A Narration of Melancholic Elation

“Life’s hard, life’s easy, life’s everything in between, life’s peachy like James and the Giant…”- Aesop Rock

I left Mt Abu on March 9th, arrived in Ahmedabad by evening, and took a rickshaw to the Gandhi Ashram. Noone in India has known about this 75th anniversary of the Dandi march, and as the bus rode & entered Rajisthan from Gujarat… only then did I finally see billboards advertising the event.
In 1930, Gandhi and 78 folks set out from Ahmedabad to Dandi - 241 miles - an act of civil disobedience, to protest the Britishs’ recent monopoly on the production and selling of salt. Salt was basically free prior, so for the government to increase its price by many times with a monopoly was an outrage.
The irony in this 75th anniversary, is that the government in Gujarat is currently seeking to increase the tax on salt.
The purpose of this reenactment is to promote peace, justice, and freedom. Unfortunately, politics decided to become greatly involved in the process. The government of Gujarat is a “dry” (alcohol is illegal) state. It is the only one of twenty-four in India with this policy. But of course, people say that this state is the number one consumer of liquor amongst them all. Hmmmmmm. interesting
Let me break it down: Mad liquor is smuggled here. Since it comes in untaxed, it’s dirt cheap. A beer in Bombay is 60 rupees. In Rajisthan 100. Gujarat 40. Gandhi believed alcohol to be detrimental to the mind, body, and soul, so Gujarat (being Gandhi’s home state)) has had prohibition since Independence. With such a volatile political situation here, due to religious animosity and state sponsored terrrorism over the past few years… it’s no wonder that the politics of prohibition are the center of debate.
This is what Parhad and Uncle Rustom both said:
“Prohibition here is silly. Regardless of Gandhi’s ideology, why should Gujarat be the one state to suffer? People will still get the liquor and the government is the biggest loser because they are not collecting on the taxes. And the patrolling to try and control the illegal smuggling is costing them even more money. ”

So I arrived in Ahmedabad, Gujarat with three big things on my to do list:

1) Go to the Sabarmati Ashram and check in with Tushar Gandhi (Gandhi’s great-grandson who is the honcho) regarding specificities on the march.

2) Meet Uncle Rustom and the Postwalla family for the first time.

3) Meet up with Orsi and Kata (the Hungarian girls I met in Goa) again.

So I went to the Gandhi Asshram and talked with Tushar and some fellow foreign participants before walking out front to meet Uncle Rustom’s son, who was picking me up. Prahad rolled up in his skooter, I hopped on with my bags, and we left for the house. Their household is quite amazing: A truly traditional Parsee home- Self-made entrepreneeurs, prayer twice a day, pictures of Zarathushtra everywhere, typical Parsee food…Parhad (age 28) and his Parsee wife both live in the home with their adorable twin daughters, and Hanooz (age 24), Parhad’s younger brother will marry a Parsee and also live in the home and work in the family bussiness.
After spending 3 nights with the Postwalla family (typical Parsee name because it’ss derived from an ancestor’s profession- Postman. Other Parsee popular Parsee last names are Engineer, Contractor, etc.)
It was excellent meeting family for the first tim and I’m gladd to have established this connection with people my age, my religious background, and in a bustling city like Ahmedabad.
It was also super to meet Orsi and Kata again. During my travels thus far, I have made few meaningful connections. People come and they go. Decent conversations happen with daily interactions. Email addresses are exchanged. And that’s usually that. But the five times we have met, enjoyed each other’s company, and conversated… it’s been tremendous. We talk about our lives thus far, our experiences in India, in Hungary, in the States, our past, and future… and especially what Orsi was mentioning - “Our previous conceptions” - in the short 2 months that we’ve been in India our conceptions and previous perceptions have altered. Our expectations have been exceeded. And the most beautiful thing - The meaning of coming and being in India has changed.

So since I tried to spend as much possible time with Parhad, Hanooz, Uncle Rustum, and Orsi & Kata, I neglected my initial obligations of the Dandi March. I was supposed to report and be at the Ashram on March 10th, until the commencement on the morning of the 12th. Instead, I went on the evening of the 11th to get my identification card and get information on the itinerary for the 12th. I was told to be there at 5 a.m., Sonia Gandhi (India Congress President, no relation to Mahatma) would speak at 6:15, andd we would depart by 7.

I got there at 5… and the security was tight as hell… I got into the entrance, with my ID, but wasn’t allowed up front, because it was already full of participants and press. So I sat in the section behind… with all 3 pieces of my luggage. A medium sized backpack, a duffle bag, and a small little carry sack. The luggage was to be carried by a truck for all the participants, but I had no idea where the truck was or who to ask. So I sat anxiously, waiting. All of a sudden, Sonia Gandhi finished and an old Goan man told me “It’s starting, we must go!” I grabbed all my bags and tried to push my way towards to direction of the exit. Swarms of people were doing the same thing, but the police weren’t allowing a budge…but the participants in the front were all making their way out with ease. I was thinking, “Damnit, they are all leaving and I have no idea where the luggage truck is.”
They finally allowed people through an it was chaotic. The street was blocked off and crowds of children in school uniforms were on each side of the street, chanting “Mantrum!!….Gandhi!!”
Large groups were running to make their way to the front. Their are about 400 registered participants, but thousands of Indians are walking in the commencement… and then coming for the end of it.
So here I am…in my Kurta, sandals, and about 50 kilos of weight on my back….walking amongst the crowd and chatting with another NRI (Non-resident Indians) from Pennsylvania. I can hear people cracking up at me everywhere and some asking me, “What are you doing with all that? Don’t you know that there is a vehicle to carry your stuff? Are you going all the way to Dandi like that?”
Finally after a few miles, the India Youth Congress President found me, “You don’t need to carry all that. Give me your duffle bag.” So he gives me his card, hands the bag to a youth volunteer, and I go to grab my backpack from an old man (now my Kaka (uncle), new best friend, and mentor) who was helping me out.
The first day was intense with cheer, chanting, and thousands of people. Media were everywhere - journalists, local news, and many filming documentaries. People were lined up from Ahmedabad to twenty kilometers south…where we camped the first night. I’ll write about the conversations in the next post.

As I roamed the narrow streets of the Blue City (Johdpur), taking snaps of passerbys & shopkeepers with the bright blue walls in the background, I noticed that the pillars throughout the city were filled with posters of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar. I was thinking, “Damn, this dude is bigger than I thought.” I had heard he was a candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize, but seeing his picture everywhere put it all in perspective.

I first met Oso in a Latin American Literature discussion class that we had together in the Winter of 2003. I walked into the class early on the first day, looked around, and there was this red-headed Robert Redford looking fellow with a nicely trimmed goatee seated in the last row surfing the net on his labtop (Surprised?). So that’s where we met and that’s where he fell in love with the Grad student, Heidi, who was teaching the section part of the course. No, actually they despised each other with good reason.

From there on out Oso and I met up on campus and played hoops, he introduced me to some of San Diego’s quaintest cafes (starting with Clare de Lune in North Park), and I asked him if he wanted to go hear Sri Sri Ravi Shankar speak. He said “Sounds good,” so we inhaled some dollar fish tacos at Rubio’s one afternoon and went to the spot with our ears ready for some spiritual healing (Remember, this isn’t Ravi Shankar the sitar player).
Unfortuantely, it seemed a little cultish. You had the typical older Americans who are willing to believe any alternative Eastern thought. These folks absolutely worshipped anything Sri Sri touched. But this was an introductory seminar and Sri Sri was not willing to give out any details on his secret path to spiritual awakening.
I recall someone asked him, “Sri Sri, can you explain your breathing exercise that you are so well known for?”
“Just breathe,” Sri Sri answered.
Couldn’t I have gotten that advice from a TelepopMusik song?
Oso and I were sitting there laughing to ourselves. A beautiful, radiant older woman was sitting next to me and I knew I already had her intrigue based on my “alternative skin color.” So I started talking to her and she was fascinated that I was Indian.
“So are you Hindu or Muslim?”
“Well, actually I’m Zoroastrian. It’s the Parsee community that formed and emigrated from Iran to India after persectution in the 8th century (0r was it 6th century).”
“Really, so you’re Persian, too.
“Ummm. Yeah, I guess I am.
“Wow.”
Oso was slyly giggling to himself. The woman, along with everyone else, waited in a ridiculous line for a life-long blessing by the simple touch of Sri Sri, as Oso and I cruised out the double doors.

Around this same period of time, I saw a guy from my high school whom I had never spoken to before. It was at UCSD, we talked for a while. I have never seen anyone get so excited when I told them my last name.
“Ardesher? Ardesher? You are Zoroastrian?! Wow, I gotta call my father. That’s incredible! Let me get your email!”
You can say that this guy Kurosh is a very proud Persian and is one of those people who likes to stick to his own kind. I guess he had reason to celebrate.

The term “nationality” is one that became more baffling to me as the years have gone by. The question, “What is your nationality?” is one that I would normally answer with, “Indian”. But after taking two sociology courses with Professor Andrew Barlow at Diablo Valley College 4 years ago…I know this question has been asked and answered incorrectly. The person asking it meant “What ethnicity are you?”. In that way, it would be okay to answer it with “Indian.” But nationality? I’d have to say I’m American. It’s too bad coconut is not an option - brown on the outside, white on the inside.
I’d like to differentiate between the different terms courtesy of Wikipedia:

Ethnicity is the cultural characteristics that connect a particular group or groups of people to each other.
“Ethnicity” is sometimes used as a euphemism for “race”, or as a synonym for minority group.
While ethnicity and race are related concepts, the concept of ethnicity is rooted in the idea of societal groups, marked especially by shared nationality, tribal afilliation, religious faith, shared language, or cultural and traditional origins and backgrounds, whereas race is rooted in the idea of biological classification of homo sapiens to subspecies according to morphological features such as skin color or facial characteristics.
It is a term also used to justify real or imagined historic ties as well. In English, Ethnicity goes far beyond the modern ties of a person to a particular nation (e.g., citizenship), and focuses more upon the connection to a perceived shared past and culture.

Oso, talks about ethnicity and defines other commonly misunderstood terms briefly on a recent post:

Ethnicity is a social construct based on biological, cultural, and even religious differences. I think the best definition I’ve read of ethnicity came from a Nigerian writer who migrated from his home country to the U.K. and then to Los Angeles. He said his ethnicity has been called Yoruba, Nigerian, African, and finally Black even though his DNA has never changed.

Nationality is defined by where you are born or where you have naturalized. It’s also based on when you were born. For example, if you were born in San Diego two hundred years ago, your nationality would be Mexican, but if you were born in San Diego twenty years ago, your nationality is considered American.

You can share the same nationality with someone despite not sharing the same ethnicity nor speaking the same language. In fact, this is the norm, not the exception. (take a look at a this list of languages by countries and this one of ethnicity and race by countries - this map of geographic origins of languages is also interesting) India is a prime example of one nation, many languages, many ethnicities, and many religions.

Finally, language is a form of communication that is often related to nationality and ethnicity, but just as often not. Spanish, for example, is one of four languages spoken in Spain. But it is also spoken - in various adaptations - not just in Latin America, but also the Caribbean, parts of Africa, the South Pacific, and much of Southern California and New York City. English is another example of a language which started as one of several in Great Britain, but is now spoken in countries around the world from the United States to Singapore and Malaysia.

Started 2/24/05 in Pushker & completed 3/8/05 in Mt. Abu

I’m sitting in a rooftop cafe in Pushker, where Israeli people, cuisine, and trance music captivate the ambiance. Well, ambiance is probably not the right word. This little town of Pushker, with its 15,000 people, 1000 temples, and many tourists (90% of which are Israelis). The stereotype is that the Israelis here are rude and that they are rift builders - They boss waiters around and they don’t want to speak English to Indians and other foreigners. I think that’s all bs and I’m going to try to break through that stereo. I mean the women are far too beautiful to not give it a shot.

This trance is killing my train of thought, but I’ve always thought it to be rude to put headphones on at someone else’s cafe. If I were working and was providing some listening pleasures for my customers, I would see at as a little rude. But I think I’m going to do it anyway. They just turned the volume up three notches as American Analog Set hopes to drown out the awfulness. It’s track two of the album “Promise of Love”. Been diggin’ it.

My stomach is currently in its second round of gymnastics. Or is it swimming. Maybe figure skating. Three flips, a cart wheel, a somersault, and a triple-toe loop in the past two days. The first round came in Karachi and it was parallel to the aftermath of drinking 10 shots of tequila - you might puke some substance out a few times, but after a while its just dry heaving. Sorry, just being honest…

The last ten days I have been on the move with Suresh at my disposal. He is far more than a driver. He is an advisor, a truth giver, and now a friend.

“It’s touristy…”
It’s seems like everywhere you go and whenever talking to travellers and asking their advice on particular areas… many times their reply begins with, “Well, it’s really touristy…”
I admit to falling into this category as well, but I’m working on changing it. I see it as a given to many places but that it shouldn’t take away from its beauty. Rajisthan is a tourist circuit - there are 6 cities that almost everyone goes to - I’ve bumped into a dozen people in more than one city in Rajisthan. The tourism shouldn’t subtract the genuine historical and cultural aesthetics. There’s a reason it’s touristy. People have come to see and experience something that they have heard or read about on multiple occassions.
For me, the tourists are predominantly European - 75% UK, 10% German, 5% Australian, 10% other Western European & Canadian… I’ve met less than 5 Americans in the 6 weeks that I’ve been here. So i don’t mind conversating with all these fellow backpackers and learning more about England, Ireland, Germany, Australia, etc… It’s excellent… And some of them are happy that I break their American stereotype for them.

“I’m Canadian…”
Since anti-American sentiment has blossomed around the world in the last 4+ years, many American travellers say that they are Canadian to avoid any hostility. “It’s more diplomatic,” said a woman from New Mexico. I’ve been amused when people have responded to the overused universal conversation starter with “I’m Canadian.” I give them the eye brow raise and sly grin before telling them I’m from San Francisco and what many American shave been saying when travelling over the past few years. Unfortunately, many have actually been Canadian. I have a few theories as to why so few Americans are to be found here…or is there one simple answer?

Agra & Fatehpur Sikhri - February 18-19
So based on my previous “It’s so touristy” attitude/notion, I had low expectations for the Taj Mahal. I thought I could roll in and out in less than one hour…but no. It took me over 2. I was more than pleasantly surprised, as I slowly paced my way around and inside: Inspecting all the angles and analyzing this masterpiece that took 22 years and 20,000 pairs of hands to build. The entrance fee is 20 rupees (50 cents) for Indians and 750 (15 dollars) for foreigners… I was told that the guards scrutinize everyone so I shouldn’t try to enter as a resident… But since the Taj I have managed to pay Indian prices…much to my delight. When I paid 10 rupees to enter Keoladeo Ghana National Park ( a bird sanctuary) and cruised in on bicycle, just after a guard realized that I was not a national, and I peddled away laughing… Ahhh man, it was classic. I felt like Peter Cellars in the “Return of the Pink Panther,” when he is entering the castle on his bicycle, disguised as a doctor, with a mission to save Professor Fastbender…

It’s interesting to think of what qualities we look for when choosing our friends. I have been thinking about it lately and I asked myself what the single most important entity is in a friendship. I think its reciprocity. It’s a two-way street as they say, and if someone is throwing up a road block…well, then hell…that sucks, but that’s the end of that.

But before the reciprocity test is given, there has to be something else. Why am I drawn to certain people over others? Why am I (why are we for that matter) more motivated to pursue some friendships over others? It’s probably analagous to why we seek out some relationships over others. I think it is.

I look back at my friends over the past couple years and they share a few similar traits: Its like a package that’s wrapped with a good sense of humor and similar interests to make it shiny and appealing. But after you get through the paper, what’s inside that keeps you from returning the gift? I think the package I’ve looked over the past few years is passion and inspiration. My friends are passionate about life, people, knowledge, and music. And they inspire me to think differently, provoke the wheels in my head to keep turning, and motivate me to live out my dreams. There are many that come to mind, but let me mention 3.

1) Mario Hernandez is a fellow I met at Diablo Valley College 5 years a go. I felt like a wandering, lost individual after high school was over and Mario became quite an inspiration to me. Looking back, I think he was one of the first people to challenge and stimulate me intellectually: Sociologically, politically, musically, our discussions ascended. Over the years, our conversation’s life, depth, and meaning have been cherished. 100 lattes, 1000 songs, and many laughs later I’m glad I met the guy.

2) Alex De la Cruz: I met Alex in my semester abroad in Spain. My initial impressions were of an arrogant, head shaven guy always wearing sun glasses… But their was much more than meets the shades and our friendship grew in Salamanca and really expanded when I moved to San Diego. We’ve wandered and partied the streets of Hollywood, SD, SF, and Spain. Many more escapades are to come and I know he’s always down for an adventure. Many of us talk a lot of what we would like to do, might do, wish we could have done differently. This cat is making his dreams a reality and he is an example for any and all aspiring artists. “Exploration only requires some desire and initiative” - Atmosphere. Many of us got the desire, but lack the initiative. Alex wrote me an incredible email a month ago. He has started a record label and a magazine - ensuring that his love for writing, making music, and creating art all make the progress and receive the attention they deserve.

A description of the magazine courtesy of his page on myspace.com:

I am a Citizen of the World dedicated to coalescing all forms of knowledge. I desire no borders or boundaries. I feel that nationalism is tragic. I adhere to culture revolving around art. I despise violence. I accept any form of art that desires expression and innovation. I enjoy movies about salvation. I reside in a world dedicated to language; polyglots are my best friends. monolinguists fall short of experiencing life. When are we going to have wine together? And read Dada together? And paint on the walls together? Grab le goblet pull up a chair, pour something toxic into that glorious crystal i watch Dada, i sing Dada, with a twist of Futurismo, and some Zang Tumb TooM blow your room into little pieces, little shreds, little bottles of alcohol floating instead and wicked strings pronounce melody melodies me lo dies
and from cable cars we watch the beautiful world alive a live a little more alive
so now you gain a sense of my sentiments
those brick-a-brack brits with their superfluous intellect i spat spit sp sp sp spit them out in syllables

And a description of the record label:

Melo.Co.Records finally came into existence on Feb 3rd 2005. The long awaited creation was first introduced by Emmanuel Sevilla, when he realized that a little organization was the only element missing. He sent out an email on June 29th 2004 and inspired us all. Sons of Them is the first band to be signed by the label. The Branford Mission is in the works to be signed and a sexy quartet by the name of Go Dutch are also being sought by the label. We are a mixture of pure, rhythmic, melodic rock that is dedicated to the progression of music. We develop our ideas through experience and the sounds and sights of the world around us. We are citizens of the world and of art, and are constantly seeking to display the appreciation we have for beauty. We are the new rock. Adios

3) Noah Goodman: I recall sitting on the cement blocks at UCSD with some grub from the co-op, telling my friend Martine, “Noah is my new best friend. I love that guy. He is always so excited about everything.” I met Noah less than two years ago. We had “Politics of Developing Countries” and “Chinese History” together along with Nina and Mike… (Noah is now studying in Brazil, Nina in Thailand, and Mike in England). Every time we would get out of class, it was like we had just downed 3 cups of espresso. Our professors inspired us and gave us new information… which provoked us to desire more info and more knowledge. I would feel frustrated that I had so much more to learn. So many google searches to do, so many chapters and articles to read. But we would chat over some coffee at the Grove, do half the reading, cram like no other, learn a fair amount, and laugh about it later. Noah just wrote this email and his thoughts echo many that I am having right now in India. Opinions, yes they are like assholes. I like to ask people’s advice as much as anyone, but now I feel that even after getting ten responses from different folks… I still need to discover it for myself. I’ll have to write more on that later because people’s advice kills me sometimes!! It makes me so irate to get a faulty opinion and I’m so sick of it that I want to cuss and scream about it. Let’s read what Noah gotz to say about it.

Whats up cats and kittens,

I know I´ve been horrible about email, but you dont understand, I swear Ive
tried, theres just…ummm…lots of distractions here…I´m sure you all
understand though (and if you don´t then you obviously need to visit
Brazil). Anyways, so my 2 months in Salvador have come to an end and I´m
rockin it in Rio now. I was sad to leave Salvador, full of preconceptions
about Rio (its impossible not to be, the Baianos [people from the state of
Bahia where Salvador is] sure as hell don´t let you go with an open mind).
My last couple of weeks in Salvador were some of my best (it just always
seems to happen that way now doesn´t it), I met loads of great people,
explored new areas that for some reason I just never did while I was full of
the complacency of living in one place, found hidden gems in areas that I
thought I had already explored. Its amazing what a little sense of urgency
can do for you.

At the same time I was getting a barrage of stories about how horrible Rio
was going to be. Whenever someone found out I was leaving Salvador for Rio,
I got the same line, ‘watch out Rio is dangerous, Salvador is mellow, but
you have to watch yourself in Rio’. This came from every person you talked
with, regardless of whether or not they had been to Rio, its just common
knowledge, Rio is where you get killed by a stray bullet coming from the
favelas, and everybody loves to impart this common knowledge upon you. In
rio you can´t trust the cab drivers, in rio never set your drink down
because someone will drug it, in rio all the girls are completely fake and
just want your money (ok so I knew this one was at least not completely
true, hi Jo ), in rio its impossible to meet people, in rio you can´t walk
at night, you´re never safe even in the best neighborhoods, the buses?
forget them, ‘I have a friend who knows this girl who was there who said
that (fill in the blank with some bad story)…oh did you hear the story
about the lady who met this guy on the internet (you can guess where this
one is going)’…I even got the age old urban legends of people waking up in
the bathtub of ice with their liver cut out and crazed people walking around
with syringes filled with HIV infected blood and sticking them into
unsuspecting innocent bystandards. Oh and you can´t forget the tiroteos
(gunfights)….everybody knows about tiroteos and balas perdidas (stray
bullets) in the morros (means hills but used as another word for favleas
since most of hte favelas here in rio are on ‘vertical’ as they say, or on
the hills [the favelados {people that live in the favelas} have the best
views in Rio, kinda funny eh {well thats assuming their house doesn´t get
swept down the side of the hill in a rain storm]). And the worst part about
it all, is this is all confirmed by the cariocas (people from Rio) you meet,
everybody is on alert (and with programs like the television show ‘Rio
Alert’–one of many sensational shows [not to mention the news] that focuses
specifically on all the horrible things going on in this city, and then
tries to sell you car alarms and home security systems in the commercial
break–you can hardly blame them). The thing is you sit around, constantly
hearing these stories from people, and you just can´t help but get a little
freaked out, even if you know that most of it is probobly overblown. The
thing is I´ve heard this same line about plenty of places I´ve been and it
usually turns out to be completely blown out of proportion, but whenever
you´re hearing it about a new place, you can´t help but wonder whether this
is going to be the one that lives up to its rep.

Anyways all this to say that I was more than just sad about leaving
Salvador, I was a bit apprehensive about what I was going to find in Rio. I
was already making plans to return to Salvador before I left, and although I
was telling myself that I should take Rio with an open mind and try not to
compare it to Salvador because I knew the two were completely different, I
admit I came to Rio with a bit of a sense of the cultural superiority of
Salvador, that Salvador was true Brazilian culture, Salvador was batucada,
candomblé, capoeira, and none of it folklorized (OK well thats a lie, but
little of it at least completely folklorized), all if it living on the
streets and in the vains of the populatoin…that Rio would be brazilian
culture whitewashed…Rio was beautiful bodies on the beach but empty heads
and souls (ok so maybe thats taking a bit far, but you get the point).

Well I´m happy to report, DON´T BELIEVE THE HYPE (well at least not that
side of the hype, because there is plenty of the good hype that Rio does
live up to). OK so I´m not saying danger does not exist here, because that
would be a stupid statement to make, sure people get robbed, people get
shot, but the same happens in New York city or hell Ocean Beach (my
neighborhood in San Diego where there were a handful of murders a block away
from my apartment while I lived but I never felt the least bit unsalfe).
Sure there are places where you need to be attentive, but hell its a good
idea to be at least a little bit attentive no matter where you are. But I
have yet to feel that I´m in a particularly dangerous place, and I haven´t
been hanging out in Ipanema, I´ve been hanging out in Lapa an area that (at
least some) cariocas warn me about, while plenty others tell me its chill.
I´m not saying I wont get robbed or anything, its possible, but its also
possible that I´ll get robbed in Ipanema, what can you do but take the same
precautions you would take in any big city?

And the city…well the city is something else…this place is amazing. Rio
is beautiful, its landscapes are things dreams are made of…pão de açucar,
dois irmãos, pedra da gavea, corcovado with christ looking down at you no
matter where you are in the city (I sit in my classrooms here at the
university staring out the window to the peak of corcovado with christ, his
arms spread, at the top), the geography of this city is amazing…then add
in all the amazing lushness of the city, jardim botanico and tijuca park (a
piece of the rainforest in the middle of the city), the lagoa, its all
breathtaking. I swear I have spiritual experiences riding the bus, seeing
corcovado apear in between the vertical apartment buildings, taking the turn
from copacabana into Ipanema with its long stretch of beach crowned by dois
irmãos (two brothers, the name of the mountain at the top of teh Ipanema
beach, if you haven´t seen pics check this page out
http://www.earj85.com/albums/Rio_de_Janeiro/ [I´m sure theres a better page
but thats waht i found on short notice]), or dropping into barra at night
with lights of the favelas stringing around pedra da gavea like ornaments on
a christmas tree sparkling off of the little lake at the base. It just
needs to be experienced.

And the people…all this mess about how its really hard to meet people here
in Rio, and that everybody is false etc. I haven´t found this to be true at
all. I talked to more locals here in my first week than I think I did in my
2 months in Salvador. I love Salvador, but its definately been easier to
meet people here, and the people I´ve met here have been great. OK this is
going to be an abrupt ending, but I´m getting tired of writing and its
friday so I gotta get home and a nap in before meeting some cats down in
Lapa (kinda more bohemian neighborhood lots of music out in the streets,
lots of good ol samba, plus hip hop, forro, reggae everything, good fun).
I´ll try to get more written soon, as I get more time here, get settled into
my classes at the university here (OK so I know I´ve left a bunch unsaid
here, but I got a city to get to know)…anyways, I hope that everybody is
doing great, and I´d love to hear from people (I´m a lot better at
responding to emails [although I suck at that sometimes too] than doing the
mass emails). I´ll drop you guys a line too when I get my cell phone
(ewwwww NOahs gonna enter into the world of cell phones [I think]) in case
anybody wants to waste their money on talking with me.

Ciao gente
Noah (or Catatau as they call me here [Catatau is Yogi Bear´s Brazilian
name…smarter than the average bear …I´ve now been baptized with an
Indian {dots not feathers} name, that was in SAlvador, and now a Brazilian
one ]).