Emotions and Energy of India

A dodgy fan circulates thick, muggy air around our Ashram room, relieving us from our 7-am-sweat. Wedding cake-layered temples shine pink and orange through our window, their bells echoing in harmony with entrancing instrumental sitar music from nearby shops. This relaxing morning combination is frequently interrupted by horn blasts and rumbling engines of stampedes of irritating vehicles that dodge foot traffic down narrow roads. We can't bear the thought of sleeping until this late morning hour, as yogis young and old have been gathering in parks and on river banks since the sun rose at 4:30 am. They chant mantras calmly and form laugh circles; we can't resist joining.

A rusty bronze Vishnu doorknob greets our hands and graces us with good fortune with which to begin our day. We exit aimlessly, carried only by the wind at our backs that pushes us forward, deeper into the unknown of this wildly intense place. Traveling India in the way presents serendipitous opportunities otherwise left unexplored and opens the day to limitless possibilities.

Exploding emotions and energy bombard our senses as we step into the street. Our eyes dart between dozens of neon sarees that weave through parading cows, motos, rickshaws, jeeps, push cart vendors, and at times, Macack monkeys and tide-parting elephants. We join the dance, marching along with blind confidence to avoid being struck (or striking) the variety of moving objects all around us. As we walk through this mosaic, our glance strays from the dirty streets to face level, catching bright smiles and gleaming eyes of passersby. Then up to tall walls painted in red hindi writing (most likely advertisements that appear beautiful to the untrained eye), and finally to the brownish-blue sky.
We pass orange-robed holymen with long, dreaded beards and out stretched hands. "Namaste's" and "hello, sir's", taps on the shoulders and empty palms begging for a few rupees, all compete for attention in the hectic chaos. The curry smell wafting by our noses tempts us to order a bite to eat, but a spicy burp from the previous night's meal quickly changes our minds; the street fruit we indulged in on a hot afternoon has come back to haunt our stomachs.
The colorful congestion slowly transitions into serene natural beauty that exists on the banks of the soiled Ganges River. The life, love and God of Indian people. In a land so arid and hot, the flowing water allows for crops, which feed the millions who live along its shores, to grow. Morning baths clean and refresh the body and soul. People drink and fish, fresh-water dolphins play, trash and sewage is carried away to distant seas, new borns and dying loved ones are blessed with this sacred water, families traveling thousands of kilometers to collect a few liters in plastic jugs, bodies are cremated and poured into rushing currents, releasing the souls into the heavens.
As we sit with Ganga Gee running smoothly over our bare feet, we contemplate all we've experienced until now:

Crowds of Indian tourists gathering around us to pose for countless photos; dozens of languages echoing around us constantly; layers of oil and rust on tables and railings after years of sweaty palms; dinner-time greetings and jams with international instruments; skinny legs and naked children living on roadsides; warm smiles and intrigue from locals and foreigners; simple conversations in basic English; veggie heaven after many months in carnivorous Spain; grandfather-type laughter and excitement filling a hot, crowded train from Delhi; daring rickshaw rides down dusty roads; seemingly year-long days; sunsets and sunrises on Ganges' banks; openness and patience to endure and absorb, negotiate and befriend, all those around us.
For more photos visit:
http://picasaweb.google.com/clapoma/EyeGasmicIndia#

Eye-Gasmic India!

A photographer's dream come true:

Stream of Consciousness...

Vivid, hectic, wide-eyed, stares, overwhelmed, silencing, confusion, deception, negotiation, gratification, eastern hospitatily, generousity, graciousness, kindred souls, humbling presence, early sweat, hindu temple, bells, chanting, clapping, prayers, flower offerings, handshakes, uneaten mango shake, electric storm, refreshing rain, year long days, radiating saris, neon lights, wedding circles, man standing upright on horse drawn carriage, rupee collecting elephant, cows, monkeys, stray dogs, street food, children with no food, Gangee dippers, sunsets at ghats, moonlit water, soaking feet, flower bowls floating, shanti, undesciferable menus, not spicy means spicy, men sprawled out on pedi-cabs, laughter, wisdom shared, shanti, namaste, ohm, squating on bended knees, cricket, deep breaths, respect, bright white smiles, sunburns, squinting, burning eyes, refreshing breezes, bottled water, "photo please?", market place, rickshaw rides, trying to appear jaded at times and kind hearted the rest of the time, calm, peaceful flow.

It's Not Goodbye, It's Hasta Luego

When I arrived here to Oviedo, I didn’t have many expectations. I had never been a teacher, let alone in a foreign country in another language, and my level of Spanish was rudimentary at best. I looked back on my years in High School and reminded myself that those years can be the most exceptional, and at the very same time, most difficult moments of our lives. Keeping that in mind, I knew I would be better off expecting nothing more than to take every moment as an opportunity to meet great new people and have new experiences. As with any travel experience that ensures personal growth, I hoped to be challenged to work and live outside of my comfort zone.
The Head of the English Department at IES Santa Barbara, Paco, greeted me on the first day with a warm smile and open arms. He made me instantly feel comfortable and gave me an overwhelming feeling of assurance that we are all here to learn something and to have a good time along the way. The same, and more, can be said for all my fellow teachers and I was extremely happy to have been welcomed in as if I had just found an adopted family. Every day was a pleasure to come to class with their ever-smiling faces and genuine concern for my well-being. As my salud echoed within the enormous sidra barrel where we feasted during my goodbye dinner: “Vuestros espíritus son como la felicidad personificada... Que quedemos cerca de corazón para siempre! (Your spirits are like happiness personified... May we stay close at heart forever!)”

Saying goodbye to them and all the students here has been the most difficult part of the journey. Comments from students like: “Why aren’t you coming back next year?... When will we see you again?... I will always remember you! and… I love you”, seem to cement the experience into my everlasting memory. One class even surprised me with a goodbye song that they wrote and sang while one student played the bass:

"We are very sorry, You're going away.

You are really amazing, We love 'Ryan Says'. (yknow like Simon)

You went to Morocco, You traveled to Rome,

You are going to India, But you love Spain.

We are your fans, And also your friends.

You are very funny, And we love your games.

We'll never forget you, You'll be in our hearts.

And now we tell you, Goodbye, Goodbye,

Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye,

Goooooooooooodbyyyyyyyyyyyyye."

These last few days have been filled with despididas (goodbyes), as we hike, dine and burst into laughter while reminiscing with our friends and colleagues over the months that have flown by. Their generosity and genuine care for our well being have made Spanish people go down in (our) history as some of the kindest most welcoming people we’ve met along our journey.

In case they happen to be reading this…
un otra gracias enorme de nosotros!!!

“La lectura es el viaje de los que no pueden tomar el tren;

Reading is the trip of those who cannot take the train.”
-Francis Croisset

Our Camino To Santiago

Drawn by its history, international community and beautiful architecture, we took advantage of a sunny weekend to borrow a car from Nuria, a co-worker at El Batán, and roadtripped to Galicia. The province, lying west of Asturias and north of Portugal, appears even greener than Asturias, if you can believe it. Gallego is spoken widely as Galicia´s second official language. The famous pilgrimage route, "El Camino de Santiago", begins from a multitude of cities throughout Europe (namely France, Germany and England), and ends in Finisterre on the Atlantic coast. The trail easily recognized, marked by bronze shells that creep down the sidewalk in front of our apartment in Oviedo.
Forced by time restraints to take the less adventurous, direct route, we explored our gorgeous neighbor to the west and were wowed by its fusion of tradition and travelers; mingling with international backpackers and settlers alike, we found Santiago to be a wonderful, strikingly different, piece of Spain.
Our Tunisian wiseman for the weekend, Chebbi, owns "La Comida Restaurante" in Santiago with his Italian wife, Margarita. He said the name came from the restaurant's most important aspect- la comida (the food)- but we beg to differ! We thoroughly enjoyed sharing stories with the couple for a long night, and then again the following day for a Greek-Tunisian-Italian meal. La Comida's cordero (lamb) had Ryan wishing Santiago was closer to Oviedo! "The sun doesn't fall," Chebbi informs as night approaches. "It hides." Too true! Soon we'll be watching the sun hide behind the Indian Himalayas!

Days in Primavera Pass Faster

One Thousand Italian Miles...

An impossible night's sleep in the Bergamo airport (near Milan) left us with aching backs as we began our Semana Santa tour around the giant boot. The nightmare was quickly forgotten as we hit the road in our blue Fiat rental car and cruised through rolling green hills and along the coast to Cinque Terre (Cinco Tierras or Five Lands).

We think our good fortune may have been cemented during our first day in Riomaggiore, one of the five towns that lay among terraces on the northern Mediterranean coast, when an older Italian man farming in his garden threw us three lemons from his tree. In our first of many attempts to communicate using the Latin similarities of Spanish and Italian, we understood… "Due limoni, mala fortuna, pero tre, buona fortuna!."

Evan joined us that night for what would be our third trip together since arriving to Espana. Our 10 blissfully sun-kissed days continued as we adjusted to the slow-pace of the small fishing village. We meandered through narrow alleys winding behind buildings in a Moroccan-esque, organized chaos, all of which eventually led to a bench with a new view of the horizon. Autumn yellow, mandarin orange and sunset pink apartments stacked like pillars resembled picture frame mat boards, bringing out the brightest of the landscape's portrait. Each bordered the bold green shutters that stood out like punctuation marks from every building, appearing to pass straight through to the steep hillside behind them. Our eyes climbed up the cliffs to the cathedral resting atop them, and then down to the crystal blue sea as we departed from the shore in a ferry that led around the five towns.

We kissed Riomaggiore's blue sky goodbye and began driving to Florence as rain clouds rolled in. Maneuvering around the notorious Italian roads puts nerves to the test, but Ryan got us to the center stazione safely to meet Steinar (another Eugene pal who's been living in Northern Italy for two years). A light drizzle refreshed our sunburned faces as we strolled the crowded city. Before long, the sun shined again, reflecting off tan buildings and tan river. Dozens of monuments and statues stood tall among throngs of tourists; we couldn't help but notice the variety of penes depicted on the tall Greek Gods and Romans etched in stone. Mostly stubs (so they wouldn't break easily over time), but a few demonic figures surprised us with their serpent resemblance.

Small markets provided us fresh ingredients, a consistent quality of Italian cuisine, and we took advantage to cook pesto in our second hostel's kitchen (situated in the Tuscan hills between Florence and Siena in an area called Chianti, famous for its red wine). The rental car allowed the four of us to cruise at our own pace and pause any time we noticed a view of grape vines extending towards the horizon. We spent our fourth day in Siena, enjoying the small town charm and reveling in the brightness of our favorite crayon color that surrounded us. We couldn't leave Tuscany without stopping at a vineyard -- even if the grapes weren't yet growing --and tasting a variety of Chianti. That evening we feasted at a local spot in Tavernalle, run by a son/mother team, the latter pushing 80 but still creating AND washing authentic dishes!

Our intuition to choose the longer, scenic 12-hour drive along the Adriatic Coast to Conversano (near Bari) proved wise in the end: the 5.8 earthquake had our alternative highway route from Roma to Bari closed for two days beginning the day we headed south! We couldn't believe the news each time another one hit -- four in total causing 300 deaths and tens of thousands without homes.

We spent three nights with Claire's friend Mauro, who spent a year on exchange at South Eugene High, along with his warm, inviting Italian family. Their generosity and eagerness to laugh with us over homemade Italian dinners made us feel at home, something we'd been missing for months. Consistent with the differences that exist between Northern and Southern Spain, we chatted about the distinct dialects and cuisine found in the area known as "the heel" (of the boot), a region relatively overlooked by tourists.

Mauro took us to Alberobello, a village full of strange fairytale houses called "trulli", each built with pointed stone roofs and whitewashed. Then to a deserted beach where a few fishermen dissected sea urchins, a delicacy eaten raw in towns on the Adriatic. We stopped by his grandparents' farmhouse, built in the 12th century and complete with olive press and cheese dangling in the cellar; the brightly painted ceilings and sepia tone portraits of relatives brought us back a few centuries. A few more huge dinners and hours lounging where sand meets clear sea had us feeling rested when it came time to leave for Rome at dawn on our eighth morning.

We had to make it five hours north to get Blue Box Bene (our appropriately named Fiat) to Rome by noon and avoid a late fee. We sighed with relief as we handed over the keys, having covered over 1,000 miles unscathed on Italian highways. Roma is like walking through a dream; around each corner a monument aches to tell its ancient story, but none of us have enough time to listen to them all. We wandered through parks, passed the Spanish Steps and Fontana di Trevi, where water barrels out of fishes and mouths of Greek Gods. The Panteon and fountains in Piazza Novona were unreal… it's impossible to describe all we saw. Luckily, photos can do it better. We visited with Evan's cousin Courtney and Italian husband, Domiano, "mangiando" Rome's most famous thin-crust pizza before checking out the nightlife in Piazza de Fiori.

We cruised to the Vatican Friday just as the Pope began his Good Friday mass in Saint Peter's Square. The thousands of people who'd normally be forming a 3 to 4- hour-long line for the Vatican Museum were listening to him, and we were inside in five minutes! We walked with jaws dropped through countless hallways lined with statues and covered with paintings as far as the eye could see. The Sistine Chapel was stunning; not an inch of blank wall in the enormous room Michelangelo even painted draped curtains and used shadows to give a rounded appearance to the ceiling). The hundreds of thousands of art pieces were sensory overload, and could have easily filled numerous museums if they hadn't been so tightly crammed together.

We rented bikes and peddled for hours around green parks, tiny alleys and more monuments on our last day in Roma. Unsure as to how we'd cram in the dozens of sights left unseen, cycling seemed like the perfect way to visit as much as possible. We wrapped up our short stay by energetically exploring more areas than we would have seen on foot, while feeling the wind in our hair. Rome has the greenest surface area of any metropolitan city in Europe (as far as parks, trees, fields, etc.). Who knew? We circled the Coliseum a few times, but the long line deterred us from entering. Instead, we crossed the river and climbed twisty cobblestone streets to a blooming park overlooking the city, and back down again to a colorful neighborhood full of art galleries and cafes.
The four of us parted ways over pasta and smiled at the success of our 10 Italian days. We held on to those lucky lemons until we departed, hoping to toss them into the Fontana di Trevi where millions of people have tossed two coins: one for good luck and another to return to Rome. With or without the fountain, the impression Italy left on us ensures our return is inevitable. We're determined to invest all the time necessary to learn Italian and listen to each monument's story.

"La suerte consiste basicamente en sentirse aforunado;
Luck consists basically in feeling fortunate" -Tennessee Williams

For photos of Incredible Italia check out:
http://picasaweb.google.com/clapoma/OneThousandItalianMiles#