Exposures

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War Zone Day

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
Sri Lanka

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How can I possibly describe this serendipitous sort of day? More than ever, I feel destined day after day to accept what comes and what comes is usually fantastic.

We are now in Jaffna in the northern tip of Sri Lanka. It has just opened to tourism after a 30-year civil war. Dick is particularly interested in driving around and seeing the effects of the Tamil Tiger conflict.

From the little I have gathered (*and I would like to say right here and now… I am not an expert on this war), this was a 30 year conflict between the Tamils (mostly Hindu, who immigrated from India, (one of the southern states in India is called Tamil Nadu) and the Sinhalese (Buddhist and Christian and some Muslim population). The Tamils claim to fame is being the creators of the ‘suicide bomber’. The war was going on until 2009, not so long ago. Reading about the facts of the conflict and why the Tamils were supported by India leads to a similar time in history where another two-state solution happened producing India and Pakistan during the time of Gandhi (watch the movie!). Once again I am reminded that it is all quite complicated. The president now, who for practical purposes, is a dictator, but on the surface seems to have created peace and a lot of business development for a country that for thirty years was under siege. He seems to be like Kagame in that the focus is on the future, the past needs to be forgotten and NGO’s do not seem to be welcome.

So I hold judgment and stay open to all the stories that unfold before my eyes.

We get in the car and quickly find a Dutch residence – beautifully designed but roofless and gutted. Dick starts taking photographs and I find “treasure” in the form of broken red clay roof tiles with words and elephant logos. Next thing I know – two men come up and tell our guide they are Tamil refugees and want us to see their deplorable living conditions.

They tell us the government makes promises but only helps the Sinhalese, not the Tamils. We go to the village recording every word of a makeshift interview.

Supposedly their families went back to India as refugees during the war and came back in 2010. We are taken to open land (there are no leases given so there is no ownership and no fences). They live in put-together shacks made of stray container boxes ironically labeled “Handle with Care”, tin roofing, palm leaf walls, and bits of stray wood. Somehow they are well dressed and when we peek inside, we see a refrigerator hooked up to pirated electricity taken from someone’s legal line. I did notice nice looking outhouses and was told the government built 54 for both Tamils and Sinhalese. They tell us the government will not give them jobs or let NGO’s help either. They say their poor Sinhalese neighbors are given homes, etc.

Now, here is the rub. I notice a nice residential neighborhood and ask who lives there. They casually say Tamils, just like our poor destitute friends who have been showing us around, so I ask the obvious question, “Why can’t they help you?” They say in true Indian fashion, “They are a different caste. They can’t help us.” This is so confusing and frustrating. They are asking foreigners to help when their own people would not.

We are given a photocopy of a list of all the Tamil families living in these harsh conditions. We decide not to give them money or promise anything but do give them our contact info. All of a sudden, two soldiers (or police) come up, take us to their boss, a lieutenant and ask our names, passports and “reason” for snooping around. Dick’s sweet-talking ends up with a friendly photo-op with our new friends.

We leave perplexed by it all. What is the truth?

We spend the rest of the day visiting Hindu temples – a treasure trove of colorful reliefs of many gods that make up a belief that is so complex.

We shoot photos of hundreds of destroyed buildings, go thru checkpoints, and are turned back for reasons we don’t understand.

By the end of a very long day, photo weary but happy eating the best Tandoori chicken ever and only seeing 2 other foreigners, we decide that northern Sri Lanka is ripe for tourism being a fascinating mix of history and a culture which includes three of the world’s oldest religions living side by side.

 


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The Morning On The Water

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
Sri Lanka

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We found ourselves in a magical haven tucked into the countryside of Sri Lanka. I am writing this entry in honor of my dear mermaid friends whose love of nature; water and birds find me wishing they were right with me this very minute.

This is our second day. We knew yesterday at breakfast, as we were dining on the open terrace overlooking the pool and rice paddies watching pairs of brilliant blue and green parrots and black-hooded golden orioles fly back and forth, that we were in ‘bird country’.

We are so lucky. We end up at the right place at the right time. Little did we know that the two lakes surrounding this property turn to mud in the dry season around August and therefore there are no shore birds or lush green topical plants to see.

The sounds… ahhhh, the symphony of sounds – the catlike call of the peacocks in the trees looking for mates, the cuckoo, parrots and hundreds others that impart a very different melody than at home. I wake up early just to go out and listen!

As we were biking yesterday, a very sweet “recreation guide” approached us… led us on a bike ride skirting the lake right at sunset to look for birds and watch a local put an inner tube in the water to wade out a long fishing net he would leave all night, catch the fish in the morning to sell at the local market. He convinced us to take an early morning kayak birding expedition the next day. He didn’t have to do too much convincing.

***But before we get to the next morning, I must tell you of our magical dinner. The resort calls it a “Signature Dining”. We could pick anywhere “outside” to dine alone… well, not exactly alone – a BBQ chef, a waiter, a ‘helper’ and, of course, the general manager magically appear to see how everything is – we tell him “heaven” could not be better – and, for Dick – not one mosquito!!! This puzzles us as we are surrounded by lots of water everywhere so we ask… answer… since this resort is “green” (solar panels, methane gas from compost, hot water from air conditioners, fiber building materials, organic food and filtered water coming out of taps) they put fish in waterways and rice paddies to eat the mosquito larvae…it works! Dick is in his own heaven. We dine under the stars and moon and paper lanterns to a feast of grilled prawns, fish kabobs, chicken sausage, drumsticks, grilled fresh pineapple and tomatoes with homemade BBQ sauce (Dick ate a bowl of it!), jacket potatoes with sour cream, and something which for me is gold… an array of cooked vegetables including pumpkin, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, carrots and more. The whole time you are eating, you wonder where on earth do they get all this to a resort which is so deeply remote. Dick had mentioned it was our 30th anniversary so after two desserts of homemade strawberry ice cream and cheese cake, they present us with a Linzer torte cake with “Happy Anniversary” written in chocolate and lined with fresh strawberries. The lit candle only made the evening sky that much more brilliant.

We wake up early… the pastel cool air drawing me outside to just listen and look. Our guide shows up with binoculars and we set off… on the way seeing a male peacock fly up in a tree (a first!) and all sorts of birds. I have to apologize to Lidia right now. I cannot remember many names but will research the bird book and give you a full report. I see two kayaks for 4 people and panic… I want to paddle not be Cleopatra… so Dick has a very sweet way of making this so… I am happy as a clam… Dick has his great big camera and skirts the shore shooting thousands of juicy shots. I get to paddle across the lake to an island to see the prize… a pair of pelicans with their fuzzy grey heads and baby cormorants nesting in the tree. We see flocks and ducks and big and little… the next exciting sighting is a flamingo… pink, white and black with its deep yellow bill… 3 types of blue and red kingfishers with their massive straight bills, tons of egrets so pure and white… and flycatchers with the long red tails.

*** Another confession… sometimes I get tired of being “guided”. I like the quiet, the exploring, and the being in a place without having to know the facts. My kayak guide picked up on this immediately. He gave me a few facts and a lot of “space” – just to experience the peace, the quiet, and the beauty.

And at the end of the ride, as I was coming to shore thru the water lilies… just for an instant but long enough to feel wistful… I felt as if I was at Tunk with all of you! But instead, was given a beautiful lotus flower by my guide to take back to our chalet.

 


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The People of the Kumbh

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
India

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Arriving back exhausted to our tent camp 12 hours from 1 in the morning til 1pm, I just witnessed the largest gathering of humanity celebrating spiritualism with a capital “S”!

After a rest of 15 hours, I wake up contemplating how I would describe something so enormous, so overwhelming to all the senses even down into your soul.

You see, I am an artist and wonder what medium I would use… Dirt, representing the riverbank where the Kumbh is located? Water, representing the sacred river for bathing in the Ganges? The Gates of the Gurus complexes… all unique in design… A collection of Prayer Beads and Shrines… representing all the gods revered or would it be a moving Procession of Gurus atop silver palanquins and embroidered umbrellas.

My mind says “No!” to all these ideas. It should be about the millions of People… Individual Portraits of each visitor, follower, foreigner and holy man. Each one framed beautifully and lined up row after row in a nice, neat grid – just like the Kumbh Mela. If I could work magic, I would give the viewer an opportunity to gaze at each person’s soul and spiritual journey… the yearning to be better, to live together in peace, love and harmony.

That is the Kumbh Mela to me!

 


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The Kumbh and Love

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
India

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The Kumbh Mela would teach me a lot about what it means to be a traveler. Simply, a traveler goes from place to place. Sometimes it is researched and planned but for me it is all about the mystery – the “not” knowing.

The Kumbh is so BIG, so overwhelming to the senses, so mystical that even my photographs and my humble attempt with words and drawings seem inadequate. Little did I know that my path would ultimately be about LOVE.

I am an artist. For several years my goal has been to spread love all over the world through a project, “You are Loved /Pass It On”. I wondered if everyone truly felt ‘loved’ in a deep soulful way, how could that change the world.

I printed my cards in Hindi, packed my bags and set off on what would be a spiritual journey.

Arriving in Mumbai, I am overwhelmed – the population, the intense busyness, even the traffic.

I don’t know what to do with my Love Cards. It just does not feel right. The card does not make sense. It puzzles me. Everyone needs Love. Right?

But, I am on my own journey and I have learned to accept whatever happens.

I arrive at the Kumbh and finally, it a makes sense. I realize that who would better understand my project than all the holy men, the gurus and sadhus. So I begin to give a card to every revered leader riding on a palanquin, sitting by a fire or performing an Aarti ceremony. Despite a language barrier, I see each time, their eyes brighten, their facial expression turn into a smile, the sweetness of love permeates their soul and, one time – a very quiet answer back, “I Love You”.

 


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Kumbh Mela – The Event

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
India

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Expectation

How can I get my head around a place which will hold 100 million bathers in 45 days? Words like” chaos”, “suffocation”, “claustrophobia” and “stampede” come to mind. Even so, curiosity gets the better of Dick and I and we must see it with our own eyes. We also secretly wondered if any of the faith and spiritualism would rub off on us.

 

Arrival

There are several bathing days that are peak experiences and since we could not stay the entire time, we had a difficult time deciding on which days would be optimal. Teesta, our travel agent, laughed when we kept asking, “But will there be people there?” Her response? “This is India – where are there not people?”

We decide to go at the beginning because I was very curious to see the “expansion” or I should say “explosion”. I also just could not understand how an event of this magnitude could be planned. People eat, sleep, poop and walk… 100 million of them!

We arrive at night. The scene is surreal – dusty, beige monochromatic dotted with electric lights lining the roads – all ‘temporarily’ constructed on the silty banks of the rivers (the Ganges being the dominant one). Monsoon season floods immense sections of land leaving behind in the dry season a perfect flat plain on which to build the Kumbh. Well, not so perfect as I notice tens of thousands of 3×6 foot iron plates bolted together in parallel lines making all the roads in this massive complex. Without them, no type of transport can deliver the building materials, food, fencing, etc.  Next, water. Yes, I know there are rivers but still the water must be piped into the interior. I wonder about sewage but after visiting a makeshift toilet shed – basically a shallow hole with two bricks to step on, I decided not to go down this path of thinking about 100 million pilgrims pooping and peeing. I am just grateful for my tent camp with my own makeshift ‘flushing’ toilet.

We walk watching the hundreds of guru complexes being built with fanciful gates of paper mâché horses, Hindu gods, draped with colorful satin and lit up with Christmas lights (I name the main drag the Las Vegas ‘strip’).

But the image that still remains with me is not the lights or pageantry. It is the huge billowing cloud of smoke set against the black horizon. Well, not actually black. The evening air is actually like pea soup, with tiny, fine dust particles reflected against the jarring fluorescent streetlights. Add to this soup, a toxic insecticide being sprayed from a tanker truck coming our way and knowing there is no escape. Just like there is no escape when they heavily spray throughout the cabin on every flight to a new country. Dick says for all we know it is DDT. Even before this night, I have wondered why my lungs have not rebelled into a coughing asthma attack. But, once again all I can do as a traveler is smile and “do as the Romans do”.  But with one precaution, I discreetly pull my scarf over my face.

 

Bathing Day

I could go on and on about the processions where holy men are paraded in silver palanquins giving candies and blessings to throngs of followers or watching 1000’s of poor pilgrims being fed free and given medical care at the more prominent guru complexes, the hundreds of locals who smile and ask “From which country you come from? Oh, America!”

I could talk about the notion after witnessing so many poor that I am now convinced I don’t need much in this world… A piece of tarp for a home, some rice and dahl and a sense of family and community. That’s about it.

But no expectation prepared me for the bathing day.

Waking up at 1 AM, we put on layers against the cold knowing by midday it would be sweltering, downed a cup of tea and a biscuit and set off on our own pilgrimage, walking 4 km to the Kumbh (no cars allowed this day foe safety and security).

First stop, the Nagas – the naked ash covered holy men who never cut their hair and are stoned with hashish most of their lives. (How else could they stay “holy” and withstand the cold?). There are many types of Nagas – one has stood on one leg for over 10 years and another has held an arm up until it is atrophied and ‘stuck’ in place. My personal highlight was giving my Love Cards out to any holy man I saw and seeing it accepted with a sincere smile.

There are thousands of them. As Dick said, “I have never seen so many penises in one day in my whole life!” I could not have said it better.

We are taken to an important ceremony that looks a lot like Iwo Jima – that is, if the soldiers had taken off their clothes and rubbed ash all over their bodies. The Nagas ceremoniously raise a flag pole (with the help of a modern machine called a crane!) and thus begins their own procession, decked in marigold garlands and Christmas tree tinsel, a bit frenzied and very happy to run to the river behind their naked leaders riding bareback own white horses.

 

The River

As we approach the river, we find a little corral where all the foreign press are staged. They are squeezing together like sardines to get that ever so famous shot of the Nagas taking the first plunge in National Geographic! Our own young guide sheepishly asks me I’d I would watch his clothes so he could participate in his first Kumbh. Quite poignant! Wave after wave of naked Nagas go by, running, jumping for joy – eager to get in and just as eager to get out of the freezing water. One amazing sight was watching them warm up by doing yoga, head stands, calisthenics and contortions of all types.

The fence would prove very useful, as police would warn us of a particular violent Naga group carrying sticks to beat anyone who comes near them.

I was impressed by how incredibly well organized the police were and how compassionate they were in working with enormous crowds of believers only using very shrill whistles to effectively control the crowds. Also, the holy men are segregated from the common pilgrims who were right on the other side of the fence… millions of them.

There is one unforgettable event on this day for Dick and me. By 10AM, we had been standing for 9 hours with nothing to eat. Dick announces he needs a brief power nap and convinces me that there is an open plot of land to do just that. We go there only to realize it was an open air public toilet where Indians have this uncanny way of privately but publicly just squatting and peeing. Nothing deters Dick so we find a “dry” section and plop ourselves down. Our guide, who had been told to stay with us every minute, thought we were crazy and went off to find a hunk of cement to sit on in a more civilized way then his wards. Dick closes his eyes, head in my lap as I am writing in my journal when I scream, “Wake up, NOW, RUN!” Approaching out of nowhere in a cloud of dust are hundreds of naked stoned Nagas stampeding our way to get to the water! So much for Dick’s nap!

Finally, we are watched out. Our souls are tired witnessing the spiritual journeys of others. At the end of it all – a spectacle the likes of which I will never see again – brings me to one more final question. Why did human beings evolve needing such rituals and beliefs? But BELIEVERS we are! Well, at least, most of us, anyway!

 


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Another Kind Of Journey

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
India

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There are so many reasons to travel but the best is when you slowly and surprisingly realize the purpose.

I always thought it was about seeing new and different places…

Checking off a list of sights and getting to know people in unique cultures.

But I am beginning to see a connection to what I am drawn to and it starts with my last few years at home.

I find myself always hungry to go into the next slum so I can witness and understand firsthand poverty and suffering.

I say this at the risk of being a downer. At home, the last couple of years have pushed me in this direction. My quest for understanding the homeless population in Boston has led me to the horrific Rwandan genocide to Apartheid townships and now the slums of Mumbai. I feel like I am drawn to the streets, the poor, the struggling – the question of “who” they are, how they got there and the million dollar question – what is the most effective way of helping these people?

There are many experts on this subject, many people already doing great work to chip away at this enormous problem and people like me, who find it overwhelming. One finds an air of “acceptance”. I have often wondered why foreign NGO’s are doing a lot of the work that the local rich could do. Many are… And I admit my exposure is very limited.

What I come away with are more the philosophical big universal questions like a Why does it exist at all? Why does it continue?  Why does it become invisible to our consciousness?

I pose this to you and would love to get feedback! All of you have your own wise thoughts that might help me put this puzzle of puzzlement together.

I look forward to hearing from you.

 


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Varanasi – City of Death

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
India

Have you ever been to a place almost 30 years ago and go back and feel like nothing has changed?

I remember the first time I went to Varanasi, it was all about fire and water and little clay pots.

We are here to watch the open-air cremations (2-300 per day) by the sacred River Ganges. All Hindus wish for this end, the most holy, and the best opportunity for nirvana.

It is all quite dramatic! As I wander thru the narrow lanes of the old city splashed with offerings on shrines found in every nook and cranny and vendors selling strings of marigolds, incense, shrouds woven with gold and tins of ghee to rub on the deceased for better burning… I watch families of mourners carrying their loved one’s body (one every five minutes).

Night seems to enhance these ancient rituals. It also conveniently covers up the “impure” habits of these wonderful people… The idea that garbage of any kind should be left anywhere and everywhere.

So, I prefer the darkness. It highlights the stacked pyres of wood (there is actually a rule governing how much wood a family is required to buy inI order for the body to be burned down to ash). I know there is a body burning but the blackness protects my sensibility and I only see the beautiful reflection of the flames on the water along with tiny tins of flower and votive offerings – one of which was mine! This is all quite charming in water that by day is full of trash, excrement, cinder and an occasional coin or gold necklace that was wrapped in the body and a scavenger will find the next day with a magnet fishing pole.

The cremations are the focus along with a beautiful ceremony, called Aarti, held at the edge of the river on platforms holding red-robed priests blowing conch shells, ringing bells, burning incense and brass pyramids of tiny candles chanting blessings galore.

As if this is not enough to burn a lifetime of memories into our minds, the next day brings another boat ride viewing pastel buildings of the past, the ‘ghats’ (steps leading to river) where locals are washing themselves, even brushing their teeth (remember in the same water as the night before!), and washing their clothes (beating the dirt out on a stone slab). Oh, and did I mention the sacred cow or two that seem to be using the river too!

Still, one can’t help but fall in love with the color, the ritual, and the seduction of the Hindu faith in the afterlife where life always gets to a better place.

 


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India Arrival and First Impressions

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
India

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Capetown to Dubai – 9 hours
Layover in Dubai – 4 hours
Dubai to Mumbai – 3 hours

I was apprehensive, curious and excited to be going back to India. What I remember is a place of dense population and colors everywhere mixed with a smog made of dust, automobile exhaust, humidity and poverty with a touch of the rich and famous (Dick’s friends from HBS and YPO).

In the last 2 days, we have dined in luxury… had incredible conversations about slum rehab and doing business in China from an Indian’s point of view… Visited Dharavi – the slum of “Slum Dog Millionaire”… Driven thru Kamati Pura – the red light district hearing the horrific stories of sex trafficking… Learned about “Pavement Dwellers”  – whole families literally sleeping on the streets and if you are lucky, under a piece of ragged plastic or fabric… Dhobi Gaat – the historically famous open-air laundry where “only” men use 730 cement vats to wash and line dry laundry… And lastly, the famous delivery of 200,000 lunch boxes daily by white capped men to all parts of the city. (Harvard Business School has done a case study where there is less than 1 mistake in 6 million deliveries.)

I am overwhelmed by the air pollution “thick as soup”, the crazy traffic, the garbage everywhere, the professional courtesy of the staff at the Oberoi, the thousands if not millions in poverty, the crumbling buildings, the makeshift shack stores, the opulent wealth, the ugly underbelly that every city can have but this major city shows too much of it, the marigold garlands adorning the doorway for good luck and the industriousness of making recycling big business in the slums.

I seem to be always attracted to the struggling, the poor and the history of how they got there. In every instance, I have been pleasantly surprised that our view of “slums” now includes the term “work” and “upward mobility”. These people are still stuck and it is not happening fast enough.

I had a strange experience. When I landed and took a taxi to our hotel, I was so overwhelmed by all of the above. Then I went to the slums which are ten times worse and looked at the same hotel route with new eyes- all relative.

Which brings me to my final thought… All this ultimately forces me to look at what ails our own country – our poverty, our policies, our homeless and unemployed. We are all in this together!

 


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Capetown

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
South Africa

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We just put Alex and Ben in a taxi to go home via Dubai. It is very sad to let them go. We had so much fun. Sacred time for me.

Cape Town is a cross between San Francisco and Boston set up against the sheer cliffs of Table Mountain and Lions Head, next to the Atlantic. We stayed in a private home that was cosmically a mix of my mother’s taste and mine. I felt like I had come home. Quite charming. We were lucky to be there Jan. 2 for the New Years Carnival Parade – brightly colored satin costumes and faces painted with glitter designs. Great band music. You can imagine how many pics Dick took while I have lots of video. We visited Robbins Island (like Alcatraz) where Mandela’s spent 18 of his 27 years in prison in a tiny cell. Our guide had been a prisoner himself. The highlight of our time for me was visiting many townships like Soweto where different NGO projects are happening. We visited a youth choir, women’s craft coop, organic community garden, tasted fried lamb fat and liver and watched a man making a living skinning cow heads piled up in a shopping cart (great video to share!). And, most importantly, collected lots of bottle caps – my new art material. (If anyone has any ideas on what to do with them, please let me know!)

So, I will end South Africa with this. Though I had a wonderful time and met wonderful people, I just could not shake the idea that though Apartheid has “ended”, the chasm between the rich and famous and the poorest of the poor to the tune of 1.6 million is still there. We heard time and time again that if it were not for the sanctions, Apartheid would still be existing. I spent my whole time trying to understand. Nelson Mandela was truly a miracle worker. I just wish we could clone him to continue his great work!

On to India!

 


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South Africa – Kruger

Text by Patty Simon | Images by Dick Simon
South Africa

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Our time in the great outdoors was incredible. We were the only guests, which meant our game drives at 5am and 5pm were fantastic because we could stay out or go anywhere we wanted.

Highlights included:

* The lodge itself – a huge flood last year wiped out the property so we walked into a brand new gorgeous home with cathedral ceilings of thatch, patio with dipping pool set with electric fencing all around close to a watering hole where we saw elephant, hyenas, baboon and impala come and go.

* First day found a pride of lions with youngsters, and lazy male. That night we  tracked them sleeping on the road hearing incredible roars back and forth.

* Driving on a ridge with a river below… Saw our first rhino – rhino are being poached at the rate of two a day – herds of elephants with babies, kudu, and bright blue kingfishers.

* Migrating Quelea- thousands of birds that swarm and make little balloon nests out of grass.

* Tracking leopard tracks on road we find vultures that give away the location of the kill made the night before. Smelling the rot of decay we find the eaten carcass of a young buffalo.

* And, of course, giraffe, herds of impala, more elephants, and much more.

We hated leaving but travel is travel and we head to Cape Town.