Hello from the beautiful azores. Its 75 degrees and sunny. We spent our whole first day out on a catamaran tracking whales, bottle-nosed, striped and spotted dolphins with a marine biologist. We got a bit seasick, but it was beautiful and we got a good look at Pico Island and the island of Faial where we are staying. The islands are sparsely populated, dotted with small red roofs and green fields that are divided with natural barriers of hedges. All of the dairy and meat is local here, as is the fish of course.
Our campsite is alongside the water and we slept last night to the thunderous waves that crashed on the shore. The only hazards here are mosquitoes, one of which attacked my eye!
We're taking plans one or two days at a time here, but tomorrow we'll be out on the catamaran again and on the following day doing a hike.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
Lisboa, Portugal...
I'll be totally honest here. After one month in India, and the last week filled with long bus rides, stomach aches and coughing children, not to mention 10 hours on the plane and a 3+ hour layover in Milano, arriving here in Lisbon I feel more like Iºve just come to the holy land. I am grinning ear to ear, reveling in europe at its best --- cafe machiatos, small restuarants that poor out into cobblestone plazas, blue skies that touch the bluer atlantic, monuments to dead white men, friendly travelers, sketchy european men hitting on me... all the familiarity is welcome, and Lisbon sort of feels like a friendlier version of france(with almost as many people speaking french!
I arrived around noon, I think, and went straight to my hotel. God bless Adam Lindsley at the Road Less Traveled who found me hostel smack in the center of the old city. Im 3 blocks from the central square and three blocks from the ocean. There are cafes everywhere, postcards, tourists, coffeeshops and trolley cars. Im feeling a bit run down and caught the cough from my trip, so I am greatful for the two day break I have between trips.
I ate lunch at an Italian restaurant where my waiter was, believe it or not, from Punjab, India. He has only been here two years and will return to India next year to marry. Coincidentally, he is Sikh, and yesterday our group visited a main Sikh temple in Delhi. That temple offers a daily soup kitchen'like service that feeds tens of thousands. It was incredible! We walked inside amidst the throngs of people who kissed the marble stairs before striding barefoot through the mantra filled sanctuary. At the exit, a sweet dish was offered to all of the worshipers.
India ended well. The children had a fantastic time, and I learned a lot that I will take with me on this next trip. It will be a huge transition --- from the service and luxury of India to the self'reliance and 3 weeks of cmaping will be doing on the Azores, but it will be nice to be free from worries of malaria pills, altitude and sketchy water. Plus, eating fresh fruits and vegetables is way way underrated!
I'll be totally honest here. After one month in India, and the last week filled with long bus rides, stomach aches and coughing children, not to mention 10 hours on the plane and a 3+ hour layover in Milano, arriving here in Lisbon I feel more like Iºve just come to the holy land. I am grinning ear to ear, reveling in europe at its best --- cafe machiatos, small restuarants that poor out into cobblestone plazas, blue skies that touch the bluer atlantic, monuments to dead white men, friendly travelers, sketchy european men hitting on me... all the familiarity is welcome, and Lisbon sort of feels like a friendlier version of france(with almost as many people speaking french!
I arrived around noon, I think, and went straight to my hotel. God bless Adam Lindsley at the Road Less Traveled who found me hostel smack in the center of the old city. Im 3 blocks from the central square and three blocks from the ocean. There are cafes everywhere, postcards, tourists, coffeeshops and trolley cars. Im feeling a bit run down and caught the cough from my trip, so I am greatful for the two day break I have between trips.
I ate lunch at an Italian restaurant where my waiter was, believe it or not, from Punjab, India. He has only been here two years and will return to India next year to marry. Coincidentally, he is Sikh, and yesterday our group visited a main Sikh temple in Delhi. That temple offers a daily soup kitchen'like service that feeds tens of thousands. It was incredible! We walked inside amidst the throngs of people who kissed the marble stairs before striding barefoot through the mantra filled sanctuary. At the exit, a sweet dish was offered to all of the worshipers.
India ended well. The children had a fantastic time, and I learned a lot that I will take with me on this next trip. It will be a huge transition --- from the service and luxury of India to the self'reliance and 3 weeks of cmaping will be doing on the Azores, but it will be nice to be free from worries of malaria pills, altitude and sketchy water. Plus, eating fresh fruits and vegetables is way way underrated!
Being in the Ladakh region felt like a very different country from the rest of India. Indeed, it is mostly Buddhist, largely Tibetan and had been cut off from the rest of India until the mid 1970s. Roads, cars, electricity and even cities are all recent additions to the region and it is still struggling on the cusp of modernity and millenia of traditional lifestyles. In spite of the technological advances, there is a mysterious and serene feeling to the city of Leh and its environs.
Arriving by plane, we headed up to our cruising altitude and then barely came down... As we landed, the plane weaved between 16,000 foot peaks, before landing easily among the clouds at 12,000 feet. In every direction were clouds and mountains, snow capped young peaks stretching starkly toward the sky. The main town of Leh sits just below the tree llne, at a height far greater than any American city. We spent the first 2 days fighting off the fatigue and neausea of altitude sickness. We drove long distances on narrow roads to visit one monastary after another. Each monastary is secluded among the mountains, up a windy road and overlooking a nearby village. The monastaries and their symbols and statues became familiar to us, but each one had a unique character and feel. The monks wore only red, mostly a deep red robe although some sported red Tommy HIlfiger or polo shirts, acquired throught trades with tourists. One of 9 people in the region are monks and boys as young as 6 will begin to train in monastaries.
Within the monastaries, there was a musty smell. Aged stone mixed with incense, spices and hundreds of years of chanting. The monastaries boasted rooms of statues, similar to what each Buddhist has in their home.Some of them, however, also had enormous Buddha statues that extended 3 or 4 stories tall. We were greeted by one lama, the head of a monastary, with the auspicious offering of a white scarf. At another monstary, we were offered rice while we sat in on lunchtime prayers. The monastaries were characterized by brightly colored flags in yellow, red, blue and green. Poles reached toward the clouds and Tibetan prayer flags could be seen in all directions, each string of flag showing varied levels of wear and tear.
The main city, a small town of winding streets, green fields, wandering cows and stray dogs, was a tourist mecca. Filled with dreadlocked travelers and countless Israelis, there were more guest houses than restaurants and the street vendors and small shops spilled out onto the sidewalk. Here at last was the focal point of every hippie trend, the epicenter of singing bowls, prayer flags, drums, Buddhist phrases, copious hashish dealers, flowing skirts, patchwork bags and yoga classes that dot college campuses and music festivals around the world. Free Tibet signs had a whole new meaning here, and Tibetan refugee centers were located in every small town. I especially enjoyed a trip to a womenºs center that supports local artisan and encourages ecologically responsible tourism. We spent a few hours shopping in the old city and stopped for our first cup of masala chai tea.
After three days, we headed to the small village of Stok, about half an hour away. There, prepared for back country living, we were met by a staff of 5 and entered our tents, which can be better described as canvas hotel rooms. For the next 10 days as we volunteered at the Stok Governemnt High SChool, we were treated like royalty by our cooking and cleaning crew. In the afternoons we were greeted with fresh juice, hot tea and snacks. The campsite even had plumbing and electricity, amenities that, ironically, the school lacked.
Arriving by plane, we headed up to our cruising altitude and then barely came down... As we landed, the plane weaved between 16,000 foot peaks, before landing easily among the clouds at 12,000 feet. In every direction were clouds and mountains, snow capped young peaks stretching starkly toward the sky. The main town of Leh sits just below the tree llne, at a height far greater than any American city. We spent the first 2 days fighting off the fatigue and neausea of altitude sickness. We drove long distances on narrow roads to visit one monastary after another. Each monastary is secluded among the mountains, up a windy road and overlooking a nearby village. The monastaries and their symbols and statues became familiar to us, but each one had a unique character and feel. The monks wore only red, mostly a deep red robe although some sported red Tommy HIlfiger or polo shirts, acquired throught trades with tourists. One of 9 people in the region are monks and boys as young as 6 will begin to train in monastaries.
Within the monastaries, there was a musty smell. Aged stone mixed with incense, spices and hundreds of years of chanting. The monastaries boasted rooms of statues, similar to what each Buddhist has in their home.Some of them, however, also had enormous Buddha statues that extended 3 or 4 stories tall. We were greeted by one lama, the head of a monastary, with the auspicious offering of a white scarf. At another monstary, we were offered rice while we sat in on lunchtime prayers. The monastaries were characterized by brightly colored flags in yellow, red, blue and green. Poles reached toward the clouds and Tibetan prayer flags could be seen in all directions, each string of flag showing varied levels of wear and tear.
The main city, a small town of winding streets, green fields, wandering cows and stray dogs, was a tourist mecca. Filled with dreadlocked travelers and countless Israelis, there were more guest houses than restaurants and the street vendors and small shops spilled out onto the sidewalk. Here at last was the focal point of every hippie trend, the epicenter of singing bowls, prayer flags, drums, Buddhist phrases, copious hashish dealers, flowing skirts, patchwork bags and yoga classes that dot college campuses and music festivals around the world. Free Tibet signs had a whole new meaning here, and Tibetan refugee centers were located in every small town. I especially enjoyed a trip to a womenºs center that supports local artisan and encourages ecologically responsible tourism. We spent a few hours shopping in the old city and stopped for our first cup of masala chai tea.
After three days, we headed to the small village of Stok, about half an hour away. There, prepared for back country living, we were met by a staff of 5 and entered our tents, which can be better described as canvas hotel rooms. For the next 10 days as we volunteered at the Stok Governemnt High SChool, we were treated like royalty by our cooking and cleaning crew. In the afternoons we were greeted with fresh juice, hot tea and snacks. The campsite even had plumbing and electricity, amenities that, ironically, the school lacked.
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