Art can not be explored

Art can not be explored. Materials can be explored. Art is the result of a premeditated state translated. Art is seen in mind before seen with the eyes. You can not try and make art. You make art first closing your eyes unexpected or accidental it will come to you and stay. It will linger in your mind like a nagging nose pinch and feel like giving birth once it is finally produced right in front of you. You will recognize your art like an old friend you have met before and long lost. Thus is true for me.....

Germany 2011 - Winterlust

Oh Deutschland, wie reich und arm du bist

Wo woll Ihr hin mit euren riesen ueberfuellten Taschen? Wo muesst Ihr hin noch heute noch so schnell? Wo denn; Dass Ihr mich anrempelt und anstoesst mit starrem Blick in die Weite - ja wohin denn? Koennt Ihr mir das sagen im Licht der Weihnacht wo denn Eure Gedanken sind beim Rennen durch die Innenstadt. Ich bin neurigig und erstaunt ueber Euer Verhalten. Ach wie reich Ihr alle seit. Wie reich und arm zur gleichen Zeit. Die hell erleuchtete Strasse, ein Schaufenster Eures Erfolges. Der starre Blick ein Zeichen eurer Armut.

The truth is

The truth is - I am here

Write me a sign

If only a bird would write it in the sky
That I am to live and not to dye
If only a text would praise my day
Or an email the least to say
My body cramped up in pain
My soul praising the rain
I am waiting for a sign from dear god, dear buddha, dear higher spirits from within
It is you I am praying to be here
It is me I am missing and fearing to be near

Sunday bloody Sunday

Sunday – you used to be my favorite day. Sunday you were my lover and my friend. I anticipated you for six days and now you are here and I don’t know what to do with you. You arrived and I had no use for you, no plan, no lover to stay with long in the morning, no partner to grab for breakfast, no man to hold his hand and stroll to the usual Sunday spots, no friend to share the designer fair with. You showed some sun, you tease, but gladly there was the ice cold wind to remind me that it wasn’t like any good old Sunday, this was a lonely one. The wind kept slapping me across the face to wake up and face reality. You are gone. I missed you today like I miss the smell of German bread, I missed you today like I miss the hug of my mother, so deep, so embedded into my flesh. A sensory memory of you is stored in my skin and will not leave me, the stand by mode has not set in yet or ever will. I had a dream last night I never had before, so sensual, so vivid, so real. I spend a lot of time on your right, beautiful, naked chest. I inhaled your smell, pet you with my face, let my cheek take in your cells. I kissed you all around and it was so real, so real, so real – It was real. It was you. It was not your face, but your smell, your skin, your body, you you you all over me, and me all over you. How come you are so far and so near, how come you are there and not here.

Loosing trust - almost

Dear Judith,

Today is the day I would like you to remember me. I am you and you are me. And not only would I like you to remember this unchangeable fact, I actually want you to tattoo on your hands, arms, breasts and foot soles that I am there - always. I am screaming in your ear, whispering in your thoughts, breathing into your lungs until you will embrace me fully to the point of no return, no double thought, no second-guess. You are me and I am you. In a situation where support does not feel apparent it is near your heart and just needs to be grabbed. It is you and me as you, who will support you always. So go, move, dance, laugh, don’t look back, make mistakes, evolve. There are people in your live who do not know you the way I do and they may never will. Leave them behind, not as in leaving something valuable but as in passing an aisle in a grocery store and only grabbing the beverage you need, passing up the sodas, the coke, the sugary berry stuff and with determination getting a hold of the sparkling water. bottle Take a sip and feel how it nurtures your body not only with hydration but with the knowing that you provided exactly what was needed. Move fast now as time was wasted already, valuable time. Time is your friend in healing and your enemy right now in this time of child wish. Together we will find a balance between both and the outcome will be like eating of a buffet.
Stay strong, contact me, call for me, scream out loud for me and I promise you, I will be there.

Your truly, me as in you as in me.

Blurry pictures

I am inhaling a book right now by a terrific current German writer, Ulla Hahn, by the title Unscharfe Bilder, translated Blurry Pictures. In the book a grown woman visits her father in the retirement home and forces him to share his experience and involvement during the second world war, something he had never spoken about before, something she is out to know. She is ultimately searching for answers if her dad who was forced to fight under Hitler's regime would have had a choice in the matter and what it was like back than and if he directly contributed to someones misfortune in any way. Its funny or just another life coincidence that I got this book for Christmas since I left my house after the holidays with a stack of old old photographs from family members during the time of the war, yet not knowing still what the book was all about at the time when I found the photographs. I had gone through the box of pictures while at my parents house and got lost once again in a re-occurring question in my own head of what exactly the involvement of my relatives was in the war, if they did bad things, did they kill anyone? I had seen the pictures before of my grandfather proud and handsome, so young in his uniform, standing tall and never smiling with deeply secret eyes, but there were also new images or I was looking at them differently now. I never met my grandfather. He died shortly after coming back from the war on lung cancer, never had smoked a single cigarette in his life. I later had thoughts if he had been in contact with any gases in the war that may have caused the cancer but always kept the thoughts to myself. My grandmother, a post war widow also lost her favorite brother in the war. He was her everything growing up. With two people to mourn over she never talked about the war, never said anything but in her eyes there always remained a touch of sadness that I never forget and I always blamed it on the war. With now all my grandparents dead I have missed my opportunity to ask questions, like the woman in the book. and find out the truth and gain a real pictures of the war from my family perspective. All I have now are the pictures and only this time I am seeing some signs of concerns and possible conflict behind the images. My family is not Jewish, but also were not Nazis or so I think or hoped that there could not just be the one or other. With the grief and loss that the war had caused my family I always thought that would be enough of an explanation and justification that the war is not what my family wanted and therefore they were not on the side of Hitler. And I do know that there was a no choice scenario when both of the man from my family were called to war, to follow one leader, to obey, to execute. And I don't doubt that the consequences to rebel against would have been deadly and I am also considering the power of extremism, brainwash and perhaps that both of these man of my family strongly believed in the good behind the war, the cause behind this one mans vision, much like some people still today belief in the meaning of war. Back to the pictures. My grandfather was a musician and a conductor. The band is all in uniform. Young, handsome men with little narrow, above the lips mustache, just like Hitler's. Truthfully, they all look like him in the photo just because of that very distinct mustache. I wonder if it was fashionable at the time or really such a strong symbol for follow ship or both and if it wasn't for Hitler would we see men with such mustaches on the street today? Only with a full on Charlie Chaplin costume in combination is such manly facial hair appearance today possible. There are no pictures of fights, of dead people, of suffering, of growling, bloody scenes, no Holocaust images like we have seen them from National Geographic published much later. The pictures of my family members are portraits of persona in their best of light for the good memory and in style of posture matching the photographic ability then. I was told that for a long time back then the people of Germany did not know what was happening inside the concentration camps, especially not the ones geographically so far removed like my family in the South and neither did the soldiers at the Front know about the killings of all the Jewish people, not until later. What was distributed on the radio was purely war propaganda, nothing more. I knew that my grandfather and his brother in law were both fighting in Russia and neither of them had anything to do with capturing Jewish people, but they fought in Russia and if they actually were ever confronted with killing someone and what they saw and what they felt and what they went through - I can't even imagine. I never asked were my grandmother's brother died and how. I didn't dare. And then there is one more picture that does not leave my mind, on it my grandfather in pose with two other uniformed soldiers somewhere North/East of Berlin inside a bombed building. The building is completely empty, in the back only ruins what eluted to a former factory type unit. Nothing else, no other people, nothing at all, but three men in front of some ruins, the ground clean and white, covered with snow. And then I see it inside the photo album. In faded pencil my grandfather had written one line next to the photo, which says: And here is where we bombed the Jews. I startled reading the line for the first time, reading it over and over again with a cold shower running down my backside. And what that line really really really means, and what the truth is behind, and the event in detail I will never know, I may not want to know, but have to accept that this is part of my family history, part of what I am carrying within my conscience, part of what all German people still carry within their roots, even today. As I said, I never met my grandfather, but what I heard is that he was a loving father and husband, a kind man to all with an open heart. And on the next page there is another pictures of two homeless Russian children, who my grandfather cared for during his time there and fed and often spoke about as he worried and wondered what had ever happened to them after the war. As always there is always two sides to a story, the narrator and the one who is experiencing the tale in his/her own skin. And with that I am trying to find peace and heal some of my never ending country's grief, while also not wanting to close my eyes to how truly unimaginably horrible it was what happened there and then - to all.

The question of choice in love

I was on Facebook yesterday when I got pinged in the chat window. It was Mehnaz, a young girl I met earlier in the year on my India travel. Traveling by myself in the South of India I decided to partake in an all day backwater tour on a boat. I was picked up in a small bus and taken to the river where the rest of the group was waiting for me to board the boat. Turns out the rest of the group consisted of one whole family, a Indian family, mom, dad, auntie, baby, daughter, cousin, grannny, etc. Amongst them two teenage girls. There was much laughter amongst them and although I didn't understand their language I could tell that they were on vacation, having a great time with each other, loving one another. I couldn't help but feeling a touch sad and lonely as I had learned to feel it traveling by myself on one or the other occasion. And so I focused on the surroundings, enjoying the beauty of the boat ride and the joy of being able to watch them all. The curiosity of the teenage girls grew over the day and not long they both came up to me wanting to talk English, asking me questions about music, movies, America, cell phones, Internet, etc. etc. But one of the more pressing questions they had for me was, why am I traveling by myself? It was a question I had been asked often in India and I had learned to understand that the concept of a woman traveling alone was so very foreign to them. Not in the sense of the ability or possibility to do so, but in the sense of why would you ever want to do that? What possible fun could it be to not travel with your family or at least your husband, but all alone? I couldn't explain as I realized quickly that to understand you would have to be raised and grown up in a Western culture and from these girls perspective I had to agree that it made absolutely no sense at all. And in addition of course there was the big question to why I wasn't married or with a partner in life? And then I felt it. Looking at them I felt my longing and loneliness for what they had and they looking at me with curiosity of two young people about to embark into a young woman's life. I spent the rest of the day as their adopted family member and enjoyed every minute of it while also remember very well what restrictions come along with a large family and that I had one of them at home waiting for me. That was how I met Mehnaz and her family back in India. Yesterday when Mehnaz pinged me on chat she had great news for me. She got engaged. And knowing what I knew about that day in India and about her family I couldn't be anything but happy for her. It was instant that I knew it must have been an arranged marriage, but in that moment, feeling her happiness and clarity about her belonging to someone from now on, it didn't matter. Who am I to say that an arranged marriage has not the same chance of happiness as any other two people getting together with a commitment to trying a relationship. After all these years of my Western style free choice in love, I am concluding that with a hundred reasons for a way out and a hundred pre-requisite to fill for the perfect partner and a hundred choices for self fulfillment I myself have never made it thous far. Here I am now 37 years old with all my choices and all my relationship tries behind me, leaving me single and with the same dream - to marry and to have a family. And in this moment I envied Mehnaz only for that one specific reason.

Las Vegas my friend - or where you ever that?

My friend Las Vegas, what happened to you? I know its been a while since my last visit and we have never really been very close from the start (too many differences, I sup pose), but now that I have seen you again I am in awe over how much you have changed. I remember your shine and glamor most of all, your ever too busy live to stand still to talk to me, your VIP status in the rest of the world, your dirty underbelly of which you always have been proud of and I could not otherwise but give you my respect for. My eyes were sore this last weekend seeing what is happening to you and I had no idea how much you were hurting. Where have all your beautiful friends gone? Where has your glitter and glamor gone? What have you done to your staff, your true supporters who now only looked at me stale and lifeless at the bar entrance or on the hotel floor. The smiles are gone the twirls are gone. I even had a thought of doubt over the real human kind in them altogether and that you may have replaced them with automatic robotic dolls instead, wearing faded color costumes. Who knows what you are capable of, when you are the master magician over all things unreal and illusion-airy. I came to enjoy your company and to dip into your magic of endless creation with no boundaries and what I found in the end is that you failed and that you are falling. The hungry villains have now moved in and taken you over. I came and found myself witnessing a feast of all obesity in this country concentrated in one place with drooling mouths at the never ending all you can eat buffet (I never did like the buffet). I came and found myself observing that what we used to call dance has been replaced by endless grinds of body parts in creation of floods of sweat, dripping freely into the grounds, feeding your new thirst for pennies during your economic fast. I am sure you miss the smell of dollars and the taste of gold coins. I know I did in the last three days. And all there was is now no more, leaving you high and dry, lifeless and dusty, stale and cheap, abandoned and poor. I feel for you and yet I feel it is your own destiny to be where you are now, so low, so stale. It is a good bye for me for good or a good bye for a long time at least, until you have recovered. Maybe, just maybe then I can return and hug you again and find some satisfaction for my needs as well. But that would require for you to have learned something new.

Thoughts while in Bali

Three days left in Bali and by now it leaves me with a smile driving through the city streets. I have accustomed well and got myself a scooter. Amazing how being mobil has changed my experience here. I am no longer being hazzeled by the never ending – transport or taxi – call outs when walking on the sidewalk, or what they call sidewalk but actually is more like an obsticale course and made me always nervous to catch my flip flop or worse my whole foot in the concrete cracks. The walk into the town of Ubud in total was never enjoyable and I felt irritable by the time we get anywhere. Not wanting to stay in this energetic at any time while being here I did what worked for me and got myself some wheels. I don’t feel quiet like a local yet driving as there are no traffic rules and I still have to concentrate so much that I am sure I am a funny sight to watch, all serious under my way too big half shelf helmet. I realize there are still parts of town I have not explored and so it is my mission to do so in the remainder time. The people are lovely here – so friendly so peaceful and can I just say what I enjoy so much as well , there is no stealing here. You know how nice it is to just put your helmet on top of the mirror at your bike and not have to worry. I see people leaving there entire groceries behind. Wouldn’t that be nice to go back to these days where one would think that a stinking helmet is not something anyone could desire. I have spent two days on the gilli T island as the white people called it in slang. The proper name is Gili Tranwangan, the largest of the three Gili islands belonging to Lombok. Gili T is said to be the party island and I contest to the truth of that matter. I was not there for the party but rather it is the easiest island to get to and honestly I was dying to get away a bit from all the couples. I knew Bali was honeymoon destination number one and I get why but traveling as a single I found myself annoyed by looking at all the happy couples. (We did see some unhappy ones, too. I’de say I give them at least two more years before their relationship will end in inreconsilable differences.) I did find what I was looking for on the island: Cristal clear water, white sand beach and sun. Once you leave the party scene behind on one street you can actually find beaches all around the island that are deserted, only me, endlessly screening my eyes over the aboundance of shells and coral peaces carpeting the entire stretch of beach. And so I splourged spending two nights in a geourgeos bungalow, all dark wood with the large white bed, dancing white sheer courtains all around for moskito protection. Yes, it, too, was the perfect honeymoon room, but this I didn’t mind, to stretch my legs in all directions, fully enjoying my room, my time, my bed, The place had front beach access and all lawn chairs reserved for little me. One of the owners was German, post or present hippie, usually living in Berlin, when not in Bali. We had a beer and chatted. You can appreciate that even the most hippiest looking person coming from Germany atually has had a most qualified education, including University and therefore the conversations with Martin were interesting, lasting and wordly. We set front row, watching all the white people walking by on their way to the next coctail party and every once in a while a local would greet Martin, saying something in Indonesian, a language which I in the one month did not pick up at all, not even the hello and thank you. I don’t know, but this language does not stick with me at all. Oh well. Gilli T is entrily taken over by tourism, there is no doubt about that. Water shortage and trash mountains are creating a huge problem and for me a personal conflict for being there. I asked Martin all sorts of questions as I was worried about the additional water plastic bottle I just consumed and personally curious where the water came from, provided in the outdoor shower for me. Martin shared all the concerns this island is going to face with the ever increasing tourism on the island and the very little solutions for the problems. I am afraid there weren’t too many concerned visitors and I want to perhaps simply blame that on the age range of all the travelers there. 99% of all people coming to Gilli T are young hipsters, surfers from all over the world, age range 18 – 24, I guessed. And for them I have to say it truly is heaven. If I had a daughter or son that age I would absolutely support them to come here. Its safe haven, beach time, fun as fun happens at that age and also perhaps a fun way to be introduced to your first mushroom experience.

Officially unemployed.

637 000 people in the US filed for unemployment last week. I am one of them. I officially registered myself into the system of social support. Its nice that they call it unemployment insurance. That was about the only thing that could make me feel better and clear some of my guilt about having to "sit on the states pocket" or "live of all other working people" as some like to describe the unemployed. It was a fight with my integral mind which argued back and forth between - there are people who need unemployment support more than I do - and - I deserve a little money after paying into this system for so long. Fact is that I have been a working, tax paying member of the society since I was 15 years old. It started with packing jam at a factory in summer to earn my first vacation and then I already contributed to the States system of giving up a part of your earnings for something else, even though we never truly really know for what. I had my early thoughts about fairness in that, especially when you sit in a factory all day long, earning every Deutsch Mark with blisters on your hands due to hot boiling jam containers. But over time one resigns to or lets say sees little chance in fighting the system in that matter and just accepts it. Ha - I would love to walk into one office (which such office does not exist) and say: I am tired of paying taxes. I refuse to give up my money to someone I don't even know. From now on I only want to share with the people I know and love and choose myself where my share should go - I am a capable human being and as such guarantee that it will be spread well and equally!!! I demand a choice over my hard earned money in full!!! Seriously so, I guess it was all sort of acceptable when the percentage of your deduction were around 20%. Ja I can see how I would say I keep 80 or 75 percent and be charitable with the rest, but looking at it now we are at 42% - almost half! Where is she going with this you say? Well, I made my case, I successfully justified that I deserve a little back from the big melting pot of deductions and contributions I have made in all these years. You can tell there is some lingering conscience and its deeply rooted in my Germanness that only a working person is a good, wholesome, worth while citizen and deserves to live. Its not like we were taught socialistic slogans at the time I grew up, but it's true that my up bringing somehow has influenced me in my thinking of work and worth in combination. Perhaps its some secret ingredient in the baby food, added by the government, for all the good German babies to follow in a manner to be proud of. While this is not the first time I am out of work or in transition, this is the first time I ever ever filed for unemployment and asked for support. While going through life there aren't so many first time experiences any more and as such I am taking this day as a memorable day in learning how to be just one of thousands in need of help of others.

Viva la Swine Flu

Of course I would never celebrate a world wide epidemic and most certainly share all the concerns there are around the recent Swine flu break out, but I would like to report some positive affects of the situation after coming back from Mexico. When traveling to a popular vacation destination like Cabo San Lucas in high season, one can expect a full airport with the usual Hawaiian shirt wearing people already drinking Margaritas in the airplane while getting in the mood for their trip or full hotels of the same kind, also you certainly expect having to fight for a beach chair and I heard some even get up at six in the morning only to put a towel down as a reservation indication before heading back to bed for more sleep (too funny), the clubs may be full with grinding up bumping dance scenarios. However when traveling during an outbreak of en epidemic what happens is that people panic or simply are super cautious and as such they stay away, which in this case I have to say turned out to be an advantage. I was upgraded on the airplane, had a whole seat row to myself for some peaceful sleep, was upgraded for only $10 to a 2 bedroom suite at the hotel as we were the only guests in the house, the front row beach chairs were all reserved for me, I had the pool to myself every day, the bar tender gladly mixed extra strong drinks in celebration for something to do and added a two for one offer, I walked for hours on the beach without seeing a single sole and altogether we just had Cabo all to ourselves. I felt bad for the locals loosing so much money right now on missing tourism and all conversations around this subject confirmed the situation was serious for all affected. The reason going to Mexico was for my old roommate Brad's wedding. The wedding events were extended to 5 days with tons of fun. A good solid San Francisco/DJ/Burning Man crowd as part of the wedding guests did secure a good party. The wedding was beautiful, perfect, perfectly planned and the best get away excuse I every had. I am grateful for having been invited and receiving the chance to enjoy some beach time before coming back to San Francisco and starting over. That's how it feels to me after being gone for so long. I regained my energy and am ready to start my job search and meet new people.
By the way - Why is it called swine flu and not pig flu? Anyone? It's not like swine is a commonly used English word.....

Books without borders

Hermann Hesse - Steppenwolf
Woahhhh - I can't believe I have been waiting soo long to read this book. It's a classic and I love it. I actually tried reading Hesse in German before and sadly it doesn't speak to me. Only in English I am allowed to get to know the fine skill of this oh so very German writer. A bit strange, I know. In German this old style form of writing sounds so foreign to me, many words I don't understand and the distant, complicated constellation of the sentences make me drift of rather than indulge into the era of then. And I love "then", the time of Bohemia with all its forbidden social gatherings, the costumes, the masks, the balls, all its sexual energy mixed in a fine cocktail, hidden under the corsage. I love the formality spent "then" to pursue an interest of some sorts. The English language translation is superb. I could not put the book down. It had me wrapped in the time, but also in its little wisdom aspects about love and live. There are several episodes that made me recognize why this writer was also able to write Siddhartha and how. Steppenwolf has many aspects of teaching us about samsaric live, none attachment, death and the realization of impermanence told from the perspective of this rather pessimistic or shall we say realistic dark character and his muse, his wisdom teacher, lover, seducer and temptation. Here are some of my favorite lines from the book:
"Ah, Harry, we have to stumble through so much dirt and humbug before we reach home. And we hae no one to guide us. Our only guide is our home-sickness.
"I had escaped time altogether, and went my way, with death at my elbow and death as my resolve. I had no objection to sentimentalities. I was glad and thankful to find a trace of anything like a feeling still remaining in my burnt-out heart."
"There is beauty in farewells and a gentleness in their very tone."
I would love to see Steppenwolf as a play. If anyone wants to take me out to see it, I am there.

Back in SF for one night only

Only one plane ride away - I am back in SF for one night only before taking of to Cabo San Lucas. My dear friend Leta picked me up from the airport and I am so grateful. Not only since I once again was completely over packed and struggled with my luggage, but more so for the moral support. Coming back from traveling for four months is as hard as leaving. My mom frequently asks me why I still want to live in San Francisco. My answer always is the same, letting her know that as long as there are butterflies in my stomach when driving into town from the airport, seeing the skyline, that is my sign that there is something here for me to come back to. But last night driving in there were no butterflies. Nothing was moving inside me driving into town, my old neighbourhood, entering my apartment. I had become estranged. Is this possible after only four months? Yes, it is. I felt it strongly, the town and myself as two strangers meeting. One of course has to consider that over the years I had more than just SF to return to, a job, a relationship, a car, an apartment, a class, a degree - all things that tight me here. In my current situation with all these ties cut the thing that is left is the town alone and as it stood so stiff, gray and huge in front of me last night coming in, I realized that I had to start all over again, befriending this giant and I was not excited about it, knowing that with everything new there was the old to let go of first, well everything except my old friends of course. Those I will be very excited to see again. I will need you all, I will need a hug, I will need a shoulder, I will need guidance around town like I had never been here before. I am not afraid to show and share that traveling has made me stronger and also more raw on the inside in many ways. Today I woke up thinking: What are you doing here? And thus far I have absolutely now idea. Please help me figuring it out. And in return I will gladly share my stories and offer myself newly as a good friend.

From India to the Austrian alps

Traveling in general is about contrasts. Some are smaller, some are large, as large as the Austrian alps. I ended my India trip in Delhi. I gladly returned back to Delhi after my trip to Kerala, although there, too, I had made good friends in the end and left on a positive note after a fun weekend. Coming back to Delhi so was like greeting an old friend. I have gotten to know the city well enough now to know my way around, pick favorite spots and restaurants and embrace all sides with the smells, the noise, the people and perhaps also a touch of Western luxury in form of a movie theater inside the air conditioned mall. I was excited to be back and spent my last day sight seeing, exploring Lodi park. The heat was overwhelming, sticky. Towards the evening I cruised around Saragini market to fetch the last of my presents for friends and family. I felt happiness inside my tummy to leave. I was analyzing if my feeling came from being done with India in general and came to the conclusion that my trip was simply ending and my excitement was simply about the next beginning. In conclusion I would like to say that I will be back to see my old friend Delhi some day and also to explore the North of India more next time. As Arnold would say: I'll be back.
Only 24 hours later I found myself in the greenest of green, staring up against a gray giant with white tips. I went to the Austria with my family for a weekend get together. We spent the weekend in a beautiful country home with a view like no other. The surroundings of the mountains is breathtaking, the trees are in full blossom, the grass stuffed with blooming wild flowers, the birds are wildly arguing and the cow bells sounding from far away on the grassy fields. This is anyone nature loving heaven, untouched and pure. Coming from dusty, gray, hot, polluted Delhi this is the spa treatment for my lungs and a complete visual contrast in front of my eyes. Can you imagine? We laid in the grass, played ball, cooked together and created harmony with each other in a way I did not know we were able to as a family. I took deep inhales with the realization of how fortunate we are in the West, how wealthy on nature resources, how very wealthy in our middle class rich lives, how very very lucky to be born here.

Travel Book Review - Numero Dos

The White Tiger - Aravind Adiga

Booker price winner 09. This book is a new release and from a first time novelist, a young Indian guy who lived in US and UK. Overall I have to say this is a great read, fun, easy, insightful and definitely gets you hooked to wanting to know the final plot of the story all the way to the end. I may be a bit bio-st since the story plays mostly in Delhi and all the visual descriptions this guys is putting me through is what I have seen and lived through every day here in town, yet I could have not found the same words ever! Brilliant. I found myself walking the streets of Delhi exactly the way it is. The story is the kind of Slumdog Millionaire type thing but here it isn't pure look and common sense that bring the young boy out from the bottom like in the movie, here it as actual murder, a brought up opportunity that could not be passed up. A very believable story that has you perhaps emphasize with the murderer and not the actual victim for obvious reasons which are introduced fully at the time of it all going down.
A point of criticism - Perhaps it was the editor, but the style of English is a touch too American for my taste. The punch lines and every day dude type sayings are overkill and really bug me. Here I would have much rather heard a British Accent which I thought would have fit better anyways.


A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers - Xiaolu Guo

This is the monthly read for our all women books club. I inhaled it in one go. We are only meeting in two weeks to discuss so maybe I shouldn't say much, but all in all its just a cute read. This is a story of a young Chinese girl going to London for one year to study English at one of the language school. While there she falls in love with an English man and moves in with him. While living with him she describes her every day experience and difficulties of understanding the language, as well as difference in culture. By the end of the year the relationship turns to a somewhat co dependent scenario, leading to a decision point by the time her visa expires. And its not a happy ending either. This book made me think that perhaps I had never loved before. The way she fully gives herself to this man is intriguing to me and something to admire. The writer does a great job sticking to the characters consistently and I am glad there is no happy ending as it would have appeared unreal for the characters to change so drastically that this relationship could have had a chance to survive. Not that it didn't deserve it looking at the connection of both. As the girl in the book is learning English she has to constantly look up words in the dictionary to try to understand, mostly after the conversation was over. The dictionary entries are shared and therefore a true experience is created that for any person who starts to learn a language a diction airy entry with all its different meanings can add more to confusion than clarification. She also compares some times English words with the Chinese dictionary and shares the meaning with us then, which are funny and visual. Virgina for example is called dark tunnel. Cute.

Arundhati Roy - The God of small things
I sat in the internet cafe in Kerala when looking up on the for sale books shelf. Arundhati Roy - this name seemed familiar to me. I had heard it before but the book cover was unfamiliar to me. I always remember books I read by the covers even if I don't recall the title or author. I googled here and found that the book had won the booker price in 97 and from what I could tell was her only novel since. But then I read more about her and found she had since here book fame become a very important political activist, living in Mumbai. And then I was sure I had probably read something from her while at CIIS. She writes articles and a blogg about world politic and economic subjects and has become an important public figure and speaker since. All in all enough reasons for me to buy her book and read it. Turns out the book is partialy autobiographical and Roy grew up in Kerala, hence why the book was promoted everywhere I went thereafter. I even passed the island she lived on and the story is mainly set in while on my backwater tour. Roy took me on an extreme visual tour through what I was seeing right there and then and like with the White Tiger I enjoyed so much getting the story told while being at the actual place in time. In this case we have no happy ending - girl made it out of the slums story - quiet the contrary. Its not a surprise really since the fact of a death of a 9 year old, the girls cousin, is shared in the beginning of the book and the story is leading of to the event of it happening. Actually we also right from the start get how all went down to shits after that death happening and so its clear that the book is going to be quiet depressing. Yet one wants to know how it actually really came to the little cousins death and so you stick with the story. Roy jumps back and forth in time and also between some dreams of some characters. I found this a bit too much to keep track of. In terms of her visual descriptions I thought she went a bit overboard with it. I have noticed this happening some times with first time writers where the description goes like this: The place was like this, and the air smelled of this and the moood was such ans such and the book in hand reminded me of this and this and then she had and accent like someone I knew who looked like this and this - etc. You get the point. Each peace of the sentence/paragraph consists of a visual description and she does it a lot! For a very visual person like myself what happens here is that I am taken from one highly visual place to the next, from the flower the pollen to the smell to the bee and in the end I actually forget what the story behind the sentence or paragraph was saying. I remain in the visual la la land on my own. With some extreme focus I made it to the end of the book which we all knew already ends with the day of the little cousins death.


Next is Hermann Hesse - Steppenwolf

Kerala - South India

Okay - what I am about to write is an experience I am having right now in India that is actually not all that positive. I have been in absolute la la traveling heaven, loving India to it's fullest with all it's struggles, but now I am faced with a behavior int his country that I had read about and had the least expected to be finding down here in the South, which is said to be the most open of all States. Being hassled by man is something I experienced in the early days of traveling to Italy, the whistling on the side of the road, the approach from the street vendors, etc. All part of it and all pretty harmless, but what I am faced with here in the South is much different. I want to say for the first time in my life I am actually harassed on a daily basis. Fair enough, one says not to travel alone as a woman to India, but I am keeping to all the rules the country sets to at least be left alone on my path. I dress appropriately, even though its so hot and I would rather run around in my strappy dress, I don't approach anyone, I am nice, courteous, follow country formulas of greetings, don't hang around bars on my own - all things one can do to blend in and down under - not a chance. Fair enough - how could I blend in here, I am white!! I stick out like a sore thumb, I am that stereotype of white European looking target, but am I a free for all to be hassled, spoken to, approached all day long, everywhere, insistently in search for a reaction, even touched? At the beach I seeked solitude and found myself surrounded by a group of 20 male viewers, trying to take pictures of me, talking to me and following me at all times as soon as stepping on the side of the road. Thanks to the American/Canadian couple taking me under their wings for the next two days making my stay really pleasant. Then I took off to meet Amma, a 2 hour bus ride away. I ended up in a - lets say far away place from tourism and civilization sort of place. Lonely planet has it still listed but I don't understand why now. I got to see Amma at last and sitting in the tent with thousands of people watching her hugging people tears starting streaming down my face. Partially I was touched by the atmosphere and taken by the chanting and part of me was totally exhausted from the long, hard way getting there to finally see her and I felt so lonely, truly lonely. I caught the attention of two teenage local girls who were dying to speak with this odd looking white girl and wished to practice their English. We spent the rest of the day talking about their dreams of working in IT and becoming a doctor and living in America or England one day. I asked one of the girls Amrita, named after the hugging mother, what she was putting out wishes for when receiving the blessing and she said that she wished for her boyfriend to come back to her. Now we both cried. It was a sweet moment I will never forget. We took a picture of us for memory but then I had to delete the picture because her father was watching us and disapproved. I understood. Of course she was the most beautiful young, sweet hearted Indian girl and I would protect her, too, if I was him. The picture was a genuine meant memory but how could he have know that. I headed back to my hotel, imagine the worst place you ever stayed at and listed as best in Lonely Planet. I hid, waiting for the night and waiting for the morning to get the hell out of this place. Waiting for the rickshaw on the street I was left with one memorable picture of this place I will never forget - in a red sunset light, amongst three lanes of oud hunking cars, dricing around the center of town circle with a large old statue in the middle, there - there was an elephant, walking silently with his master on the back, slowly in pace. With my mouth open, I watched the giant moving off into the distance. I wonder if he knows that with one step he could crush one or many of these noisy, good for nothing, metal things with wheels driving next to him. And as I stare behind this beautiful and forgotten animal I realize where I was - In a far away country, far away from anything I am used to and have experienced in my life, in a country so different from me and so new, in a country that brings me to the outer of my strengh and to the most open of my heart, in a country that I will have to learn to understand slowly.
For now - I am ready to leave and rest some.

Travel Book Review

One thing I love about traveling is having the time to read. I can proudly say I read a lot of books last year as well, thanks to my avid book club ladies. I am really into it, sucking in the words one by one. I thought I'de pass on what I read so far and let you know what I think.

Water for Elephants - Very nice story from the 30is, describing live in a circus, told in memory style by an old man in an elderly care home. Something like The Notebook and very much also movie material. Cant wait for someone to pick it up. Loved it!

Milan Kundera - Laughable Loves - A delightful selection of short stories. As the title says it's about love, but not always in the ways one may expect. Very cute and easy read with a touch of affection and erotic at times, as well as absolute surprise in the opposite direction. Kundera is an old favorite of mine and I am glad I am revisiting his book shelf.

Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore - For those who know me well, you know I am a Murakami fan and have read almost all of them, but never this one, even though it's one of his most popular. I guess there is a time for everything. And boy was I ready for this one. I LOVE THIS BOOK!!! I love the idea of leaving books on my travels and picking up new ones, wondering who might be the next reader. This book I am still holding onto even though I finished yesterday. I am carrying it around as a bible. This book is not your average fiction read, this book is about life philosophy. Very unexpected the reader gets a line of something special on every page. There are several parallel stories which merge in the end. Each story has it's own touch of life lessons behind, in the way things are happening, as well as the actual writing. In one story a boy is running away from home and in unusual ways is finding learning in his way. In another story we are introduced to a ever so slightly retarded old man, who in his simple ways teaches the way things are in his world. His language very much contains mainly of questions which then reveal simple life philosophical statements, that are for anyone to hear. I sucked in this book so much. The individual stories are grabbing and one can not wait for the continuation. This characteristic I am used to by the author and happy to find in this book again in the most brilliant way. I will leave the book at some point as one can not afford the extra weight, but am looking forward to one day in my live picking it up again only to find the special lines. Here a sample of what I am talking about:
- We fall in love in search of ourselves.
- Memories warm you up from inside, but they also tear you apart.
- When you are in the forest, you become a seamless part of it. When you are in the rain, you are a part of the rain. When you are in the morning, you are a seamless part of the morning. When you are with me, you become a part of me.
- Memory isn't so important here. The library handles memories.
And many many more. So so so very goooood!!!!! I can't believe it took me this long to come across this book.

Milan Kundera - Ignorance - Back to Kundera again as I needed a short read for the weekend only. Not finished yet, but can already tell his is going to teach me some history here about Communism in the Check Republic, before he is going to continue his story about an ex pad woman who moved to Paris. Fine by me.

I am of course also reading Buddhist literature as part of my ongoing practice. The book stores here are loaded with the books which otherwise are hard to get, and I have bought many already. I am not going to share any lines as most of them include old and secret teaching that each person has to find when they are ready for it and transmitted in a direct way. I do want to mention that my absolute favorite and daily read right now is the Dakini Teachings, a book given to me in a special moment and therefore brought into my live this way. Here some items just from the glossary. The definitions are new to me and intriguing, Buddhist or not:
INDIVIDUAL SELF: The mistaken idea that there exists an "I" that is an independent, singular, and permanent entity.
HABITUAL TENDENCIES: Subtle inclinations imprinted in the all-ground consciousness.

Next I am reading an Indian Author, which name and title I forgot, but the book has been recommended and is sold everywhere right now. We'll see. The book is in Delhi and first I have to get back there to get it.....

Happy New Year 2066!

Yup, it's New Years here in Nepal. We are celebrating the start of the year 2066. I had no idea we were this far of in the West. Here i am constantly fearing what will be beyond the year 2009 and now I am finding myself already far ahead and totally fine. Hahah. So yesterday and today there have been many celebrations going on and of course the special sales - "Hey Misses, by today for cheap - it's new years - if you buy it will be good luck for me and you." And I did buy.....
Today I left the hotel not knowing what to do with my day. The taxi driver I already know from all my errand runs suggested to drive to another town. He showed me pictures in the newspaper from a festival going on, New Years related Hindu festival, which naturally only happens ones a year. I said okay. So we went in the car and onto the road. The drive was about half an hour to a little town, I don't remember the name. we passed hundreds of people on foot onto the way to the festival, which ended up to probably some thousands squeezing into the tight little streets in the old stone midtown center. we parked and I left alone walking into the center to see whats going on. I counted in total amongst the visitors we were three white western tourists. this is a first for me to be this much the odd one out, but my time here has made me adjust and i learned that a smile can bridge miles of waters and candy for the kids is my own personal insider tip. accordingly the reaction of the Nepali people was curious and attention orientated, but as always in my experience, friendly. the crowed increased by the minute and the heat increased by midday. standing, leaning against a house wall with a bottle coca cola in my hand the driver appeared. obviously worried about me he decided to join the festival and to keep me company. there was nothing to worry about but in the end it did help to have a strong local man push against the crowed at times when it got to tight. several small carriage shrines were parked on the street for exhibition reasons and to pay tribute to. the second part of the festival was dedicated to a public viewing of a tongue piercing of a young man. how they choose the man or why they do this I couldn't figure out and no one could answer me either. this is what we do every year, they said. i gathered it was some sort of sacrifice or initiation process. the young man was surrounded by a group of about 20 of his kind, all dancing in a circle with instruments, obviously increasingly intoxicated. we were told that as part of the ritual the young man had not slept in 4 days and not eaten. the group of young man circled the city for about 2 hours before the process began. in this time i had the chance to be really close up to the locals. the woman touched me friendly as we leaned up against the wall together tightly, the children smiled and gave me curious looks and everyone was so exhibited about the festival activities. a large group of people danced to loud drums, trance like. as part of the tradition colored powder is thrown into the crowd. i got quiet a lot of it. there is no hiding. the orange and red powder ended up in my hair, on my dress and face. i didn't mind at all and couldn't stop laughing. all part of it. finally, the chosen man was put on a stage where the older town man already prepared the ritual with boiling water, burning butter candles and heating the needle/knife. then he was hived up on stage and put on a chair. i held my breath. in front of thousands of people the long metal, which looked like a double thick kebab metal stick was pushed threw his tongue. everyone was pushing up closer to get a good look. and so i did. seriously - this was no ordinary piercing. the knives/metal pierce was much thicker than anything i have ever seen used on humans. the man bravely did not move. but here comes the topping. after he was lifted back onto the street and then had to carry a large fire ring on his shoulders, plus long metal stick in his tongue and walk around town for another hour in circles through all the streets for the people to see. at this point i felt for him - strongly. strange to me, but very much a normal tradition to the locals. i left once again with new insights and a new experience. perhaps one day someone can tell me what the meaning behind the ritual really is.

Kathmandu - Nepal

I am now in Kathmandu, have been here for almost a week. I was going to spend 4 only but life has it that I ended up staying. Four days I thought would be enough but nope, there is so much do see, so much to do. I had my expectations and people told me about Kathmandu being so dirty and everyone getting sick from the food. The first I can confirm, but let me tell you somehow it gives it a Burning Man feeling here and we all know I like it there a lot. In reality so one has to realize that the people live here this way all the time, with constant dust and dirt all over, everywhere, your nostrils, your cloth, between your toes, in your food, in your bed. The roads are not paved and the shop keepers tasks to sweep along the road side in the morning seems like pouring water into a bucket with a hole in it. People are nice here, lots of smiles. Namaste is the greeting, what can go wrong from there I tell you. Its not an easy town, but unlike Delhi this town doesn't only take, it also gives back. I came here for Buddhist reasons and as such I found lots of history and hidden treasures related. Even though today everything here is mixed with Hinduism, underneath one can find amazing sights and stories, especially when you have a great insider guide like I did. I had the pleasure to be shown around the town by a very special woman from the Buddhist community, who actually lived here a long time and knows the inside outs. I have been to sights no tourist will be able to get to and am fully aware of the privileged situation I am currently in here. And so it came that I was able to give a little of all this back, helping out with some paper work for the Buddhist community. It actually enriched my trip to be useful instead of only lazy and to hunt for the next coffee shop. I was looking to deepen my commitment to my practice and I got that here, naturally.
I am a very visual person and such am taking in everything I see, letting the images impact me in whichever way. Often it's the Tibetan prayer flags dancing in all colors in the wind, the smiling faces, the hanging pieces of fresh cut meat on the side of the road, the rickshaws, the birds, the hot steaming Chai in front of me, the free running monkeys approaching gently to take the piece of banana I offered out of my hand (his fingers touched mine and I squeaked in happiness about the new feeling of his wrinkly skinn on mine). And then again it's the begging woman with her not even dressed child on the side of the road, the sad eyes of the man without legs, the dog missing half of his fur showing all the rip cage, the what used to be a river and is now filled with trash river bank (imagine the smell in addition), the man washing the plates in a bucket on the side of the road in dirty smelly water, the cockroach running across the counter of the cafe at the Stupa (actually this one I only laugh about now). I had a thought today that we are all going to drown in trash some day. I don't think we are far off. The other really big thing here in Kathmandu is the electricity situation. The town is said to have approximately 2Mio people. No one knows exactly. The electricity is such that it runs for maybe 4 hours at a time, for maybe a total of 6-8 hours a day, but you never know exactly when it comes on and when it goes off. So I learned to write my emails in word first and then copy paste quickly and sent quickly. I learned the hard way of course, as three times right in the middle the screen went black. And then from there everyone knows that for the next 4-5 hours there is nothing. So, you get up and go home or do whatever you do without electricity, which in fact is not so much if you think about it. During the day seems fine and having food can be managed with gas, but all else - just think about it. I tried to imagine San Francisco this way and just couldn't. You can't. No wonder I go to bed earlier here with no lights to read any more after 9pm, but I am also up super early at 6 am to catch the most day light I can. I am in the mids of all this what people live here day in (actually I am spoiled being at the hotel with running water and generator for the kitchen) and what I am sensing is how much it controls the people, the power over power. It's oil that rules the world money, but it's power that rules the peoples lives. It simply sucks. Of course I could say, let's go back to how it used to be with candles and tomatoes in the gardens, but this is a big city and going back for us is not an option when you also try to make money and play the game of the world with tourism and world politics. Oh man. All this is not written in your travel hand book, but you get for free.

Random thoughts:
Love the roof top gardens
If I lived here I, too, would ride a motor bike.
I am most busy in my day making sure I am not getting run over.
Traffic rules don't exist
Even a tiny car can manage a otherwise described as four wheel only type road when needed.
The roads trips are a bitch for my back.
Namaste is not only the final words in SF Yoga class.
Buddhist sight or Hindu sight, that is the question.
I an sleep on any mattress now, even the one thats only one centimeter thick and should be called rug.
Here I am gladly vegetarian. I don't have to explain why.
Running water is equal value to gold.
German bakeries are everywhere. I thought we were more famous for the sausage, but no.
This is not my last time in this place. Like Arnold: I'll be back!!