The hike down to the train station quickly turned into an unexpected, at times quite puzzling as the trail was long abandoned and difficult to follow. After the initial, in retrospect, somewhat misleading, confidence-inspiring sign stating "Train" with a red arrow pointing downwards, the terrain quickly became overgrown and with meandering, side tracks that seemed to lead nowhere in particular. An elderly gentleman came by and when awkward yet smiling gesticulations ended, I concluded that I was lost. It was getting dark, and it was doubtful that I would reach the train station in time to catch the next back to Podgorica. I retraced my steps to where I felt somewhat confident I made an incorrect turn. The map apps on my phone were inoperable. I finally spot a way marker. It's written in Montenegrin. It occurred to me that using the camera function with Google Translate, I may be able to decipher it. I choose Serbian, and luckily I got back on track and happily worked my way down the steep, wooded trail to the rain station. As I scramble down to the base of the mountain, I see the graffitied train roaring into the station. I run towards it, but just as quickly as it appeared, the train departs. I sit down, somewhat dejected and say another small prayer. Perhaps St. Basil will come to my aid. Well, a bedraggled Spanish tango dancer shows up at the station. We happily greet one another, and reralize that our hike down from the monastery to the train station was almost identical. He too got lost, retraced his steps a number of times and took far longer to
Global Pilgrim
Tuesday, January 2, 2024
Travels in the Western Balkans
The hike down to the train station quickly turned into an unexpected, at times quite puzzling as the trail was long abandoned and difficult to follow. After the initial, in retrospect, somewhat misleading, confidence-inspiring sign stating "Train" with a red arrow pointing downwards, the terrain quickly became overgrown and with meandering, side tracks that seemed to lead nowhere in particular. An elderly gentleman came by and when awkward yet smiling gesticulations ended, I concluded that I was lost. It was getting dark, and it was doubtful that I would reach the train station in time to catch the next back to Podgorica. I retraced my steps to where I felt somewhat confident I made an incorrect turn. The map apps on my phone were inoperable. I finally spot a way marker. It's written in Montenegrin. It occurred to me that using the camera function with Google Translate, I may be able to decipher it. I choose Serbian, and luckily I got back on track and happily worked my way down the steep, wooded trail to the rain station. As I scramble down to the base of the mountain, I see the graffitied train roaring into the station. I run towards it, but just as quickly as it appeared, the train departs. I sit down, somewhat dejected and say another small prayer. Perhaps St. Basil will come to my aid. Well, a bedraggled Spanish tango dancer shows up at the station. We happily greet one another, and reralize that our hike down from the monastery to the train station was almost identical. He too got lost, retraced his steps a number of times and took far longer to
Wednesday, December 20, 2023
The Saddest Christmas (2023) and Bleakest New Year's Eve (2024)
Are they all "terrorists", that nuclear weapons-enabled Israel needs to defend itself from? By non-stop massive, deadly bombing campaigns? Where starving people are huddled together in makeshift tents in "safe places" they were ordered to go to. Whose homes are demolished. Who are being deprived of food, water and medicine. These unfathomable mass atrocities have nothing to do with a "war on Hamas", but instead we are witnessing an intensification of a seventy-five year-long campaign of ethnic cleansing of Palestinians by a settler colonial, Zionist project intent on replacing the indigenous Palestinian population with a Jewish-only ethnonocracy.
Israel has been violently oppressing Palestine for decades. In addition to militarily occupying Gaza for 56 years, Israel has cut-off Gaza from the rest of the world since 2006. It is an isolated, besieged territory. Claiming Israel has a "right to defend itself" when beleaguered, encaged people resist their captors is simply nonsensical. A conqueror cannot claim self-defence when the oppressed people resist their subjugation. This is not a war between two armies. There is brutal, long-standing, illegal, military occupation confronting a people denied their fundamental freedoms who understandably refuse to be erased.
Peace cannot come about by a continuation of Israeli oppression and denial of basic freedoms. Lasting peace comes with justice. Justice means upholding international and humanitarian law, where all people are treated with dignity, freedom and equality. From the River to the Sea.
Monday, December 11, 2023
Summertime in Hungary
On another day of hiking, our small group visited a Buddhist temple. Now, while I knew of the Hungarian pilgrim-scholar, Körösi Csoma Sándor (at times, he used the Anglicized, Alexander Csoma de Koros), I was astonished to visit an authentic Buddhist Temple in this rather remote region of Hungary in the small village of Tar. Here a Peace Stupa was constructed by the local Karma Kagyüpa Buddhist Community and later consecrated by His Holiness the Dalai Lama to honour the life of the itinerant Hungarian mystic, poet, seeker and linguist, Csoma Sándor. It was he who opened the eyes of the Western world to Buddhism by creating the first ever Tibetan-English dictionary whilst living in harsh, self-imposed isolated conditions in another remote hermitage cave; this one in Zanskar, in the faraway, enchanted Indian Himalaya.
Earlier this year I had been trekking in the Nepal Himalaya and was familiar with Tibetan flags strung across high mountain passes. Seeing them here flutter in the hot Hungarian landscape surrounded by linden leaves and not along glaciated high altitude peeks, I had a sense of the universality of, and indeed, the need for, their essential message of peace, unity and compassion for all sentient beings.
(The credit for the two photos from this Buddhist community do not belong to me. The stupa in the sunset is from the Group's website and the Tibetan prayer flags were photographed by my cousin, Magda. In my astonishment to have stumbled upon this reverential place, I was so swept away that I remembered to take only one picture of a sacred text.)
Sunday, May 21, 2023
A Birthday in Nepal. Or: What's another year, when you're walking amidst a 45 million year-old mountain range?
As I live in Vancouver, I reside at sea level. Consequently, even though I am familiar with the signs of AMS - acute mountain sickness - I always experience some pre-departure anxiety around this topic. I obsessively review the altitude at which symptoms are to first appear (2,500 meters above sea level is the usual threshold) and check whether my Diamox tablets have expired or not - which I take with me like some sort of pharmacologic rabbit's foot, as I haven't had to use them in years. This is all part of my pre-trip ritual, like packing and unpacking a thousand times in an attempt to shave off a gram or two in my luggage.
Arriving in Kathmandu after a far too long flight always thrills me. The city has of course grown over the years. Some of the changes are positive. The redevelopment after the catastrophic 2015 earthquake is impressive. The artful reconstruction of ancient temples flattened by that horrific disaster is a joy to behold. The increased traffic congestion and accompanying pollution is obviously far less pleasant. Here I confront one of many inescapable challenges and paradoxes facing the contemporary traveller to Nepal. While many longtime Western adventurers to Nepal bemoan the gradual urbanization of the country, complaining for example that development of roadways detracts from the traditional tranquility of some trekking routes, I find it selfish, disrespectful and smacking of a type of "tourist colonialism". Why in the world should children residing in remote mountain villages have to continue to walk for half a day to go to school so one can have an "authentic trekking experience"?
The challenge is not to purposefully bypass modernity, but to ensure that the precious and unique culture, aesthetic and history of Nepal is preserved while not erasing and replacing it with a quick, uninspired project that lacks soul and integrity.
The itinerary this time was the Tamang Heritage and Langtang Valley Trek. The combining of these two separate trekking routes makes for a wonderful two week excursion. Tamang is next to the Langtang Valley. Tamang is a Tibetan Buddhist region. Walking amidst traditional villages is a richly rewarding experience. As in other parts of Nepal that I have visited, the Tamang people are very hospitable, gracious and kind. The views of the Langtang and Ganesh mountain ranges are spectacular.
On a much lighter tone - the Snickers momos were an amazingly delicious and creative way to recharge after a demanding day of trekking.
One of the most memorable experiences was to spend my birthday in the Tamang village of Thuman. Participating in devotional chanting (and occasionally sipping yak butter tea and later chang - fermented barley wine) at one of the ancient Buddhist monasteries was an unexpectedly blessed and enormously meaningful birthday gift. Suddenly my notion that all travel is a pilgrimage was again crystallized.
I felt an unmistakable sense of connectedness to all which was present; there in that welcoming sacred space - and beyond.
As I didn't wish to draw attention to myself, I refrained from mentioning my upcoming birthday to my travel companions. Nevertheless, our guide gleaned this information from our passports and later that evening, in the small, family-run guesthouse, our small group of intrepid travellers secretly arranged a surprise birthday party for me. A wonderful and happy culmination of my birthday in Nepal.
The village of Kyanjin Gompa was the final destination of the Langtang Valley Trek. I did not sleep much the night prior to that last day. Anticipating the early morning 4:30 departure in total darkness to greet the rising sun at Kyanjin Ri (Nepali for "peak"; elevation 4,400 meters and a 600 meter ascent) made for a fitful night. The effort was of course well worth it. The view was spectacular. Our supportive banter motivated one another over the rougher patches and the camaraderie deepened with each breathless, slow step.
After completing the job, she thanked me for my assistance with a lovely smile while gently caressing my cheek. Beckoning me to her very simple home nearby, she gave me four small roasted potatoes. A precious, serendipitous encounter winds down. Another unexpected gift from Nepal that will stay with me long after I leave.
Returning to the Kathmnadu Valley, I take a few more photographs before I start my long journey home. The magic of Nepal will likely draw me back into her embrace. Hope it'll be soon.
Namaste.