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End July: Reunited at Rainbow's End

The days have flown past since arriving back and we’ll have to close this narrative soon now to make room for another. I arrived with miserable flu but joyous reunion with Caro and VRLB.

We immediately set about trying to get healthy again and have been scouring the horizon for work. At the moment we’re aiming for Byron, Townsville, Darwin, and Carnarvon. So basically the northern 14 degrees of Australian latitude.

We’ll keep you posted!

Udaipur, Puskar, Delhi-o

The reliable old Mewar Express rolled into Udaipur at 0700, I was sprinkled with the first of the monsoon rains on the way to a rickshaw, and was relaxing over a hot banana porridge in the courtyard at Lal Ghat before 0800. And then the business meetings started.

One of the key figures in the gypsy caravan circus hotel concept, Arnaud Azzouz, spotted me and we enjoyed the first of several frank discussions about the potentials for development, collaboration, and the nature of art and tribal cultures. (see the Sayari website)

Lunchtime was spent re-uniting with my extended family at Jagran Jan Vikas Samiti and catching up on all their latest news. Afternoon was taken up walking the property on Lake Pichola and stopping by to say hello to some of the gypsy performers and to wish Sayari’s little Raju happy birthday. Then there was the alternately enlightening and baffling conversation with Kabra-ji, our trusted local business collaborator. Evening was spent writing up a tactical development plan and slipping it through the web for review and comment by the Dixit/Kubiak combine.

So it went for the next week or so. I can’t really remember the details and my notes are just the other side of comprehensible. Suffice to say that I was configuring Skype on a TATA Telecomm “wireless landline” to within 3 mins of the train leaving…and there was not a spare hour to fidget in the whole experience. Anyone who thinks that the pace is leisurely just because cows wander the streets hasn’t been paying attention. India is outrageous.

And so, fattened up by nearly 10 days of unimaginable hospitality, and slimmed down by a relentless work schedule, I slumped into my chairclass and relaxed for hours til we pulled up at Ajmer.

11pm: no taxis, no buses. So I pile into a motor rickshaw (1cyl, approx 100cc, 15km trip mostly vertical) with an insane Italian couple and we buzz through the dark streets, gasp up the mountain range, and rattle down into the ancient holy city of Pushkar, and find myself standing in the main bazaar just after midnight. And the local scene is still chillin’…I get the news: it’s been a long summer (plus 50c heat), the tourists haven’t yet started to flow, and the monsoon hasn’t come on yet…but still, it feels great to be on the edge of that magical lake listening to the city sleep.

Next morning starts early with gift-wrapping and a much-anticipated puja (thanksgiving) down at the lake with our ever-attentive family priest. I said thanks and goodbyes to all our grandparents, asked for continued good fortune for our families, and scattered rose petals mixed with a few tears.

By chance I meet Damilla (mother of ‘bari’ Varsha, our daughter’s namesake) and find out that Suresh-ji, my ceremonial brother, will be back at the house from a hard day’s rice cooking at 4pm. We agree to catch up then. I do a bit of shopping, walking, and organise my ticket for the “tourist class” sleeper bus from Pushkar to Delhi.

Had a lovely visit with Suresh-ji and family (was treated to a trademark plate of curried macaroni). ~Bari-Varsha is flowering beautifully in her 9th year...such a delightful spark...and yet there she is hobbling along with some sort of foot-bone problem that troubles her constantly and looks like it really needs serious attention. Damilla wakes up in the mornings crying because that chronic pain in her back is so intense. Suresh has two rupees to his name and is getting paid next to nothing for cooking rice at the local school. Sigh. Very hard to sit with. I left them 3000Rs and gave a big hug. They are family for us, but "What I can do"??

And then it was time to get on the bus. Lumbering across town with full packs, clanking my new set of chai glasses, and dodging manic street hazards, I finally made it to the (non-air conditioned) coach and realised that my 2meter frame was going to be shoehorned into a 170cm berth for about 12 hours. I had the pleasure of being on the same side as the roof ladder, so the overnight trip was punctuated with migratory riders clambering up and down with their packs and burdens at each stop along the interminable road. Their commotion was almost soothing, however, compared to the hammering barrel-race on the road when we were underway.

Bruised, dazed, and on the verge of hysterical collapse, I was bundled off the bus in some nameless Delhi suburb at 7am the next morning. The first three rickshaw drivers I asked to take me to Jaya’s suburb just laughed and walked away without even suggesting a price…never a good sign. I finally found a driver game for the trip and we set off.

It was a valiant effort, but his old machine sputtered and died in the middle of an intersection 5km short of our destination. Finally secured another rickshaw, made it to Neb Sarai, broke into Jaya's place, and got a shower while they were sleeping. Then broke into her computer and did a map search to find out where my 10am meeting with Sulabh was (far west, past the airport) and set off by 9am on foot through the already hot and dusty streets sweating like a demon in my long kurta, boots, and now 6-days-not-washed traveling pants til a rickshaw picked me up and we completed the trek to Sulabh arriving about 7mins late, which all considered I thought was remarkable.

Now, I'm thinking this will be a nice little sit down with Dr Pathak and we'll talk biodigester tech with his staff...but I am greeted at the door of the compound by several sharp-eyed minders, and photographers (??) and swept directly in to shake hands (cameras whirring) with the good Pathak, and then we march down the path, into a meeting hall, and (hello?) directly onto a stage with about 300 bright-eyed Sulabh-ians standing at attention in long rows stretching back beyond the glare of the footlights. Surreal.

We were on stage for one thing and another for 45mins (Could I say a few words? Of course…) before I finally got a chance to wipe a bit of the sweaty rickshaw crap off of my face and draw breath. Who are these people? They kept assuring me that they enjoy providing a proper welcome to all their important guests… (Could you stand here so we can get a picture?) Anyway, it continued on like this for another 4 hours before I was humbly and graciously thanked for my time and taken home in their own van back to Neb Sarai. A remarkable organisation doing really important work. I had a great time with them.

The evening progressed hysterically, as you might expect, and I finally fell over about 2am and slept til 9 next morning.

Then it was time to connect with Vandana Shiva and her brilliant colleague Mayaji at their new café in Hauz Khas. Fantastic food (slow food applied to new cuisine…amaranth crumbled rissoles, rhododendron juice, green mango and mint cooler...ahhh.)

Too soon it was time to say goodbye to Nishant, Jaya, Blanca, Skazzi, and faithful old Rambe the cook. Namaste India!

An uneventful departure, much needed restful layover in Singapore, and then the darling Stuart was there to pick me up in the cold hours of the morning at Brisbane International.

Home again…

Mid July: Saris and Sorry Business

Back home, however, with just a day before we were to catch a 0600 train to Ajmer (Pushkar), it was pretty rough going. Varsha couldn't keep anything down, Caro was coughing patches out of her throat, and I was a bundle of aches. We lay sweating in bed for 12 hours waiting for daybreak...my teeth pounding in pain, Caro coughing, and Varsha throwing up. A total of about 12mins sleep was had between all 3 of us.

When morning finally came, Caro and I triaged the situation and decided we really needed to reconsider the trip to Pushkar pending V coming good. Frankly the whole Indian adventure was looking shaky. Then we received an email from Ken and Jan telling us that Caro's grandmother had passed away that morning. Aiee. It was always expected (she was nearly 97) and her passing was peaceful, but the reality is a blow when it arrives. No wonder the night had been so unsettled.

There was little question that Caro needed to go home and give respects to her dear Gran. We agreed that I would carry on with the program in India. The next few days were a slow recovery: juggling train tickets, nursing V back to strength, eating gently, and keeping our spirits aloft. Wrestling with Singapore Airlines became a sort of hobby: Caro could not get a confirmed seat out of Singapore back to Australia so eventually we got the nerve up to put them onto the plane in New Delhi and hope for the best.

The next day was pretty nerve-wracking for us all. After getting the girls through the airport in New Delhi, I descended into a funk of anxiety which apparently contributed, in some small way, because after only 12 hours of hanging around on the *outside* of Changi airport Caro and V secured seats and were on their way to safely return to Oz.

On arrival there were tears of relief (thanks Stu), fits of flu, and latent runny bottoms, but things were on the mend. You’ll need to quiz the women out if you’re after the details of July 14-31.

Meantime, I had a train to catch.

July 8th: Descent to Delhi

Landing at midnight in New Delhi is exhilarating: and we had plenty to be excited about. This was to be a deal-making and thanks-giving trip. There was a gypsy circus hotel/ashram/herbal healing centre to manifest in Udaipur, there was puja and gifts for Pushkar, and half a dozen speculative calls to make in between. And with the monsoon just starting Delhi felt good.

But it was all to change.

Our regular hotel in Pahar Ganj received us and put us up an air-conditioned room. The next morning we made our pilgrimage to the masala dhosa shop on the corner and started planning the campaign. Varsha was a bit unsettled after the flight so it wasn't too surprising that she was grumpy that afternoon. We all had a fresh juice from one of the stalls at PVR Cinema and then caught an auto rickshaw to Jaya's home in Sakhet. Jaya is another of the Dixit sisters (Prem, Rita, Jaya, and Romulla) and is my first gracious host in India as well as a sensitive painter, meditator, and lover of music.

After the customary generous greetings with Jaya we settled in for an evening of conversation, food, and music, glorious music. Kathy Sokol (David's other co-wife) joined us and spun the harrowing tales of her documentary project in the troubled state of Kashmir. But Varsha wasn't really herself and we needed to fade back to our hotel before the party really got underway. We bid adieu and rickshawed back home through the hot, still hectic streets.

Sleep was fitful, V obviously unwell, and now Caro had picked up a terrible cough (Delhi air?).


A series of vomits, pit stops and coughing fits brought us through to the afternoon rendezvous. Brilliant Jaya walked us through the gardens but saw that we needed comfort so took us to her old haunt, the Basement (now ~DV8), where she met and fell in love with her man Julio back in 1974. Tres romantic and just the atmosphere we needed.

July 6th: Prague says Ha!

Crossing the border didn't involve dodging bullets or snipping razor-wire, but it did require cunning, perseverance, and iron nerves. We took the old post road from the back of some nameless burg founded in 1205AD and wandered along a little unsealed forest track for an hour before deciding to pick up the breadcrumbs and try a different route.

Fortunately the next attempt worked and we soon found ourselves approaching the Czech border. I was so excited I took a bit of video which prompted the Policize (formerly known as comrades) to come out and shake a finger at me. They sniffed a bit at our passports then waved us through. That was it...we rolled the trusty Polo into the Czech Republic, EU member state (in transition). Woohoo! And then it dawned on us: we have no idea what any of the signs say, and we have no dictionary, and they don't accept euros, and wow this is going to be exciting!

It wasn't too hard to figure that "Praha" was code for "Prague" so away we went across a strangely open, empty countryside. Plenty of farming, but there was a palpable sense that people are preoccupied with something else. Surreal. Caro made us sandwiches in the main square of a little village that still had its red stars and monuments, though one half of the commemorative tablet had been erased (censored?) with a chisel.

In practically no time the road unfolded into the outskirts of Praha and there we were driving in the city of Kafka and Jewish persecution. The skyline is unreal: part soviet bauhaus and part Middle Ages with an enthusiastic overlay of art deco. The river loops around the ancient quarters like a boa and seems to never forget, but the heavy density of memory is constantly roused skyward by needling spires, sparkling gilt, and rapturous stonework.

I reckon the Germans have every right to be a bit self-satisfied. The country is clean and tidy, most things work pretty well, the chow is good, and there's plenty of time left over for a beer or three in the evening.

It was an expensive and marvellous Continental jaunt (4 days, 1800km). Then the whirlwind of rental car return, harassing the airlines for the third time to please seat us as a family group (no luck), and whoosh...next stop New Delhi.

July 4th: Germany says Ja!

So we took our tearful leave from the bosom of the family with many hugs and kisses and mounted an Amtrak iron horse for the 8hr ride to New York. That was a bit of a cultural adventure in its own right of course. And a different sort of view of the American experience from the railway tracks.

We soaked up a couple of days in NYC to see the MOMA, wander through Central Park (check out the disco roller skaters and lick icy poles while horse-drawn carriages roll by with their bored drivers all busily ~SMSing), and score a few choice eating experiences (solid cream-cheese New York style cheesecake), and enjoy long sessions with Prem who is swirling around a great vision for development of the property in Udaipur (half ashram, half think tank). And the blackbear backpack reappeared, so we felt good on that front, though Varsha's cough continued.

Soon again it was time to leave and open our purses to the European Union. We landed in Frankfurt in the wee morning hours, checked in to the Thrifty car rental and wheeled our peppy diesel VW Polo onto the autobhan headed for Kassel before the burgermeisters had sat down to their morgenbraus.

Kassel is a sort of charming city with an old central district that hosts the 5-yearly highbrow arts happening called "documenta" in this case, documenta.12. Caro got a eye-brainful of rarified aethetics for a day while V and I sorted out the now desperate laundry situation. A bargain at only AUD$18 for one load, self-serve. Clean undies are priceless.

But we were soon perishing for proper tucker and I decided to take us in to the Poseidon, a Greek taverna at the far end of town. After a very average meal we were walking back and I decided to do something useful for the family: get a bit of cash out of the Geldautomat in preparation for our departure in the morning. I put my magical gold Visa into the machine and *it was swallowed*. Oopla. There goes our access to the few remaining funds on the credit card. We're now down to just one card of any kind from our starting count of four. Not good.

Yet the news is never all bad. Just before we left Kassel we had gone into a little pharmacy and the good folks had set us up with a herbal cough mix that Varsha actually enjoyed. It seemed to be working miracles already.

The bed was sumptuous, breakfast next morning fabulous (especially if you're a carnivore)...jugs of that rich, buttery German milk...and we left feeling quite recharged and perhaps liberated from the last of the charge cards. From here on it would be cash only. Besides, Caro had been doing a great job of cobbling together her rusty school German to decode our needs and somehow we seemed to be doing just fine.

June: Hanging with the Homies

My brother George was already there at the house with his two little ones, and his wife Davina arrived the next day. It was pretty tough going for the first week...lots of very large logistical movements as we marched through a series of "reunion" meals and events for anything up to 22 people, sort of family but also sort of strangers, at a sitting. This was the first time we four siblings and parents had gathered together in 22 years. We did really well together…probably better than when we were last all sharing a single roof full time (back in 1978).

The family house is a recent purchase: 1890's construction, had to be almost gutted and rebuilt over the past year at enormous cost and strain on my otherwise studiously modest parents. They had not even spent the first night in the house before we all started arriving...so it was truly a baptism by fire.

George and Div had kindly donated some spare days on their rental wagon to us, so we hooned up to western Virginia for a weekend to see the hillbillies and attend a Native American pow-wow. Lots of resonance with blackfella business...same casual approach to ceremony, same dissipated culture, same love of a good time and plenty of tucker, same tragic sense of wreckage.
Drove a bit of the Appalachians on Skyline Drive and then back through Monticello's Jefferson centre (amazing guy, and very impressive what you can accomplish with a few hundred slaves...) A good tour of the countryside clocking 900km.

Managed to fix up my Dad's little sailing skiff (lugger yawl, google Devon Dapper) and have a whole series of water adventures. Caro is a natural on the helm, but Varsha needed a bit of reassurance when the wind gusted and our lee rail kissed the choppy brack of the Elizabeth River.

Portsmouth is part of the original colonisation by the Brits...early 1600's. Lots of history and graceful old buildings tucked amongst the rural decay and poverty and the overwhelming presence of the military. Always fighter jets roaring around overhead and the skyline dense with warships, supply ships, and Walmart ships (I classify Walmart as a military operation).

Dad drove us up to Jamestown (celebrating this year its 400th birthday) where we tried again to get a context for the whole New World thing, Caro in the enormous museum and me and Varsha out in the historical village looking at barrel-maker tools and foundries and stacks of drying tobacco. So much resourcefulness and stupidity in the same little wooden stockade. And the audacity of it all. Gotta admire the nerve to get on a leaky little rowboat and drift across an entire ocean to stake out your tobacco empire in the middle of a few million indigenous adepts. Three cheers for Guns, Germs & Steel, I guess.

Too many "firsts" and "amazings" to stack up here...gotta keep some sort of narrative flow (had you noticed?)

June 1st: New York and hello Family

The trip across to New York was a bit hellish. Started with a fascist airport security moron and continued through stuffed seating arrangements ("Sorry, we didn't realise you'd want to sit together"), bad food, and they smashed my laptop screen ("Normal security check, sir, not our responsibility").

We landed on a hot afternoon sidewalk outside the subway station at Flushing Ave, Brooklyn, with the homeboyz checkin' us out with our stack of backpacks and stuffed bears and bleary eyes trying not to look like we just arrived from Mars but actually no clue how to catch a New York cab or why we happened to be standing on that street at that moment...totally dislocating. I wanted to hum a few bars from the Star Spangled Banner but instead managed to flag down a lovely young Sikh cabbie.

Joyfully, connected with Prem, Rita's sister, and had cold beers and a relax on the roof of their Fort Greene ante-gentrification apartment to watch sunset which by coincidence was the annual ~ManhattanHenge. Not sure what was supposed to line up with what but we were totally grateful to collapse into a homestay for the evening.

Then into the City to rendezvous with my Dad and sister Rachel who had come up for her cancer treatment blood work. She was dealing with it all like a total hero…check out her recovery blog. So this was the first meeting between Caro/Varsha and Rachel, and the first time to see my Dad since V was born. All went very graciously, but obviously many tensions as Rachel remains on the edge of a really heavy cancer trip and my Dad was looking exhausted.

Somehow we survived the inch through all that crosstown traffic, drive down the Jersey turnpike, around DC, down the eastern shore to the Chesapeake Bridge Tunnel, and then arrived at the family manse in Portsmouth in the wee hours. And realised that somehow Caro's wallet with her driver's license, VISA card, and ATM card had been lost. Along with Varsha's new blackbear backpack. Is this a theme or what?

Late May: Half Moon Bay and the Sanctuary

Landing in the USA was freaky for me but we connected with my friend David Kubiak and headed down the coast to their little apartment in Half Moon Bay. It was great to see them and introduce Varsha to Rita (David's co-wife). Walks on the beach, lots of fresh Pacific seafood, fossicking in the community garden.

We moved onto the boat within a few days...not sure what image you had in mind, but this was a bit of a spin. The boat was a big ferro-cement ketch that hadn't been sailed in years. It has been moored there and used as a spare room by the owner who is none too fussy about tidiness.

Fortunately we had license to sort. The first day was non-stop shifting and cleaning. Caro sparkled her magical aesthetics and I did the infrastructure. Varsha Rose was most amused by a former resident's collection of stuffed creatures. In a matter of hours the chaos was sanitized, sorted, incense lit, and serene thread of gratitude was curling quietly around our new little home.

The time went quickly. I did a few days work with David and tried to get his computers sorted out. Caro remained amazed that people really do "talk like that" while we all were impressed with the gargantuan pickup trucks and quaint New England clapboard cottages massed randomly along the agrarian California coast.

We visited friends of David and Rita's (Richard and Katherine) who had an absolutely magical little property in the hills. Katherine is an amazing potter, gardener, etc. Never sits still.

He is a plumber (a good honest trade, like being a builder) but his real passion is gypsy caravans (a ridiculous folly, like being a playwright). Richard himself has Romany blood, and he has his grandmother's caravan from England in his shed where he's painstakingly bringing it back to life. After we left he made a trip back to England, bought two more caravans and a proper draft horse...madness. But splendid.

David left for Japan and India and we took advantage of the spare car to make trips to Muir Woods to see the giant redwoods and to Yosemite to see the giant cliffs. Both were almost too much. Something about the super-saturated majesty of it all...like it's not enough to just have amazing scenery, it manifests on a scale and intensity that challenges the imagination to keep pace. Breathtaking.

And of course a bit of time in the city itself. Beautiful sourdough bread. And then the security key for the marina got lost. But a replacement VISA card showed up in the mail, so we were at least keeping a par score.

Mid May: Auckland in a hurry

We had a gracious little layover in Auckland (2 nights) and managed to walk up a nice hill, sit in a park, go to the museum for exhuberant Maori dancing, and eat some fish and chops.

Somehow my Gold Visa card was lost. Ouch. Remember that this whole adventure is debt-financed, so obviously I needed to get the card replaced asap.

And just before getting on the plane I bit into a sushi roll and half a tooth cracked out. Ouch again.

Mid May: Loving Byron and the Grans

3800km later found us rumbling into the misty hills at the back of Byron to the welcoming arms of Ken and Jan. It was all good.

They were thrilled to see their little granddaughter again of course and Uncle Stu gave her a pink bicycle. Ken was the intelligent, patient mechanical wizard to help sort out the alternator and stroke the old Dyna beast back to purring perfection again.

At some point we had to admit that Varsha's 3 month whooping cough wasn't going away, so went to various medicos and herbalists. No asthma or pneumonia, thankfully, but the cough continued. V refused all manner of cough remedies. Very frustrating trying to stuff medicine down the throat of a hysterical 2.68 yr old. Likewise, she developed a nasty sore on her gum above the missing tooth from when I dropped her on her head in the bus. Turns out the root had rotted and was coming out through the gum. Not to worry says the dentist...it probably will heal and then she'll get adult teeth in a few years.

Sigh. I'm sure you can imagine the state of mind Caro and I were in. Nothing like a suffering child to make a person frantic.

And of course it was suddenly time to pack and get on a plane to start hiking around the world.

Early May: Transit from the NT to the East Coast

The Road unfolds before us.

The trip across in the old white Dyna was fabulous. Camped in some great places, took the tour out to Cape Crawford, caught the express road through Mt Isa, then wiggled down the backroads across the godforsaken backblocks of Queensland.

Long luscious hours of deep conversation while the country unfolded around us. The ritual of making camp. Early nights to sleep and up with the sunrise for yoga, breakfast and the packing dance, tending to the patient steel beast that carries us. We make good road gypsies.

At some point a few days from the coast the beast's ancient alternator siezed up. I had put on an extra deepcycle battery to run the Engle, so if we were near a power outlet we charged up the battery bank at night. Problem was the truck wouldn't low idle...so it made for some very exciting passages of city driving....

Getting out of the house was a bit of an epic in itself. Due to my precipitous departure from the ranks of the painfully over-employed, we needed to shut down our lovely seaside elevated at 6 Walker St post haste to stem the leakage of rent money suffered each week.

So we not only needed to pack for a round-the-world expedition, we were packing up house as well. Varsha Rose was a total trooper as we did our best to de-materialise our lives and go lean.

We managed to get our entire household folded into less than one medium-sized shipping container...still a lot of stuff, but I reckon that's pretty impressive by the standards of today.

greetings and gratitudes

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Our merry band of adventurers set forth from Darwin in late April 2007 seeking the salve of family and the open road. We expect to find our way across the world and settle in a new home by end of September 2007. This blog is here to trace our tracks. xoxox