(Snazzy) business center, Copacabana Palace, 5th floor
A different universe than last trip. The plane flew down, down - looking like it would fall off its vertical path and spin out into the Atlantic. The (expensive) taxi ride in from the airport ran alongside a confident city - Rio's prettier, greener and more colonial than I'd imagined. The mountains are more magnificent, the shoreline more prominent and it feels like an urban center perfectly tailored to nicely fil-out its setting.
As is the Copa Palace, though perhaps not quite as justified to be - wedding cake pretty and lovingly illuminated at night. Check in lady giddy - not polished but brimming with the good news of our upgrade and the Easter weekend. Executive fifth floor feels haphazardly put together and the staff surprised with the duties they might be called onto perform - all except for the busiss-like caparina-making man who comes on in at 6pm. The remaining staff appear unmoored and/or harried and, likely as not, can be found chatting out of easy reach in the kitchen.
But when you do get one, the coffee is spectacular and Diet Cokes free. It's like an airline club lounge with the staff brought in from the check-in desk.
Our room is wonderful, disconcertingly double-height, massive bathroom and tv-in-the-chest.
Worked on Sikkim article by the pool yesterday - a setting surprisingly conducive to focused writing. R and I did the gym, the bar across from Cipriani's post dinner and actually left the pretty harbor of the hotel in the late evening for a dinner round the corner at an Italian place.
It's socked in and drizzly again today - torrentially pouring all afternoon and into the night yesterday. Good for my writing, lousy for tan.
Most significant impression - Brazilians can look like almost anything. For the first time in a long stretch of travels, I could pass as a native, till I open my mouth. But it makes for such a novel experience.
Must write. Must have a caparina.
C
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Friday, March 11, 2005
Home Again
Starbucks on Greenwich,
with a tea. From the Tazo estates of Darjeeling - really?
The fellow beside me locked his laptop to the his chair and looped the cord around the pedestal of the table. And now the lock is stuck - he's going at it with wire cutters. His backpack is also locked - to the chair. "Lucky this time I didn't lock the jacket too" he said as he went out for the wire cutters. Remarkable. On an overnight train in India and he'd lash himself to the bunk.
Back in New York, almost a week now. Lots of pictures going up - so many more to come - but no writing. My road chattiness fades out on home turf. Which is a shame, still stories to tell so will cast back in the next few entries and cover ground too quickly gone over before.
News on the home front not huge - everything spun along without me. Catalogs massed, the plant on the kitchen table survived a month without water, R didn't go to the gym all that much but did photograph the Gates, and bring flowers to the airport, Cin and Ian got another month closer to the Argentinian departure, John and Nadine went to Arizona, Pam downstairs missed me, more tax crap came in the mail, new waitstaff faces at Schillers, bunnies and eggs in the Duane Reade windows. I can now wear different clothes every day, go to the gym, get enormous coffees on every corner, burn through $100 in a matter of days and I can't smoke anywhere, no matter how much I pay.
And March hasn't flipped us forward into Spring yet, still winter coats. But there's central heating throughout the city and infinite hot water.
Shrugging back into the clothes of a month ago and all of a sudden I was never away. You can fill the last month with anything. Today, from just now, circles back and can be seamlessly soldered to the today of my departure. And everything that's come in between exists in a time-out time that solo travel and time changes and foreign cultures allow.
From my plane notes:
This morning, thirteen hours away, doesn't seem possibly connected to the now of this flight. The thread back seems arbitrary, might stretch to any morning, and still it's too thin. Travel disrupts and propels us into a new, linear, open-ended space.
Realized why I like travel, why I specifically begin to feel my peace right at the start with the preparations that attend departure. They're ordained.
Passage through the airport is a relegated series of steps (when did they do away with departure customs?), choices for shopping, souvenirs limited but appropriate – over-priced but saved you a trip to Grand Central, in-flight reading is varied but in the scope of what a trip might warrant, and there's aspirational stuff as well. In the aerie blandness of Terminal 1 I can test the same perfumes and creams I try in Bangkok's duty free, re-familiarize myself with department store brands and heady claims. I can feel the separation from my New York self beginning, and the ties to this other mode of mine taking hold.
There's less possibility in the airport, still less to do and see on the plane itself. But the strictures of the space, the limited scope of what you can listen to and even eat, somehow free me to focus on the creative. I'm freed in a way the infinite of New York, my own apartment, friends and access to all manner of communication doesn't allow, seems to in fact insight the opposite – a closing down of my creative cells.
That's my big reflections for this Friday.
Hugs
C
with a tea. From the Tazo estates of Darjeeling - really?
The fellow beside me locked his laptop to the his chair and looped the cord around the pedestal of the table. And now the lock is stuck - he's going at it with wire cutters. His backpack is also locked - to the chair. "Lucky this time I didn't lock the jacket too" he said as he went out for the wire cutters. Remarkable. On an overnight train in India and he'd lash himself to the bunk.
Back in New York, almost a week now. Lots of pictures going up - so many more to come - but no writing. My road chattiness fades out on home turf. Which is a shame, still stories to tell so will cast back in the next few entries and cover ground too quickly gone over before.
News on the home front not huge - everything spun along without me. Catalogs massed, the plant on the kitchen table survived a month without water, R didn't go to the gym all that much but did photograph the Gates, and bring flowers to the airport, Cin and Ian got another month closer to the Argentinian departure, John and Nadine went to Arizona, Pam downstairs missed me, more tax crap came in the mail, new waitstaff faces at Schillers, bunnies and eggs in the Duane Reade windows. I can now wear different clothes every day, go to the gym, get enormous coffees on every corner, burn through $100 in a matter of days and I can't smoke anywhere, no matter how much I pay.
And March hasn't flipped us forward into Spring yet, still winter coats. But there's central heating throughout the city and infinite hot water.
Shrugging back into the clothes of a month ago and all of a sudden I was never away. You can fill the last month with anything. Today, from just now, circles back and can be seamlessly soldered to the today of my departure. And everything that's come in between exists in a time-out time that solo travel and time changes and foreign cultures allow.
From my plane notes:
This morning, thirteen hours away, doesn't seem possibly connected to the now of this flight. The thread back seems arbitrary, might stretch to any morning, and still it's too thin. Travel disrupts and propels us into a new, linear, open-ended space.
Realized why I like travel, why I specifically begin to feel my peace right at the start with the preparations that attend departure. They're ordained.
Passage through the airport is a relegated series of steps (when did they do away with departure customs?), choices for shopping, souvenirs limited but appropriate – over-priced but saved you a trip to Grand Central, in-flight reading is varied but in the scope of what a trip might warrant, and there's aspirational stuff as well. In the aerie blandness of Terminal 1 I can test the same perfumes and creams I try in Bangkok's duty free, re-familiarize myself with department store brands and heady claims. I can feel the separation from my New York self beginning, and the ties to this other mode of mine taking hold.
There's less possibility in the airport, still less to do and see on the plane itself. But the strictures of the space, the limited scope of what you can listen to and even eat, somehow free me to focus on the creative. I'm freed in a way the infinite of New York, my own apartment, friends and access to all manner of communication doesn't allow, seems to in fact insight the opposite – a closing down of my creative cells.
That's my big reflections for this Friday.
Hugs
C
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Monday, March 7, 2005
Mule Caravan to Musthang
"...just as there are plants
that primitive peoples claim confer
the power of clairvoyance,
so there are places endowed with such power."
- Walter Benjamin, Reflections
Friday, March 4, 2005
Mad mad world of duty free
Bangkok, airport timeless realm
Feel like there should be a seat with my name on it in this transitory realm of boxed orchids, Sang Thip flask bottles, Krong Thips by the carton (why ever?), silk elephants, tan Germans in flip flops and Thai business men with their pants rolled to their knees having foot massages.
I make my usual stops:
Buy a carton of Marlboro's with some guilt
Sample creams in front of a sales women who'd prefer to pretend you're not there than intervene in your plundering of tester bottles
Purchase thickest/cheapest paperback I can find (The Glass Palace)
Try to time a beer so I'll get sleepy as I settle into my window seat to Tokyo, not before the gate's called
Hatch idea: issue beepers to passengers checking in for late night flights.
Wonder about the pills sold in rubber-banded bundles and wonder if any are truly under-the-counter variety, and worth getting.
Wonder when I'll require an Hermes beach towel.
Check if my delayed flight is further delayed.
My Royal Air Nepal flight this morning was not, as I mentioned, actually this morning. Wise to check on RAN flights. They have but one plane and when it's gone for maintenance there you are, wishing you'd gone with the big brand not the romantic one.
C - of King Power Duty Free
Feel like there should be a seat with my name on it in this transitory realm of boxed orchids, Sang Thip flask bottles, Krong Thips by the carton (why ever?), silk elephants, tan Germans in flip flops and Thai business men with their pants rolled to their knees having foot massages.
I make my usual stops:
Buy a carton of Marlboro's with some guilt
Sample creams in front of a sales women who'd prefer to pretend you're not there than intervene in your plundering of tester bottles
Purchase thickest/cheapest paperback I can find (The Glass Palace)
Try to time a beer so I'll get sleepy as I settle into my window seat to Tokyo, not before the gate's called
Hatch idea: issue beepers to passengers checking in for late night flights.
Wonder about the pills sold in rubber-banded bundles and wonder if any are truly under-the-counter variety, and worth getting.
Wonder when I'll require an Hermes beach towel.
Check if my delayed flight is further delayed.
My Royal Air Nepal flight this morning was not, as I mentioned, actually this morning. Wise to check on RAN flights. They have but one plane and when it's gone for maintenance there you are, wishing you'd gone with the big brand not the romantic one.
C - of King Power Duty Free
Narita’s got free internet
Narita Aiport
Something so special you don't want to share. Except that there are terminals to spare. Yahoo-sponsored free internet, no time limits, no flashing ads and nice Toshiba laptops. The mouses are sponsored by VW.
But it's japan and so things are scaled tiny and, of course, the keyboard's not in english. Hit a key (not sure which) and keyboard launches anticipatory kanji. Shut down that window, opえｎ (see) another and back in business. Small pri背ce to pay.
No matter how delayed my flights have been - mornings, 3 hour stretches - still finding myself contented. I stroll the perfumes and study fellow passengers. The enjoyment is the entrapment, the zen is the severity of the limits - spatial, temporal - imposed.
Inspection of Asian packaging takes time, and to consider the candies. I have time to weigh Japan's packaging vis a vis Thailand's: the box of 12 things shaped like birds, the exclamation points.
Should just read my book but afraid to fall asleep at this point.
C - awake in Narita
Something so special you don't want to share. Except that there are terminals to spare. Yahoo-sponsored free internet, no time limits, no flashing ads and nice Toshiba laptops. The mouses are sponsored by VW.
But it's japan and so things are scaled tiny and, of course, the keyboard's not in english. Hit a key (not sure which) and keyboard launches anticipatory kanji. Shut down that window, opえｎ (see) another and back in business. Small pri背ce to pay.
No matter how delayed my flights have been - mornings, 3 hour stretches - still finding myself contented. I stroll the perfumes and study fellow passengers. The enjoyment is the entrapment, the zen is the severity of the limits - spatial, temporal - imposed.
Inspection of Asian packaging takes time, and to consider the candies. I have time to weigh Japan's packaging vis a vis Thailand's: the box of 12 things shaped like birds, the exclamation points.
Should just read my book but afraid to fall asleep at this point.
C - awake in Narita
Thursday, March 3, 2005
Trekked, safe
Kathamandu, Thamel (backpacker ghetto but better stuff and no hair braiders)
I've trekked amazing scenery north of here - in the lower Mustang region that stretches up into Tibet. Have a farmer's tan by wind/sun and high altidude. Feet sore but pleased to be out of crappy boots, a little fitter and 700 photos documenting what I'd recommend with enthusiasm. I'd flatten anyone with enthusiasm.
It's a wonder of the world, scenery of dreams, medieval cobbled towns times, mule caravans with Tibetan saddles and bells round each, the world's widest river valley and not a soul in it. The less good but particular to my solo status: dal and rice beneath a single bulb - having admitted I had "no friends", the sun's sinking behind the peak at 6:30 and not a blessed thing to do for the rest of the cold evenings, damp chilled blanket and fear that flight out of the mountains from Jomson would be delayed by winds.
But no - safe, on schedule, back in Kathmandu, shopping completed, dinner with Nina tonight at Dwarika, then flight to Bangkok tomorrow am.
Pictures will be integrated once home.
C
I've trekked amazing scenery north of here - in the lower Mustang region that stretches up into Tibet. Have a farmer's tan by wind/sun and high altidude. Feet sore but pleased to be out of crappy boots, a little fitter and 700 photos documenting what I'd recommend with enthusiasm. I'd flatten anyone with enthusiasm.
It's a wonder of the world, scenery of dreams, medieval cobbled towns times, mule caravans with Tibetan saddles and bells round each, the world's widest river valley and not a soul in it. The less good but particular to my solo status: dal and rice beneath a single bulb - having admitted I had "no friends", the sun's sinking behind the peak at 6:30 and not a blessed thing to do for the rest of the cold evenings, damp chilled blanket and fear that flight out of the mountains from Jomson would be delayed by winds.
But no - safe, on schedule, back in Kathmandu, shopping completed, dinner with Nina tonight at Dwarika, then flight to Bangkok tomorrow am.
Pictures will be integrated once home.
C
Timeless crossing
"They are homeless
and therefore
they can make their homes anywhere."
Tagore, "Letter for Java"
Bouddha Nath
Kathmandu, Thamel
Nina and I up early to join devout walkers, Chinese garment vendors, and the yak butter sellers at the Boudhanath. Did a few rounds (tried not to bother the faithful with my camera but may have bothered a few), then a pot of masala chai high above in Heaven's View (gate? cafe?) - almost eyes to single eye. Flocks of pigeons laying claim to the stupa in the morning, big/small/old/teenage monks in throngs, in pairs, in deep thought or gossiping (monastery gossip?), very wonderful Tibetan ladies (love how they dress - try also not to bother them too much with the camera), and a man circling in a thick apron, prostrating every few steps. Kathmandu's enthralling at any hour. When we visited the stupha last night it felt like a of sacred Times Square, this morning? - maybe Grand Central with everyone revolving - both mind and body - around the central form.
Maybe.
Late yesterday afternoon fit in the Pashupatinath Temple, a scared Hindu shrine that houses a very very sacred lingam. Shrine itself, with cremation ghats along the river (dirty trickle) at its base, fascinating. But even better, coming up on an enormous sadhu festival in three days so the more enterprising of the ash-smeared, off-their-heads holy men had already set up camps. Hunkered around camp fires passing smokes, challenging stares and the adored focus of not a few westerners who squatted in their midst.
Will miss Asia very much. Hope it won't be long till I'm back. Perhaps with company even...
Love, travels, sadhus, sitars and oms.
C
Nina and I up early to join devout walkers, Chinese garment vendors, and the yak butter sellers at the Boudhanath. Did a few rounds (tried not to bother the faithful with my camera but may have bothered a few), then a pot of masala chai high above in Heaven's View (gate? cafe?) - almost eyes to single eye. Flocks of pigeons laying claim to the stupa in the morning, big/small/old/teenage monks in throngs, in pairs, in deep thought or gossiping (monastery gossip?), very wonderful Tibetan ladies (love how they dress - try also not to bother them too much with the camera), and a man circling in a thick apron, prostrating every few steps. Kathmandu's enthralling at any hour. When we visited the stupha last night it felt like a of sacred Times Square, this morning? - maybe Grand Central with everyone revolving - both mind and body - around the central form.
Maybe.
Late yesterday afternoon fit in the Pashupatinath Temple, a scared Hindu shrine that houses a very very sacred lingam. Shrine itself, with cremation ghats along the river (dirty trickle) at its base, fascinating. But even better, coming up on an enormous sadhu festival in three days so the more enterprising of the ash-smeared, off-their-heads holy men had already set up camps. Hunkered around camp fires passing smokes, challenging stares and the adored focus of not a few westerners who squatted in their midst.
Will miss Asia very much. Hope it won't be long till I'm back. Perhaps with company even...
Love, travels, sadhus, sitars and oms.
C
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