're here in Latakkia one more night. As John C, the captain on Millennium would say, "we'll see how we go!"

I posted pics of Palmyra on Picasa, which should be accessible through my public albums if you can figure out how to get there from here.

If you've made it this far down the page, thanks for helping me get through the stomach bug. Can you see how not-cut-out-for-it I am?

I got chills, they're multiplying...

Hot in Hama

15 August 2009 - Hama, Syria

We were up way early this morning to get an 8am bus from Palmyra to Homs, where we got another bus to another bus to Hama. We were tagging along on an efficient itinerary set out by an Aussie guy I met in Palmyra yesterday, hence the early morning. The first bus was overcrowded and the three of us were wedged on flat console between the driver and passenger seats. There were two kids crammed on the dashboard - a five year old and a baby. When the bus started moving I took the baby on my lap and held him for the two hour ride through the desert to Homs - this made room for the five year old to stretch out flat across the dash and sleep most of the way. The perimeter of the windshield was decorated with fake flowers and short curtains. Plastic grapes dangled from the rearview mirror and Arabic music and prayers blasted through the speakers.

It's been a grueling day navigating through Homs to Hama - the weather is hot and few people speak English. The Lonely Planet map was not helpful at all, but eventually we found the Cairo Hotel, a great place for backpackers, and settled in for the afternoon. I roamed the river looking for the norias, wooden water wheels for which Hama is known. Hama is also known for a 1982 massacre that wiped out the city and from which it has never really recovered. The Aussie guy and I went to dinner in the bustling city, but the food was disappointing. Alyssa is still recovering. Tomorrow we do a day trip to a castle, then Aussie Guy leaves us for Aleppo. Ass and I think we're going to stay another night here to do a day trip to the Dead Cities on Monday.

Thats all I got. Weird not being able to post photos.

Peaceful Palmyra

14 August 2009 - Palmyra, Syria

Yesterday was a long crazy day getting to the bus in Damascus and onto to Palmyra. It's a remote desert town with amazing ruins. The tiny town has a main street, a handful of hotels and lots of locals who like to chat and welcome welcome welcome us to Syria. We roamed the ruins at sunset and Alyssa road a camel named Bob Marley. Up at 4:30am today to see the ruins at sunrise - and escape the midday heat (that sets in by 8am). Alyssa is a little under the weather so I am going it alone today. Just did a tour of the tombs and may checkout the castle at sunset. Lots of pictures to post, but it ain't happening in Syria. We're off to Aleppo tomorrow and not sure what after that. Should be back in Beirut by the 22nd.

As our friends in Damascus said many times, who knows what the future holds.

Day Two, Damascus

12 August 2009 - Damascus, Syria

All is well. Just blogging to let you know we are safe...but, really, there is no need to worry about us. The country is beautiful, the people are kind. Today we slept in, took a taxi to the Old City, explored the National Museum (really cool) and roamed around the Umayyad Mosque for a long time, hanging out with friends. Dinner tonight with the couch-surf host guy and his family.

Tomorrow, Palymyra.

P.S. I tried to upload a pic or two, but it doesn't seem to have worked.

Safe, Sound, Syria

11 August 2009 - Damascus, Syria

We were delayed a day but got into Damascus this afternoon. It's beautiful, the people are wonderful. We're safe and having a great time. Crossing the border was a bit of a long drag, but interesting and we weren't detained for any reason. Our couch-surf host put us up in a nifty little flat over a factory on the south side of the city. Taxis are way cheap and even after the drivers double the fee because we're foreigners, it's still affordable. The sim cards are dirt cheap compared to Lebanon so we've got a Syria phone number (Alyssa had to give a fingerprint for it). We met up with "Hemingway," a guy we met on the Corniche our very first time in Beirut back in April. He's studying English literature and speaks English better than we do. He only started speaking it a year ago and just told us how he spent two months memorizing 3,000 words from the Oxford dictionary. Meanwhile, I'm still working on the "ulchgh" sound in marhaba. Hemingway is hilarious and we laughed our way through the dinner, the souks and ice cream. We're having dinner with the couch-surfer host family tomorrow night.

I am only humouring myself with this post. My access to the blog is blocked so it will be a mystery to me if this posts. Maybe my favorite blog reader will get out of the kapok tree and send confirmation that this gets posted.

Technical Difficulties and Couchsurfing Syria

9 August 2009 - Beirut, Lebanon.

I really was going to blog! However, Blogger is not cooperating.

You were going to see photos of the Sporting Beach Club and our night out with Osama and his brother...and various other shots of random things we've done this week. But alas, it is not to be.

Tomorrow we hope to get up in time for a late morning bus to Damascus. We'll get there eventually. Alyssa has set the itinerary with the help of www.couchsurfing.org. We will be seeing a Syrian guy whom we met on the Corniche the day before we set sail for Cyprus in April. After that, we'll sleep on the couch of a stranger.

Not sure what the internet situation will be, but I do hope to blog from Syria. We'll be gone about two weeks.

Beirut Basics: Beach and Shawarmas

From Sporting Beach Club Day (public)

6 August 2009. Sporting Beach Club - Beirut, Lebanon.
After a few lazy days of jet lag, we dived back into Beirut on Thursday. Osama invited us to spend his half day off at Sporting Beach Club down on the Corniche. We had the Mediterranean in front of us and Beirut behind us...[bxA]

From Sporting Beach Club Day (public)

Later, Osama’s brother joined us in Hamra for a feast of shawarmas shawarmas shawarmas…

From Sporting Beach Club Day (public)

Then to Achrafieh for dessert…

From Sporting Beach Club Day (public)

Back to Hamra to witness takin' down the wall at Danny’s pub.

From Sporting Beach Club Day (public)

It’s good to be back.

There are more photos on my public album at Picassa, but am editing this from Syria and cannot access much here. In fact, it'll be a miracle if this posts - can't access my blog but somehow got into edit this entry.

Back Again, Again

4 August 2009 - Beirut-Rafic Hariri International Airport, Lebanon.

Flew from (New York) to Amman, Jordan to Beirut and took a taxi back the apartment in Hamra late last night. Slept soundly until a surprise woke me at 6am: Alyssa! In my delirium of late, I got her dates wrong and thought she was due in tonight. I slept through her arrival at the apartment at 4am, but later heard her bustling so we got up and caught up.

I'm going to try to revive the blog and post all my USA trip stuff soon. I have been blog averse these days, but the US trip was great and I should post the pics.

Williams Water Wall

21 July 2009 - Houston, Texas. Willaims Waterwall

I've been in Houston for days and haven't seen many people or done many things. I'm not eating right, sleeping right or exercising...so I feel tired all the time and what little energy I have I've spent with family and a handful of friends (a/k/a three friends). It sucks not to have enough energy to see everyone, especially since I have no excuse to be tired. But alas, I am.

I'm staying in yet another warm and comfy guest bedroom, this time in a house of friend I met traveling in 2004. I wake up each morning to massive windows overlooking the Williams Tower & Water Wall. When I was an energy banker in Houston, Williams was one of my favorite clients and host to some extraordinarily fun (and productive, I promise) bank meetings that included two nights in resorts and golf for the golfers, spa treatments for the rest of us. In fact, the windbreaker the Millennium girls shared during breezy night watches on the Indian Ocean was a Williams jacket with bank meeting details embroidered subtly on the chest....the same jacket I was wearing when Sybaris sailed up to the coast of Lebanon that first time.

Lately I take pleasure in noticing the threads of my history that weave through the experiences, continents, and relationships and seem to get richer and more colourful as life goes on. Houston feels like the canvas on which everything is painted, so it's always nice to come home and examine the brush strokes up close.

One Guitar, No Vocals

3 July 2009 - Portland, Maine, USA.

It's been raining in Maine for like 21 days so I got to use my little red umbrella that I carried with me everyday for three years in London (but didn't need every day). Wandered around downtown Portland a bit and stumbled upon a 5-piece bluegrass band doing an acoustic jam session in a music store... [bxA]

...the town is splattered with posters for an upcoming Leo Kottke show, which reminds me of my whole life since he was a regular at Rockefeller's (where I worked for years in the 90s) and I listened to One Guitar, No Vocals regularly during my three months on sailboats this year. There's a song on that album called Snorkel, which reminds me of swimming all the way around North Button island in the Andamans.

...at Yes Books I stumbled across an old copy of "A Franz Kafka Miscellany" which didn't interest me until I found nestled in the pages a very yellowed news clipping headlined 'Kafka on Picasso' that went like this:

"He is a willful distortionist," I said.

"I do not think so," said Kafka. "He only registers the deformities which have not yet penetrated our consciousness. Art is a mirror, which goes 'fast', like a watch - sometimes."

-from "Conversations with Kafka" by Gustav Ganouch