Nazareth

If you're going to build the largest church in the Middle East on the site of a previous church that was on the site of another previous church on the site where Mary was told by God she was gonna have his son, you have a pretty big bill to follow. My suggestion to future builders is to take a look at the current architectural trends and ask yourself "Is this a good thing? Will this last eternally, like Roman arches and Byzantine ceilings? Or is this 1969 and an era of avocado green appliances and shag carpeting?"

Too bad. It was 1969 and they wanted "modern".

The result is a concrete church with polka-dotted columns and angles that disrupt, not inspire.

To add to it, the walls are adorned by gifts from dozens of foreign countries and their own depiction of the Virgin Mary, including this "gift" from America.

To tie in a bit of history, they have created sculptured bronze doors, but the Duomo this is not.


While there are worse places to visit, I would not think the Basilica of the Annunciation will ever go down as one of the worlds, or Israel's, great monuments. But in another two thousand years....who knows.

Jerusalem

What a city to have changed politics and religions so many times and still remain fairly functional. Okay, there were years when the place was abandoned and lay in ruins, but she always seems to come back. And because of it's location and religious importance to the Jews, Muslims and Christians alike, there is quite a paper trail to document all of this.

The old city is broken into four main sections: Muslim, Jewish, Christian and Armenian, each with distinct characteristics. The Jewish section is mainly new since it was all blown up in the 40's, The Armenian section is quiet and fairly tourist free. The Christian and Muslim section are filled with souqs (markets or bazaars) selling all types of tourist trinkets, clothing, shoes, meat, spices, and food with smells that come at you from all angles, including hot baking bread, fresh ground coffee, sweets, pizza, everything.

The streets are narrow and perhaps give insight to why these people may never get along. The Jews walk fast, run actually, often with a book in their nose, or in deep debate of some religious importance, as they blaze trails through the crowds. The Arabs walk slow, like you do in the desert, and especially the women who can't see their feet and are most likely wearing unpractical shoes, the cobblestone roads are taken with care. Both the Jews and Arabs are toting along a horde of children, and the Arab kids all seem to have pop guns and rifles and they shoot at everyone with equality as they run about. The Jewish kids are very orderly and follow their parents, don't have guns and don't run. But the youngest kids are in strollers, sometime holding four at once in limousine fashion, and have to take each step (and there are a lot) at a snails pace, despite what quarter they hail from. Now, the Armenians and the Christians seem to walk at a medium pace and blend into the souq like they blend into the politics: invisible. But add into this a thousand tourists who zig-zag through the streets from shop to shop looking for that perfect Jesus Icon or silken scarf, and you have a walking disaster. It's impossible to get anywhere at any speed, fast or slow. I'm not sure if it's a lesson in patience or a recipe for disaster.

But the city is large enough to have empty side streets, and if you can manage to not get twisted around, you might eventually get to where you want to go, unless you are just wandering, in which case, you are already there. It's a great place to get lost in, and you can't get too lost because you will eventually hit one of the ancient walls and follow it to one of the five gates and find yourself free and clear of people. Then, you have to deal with traffic.

A Tour of Hezbollah, Lebanon

I went to Beirut to catch a plane back to Jordan. There was a chance that I could have gotten back into Syria, but it would have taken hours to find out, and I'm just not that into finding out the hard way. A flight all the way to Aqaba was only $200 and it allowed me to enter Israel at the very easy (aka no interrogation) border at Wadi Araba. It seemed worth it.

After visiting the tourist mecca of the Beirut Holiday Inn, which rivals Sarajevo's for best sniper position, I hailed a taxi to the airport.

Well, my driver was from Dahyl, a southern suburb of Beirut and seemed very upset I hadn't heard of it. "We are the home of Hezbollah! You must know. Come on, I'll show it to you!"

He gets off the highway and takes some side streets. Suddenly, there were a few bullet holes on the side of a building, then suddenly EVERYTHING was new.

"This is where Israel attacked in 2006. Everything go down. 182 buildings, but now Hezbollah rebuild it all. Iran helps us!" He shows me immaculate schools and hospitals. We pass a banner saying "Israel, you push, we push. You fight, we fight." and another saying that the USA supports Israel, so the USA did this.

Their famous leader, now dead, has his picture everywhere. he shows me his old home, and the Mosque where he talked. There is a sign banning cellphones and guns on all of the doors.

Then he shows me the Hezbollah TV broadcasting studios - "You know this, Hezbollah TV!" He's shocked when I say I don't, but I tell him I don't have a TV in America and he seems to accept this though he thinks it's strange. Imagine no TV. He wants to know why America gives so much money to Israel and not to homeless, unemployed people like me. I'm kind of wondering the same.

But aside from his narrative, I would have no idea that this was ground zero for scary terrorist activity. Basically, it's a suburb of Beirut between downtown and the airport. It's just Ramadan there and people are out and about and looking thirsty, not threatening. And the driver was so happy to share. So happy to tell all the great things about his organization and how they are helping the locals, because, he says, the Lebanese government isn't helping with the rebuild of homes or schools or hospitals or anything else.

Two sides to every story. Must be time to go to Israel.

Lebanon

It always seems that when I'm dragging my feet for a new country and not wanting to go that I am the most impressed. Lebanon has done that to me, as India did before.

I don't know if I was dragging my feet because I became just too comfortable in Hama, Syria, or if it was because of the attack on the southern border a few days ago, but either way, I kept putting it off. No longer.

The border crossing is on the Mediterranean and had a wonderful breeze of fresh salt air as I breezed through customs. I got out of the service taxi in Tripoli and found a pension in a families house within thirty minutes. Then off to cruise the old town and was even asked by the locals to take their photos. The old town is not charming, like Damascus, but real and alive. New buildings are built on the old and are each neighborhood sells different things. I particularly liked the furniture section and car repair sections for their friendliness and architecture. Who would have thought. And how nice is it to see woman working again, and their faces, arms and legs, too. It's been a long time.

Today I headed up into the hills to Bcharre, the hometown of artist and painter Khalil Gibran, which is nestled on the edge of a precarious cliff and was cool and enjoyable. I also visited the ski resort town (yes, you can ski in Lebanon) of The Cedars and walked through one of the last cedar groves in the country, which is a shame since it is their national symbol and on their flag.

Now I'm in a posh coffee shop sipping black coffee from a French press and surfing the web, free of censorship. What a difference a few kilometers make.

Tomorrow, the old Phoenician fishing port of Byblos, then Thursday off to the airport to return to Aqaba and headed west to the country you're not allowed to mention in these parts.

In two weeks time, I'll be back at Casa de Pico with the folks and enjoying San Diego with my new dig friends from there. Life is good.

Hama, Syria

I've been in Hama for long enough to think that if a person doesn't say hi to me as I walk down the street, s/he might be rude or a tourist. That's how friendly the world is here. If you need to cross the street and can't quite manage it like to locals, walk over to the cop at the corner, and he'll stop traffic for you. Easy as can be.

Hama's true charm is the Norias, or water wheels, that have supplied water to the homes and fields since the 4th century, though these are much newer (13th century) with some obvious reconstruction. They are wood in fresh water after all. At times there is enough water and wind that you can convince yourself it is raining which is quite the treat. Any amount of water is a treat after so long in the desert.

Around Hama there are also numerous ancient sites to keep one occupied. There is Apamea, an ancient Roman city which once housed half a million people, the Dead Cities which are Roman ghost towns now overgrown with olive groves, and two amazing crusader fortresses, Crac Des Chevaliers, known to be impenetrable, and Salahiddin's Citadel, buried high in the pine and juniper forests.

It's all very charming and an easy place to wile away the days.

Except, Ramadan starts on the 10th. for the next thirty days. From dawn (about 4:30 am) until dusk (7:30 pm) no food or water can touch your lips. I think I can make it with the food, but it's still over 110 each day and not drinking water seems like suicide. Abdula, the hotel owner here, has told me that Ramadan is to help everyone understand what it is to be poor so they will have more understanding and charity. It's a lovely concept, and maybe I'll try a day. Maybe.

Or, maybe not.

Damascus

August 2, 2010 (excuse the late date - Syria censors blogs and facebook)

Damascus is thought to be the oldest city in the world. There's been stuff here continuously since 3000 BC, but what's 5000 years for a city? After all, Seattle is 200 years old.

I'm a bit of a bum when it comes to traveling these days. I want to sleep off the last two months mostly, but I do find the energy to examine the fine traditional architectural features in the coffee shops and restaurants. It's the least I can do. Damascus has amazing old streets that twist and turn into small dark alleyways then emerge into vine covered cobble stoned avenues filled with shops, juice bars and cafes. On one street is the church of St. George, and a few minutes later you are at the most important Mosque in the Arab World, the Umayyad Mosque. It's all stunning.

There are signs of quirkiness too. The war museum was co-created with the North Koreans to celebrate the October, 1973 war against Israel they supposedly won (it's debatable if there were any winners). Ahh, how nice to see pictures of Kim Jong Ill again. And the internet won't you use blogger or Facebook, and kicked me off all together when the guy at the wi-fi cafe next to me got to keep going. Who's watching and how can they do that?

But all in all, the people are amazing. Iraqi, Iranian, Turkish and Lebanese tourists fill the streets along with the locals. The Iraqi man I shared a ride with up from Jordan not only let me share his taxi to the hotel area (he continued on to meet his family), but left me with 500 Syrian Pounds, about $12, because I hadn't been to an ATM yet. And good he did since most ATM's don't take debit cards without the Visa logo. I have Mastercard. Locals walk me to the correct street when I am looking for a hotel. They greet you in the street, happy you are here.

I'm happy I'm here, too, though I do look forward to real sleep, a couch, and cable TV. Soon.

The Last Storyteller in Damascus at the Al-Nawfaraa Coffee Shop

He wears the traditional robes and Tarboosh (aka think Masonic or Lion's Club) hat. He jibes the crowd, slapping his white stick if they stop listening, posing for photos with a quirky, inquisitorial expression. He pulls out his cell phone and photo's us photoing him – all while telling stories from a thousand and one nights ago. There is sword play, and a beautiful woman. There is a happy ending and the Arabic speaking portion of the crowd cheers. He sits high upon his thrown, enthralling the crowd the way a master can.

The story goes that the storytellers, or hawakstis, once filled the streets and coffee shops as as far back as the 12th century. Now there is only one, Abu Shady, and he sits in front of me now, laughing, joking, smiling, and making fun of us foreigners. A blonde girl walks in late and is seated in front of him. He stops and makes a face at her interruption. “Where are you from?” he asks. She's American. Pause..... “Obama!” and he smiles and goes back to his story. I think Obama is the number one word after America, like hot:cold, up:down, right:left, Tom:Jerry, America:Obama. I'm not complaining. It's a good change. He tolerates us, but he plays up to the locals more, in a call and response fashion.

Radio and TV's started to replace the storytellers and now, Egyptian music videos fill the void. But he has been quoted to believe the tradition will not end with him and that things are picking up.

Traditions come and go and come again. I, for one, hope this one stays.

Dig Time Lapse

Lin, the dig artist, took this time lapse photo of the day we dug up the child's skeleton. I make a cameo on the top right so I can prove I play an archeologist on TV. Usually I just hang out in the kitchen.

Then and Now

Jonathan said, "If you want shade, dig deeper" and that's what they did. It's amazing how much ground you can clear with a trowel, brush and 7 weeks. This is part of the tower in the fort. As they dug deeper, and eventually found the floor, they uncovered pots and coins. On the north side of this wall they found the skeletons of two camels and part of a human. Who knows why. Maybe the 363AD earthquake. maybe not. That's the thing about archeology, there are never any answers, just more questions.

Among other parts of the dig, there were two more complete human skeletons, glass jars, pottery, coins (more coins than most sites find in years!) jewelry, metal bits, remnants of old seeds, grinding stones and more.

Now, we are done. Every find has been measured, weighed, cataloged and photographed. The trucks are getting washed and being returned. The house is empty. The stove, two refrigerators, all the tools, beds, cook ware and other supplies packed and locked into one room. People are leaving or have already left. It's over. I don't have to boil any more 20 gallon vats of water, or boil two dozen eggs every night. No more pots of soup so heavy I can't carry them.

Time to hit the road.

Digging

Digging tells a story if you wait long enough. The crew comes back from the field with more and more finds as they get closer to the floor. Camel skeletons appear, then human bones,coins, more pots, glass shards, and the story.

A child is crushed under a wall, apparently, coins scattered around her. There is a metal ring on the back of the head that could be a ponytail holder. She is face down. Was the 363AD earthquake the culprit? Only the pottery will tell.

Pottery is how you date most things and one can get a decently accurate picture of a site by aging the little sherds that they are bringing home. The newest pottery on site suggests the last date of occupation. They are meticulous with their paperwork and measurements, graphing everything. Labeling everything. It's tedious, but paperwork is king. Otherwise, we're just looters.

And looting they do. One site was compromised this weekend as some locals came in and starting digging. They took at least one complete pot that we know about. It's being passed around the back streets right now, like so many other antiquities, hopefully bringing in a bit of money for a Bedouin and ending up in a nice private collection. More likely, though, is they'll drop it.

Karak and Madaba

Well, half way done on the project so we had to drive up to the capital, Amman to pick up the newest volunteers. Road trip!


We stopped at the crusader castle of Karak, perched high above the town on a slope that would make attack very treacherous. It's a fine site, and fun to wander around, but nothing to make a special trip for I suppose. Maybe I'm just spoiled.

Then we took the King's Highway north to the town of Madaba where there is a Christian population and some mosaics from 179AD ( I think) showing a map of the world which now, in it's mostly destroyed state, shows Jerusalem (shown), the dead sea, the Nile, the Mediterranean and even Karak, where we just were. It's in a rebuilt church and it's like zipping back to Europe for a few minutes before you hear the call to prayer again.

Home the next day along the Dead Sea and back to the kitchen. Twenty-six more meals to go.

Petra

There are some distinct advantages to working with a group of archeologists whose survey site lies within the boundaries of Petra. First, we can get into the park for free - and it's usually around $50 US dollars. The second is, that when they want to hike back to our site, we get to drive them through the park. Yup, drive!

Petra is the ancient Nabataean city from the early spice trade. Made famous by such movies as the third Indian Jones (where the Holy Grail was) or Transformers 2 (where they blew it up), it's magnificent buildings carved out of the sandstone walls. Lost to the Western world for hundreds of years, it is now one of the New Seven Wonders of the World, and a tourist hot spot for the country of Jordan. It's actually why most people visit.

The amazing thing about the site which you never see in the photos is all of the different colors of sandstone that appear with each new area. The Treasury is brown, but some of the Royal Tombs are red, yellow, blue and black, all swirling into different patterns - looping around doorways and windows. Inside, the shadows and light dance around the stone, giving one the sense of what it has always looked like.

It takes days to see any portion of the park, but most come on tour buses from Amman for only the hottest part of the day. Lisa the photographer and I napped under a tree. I took out my mini-keychain thermometer and noted it was 95 degrees on my right leg in the shade, 105 on my left leg in partial shade, and 115 on the rock next to my head. We are acclimated though, and we noted how cool the day was.


Driving has its own amazing perks. There isn't the 40 minute walk down to the Roman Collinade and "downtown", and you get to see the areas hidden in back where the Bedouin still live in tents next to ancient tombs. Children ride donkeys. Camels run along the dirt path, blocking our progress. We try to herd them out of the way, but it takes miles. The cliffs, with hidden caves and old tombs loom on either side, and eventually we make it to a ridge line were we can see the whole valley, down to Wadi Araba and our home in Risha. We leave the hikers there, laden with water and plan to see them back home eight or nine hours later.

They had adventures of their own, with cliffs crumbling under them, falling and coming up bruised but intact. Two got lost for a time, but they all arrived home in good spirits with amazing blisters. The Bedouins were amazed. They are usually the only people who wander these lands, though they do it in flip flops and without water.

So Isaiah and I drive back, past Roman columns and tourists who look at us in wonder. "You mean you can drive?" looks on their red, tired faces. No, you can't, unless you're special. Like us.

A Visit to Bir Madhku

I'm alone in our compound all day, and I'm to lock myself inside so to keep out the stray Bedouin looking for work. The hallways echo in their emptiness as I make soup, lot's and lots of soup in vats I can barely pick up. I de-boned ten chickens in one day. How I wish for options.

But it's not all cooking. I went out to the site and actually got to see what an archeologist does. Out the door before 5am, we arrived as the sun was coming up behind the Roman fort. It's still decently cool, but that is relative.

Big Bill was kind enough to give me a tour and pointed to this rubble heap and defined fort towers, the back door, the baths and domestic area. A more recent Bedouin cemetery falls just off the front gate. An ancient well in the back where water can still be found.

Then they get to work, with their paint brushes, trowels and pick axes. They sweep off walls, remove rocks that have tumbled in from old walls, and pile their dirt into guffas - buckets made from recycled tires- then into wheel barrows. From there, the dirt is sifted and pottery shards removed, labeled and bagged. They fill out endless paperwork, measure their elevations down to millimeters and take photos with all of the footprints wiped away. I'm pretty good at sweeping away footprints since I continuously walked places I wasn't supposed to go. Ah, my ignorance.

Little Bill lifts a rock and discovers what appears to be a whole pot, intact. It takes him the next three days to unearth it. Others find old coins, looking more like lumps of corroded copper. We take breaks in what little shade can be found, and its not even 10 am, but they work until one. I've gone through three liters of water already. Must be time to escape back to the coolness of my inefficient A/C. A 100 degree galley is suddenly cool.

My visit has motivated me to cook even better. I see the heat they work through, the earliness of their wake-ups and the endless pursuit that they have embarked on. It's excitement at a snails pace. Suddenly, banana bread seems like caviar. Fresh bread instead of stale pita a religious experience. And the excitement on their faces when they walk into the compound and see cold drinks, massive salads, burritos, or anything, anything but more pita. Hmmmm, what to make next?

The first week in Jordan

I'm cooking for a group of archeologists in the deserts of Jordan, about 10 km (as the crow flies) from Petra, though to drive it it takes an hour over a somewhat sketchy road or several hours to walk as the team last year discovered.

The site is an old Roman fort with a domestic area and several caravan stations a ways off. On their first day of digging one of the volunteers unearthed a grinding stone, almost in tact. The crew all came back elated, and they cleaned it off and set it in the hallway, ceremoniously next to the truck's old tires. I watch as they clean their pottery shards in the afternoon, handling two-thousand year old relics I have only seen behind glass cases with little care. The pottery expert told me to handle whatever I want. You can even break a piece, they're already broken.

I'm cooking for 26, who eat like 35, in huge vats. I shop at the fruit and vegetable market in Aqaba, an hour away, which one could argue is easier than provisioning for Hawaii or Panama, if only there was more variety. The "Safeway" in Aqaba is a depressing box with only frozen whole chicken or small tubes of frozen ground beef or ground lamb. There are no other options unless you want to buy a goat at the market. I really don't. The only bread you can find is pita. There is jars of tomato puree (but no pasta sauce) and lots of spices, but everything needs to be prepared. No quick meals, here. But the fruit here is so juicy, and the tomatoes and cucumbers are cheap, so I will find a way to make it all excellent. So far so good, anyway, as meal times are quickly a favorite of the day. The kitchen is a decent size with a view of the Bedouin village of Reshia and across the valley to Israel. The only down side is the AC is lacking power so it's hot. Very, very hot.

In addition to shopping in Aqaba, the last two weekends have been sent here. It's the coastal city on the Red Sea and from my hotel window I can look out on both Israel and Egypt. I could probably swim to both if it was allowed. A few minutes drive south and you are at the border of Saudi Arabia. They really tried to share the port access with everyone, and it seems to work.

Aqaba is the exception to Jordan. alcohol is allowed and bars, discos, karaoke and liquor stores line the streets. Pop music blares late into the night and car honk their horns in procession, perhaps for a wedding. There is the Mosque in town and the five time daily call to prayer, but here it does not dominate like in the capital or our small town.

But, I did have to take one of the volunteers to the hospital on our first day. Ah, it's Aqaba, I can wear a T-shirt, I thought, and I thought wrong. The whole place was packed with hundreds of waiting locals, all completely covered. All of the women wore burkas, many with the face coverings. I never felt so naked. But in typical Jordanian hospitality, we were helped though all of the paperwork and whisked past the endless lines and out of there, prescription in hand, in less than two hours. The convict, escorted though in handcuffs didn't have to wait either, so I suppose it's all fair.

Firsts

I'm at 30,000 feet and blogging. Wi-fi on planes. Different, and it interrupts reading and nap time, but it's free today so I feel the need.

We flew over Mount St. Helens 30 years, 1 hour and a few minutes after her last erruption, though the cloud cover in the crater dampened the view.

Now off to 10 days in San Diego before three months in the Middle East. Funny how the only jobs I can get are abroad.

Asia - The Top Ten Countdown

The best-of-the –best, the Top 10, the countdown of a year and a half of Asia,….

10. The Great Wall of China – It’s a wonder of the world for a reason, and being there without a horde of tourists and vendors (let alone anyone else) gave it that something special. But to really top it off, walking out of bounds past the “do not enter signs” revealed what the Wall looks like without the restoration and puts its age into perspective.



9. Indian Food – After a year in Korea, anything guaranteed vegetarian is a highlight. But India, a country filled with vegetarians who know what it means and consider it religious, well, now we’re talking. But add to it the spices and pure variety, and I think it has replaces Mexican to become my most favorite food (but don’t hold me to that once I return to the Americas).



8. Obamaland – Election day was a party described by many American ex-pats by noting that in one day they were once again proud to be American. The party has continued to unite in the most uncommon places. On the beach in Vigan, Philippines a horde of kids all joined me in with a round of “Obama!” cheers. Taxi drivers say he’s a great man. And one man, in a back courtyard of Tibet looks at me once I said I was American and gives me the thumbs up, “Obama, good!” It’s a great change to what was.



7. Lalunga Pass, Tibet – At 5,050 meters, the Lalunga Pass is part of the highest plateau in the world. Your head feels like it is in a vice grip, opening a car door leaves you short of breath and the wind that is whipping the prayer flags into a fury freezes your fingers in a minute or two. But up there, you are looking at two 8,000 meter (plus) peaks on top of a range of snow-covered wonders and the sky, well, there is no way to describe that blue.



6. Varanasi and Kathmandu’s Burning Ghats – As noisy as Tibet’s Lalugna Pass is, the Burning Ghats are quiet. There’s the sound of piling wood, and it crackling, then there’s the ash that flies up into the sky, over the river and into the night. In two crowded cities, the silence is appreciated. The fact that you’re watching a funeral and cremation, and the ash is human, may turn the average person off, but after a while it adds to the peace and reinforces the Buddhist idea of impermanence. Besides, it sure beats the traditional Tibetan burial where they cut up the body for the vultures…



5. Kaesong, North Korea - It was only one day, but I think of it often. There was the lady in the plaid, pleated skirt with the sequence top. The girl who stuck her tongue out at me with such emotion, and the crowds who walked their bikes in circles around the city, waiting at the corner for the invisible light to turn red for the invisible traffic so they may remain in order. It was a time warp and a reality check and a reminder for how far out if touch a government is able to make their people through a little brainwashing.



4. Angkor Wat on bike – It’s hard to top these ancient temples, but add to it the silence and freedom to take back dirt roads where only monkeys and birds reside, and you are able to take in some amazing sights completely alone. And freedom from being harassed to buy T-shirts, postcards, books or anything else, is always welcome.



3. Flamingos and Tigers in India – I was giddy when I first saw a wild flamingo. In hindsight it may not seem like such a feat, but it brought home the idea that those things guarding the entrance pond at the San Diego Zoo really do fly. It also meant I was out of the city. Tigers, on the other hand, now there’s a creature that legends are built of, and when I first saw them in the wild, and took photos, I couldn’t wipe the perma-grin off my face. I held onto my camera so tight afraid that something bad would happen to it before it could reveal its secrets to the world. The fact that it’s only a point and shoot gives you an idea, we were pretty close!



2. Mongolia Gurs – specifically at night when the entire sky opens up to tell its stories from the opening at the stove pipe, these gurs are some of the best buildings I have ever slept in. The paint is charming, the beds lumpy, and the fire in the middle completely dependent on the fuel source – wood and it’s a spectacular night full of heat and comfort, sheep shit, and you are filling it every 14 minutes so think cold, but priceless.




1. The Elephant Nature Park – For a week, Kamoon, my favorite elephant, slept outside of my hut and snored during the night. At daybreak I would wake to the fog shifting through the trees on the hillside, dew on the acres of grassland, and Kamoon thumping hay across his foot before chomping. Later I would feed him and others, even the babies, bananas, and at lunch one would try to steel food off my plate. Elephants don’t like green peppers either.



So that’s my ten best. They all go down best with a good cup of coffee, but you might be best off bringing that with you unless you secretly desired store-bought instant. Asia is a crazy place – so big, so diverse and so full of both people and opportunities. In 18 months I didn’t even tackle half of it. When I started, I always equated Asia with China and Japan, and though I visited both, they can’t even start to define the continent, and I can’t define it either.

Dolma's Tibet

I went back to Bouda in Kathmandu to see my old students and show them pictures of Tibet - their old home.

The first difference I noticed as I arrived at the Stupa is the energy and joy in the air. Women were talking to one another, stopping to light candles or lean their head against a certain statue in prayer. There were monks everywhere, music in the air, bells chiming with the spin of prayer wheels and a general happiness that were all lacking in Tibet.

I went to the school and as I went through some of my photos, Dolma, the youngest almost started to cry. “I Know her!” she said of the women in a small village who sold butter, dried meat, horse equipment and what not. And the next picture, which I thought was of Everest, was her grandmothers village. She can’t go there. I printed copies for her instead.

Dolma is in the pink striped shirt.
and below is the woman she identified. Above is her village, that small row under the mountains...