Jaipur

Five years ago I was blessed to be able to join the festivities of an Indian wedding in Jaipur, Rajasthan. The party lasted four nights with the final ceremony in the Maharajah's palace. The decorations were elaborate with chrysanthemum hung walls around marble terraces. And the food, I will always remember the food. Night after night, day after day, vegetarian spreads of several curries marbled with clarified butter fat to be eaten with a freshly made whole wheat flat bread. Spicy, but not too spicy, the tasty sensations captivated me.

For five years I have dreamed of that food and now I have the immense pleasure of enjoying it again. Same family, same town, but this time it is an engagement ceremony. All the elaborateness is still there just the ceremony is missing. Oh delicious spicy fatty savory sweetness of uncomprehendablly delicious combinations how I love thee. This is also the first time all twenty plus members of this particular family have ever been together at once. Everything is lovely and fabulous. Sort of. With such a dramatic family event will obviously come some drama and the characters in this particular family are keen to play the games. So here is the gossip.

The occasion is an engagement so all the overzealous matchmaking mothers and aunties get super excited and cause problems by starting rumors and blowing whatever they can out of proportion. There is a generational conflict involved as well that I think fuels the flames or at least increases the stress levels. The parents, for the most part, are in arranged marriages where their parents held the power and the final word when it came to choosing their partner. The current marrying age generation, at least in this family, has managed to assert themselves, both boys and girls, and marry who they like. This engagement is no exception coming from a love affair that has lasted for four years with a stubborn daughter refusing to back down to her fathers objections. I pried a bit but no one was making a big deal of it, probably a good thing, and attention was focused elsewhere. All the eligible ones are put on the spot and prodded about their marrying possibilities.

In particular, my Indian friend Kartini, and her Australian boyfriend, Scott, were the subject of such discussion. Prior to this visit Kartini spent weeks delicately breaking the news to her father that she is seriously dating this Australian boy and thus their very substantial relationship was acknowledged. Kartini's mother, Rimi, took this as clear enough evidence that they would be getting engaged. So, when Kartini and Scott arrived immediately after an undoubtedly emotional reunion (they had been living in different countries for six months prior) the first thing they were greeted with were congratulations. Scott though it was for his PHD work but in fact the whole family had been wrongly informed that they were to be married. Outraged and outdone, Kartini pulled her mother behind closed doors and shared a fantastically tearful conversation demanding, first, some respect, and second that her engagement be officially recalled. And so it was. Good effort Rimi but you are just going to have to wait a bit longer for that one.

Karini has an older sister, Riki who arrived before her. Riki didn't bring any boys with her but Rimi was kind enough to ask, in front of a crowd of family members, if she had any plans to get married. Awkwardness seeped into the room signaling for everyone to leave the mother and daughter for some one on one. Riki has been dating Cathleen for four years now and recently had a confidence breakthrough becoming more secure about her homosexuality. So, when the room was cleared, Riki collected herself and told her mother everything, and that was that. Rimi at least had suspicions and was prepared to some extent. Riki's father, on the other hand, only gets to know that she isn't getting married yet. That makes two strikes for Rimi. It has been a tough few days for her but she is a fabulous woman and takes it all in perfect stride.

Everyone seemed to be getting sick. Scott was sick, Kartini, Riki, these other people were sick too. The groom, who was sneezing, says it is because the local water is has so many minerals. Fortunately for me I grew up with Fresno well water and was nicely adapted. Rimi has been medicating everyone with batches of zinc and orange juice with fantastic results. Cousin Nanu could be seen taking half a dozen pills to cure something exotic. Remedies are everywhere. Uncle was quite sick as well. He is a brave man who traveled around Europe for four years starting at the age of 18 with only five hundred bucks in his pocket. He was bringing his American wife and two teenage daughters to India for the first time and the wife's family was giving him hell for it. They accused him of needlessly endangering his children by bringing them to a war zone. Remember the recent terrorist shootings? Of course you do. He described the week before coming as the most stressful week of his life. Even the eldest daughter, who is presently submitting college applications, got a stomach ulcer from all the turmoil. In the end the correct decision was made and after a brief period of adjustment, comfort and fun has become the norm for all.

And then there is me. Since I'm only a friend I don't get to participate in family craziness, unless I did something stupid to offend people. I probably just don't hear all the gossip about me. Actually, I am a little disappointed there were zero attempts to match me up with daughters. Don't the elders think I am a catch enough? My ego is tarnished. Instead, my drama is far removed from the scene here. I am terribly love sick having realized that what I now want is the girl I left behind and who is no longer mine. In the brief moments I can stand to the side and look in objectively I can see that I am nothing unique, just another casualty of love, one among countless others. “Welcome to the club,” I was congratulated by a good friend. But from the inside, it is the whole world.

Becomming The Tourist

http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=Yjni3dOwSBE

Up to the land of my ancestors I went,
Holland and Denmark were my grandfathers' decent.

I imagined lots of white and fluffy Christmas snow,
And for everyone and their mother to look like my bro.

So I packed extra clothes, warm gloves and all,
And headed north from Belgium, long gone was the Fall.

Of the snow there was none,
So I looked for other fun.

I studied the culture with lovely brick/cobblestone clues,
And found that indeed, they wore pointy wooden shoes!

The cliches kept coming
As herds of windmills running,
Out of their grainy past
And into modern electrical masts.

There was a Christmas man around complete with white beard and velvety red coat
But his name wasn't familiar, it was Sinterclaus, and he came on a boat.

Even more awkward were his gangs of black slaves,
Dressed in bright clothes, gingersnap cookies to children they gave.

But I was happy to learn, even with the wet and the cold,
Everyone was riding a bicycle both young and old.

Speaking of bicycles, I joined a good friend named Jason Moore,
Who studies the wobbles of a two wheeled mathematical metaphor.

Together we moved from The Netherlands to Copenhagen,
We missed the train so we took a bus, barely a covered wagon.

Couchsurfing.com we were ambitious and tried,
Considering Denmarks prices we would have otherwise surely died.

A bowl of soup at a cozy downtown cafe,
Costs $15 or five Californian burritos what the hey?

Two strangers took us in,
They names, Claudia and Morton.

They were friendly and generous and travelers of their own.
Staying with them I felt almost at home.

Crazy and rowdy we danced in the street,
Hella cool people were easy to meet.

With a cargo trike full of DD bliss.
We cruised that bad city “Becoming the Tourist”.

Then off to Sweden we roamed,
To an old friend's farm country home.

Swedish Christmas dinner parties are fantastic,
The spread will make your taste buds go spastic.

So we at and drank and did easy things of the sort,
I was saving energy for three nights at the airport.

Now here I am all ruffled and cute,
Flying from Moscow to Delhi without my parachute.

Netherlands Safari

It was a brisk but sunny winter's day. I was bicycling just North of the city of Amsterdam on my way to an Ajax football game, that's Dutch for quality soccer. Cars were zipping along the highway safely to my right separated from the smoothly paved bicycle and moped path by a few meters of grass and a railing. Sheep grazed in the grassland to my left. Unexpectedly, a shimmering red dot appeared on the horizon in line with the bicycle path. My eyes were adjusting to the distance as the dot approached at an impressive pace. I couldn't believe my luck. It was a real live Sunrider in its natural habitat eating up kilometers with the utmost efficiency. The Sunrider is a highly evolved species of pedal powered transporters indigenous to the Netherlands. It combines battery electric assist with human muscle to achieve speeds of up to 50 kph for at least 50 km. At 15 Wh/km when cruising the Sunrider sips energy at the rate of over 1000 miles per gallon. Later in the day, after my friend and I snuck into the game at halftime and enjoyed some invite only hors d'oeuvres in the business lounge, I spotted another Dutch native, a wind turbine swinging its arms in the sunset winds. The Wind Turbine is not as rare as the Sunrider but enjoys a symbiotic partnership with its more exotic friend by harvesting electrical energy from the wind for the Sunrider's batteries. In return, the Sunrider's passengers keep the Wind Turbine well oiled and plant new ones. It was really nice to get the chance to witness two beautiful native species coexisting happily in the Dutch ecosystem.

The next day I visited the small warehouse in the nearby industrial center where the Sunriders are assembled. This vehicle has been in development for a good ten years now and is easily the most efficient commercially available enclosed electric vehicle, a true work of art. It boasts a carbon monocoque frame with simple steering and suspension systems mostly engineered from scratch. The electric drive is from the same Chinese company I used for my trike project, Crystalite, and peaks at 1.2 kW. I got to drive/ride one myself and found it to be a bit touchy in the steering control but otherwise awesome and sexy. It was a bit like flying a small plane but on the ground. For comparisons sake, the PET feels more powerful but it also uses more energy. They cost about 5k euro fully equipped and there is a waiting list as production is slow. Apparently it is difficult to find investors to sponsor medium scale production facilities for this cool lookin' animal, even in Holland.

Presentation

I got to give a presentation of myself to some faculty at Group T. How cool is that? I guess the students I was working with had some trouble explaining who I was and what I was doing there. I love talking about myself so it was easy. Here I am describing my biggest passion in life. Bass fishing. Look at the size of those mothers. Actually this was the opening slide, just trying to break the ice.

Hoping for Gezelleg

A whole month busting my butt in Belgium building (sort of) an electric vehicle to save the world is coming to a close, www.vehicledesignsummit.be/en. Actually I spent much of my applied time looking for fancy new lithium iron phosphate battery pack for the vehicle. It turns out the Chinese have the market cornered and sell packs at less than $500 per kWh. What on earth does that mean? Well, here in Belgium we want our vehicle, the Vision GT, to go at least 100 km or 60 miles per charge and we would have to spend $6,000 on a pack that would do this. Sure thats a lot of money but it is also the retail price. These batteries should be able to take the vehicle 200,000 miles before they need to be replaced but no one knows for sure. Im excited. The electric vehicle battery industry is zooming along at a whip crack pace. Interestingly, it parallels the solar electric boom. Wait a minute, we could all be driving solar powered electric cars ten years from now! Or at least a lot of us would be able to afford it. The future is going to be cool, and hot at the same time but hot in a temperature way and cool in a style way.

So how is the cruddy economy treating everyone. Im glad I planned to not work for this year. Otherwise I might be concerned. On second thought, I'll be looking for work when I get back and I dont think things will be much better by then. Oh well, Im sure Obama has a plan. He did promise to promote the development of electric motive power in vehicles to boost our economy, and save the environment. I heard him say it in a debate and I'm gonna hold him to it. Speaking of the economy, lately I have been wondering what money really is. I remember learning in school that it has a value equal to some comodity like labor or cows but sometimes it just looks like a pass card for the rich. Rich people show up to big buildings or nice golf courses, hand over some pass cards and walk right on in. Now I am far from poor but sometimes my pass cards aren't enough. I have to wonder what value these other people posess or created that earns them the right to be in such exclusive clubs. Its a tricky game for sure. The $700 bill bailout doesnt easy my doubts either. I actually heard an 'expert' on TV suggesting that it was the thought that counts, not the ammount, to give people confidence in the market. Anyways, buy some canned food maybe.

My next bit of adventure is stupidly into the freezing cold. Im gonna poke around Amsterdam for another weekend, catch an Ajax game (biggest football team in Holland), then head on over to the magical province of Gelderland from whence my ancestors came. Ill be staying in Arnhem, the capitol city and thanks to couchsurfing dot com I'll have some instant friends when I get there. Couchsurfing dot com is a bazzar and amazing facility. I haven't actually gone through the whole process yet but from what I understand it brings a world of free and friendly support to the lonely traveler. It is eerily close to online dating but sure beats hanging out at bars trying to meet locals. I actually thought of doing as a way to avoid hotel costs. Where else can a traveler meet locals? If all works out in Arnhem I'll be using couchsurfing dot com in India and China as well.

Oops, did I say India? Spiritual do do. If your are worried about my safety in India then good because so am I. I plan to grow my beard out and stay away from big cities. Thats all I got. Does anyone have a better strategy, other than not going, for avoiding roving gangs of organized ethnic clensers targeting whitie? Maybe I can get a fake Turkish passport or something.

After Gelderland I will join my good friend Jason for a romp up to Copenhagen where the people are happy but the beer is expensive. How that can be so I have no idea. I'm not exactly sure why we chose Copenhagen but here we go anyways.

Please send me lots of love this Christmas. Ill be on a plane or in an airport the 24th and 25th and 26th getting to Moscow then Jaipur. But when I finally arrive it will be curry and ghee bliss. I did have a nice thanksgiving though. Check out the pictures. I cooked all that by myself! Clocwise from the top we have a fresh salad with bell pepers and fennel, a miniture turkey, steamed greens sauteed in white wine with almond slices, my first attempt at stuffing, butterlicious candied yams, awesome gravy with truffle oil, and my favorite, cranberry rellish. The people sharing dinner are all the nice folks in Leuven who have hosted me in their apartments, my new family. I am very thankfull for them and I didn't even have to use coughsurfing dot com. The lighting is a little dramatic but you could say we had a modern Thanksgiving dinner.

Amsterdam and Brussels

I had a good time hanging out with Jason and his friends in Amsterdam. I also got to wander around Brussels a bit where I saw the weird human body exhibition in a centuries old brick arches basement that used to be a butchery.

I have navigated myself nicely into Belgium and was received well in the city of Leuven , a small but important city in the Dutch region, buy an ambitious group of engineering students. Thank you Group T VDS team for being so helpful and inviting. Hundreds of years and plenty of half decent planning have turned this place into a problem free family town full of history and culture. Bricks, cobble stones, and gothic architecture texturize everything.

Leuven has about the same population as Davis and only takes 20 minutes to walk across but feels like San Francisco with 150 bars and three story buildings lining every street. The massive and dramatic architecture of the Catholic churches and town hall add to the effect. On the weekends markets pop up selling piles of cheeses and other such goodies. Bakeries of the spungiest bread hang out on most street corners. Leuven is nice, a little too nice. There is no crime here, not that anyone can remember. It is the sort of place you would love to raise a family in but would be itching to leave if you grew up in. Most of the students, and they are about half the town's population, go home on the weeked leaving the city relaxed and uncroweded for the locals to enjoy. Bicycles rule the streets but follow the system or you will be fined on the spot by the police.

Belgium is really about one thing, beer. Quite a long time ago, Trapist monks from France settled here in monestaries called Abbeys and perfected the art of brewing, austensibly to preserve grain. So a Trappist or Abbey beer is usually bery nice. Their beers can be quite hearty indeed. Drinking an Abbey or Trapist beer here in Belgium is unlike any experience I have ever had. I never knew I liked beer so much. It is one of the most magnificent beer cultures in the world where local beers are celebrated and consumed dutifully by the locals. The famous beer, Stella Artois actually has its brewery here in Leuven. I am planning a visit soon. A 250 ml pour of Stella a the bars costs $2, no tip please.

Well I have a lot of work to do with the electric car project. Does anyone have a 10 kWh battery pack they can lend? And I have lots to see here in Europe before Christmas. I would like to get a good taste of Belgium and Holland. Any suggestions?

Leaving Africa

It is my last day in Africa for at least a couple of years, until the World Cup maybe, and I am more proud than a soccer mom to report that other than a couple mild head colds and occasions of soft stool I have remained illness free for my three months here. I want to give a big thanks to my stomach who endured so much but kept its cool all the while.

So of course there is much to be taken from my visit. But, all I am prepared to say at the moment is I have had some deliciously memorable encounters, none to them too painful. People, in general, are perspiring with beauty, almost against their wills, and in the last three months I have been privy to a lot of that beauty, unpracticed as it may be.

My final days here in Kampala have been relaxed and enjoyable, spending some time with the friends I made and hanging out at bars. I finally came around to this city a little bit. There is a lot here to be discovered and if you are into Mad Max it makes it quite a bit easier to settle down. On an unfortunate note I never made it to the expat bars.

With regards to my the international car of the future efforts the student I was working with gave me one of the most detailed and thorough reports ever that applies directly to the work I will be doing in Belgium helping a student team at the University of Leuven build an electric car. Unfortunately I was not able to assist the team here much.

Big day for us all anyways. Election time. I will be in a plane or at an airport when the world learns if America (dont they mean the USA?) will elect a liberal black man to redeem itself for the recent years of being a global does whatever it wants. Thats a pulpy breakdown at least. My views on the subject are too wierd to put into writing so Ill leave it to your imagination. I wish I were here in East Africa when Obama wins (it looks like he is going to win doesnt it). I can imagine the party lasting for weeks. Of course, if Obama doesnt win it might be a good thing for me to be gone.

I wont be voting. It was just too complicated for me to anticipate. As a Californian, it doesnt mean much for the presidency anyways, but I will be sorely missing the opportunity to vote on referendums and measures to give free hybrid SUVs to all the yuppies in silicon valley and employ me when I return, to specifically define marriage as ungay, and for some animal rights.

When I pop my head up next Ill be enjoying the culture shock of paved roads, and the imaculate combination of chewey bread, creamy stinky cheese, and good wine or maybe beer. Western world here I come.

Lake Bunyoni

After leaving Zanzibar on the night ferry, thank you mom for the extra thick sleeping pad, I made my way across Tanzania from Dar Es Salam to Kabale in South Western Uganda via a 40 hour bus extravaganza, thank you mom one more time for the extra thick sleeping pad. These photos are in revers order starting with the bus ride. Does anyone know how to format in Blogger? It just gets messy when I try. Anyways, whats an Arch Bishop doing leering at me through the wind shield? The pin striping on the front of our bus is to reinforce cracks in the glass rather than add flair although I am sure the flair is welcome. A peace corps grandam on the same bus put me up in her apartment in Kabale. The hot shower, big bed, and grilled cheese sandwiches were much appreciated. Kabale is cooler than most of Uganda at 1000 meters or so which means cheese will keep unrefrigerated. Taking advantage of this and the abundant local free range organic grass and trash fed cow milk a Belgian has settled in Kabale and makes loaves of fabulous cheese for the area. The next morning I headed to lake Bunyoni.

Bunyoni is a magical place with cool swimable water (no germs), scattered islands and winding shorelines that give the moderately sized lake a lot of depth. Terracing covers every bit of available land giving the space a fun geometrical aspect. The folks who call Bunyoni home manage well scratching the dirt to cultivate their crops. It is quite rural but by no means empty. Where ever I went I would find people.

I stayed at a backpacker's resort on one of the islands, Byoona Amagara, which means All of Life, at the recommendation of Shannon who patroned the place a year earlier. I though the name a little pretentious but still cute and nice. They have a fun symbol adapted from the popular yin yang with land, water, people and the sun and a flag of the Earth. I felt my Pagan tendencies vibing well with the place. Here I finished reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, over a thousand pages of philosophical econ-adventure love making. I was very proud of myself for reading such a mammoth and slightly disturbed buy its contents. If you ever feel the urge to take on a solid hyper conservative challenge, read Ayn Rand. I heard she slept with Alan Greenspan when he was in college.

One day, I set out on adventure to cross the lake and climb the tallest hill (reference the photo with the boat) . I packed some food, water, and my camera and set out in one of the dugout canoes made locally from eucalyptus. These canoes are an engineering marvel. Their natural state is to spin in circles, an effect called the mzungu corkscrew. I have never encountered a raft with such abominable dynamics and I immediate wanted to instruct the ship builders on the wonders of tapered tails. Paddling strait takes considerable effort and attention but it was a fun challenge and I was able to take my time. I moored at a trading post on the far side of the lake and explained my bizarre goal to climb the hill simply to look around. I was issued a guide and set off after a few brief formalities.

I was feeling good. Picking a hill top in the distance and setting out to scale it is something I fantasise about on a regular basis but rarely get to take on. I enjoy having a straightforward goal to reach and always take pleasure in observing a place up close and personal. It is the hikers high but with a complicating twist; there is no set trail to follow. My guide led me part way up the hill to a nice new medical clinic with solar panels and a metal roof. From here I was on my own. Along the way we encountered the most startling sight I have seen in a long time, a disheveled man lying on the ground and babbling to himself with shackles on his legs. I asked my guide what was up and she swirled her finger around her ear to indicate that he was crazy. Unfortunately, I was too shy to take a picture. I desperately wish I had because it would have been quite compelling.

I really wanted to take pictures of people because they are often more interesting than even the stunning landscape but many people are shy or feel imposed upon, understandably. I soon figured out a couple techniques for getting people pictures. You can always take a picture from a safe distance but for a close up I would offer a snack, I had a lot of fruits and small cornbread rolls with me. If I didn't want to give up my food I would offer to send them the picture when I got home and I would write down their mailing address in my note book. Once I took one picture and showed whoever was there the image on the screen suddenly everyone wanted a picture. Digital cameras are cool. At the medical clinic I was offered a lunch of beans and potatoes but I refused, weary of the time and not being able to escape my host if I consented. A single potato half was forced into my hands as I went on my way up the steep hill.

After some wandering I found a quaint new church near the top and poked my head in to have a look. The minister was there with some painters preparing for the church's blessing by the region's bishop or something. The minister was friendly and offered me some tea. After having climbed a thousand feet or so some sugary caffeine sounded quite nice. I forgot, however that 'tea' means 'stuff the guest full of carbs until they cant move' in Ugandan. I required a brief visit before I was on my way but to no avail as potatoes, an array of sweet potatoes, beans, and tea were brought out for my host and myself to enjoy. It was actually quite good and I enjoyed the break, greedily drinking several cups of tea. Afterwards the minister took me on a mini tour of the hill top. We stopped by the primary school which had some impressive rain water harvesting. Before rain water harvesting the people on the top of the hill had to haul water up in plastic cans, an ominous task usually given to barefoot children. There were now many rain water harvesting tanks on the top of the hill, all recent additions. At the very peak of the hill the minster pointed out Rwnada in the distance.

I bid the minister farewell and began the trek back down the hill on the other side, taking my time. The baby in the picture saw me coming towards it down the path and turned running to its mother screaming and crying. I felt like a monster but was able to make amends by offering a banana and performing a juggling act with some passion fruit. I made more friends and took more pictures on my way down and finally made it back to the trading post late in the afternoon. If I was to get back before dark I needed to head back right away. I was blessed with the local spirit made from bananas, waragi, by the local drunks and found my boat with the paddle missing. I had no money and wasn't getting any help so I grabbed another paddle thinking it would be replaced by the one I came with eventually. Awkwardly, I chanced to grabbed a legless man's paddle who was now screaming at me and rushing my boat. I hesitated to push off because this guy looked like he meant business and would probably be able to catch me on the water. Just then a bystander spotted some children coming back in a canoe with my paddle. I happily returned the legless man's property and he angrily threw it back into his boat with a loud thud. The children looked a little embarrassed but no worse for wear. I regained my oversized ladle and headed out.

I was eager to get back before dark as dinner often took three hours to be served after an order and I was disappointed to find the wind heading strait at me. I tried to be clever and hide from it as much as I could by hugging the shore but it was not much help if any at all. The return paddle was a long and difficult one fighting the wind, cramping arms, and the torments of children along the shore line asking me for money and my name. I began to speak nonsense to them just to keep myself in good spirits. Eventually, I made it back in one peace and surprisingly full of energy. Settling down to a couple beers and a fine meal I reveled in my adventure. It was a good day.

Silly Thngs

Bada bing bada boom. I am presently settled down in the lovely city of Kampal, Uganda's undisputed metropolis. This city has a real intimacy about it. The smells, tastes, and textures like the warm armpit fully coddling my knee in the taxi-van dont permit me to maintain much personal space. Muddy streets soil my shoes after the frequent tropical rains. Municipal power and diesel generators tag team to keep the city lit at night. I had four articles of clothes and my super expensive hand made by white people leather sandals repaired for the price of a beer. I wanted to cry when I was asked for so little to pay for a service that would have been dozens of times more expensive and taken days back home. Playing football is the highlight of my day. It is often muddy and slippery but the competition is good. I haven't played this much in years and I am probably over doing it. My hips have locked up in a way that only hours of patient yoga can remedy.

After some jostling I managed to score a dorm room, unfurnished, for $30 for the two weeks I will be staying. If I were three or four years younger it might be the sort of thing that interests me but now it is more of a place to rest my head than be social. Tasteless hip hop plays loudly on repeat down the hall. The same dated M&M song over and over and over again. Other than poor musical taste the dorm has everything you need; door to door laundry service, a convenience store with bagged vodka and boxed juice, a pool table, 24/7 football TV, and a restaurant with 'food' as an item on the menu. I made the mistake of ordering 'food' with my beans (I was making a burrito) and I was surprised with a heaping plate of three types of tasteless starches - rice, corn flower, and matoke (non sweet banana like starchy stuff in mashed form). "Do you want food?" I was asked. "Yes, I want beans," I ignorantly replied. Uganda has a lot of things going for it but flavorless starch as a staple diet is not one of them.

When I feel like being social I can call upon a harem of young university boys to escort me to football games on the TV, hand in hand (quite literally) or hit the night clubs with a crew of Rasta MCs I met the other night. There are some pretty first class clubs here if you are into Hip Hop. The real treat for an evening out is the ride on the motorcycle taxi. The underpowered two wheelers never go very fast but no one gets a helmet so the rained on asphalt rolling beneath you keeps your heart racing. I have heard there is a lot of good fun to have in Kampala if you know where to look but in my two weeks here I'm not going to fuss and instead try to focus on the international car of the future project. Maybe I will look for an expat bar or two.

I have connected with a very legitimate engineering student, Paul, who is teaching me all about CAN networks (all the computerized stuff in cars). He single handedly developed the network for a prototype vehicle built in Turin this last summer, a feat which defines him as a very capable person in my mind. I am very lucky to have met him and that the Makerere team has been working on the computer control and networking for the project because, for my next stop in Belgium, I have been tasked to work on the same aspect for an electric vehicle being built to showcase a new motor some students at the University of Leuven developed. Hopefully I will get access to the computer lab soon so I can do some research. Dont tell the Belgians but right now my learning curve is very steep. Otherwise, I am very excited about the prospect of doing some hard core vehicle development and using my brain powers. To be honest, I am also looking forward to blending in.

First Big Idea

First, the background.

The question can be posed simply enough. With so much inequity in the world, as a person of privilege, what can you do to help those with less? Charity comes to mind. Food aid, medical services, money for schools, these are all worthy causes we can donate money to but it often comes with an uneasiness of how the money is being spent. We can only hope that the majority of it gets to the people it is intended for and is not skimmed by some local dictator warlord wanabe hip hop star for his own private Escalade. Whats more, we should also be weary of the dependency factor. Any real long term solution should probably come from within the society seeking it. Gifts of aid may alleviate short term suffering but at the same time teach those who receive it to look for handouts rather than work for what they need and lead to a greater need for subsidies in the future.

What I think we should ultimately do, and I dont take credit for this idea, is to empower people to better their own lives. If giving aid is the opposite of empowering then perhaps we can share our expertise. An example might be to hold a workshop on developing a business plan or teaching local children to build better stoves for cooking so they can share the knowledge with their community (thats what i did). Often, however, the shared expertise is not internalized and crumbles when the expert leaves as I have observed with many of the stoves built with the help of ambitious German experts before I came to Uganda. There must be a motivational trigger that leads to the ownership of the shared expertise so that it will be valued and carried on into the future as a tool for improving ones life. Ownership I believe is the key. For someone to take care of something, an idea even, they should be personally invested in it. Finally, for an idea to really spread it should make everyone money, including you.

So here is my idea - third world anarchist computer labs/internet cafes. As a person with privilege one could front the capital to buy a set of decent computers and a nice facility. Quality but not too fancy. Hold low cost, very affordable but not free, tutorials or classes ranging from how to turn the computer on to calculating dividends in Excel and organizing political revolutions through Facebook. The tutorials are not your money maker but they will create a market for your computer lab. Once you have infused the local population with computer skills the more industrious ones will be able to use the worlds resources to improve their lives and that of their community all by themselves all the while spending their change for the use of your capitol.

What excites me about the potential of computer/internet skills is the social aspect. People previously controlled by ignorance would now be able to inform and organize themselves perhaps even better than their oppressors. With one clean stroke of the wireless internet antenna, under privileged people the world over will be given the tools to access unlimited resources. It is a dramatic leveling of the playing field with minimal investment.

Third world internet cafes are happening already thank to the recent explosion of cell phone coverage. I believe some day internet literacy will be the norm for all but the most remote outposts but it would be nice to speed it along, to make it happen faster and better. So, if you are looking to make a difference, have a leaning towards populous or decentralized power, and need a job, apply for a grant to open up a third world anarchist computer lab/internet cafe and make it happen. You could even do it in West Fresno if you don't want to move to Uganda.

I Got My Shoes Back!

When I was staying on the north of Zanzibar, in Nungwi, I went to a full moon party on the beach where a bunch of resorts are. Curiously, it was three nights after the actual full moon but the idea was mainly for a bunch of tourists and beach boys (locals who work the snorkeling tours, sell silly paintings of Massai, etc.) to get drunk together and party all night long under reassuring light of the full moon. At one point in the evening I took of my nice new soccer shoes to dance in the soft sand with others to the dj's hip tunes. An hour or so later I returned to find my shoes and socks missing along with the key to my hotel room I was hiding inside. "Crap!" I thought. I had bought those shoes, new shoes are a big investment for me, specifically for this trip so I would have something comfortable and nice to wear other than sandals that I could also play soccer in. I resigned to my fate that they were gone forever and I would have to buy another pair somewhere. In the back of my head I secretly hoped to find them being sold on the streets of Zanzibar and reclaim them triumphantly. But that was just an absurd fantasy.

One and a half weeks later, in Stone Town, I saw the Massai in the photo above walking down the street past me and wearing my shoes! Isnt he cute. Look closely and you will see his shirt buttons misaligned. It was totally unreal. I stopped him and attempted to explain the situation, half expecting to not get my shoes back but happy at the irony of actually having found them again. He didn't speak any English or didn't care to but was entertaining my conversation, maybe it was the powers of my Massai bracelet, so we got the help of a passerby to translate. I managed to convince all that these were indeed my shoes and was able to buy them back for 10,000 shillings. What a triumph. I was surprised at the young man's willingness to cooperate but I suspect that he felt a certain powerful guilt that overcame his greed and he feared the consequences of bad karma if he didn't return the shoes to its rightful owner for a fair price. I am feeling very lucky indeed.

Ramadan has ended and with it four days of festivities have begun. Tonight is my last night in Zanzibar. It has been a fabulous stay. Tomorrow I will set off to cross Tanzania by train and by boat to the southwestern border of Uganda where I will continue to relax for a few more days on the high altitude Lake Bunyoni. Coincidentally, I met the managers of the backpacker resort there on the night my shoes walked away from me. After Lake Bunyoni I will be back to Nkokonjero to follow up on my previous work and then Kampala to see about the future car work being done at Makerere University before leaving for Europe on November 4th.

Gone Fishing

The other day I went fishing. I wanted to hitch a ride by wading into the rising tide with a ten dollar bill and a pack of cigarettes waving above my head, speaking for themselves if my oral language skills weren't adequate to make the offer. Every day nearly a hundred 20, 25 ft wooden dhows, single sail boats which cant be tacked in less than three minutes, set sail for the horizon for an honest days work and to bring in a few hundred pounds of fish meat. I have a thing for sailing and this opportunity brought my excitement level right up there with sky diving. There is something so pure and honest about fishing in a wooden sailing boat that I yearned to partake, something unalterably necessary and decent that is timelessly reflected by the endless expanses of the sky and sea which encompass the endeavor.

My ambition proved to be bigger than my courage and I negotiated the trip through a 'friend' I had met in the village for $30. I brought a few cigarettes as a courtesy. Each boat caries four crew and perhaps a half kilometer of net. Along with other odds and ends my favorite accessory was the 5 gallon metal bucket with a large square hole in the side that served as the boat's stove. Sailing was good in the gentle wind past the pristine turquoise reef shelf and into deeper water. We had left mid afternoon and just before sunset we were casting the net, "pole, pole." It seemed to take forever and I couldn't imagine bringing it back into the boat loaded with fish. The small shallow keeled boat (maybe it doesn't really have a keel) was rocking badly from the small swells that came to our side as we unloaded the net. Thankfully, once the net was out it was tethered to the front of the boat and the wind swung us around to face the swells head on adding a bit of bearable pitch and keeping the yaw to a more sparse and random occurrence still vicious when it came.

All the while a fire had been raging in the ships stove with about five pounds of cassava root boiling above it. This would be our Ramadan dinner. Two of the crew, none of whom spoke more English than my Swahili, took time for a prayer, facing north, just as the sun went down on the ship's small deck. The other two sparked up a few spliffs in preparation to pass the long night so I joined them, feeling an ounce of camaraderie. The cassava was a little undercooked but it was accompanied by some overcooked tuna that had been caught on a line to make it more bearable. We shared the dinner on a large aluminum plate sans forks or chopsticks.

Then what? The sun had gone down and the net was out. It was time to wait for the poor unsuspecting fishies to deliver themselves blindly into the net. No one had an instrument or a musical talent worth sharing. No one produced playing cards or a board game. The two Muslims prayed again a few hours later. Thankfully there was a small radio with decent reception that played a mix of American pop radio. I brought out my snacks and offered them, some bananas, peanuts and sweet bread. I didnt bother sharing the cigarettes because I was already fighting the thought of nausea from the pitching waves and an ounce of nicotine over that rolled into the splifs might have sent my bowels over the edge. There was, however, the night sky. It was a cloudless night with a full and shining milky way right above us. I tried to recognize constellations but failed. The Big Dipper was not up or too far north. The Southern Cross was similarly missing in the South and Orion may or may not have been out, it was hard to decide. The stars were spectacular though and calmed my stomach. In the distance I could see a faint glow from a township on the neighboring island of Pemba, still a good 6 hours sail away, and the lights from our fishing village reassuringly near by. Looking overboard I began to hallucinate spots of light in the water. They kept happening and more so where the waves splashed against the bow of the boat. This was a very real hallucination. I leaned over the side and sloshed my hand about in the water. A trail of glowing sparkles followed my fingers like magic pixie dust. Startled, I jumped back. That was some really good herb - I though. I grabbed a fire wood stick, about the size of a broom handle, and stirred the water. Sure enough, the phosphorescent plankton were out in force giving the sea a magical life of light in the night to match the speckled stars above. I yelped out to the crew in the excitement of my discovery. They barely mumbled a word as if they couldn't see what was going on or had seen it so often they didn't care to notice. They seemed more amused by my stirring of the water than the light show below the surface. I amused myself for a while thinking it might be long before I got another chance to have such fun.

As the night wore on the crew produced blankets and plastic tarps, I got a nice big blanket and a dirty canvas sheet, curled up on the damp hard wooden floor and went to sleep with the radio singing lullabies. The though of closing my eyes nearly scared the cassava out of me. I was horrified. How was I going to survive the night without sleeping or throwing up? Slowly, after contemplating many things, I slouched down farther and farther into the bottom of the boat. I found that lying down actually reduced the linear movement of my body and after a while I was tired enough to actually close my eyes and fall asleep, sort of. Ill call it rest.

The moon came up well before daybreak but apparently signaled time to collect the net. Bodies slowly stirred and moved into action. Pulling in the net was a more difficult task and fortunately I was relegated to watching. I was secretly hoping for a good catch so the fishermen might think I brought them good luck and talk about me favorably to their friends in the village or at least smile at me. For a while, though, the net came back empty and I began to wonder about their tactics. When we laid the net I had expected to come around with one end and round up a bunch of splashing fishies. Instead we just cast it and pulled it back in like an marine fly trap. My worries were dashed in dramatic fashion when I was called to help haul in a fish that turned out to be a 150 pound Manta Rey. Not long after we hauled in a 7 or 8 foot blue marlin with a big nasty spear on its nose and a beautiful latex dorsal fin. A second marlin followed shortly. Four 2 ft tuna rounded out our catch. I was surprised to find the fish completely lifeless upon entering the boat. I guess they die when they get tangled in the net some how. A bit sad but bearable since fish eyes aren't so compelling.

It was still entirely dark and starry when the net was finally pulled in. Right away the crew hoisted the sail and pulled it tight to slice back into the wind towards Nungwi. The smallest tuna was gutted and its left half was chopped up for breakfast. I had been fantasizing about raw tuna for a while now, seeing all the fresh catches at the fish markets, but wasnt able to get my hands on any as sushi had not found its way into the culture. I knew the diced tuna before me was destined for the boiler so I grabbed a flabby chunk, rinsed it in the ocean and sunk my teeth into the soft red flesh. It was exceptionally good, fresh as raw fresh tuna could be. After precariously firing the metal can stove with hot smoldering coals falling out on the the deck of the wooden boat every so often the tuna was served with a heaping mound of white rice seasoned with the juices from the boiled fish. I was beginning to grow sick of the smell of fish. It was on my hands, my shirt, my pants, the boat and the hundreds of pounds of dead fish in the boat. I ate some breakfast but wasn't too hungry.

Sailing was slow into the wind and tacking didn't seem to be an option. After some discussion with the crew the captain decided to bring down the sail and power our way back with the outboard. The motor had the equivalent power of a scooter and we didn't cause much of a wake but it was an improvement over the sail. The sun began to lighten the sky over the horizon and I could see other masts scattered about the water, making their way back, hopefully with loads of fish, after a nights work. The ride back was quite and slow save for the mild rumble of the outboard motor. Not much was said. I found myself quite tired and ready for a shower and a nap. I was very pleased, however, at our bounty. The two marlins and manta ray seemed to me like an impressive catch and wondered how we fared compared to the other boats making their way in.

Before we reached the beach we ran out of petrol and the motor went silent. The sail was hoisted on its wooden pulleys and wooden masts and we kept moving, into the wind, towards our destination, forced to make at least one tack. When we arrived the sun was fully bright and strangers helped us haul the fish up the sand near a little shed where a crowd of men gathered. Within seconds of laying our fish down they were being auctioned to any who cared to be standing around. No scales were needed, just eyeballs. A small, energetic old man rattled out numbers in Swahili, counting up when someone gestured and approval. The two marlins went for 80,000 Tanzanian shillings each, the manta ray for 60,000, and two of the tuna for 40,000. 1,000 Tanzanian shillings is about $1. I hung around for a bit to marvel at the scene and after finally realizing that I was near delirious with fatigue I stumbled back to my hotel room, took a bucket shower and went to bed.

Where once there was light, darness now sits. A cloud of of terrific weight has rumbled in over my eyes and mind so that I can no longer see what is real. The tides, do they still follow the moon?

In my youth I sought with empirical exactness to wrap my elastic mind around the physical world, especially the parts we can see and push with our own muscles. It was a natual inclination for me and a joy; I even began to believe I was good at it. There was one particularly beautiful mystery I sought to bring my head around to for a theoretical analysis, to shine light upon a cloaking shadow; a timeless question to be understood as well as our own bodies - what causes the tides?

In my head I visualized and deductively reasoned that the tides are caused by a swing dance between the Earth and Moon. On the near side, the Moon's gravity pulls the oceans up. On the far side the centripital force from the Earth swinging the moon on its monthly path like an adult swinging a little child around by the arms (playfully) pulls the oceans up as well so that it is stretched into an oblong shape in line with the moon. I was so proud of my discovery because no one seemed to know it, like a riddle, only that the moon is responsible.

Recently I have been spending a lot of time looking at the ocean where tides are very obvious and I have noticed a peculiar thing. The low tide follows the moon so that the star fish are drying out when the moon is high above. What? Thats all wrong, doesnt match my model. Where is the logic in it? The high tide should come with the moon then again when it is opposite. Sure enough, however, night after night, I could see the tide was lowest when the moon stood directly above.

Nobody could help me. All of the locals I have asked dont even have an explanation for the Milky Way, so I consulted the oracle, Wikipedia. As it turns out the sun is also responsible for tidal movements in the same way the moon is, duh, just to a lesser extent. But, that doesnt explain my observation which was most obvious when the moon was full and the sun would be complimenting the moon's pull, in a syzygystic state. Other factors are said to have influence, basically the inertial sloshing of the oceans as in a bath tub and the tilt of the Earth.

I am now lost on the subject, with my head in a pile of coal, inclined to believe the science of the Oracle but unable to escape the observations that haunt me. For now, what I saw will remain as an anomaly and proof that this world is happily more magical than my scientific mind can manage.

Slowly, Slowly

"Pole, pole," (Spanish pronunciation) it means, "slowly, slowly," and is my favorite theme here in Zanzibar, advice given prudently so as to come across like thundering wisdom. Its amazing how often it fits. The hustle bustle etched into my character is struggling to cope. It actually hurts me to slow down, but I can do it, I need to.

After some ups and downs in the world of haggling for cell phones and motor bikes, some very favorable characters and some not so favorable ones, I have a cell phone and I have returned a really fun dirt bike unscathed (I had never ridden one before) after zipping around for three days and paying more than I should have in spite of my best efforts. Never the less, I got to explore some dirt paths off the main road and enjoyed myself thoroughly. Those who know me well understand my desire to explore unassuming dirt paths to no where in particular. Often times it can lead to somewhere spectacular. To give a laundry list, I found two sacred caves to explore, a coral brick mine, a sea turtle conservatory which might also double as a sea turtle prison, some nice fishing posts, lots of resorts, and a giantly massive Baobab tree.

I have been staying at a beautiful old dump of a resort right on the beach, the Dere Beach Resort, for the past week. My room opens directly to the sea. Nestled in the quiet village of Bwejuu, an amazing ad hock town of coral bricks, cows, and sandy soccer fields, Dere is the first hotel on the East coast of Zanzibar (there are now dozens) even though it is only 20 years old. It has since gone into a bit of disrepair and I found myself the only tourist renting a room. Many locals and migrant laborers following the summer tourist industry like the Masai also rent rooms but for about a tenth the price I do even though I was able to bargain for a decent rate. I was assured after some investigation that the local rooms are not near as nice as mine. I chuckled inside hearing this. The porch to my room was being finished while I stayed with the money I offered for rent. It had everything I needed but wasn't quite, well appointed. My first night I had a surprising discovery of stinky pillows. The beds, there are two of them in case I brought a lover, were just too short for my 6' 1" frame and some sort of sea mold was growing happily on the screen windows. I didnt mind the quirks as it offered more of a cultural experience than I might have found in more legitimate situations. Indeed, I began to be accepted by the local community as a friend and not just a tourist bank account.

Bwejuu, like the other sleepy coastal towns, seems to be in both a state of disrepair and development. The foundations for houses lay finished, waiting for more funds to finish the walls and roof. Some have had to wait too long and are now large planters for weeds or municipal waste disposal sites. The construction techniques fascinate me. White coral blocks the color of the sand are mined inland and cemented together to form beautiful white walls the texture of pumice. Few walls are ever plastered over as cement is a more expensive material. Sometimes sticks are interwoven with the bricks. The roofs are framed with appropriate sized tree trunks, unmilled, and covered with woven coconut palm leaves tied down with coconut husk rope. This type of roof needs to be rethatched every five to ten years. If you are rich you can sport a corugated metal roof that will last considerably longer than the palm leaves but is louder than a riot in the rain and turns your house into an oven when it is sunny out.

The culinary delights here are exquisite. When the sun finally goes down and it is time to break the day's fast the food vendors wheel their carts out with advanced LED desk lamps or rustic tin can oil candles and cook up a storm. My absolute favorite is the tuna skewer caught fresh that day and seasoned just enough to give it some tang, $1. Other masterpieces include freshly squeezed sugar cane juice with lime, 30 cents per cup, and tangawezi or sweet hot ginger tea, 10 cents per cup. There are plenty of bread rolls, banana varieties, coconuts, and dates for me to indulge myself in secret during the day.

My swim with the fishies fantacies havent panned out quite like I expected, but, I have had some success. My main qualm is not being able to swim out to the pretty coral and marine life right off the beach like I had hoped. Instead one must hire a boat to take you to the right place but this requires money and planning and other people. I did it in Mombassa and it was nice so I guess Ill give it a try here. At low tide one can walk pretty far out and swim to some spectacularly mediocre aquatic life or hire a bike and some fins for $7 to ride down the beach to the crazy Italian Mega Resort where there is a nice lagoon not far out and offer the security $5 to not steal the bike and my backpack.

The Italians really swamp this place. So much so the young Masai men who travel here every summer to sell their goods to the happy beach going tourists can now speak fluent Italian to compliment their English and Swahili. The other night I was invited to join them in a traditional dance to impress the rich Italians. Apparently they didnt care that I am not in the slightest a Masai and I accepted eagerly as I secretly fantacized about jumping high like the people I saw on the Discovery channel when I was a kid. I joined them and did a terrible job of matching their bounds and pulled a muscle in my back real bad in the process which I am now recovering from. It is fun hanging out with the Masai, Bwejuu is a small town and we bump into each other often. They all wear their sexy Masai garb with knife, club, beeds and long hair complimented by designer glasses and cell phones I am envious of.

Does anyone want to kick down $400 so I can go on a four day scuba session? I have already been overspending nicely and cant bring myself to dip too deep into my savings. No? Thats ok. Ill find the fish yet.

Today I travel to a new corner of the island where the map shows the reef's end coming right next to the beach (fishies and coral please) and the young backpackers are said to be rowdy. I havent had a drink in a while (remember the Ramadan thing) so this might be nice.

The World Will Watch Africa in 2010

Happy first day of Ramadan and a shout out to all my friends returning from Burning Man. I hope your important synapses are still intact and you managed to forge some interesting new ones. Let me know how it went.

Tomorrow morning I board a plane to Mombassa where I will spend a couple of days then bus down to Dar Es Salam in Tanzania and ferry over to the island of Zanzibar where I can enjoy peace and quiet and all the swimming with tropical fishies on pristine white sand beaches I can handle. Yes!

Currently I am hanging out with Ivan, the boyfriend of the girl I stayed with in Bujigalli falls, Shannon's friend, in Kampala. Last night was a hoot. Ivan took me to a confirmation party for his neighbors kids. It was at a sports bar with a stage and celing fans immediately below the icycle blue flourescent lights adding a painful stobing effect. There were many words said by the preacher followed by a hip hop dance performance for our viewing pleasure. Much to my confusion I was next. I was led by the hand up on stage to perform to some Ugandan pop music, which I happen to like very much; it has a mellowness to it. I feigned fear then busted out some fancy dance moves learnt over the years on Fresno's West side. I was then asked to give a speach which I managed because I had been secretly fantacising one. "God is what unites us," I said and it seemed to go over well.

The 2010 world cup is going to be in South Africa. This is the first world cup in Africa. An African team has never won the world cup. Could this be the one? Wherever their is power and enough commerce to pay for sattelite television (always preceeds internet) there will be a sports theatre showing live games of the best teams in the European leagues. The big ones are Arsenal, Manchester Unite, Chelsea, and Liverpool, all from the English Premier League. The theatres charge about 30 cents and are often packed. I have made it a habit to see as many game as I can; its a good bonding experience. Arsenal is my adopted team because their first game of the season happened to be playing at the bar where the source of the nile is and I was able to grab a beer and get my $7 entrance fee worth of entertainment. Soccer games are on televisions everywhere here. The last internet cafe I was at had yesterdays games playing. The confimation party had four TVs showing various games from the Italian, Spanish and English leagues. Ugandans love their soccer and they are very good too. In Nkokonjeru I am able to play pickup several times a week just before sundown. The style of play is different than what am used to but I have enjoyed adjusting. Every player seems to have total control of the ball and themselves and has every option of passing, dribbling, waiting at their disposal. Here, soccer is a game of conrol rather than attack and defend. I would love to play a full game with my peers. So the World Cup is comming to Africa in 2010 and I will be here rooting for the a dark horse, any of them. There are many Africans playing in the European leagues and many of them are stars (a cause for so much interest here). Will they bring enough tallent back to their home countries to compete for the World Cup championship? Will half of Germany's team be stricken by Malaria and unbearable intestinal discomfort? We shall see. For once, Africans will hold the world's gase and I hope it turns into a triumph for the world's least weighted continent.