tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66904023590439069142024-03-12T20:08:34.339-05:00running back to...mumbaithe adventures of a father & son travelling India and running in a marathonRonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-42092769316449035302007-03-20T20:48:00.000-05:002007-04-22T21:53:06.737-05:00thanks for viewing - see ya!<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056447884553484130" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2w_32xGUKBe7o6YAMe2wWJBphLpCgNieKJ9NG_fkRrdgyXEUcw2Wx00rAdH4JJuCuG4a-9PCK-lbNJrAbZQXLLX2GXFv58I53s7pWslM6v8ntgzebhgeIun6J96Qx_cdfYw5mUlLQxM/s320/IMG_1777.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;">This has been a completely amazing journey which we will never forget.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">A friend recently asked me (Ron) what will be the main thing that I will take away from the trip. That's hard to say, there's many things. However, if I have to pick something it would be the strong sense of connection I now feel with the global community. Fair Trade really is not just a concept, it is a community. I now know first hand that my purchases need to be responsible, ethical, and just. Because the difference it makes is real. I'll never forget the powerful impact that a place like St. Marys Women's Co-op makes on the lives of so many families. Selling women's embroidery to retailers like Ten Thousand Villages is the difference between impoverishment and a decent lifestyle with adequate housing, health, and education. Believe it, it's for real, it works. I've seen it, touched it, heard it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">With June Callwood's recent passing there have been many meaningful reflections on her life's work as one of Canada's great humanitarians and social justice advocates. I was particularly moved by her reflections on the thought that there are no innocent bystanders to injustice. Doing nothing to address visible injustice in your world and, most particularly, your community is a choice. It's not just passive inaction and ignorance, it is a choice. You are complicit in your inaction. I think that caputres how I (Ron) felt on this trip. I literally clung to the idea that my participation in Ten Thousand Villages, however nominal, offered some glimmer of hope and justice for the millions of desperately impoverished persons in India. I now know that, at a minimum, I can turn my copious consumption and indulgence into a sustainable and life-giving income for an artisan. It's not enough, but it's something.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">We've received <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">much</span> affirmation for the posts on this site. Thank-you and thanks also for your awesome donation support for the health care centre (nearly $7,000 was donated towards our half-marathon run)! </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Namaste</span>.</span>Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-21412048296723779132007-02-18T15:15:00.000-06:002007-02-21T19:12:06.380-06:00slide show "two"The slide show thing seems to work pretty well. So, follow <a href="http://photoshare.shaw.ca/messages/viewthumb/1425277246-1171832655-16412/preview/page/1/15/">this link</a> for another slide show with more pictures.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-33594099014210500532007-02-18T14:51:00.000-06:002007-02-18T15:25:24.447-06:00slide showI just discovered that my SHAW e-mail account offers web based photo sharing and has a slide show display built into it. So, try this link for a <a href="http://photoshare.shaw.ca/messages/viewshow/1425262979-1171829562-44024/preview/page/">slide show</a> of about 150 of our 1,000 plus pictures.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-28996719379324326172007-02-01T21:48:00.000-06:002007-02-01T21:51:23.728-06:00indian express article<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMrNiRygFguHja0vv46mMrxLLpHPSYknO5EAjI3ZfgXa7lFrXrmKBOrO4FprIlZXeCoGOOlaSUrSkKS3w86RnL8Q05LJNI5H4499V_TH9Q73jr8JmMZHqITkVfahojb27OL78qHo_un9w/s1600-h/Indian+Express.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMrNiRygFguHja0vv46mMrxLLpHPSYknO5EAjI3ZfgXa7lFrXrmKBOrO4FprIlZXeCoGOOlaSUrSkKS3w86RnL8Q05LJNI5H4499V_TH9Q73jr8JmMZHqITkVfahojb27OL78qHo_un9w/s400/Indian+Express.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5026779105607877938" /></a>Click on the picture for an enlarged view to read the text (there's some wrong information in this article).Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-28427990318748211322007-02-01T21:45:00.000-06:002007-02-01T21:48:17.180-06:00times of india article<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAJWond7enhFPdtdlIqUXiMrODJeraiXfTWyHf_bgm-JP6bfGhN4RbVqegctZF6ASQ6y9iH_LaUKDQiRLSmSKOLVhbVmImiCzZSuNVLgj0uTYjqiLd4DZxsKLCy33tfgXBMa6KOXy-j8/s1600-h/Times+of+india.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAJWond7enhFPdtdlIqUXiMrODJeraiXfTWyHf_bgm-JP6bfGhN4RbVqegctZF6ASQ6y9iH_LaUKDQiRLSmSKOLVhbVmImiCzZSuNVLgj0uTYjqiLd4DZxsKLCy33tfgXBMa6KOXy-j8/s400/Times+of+india.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5026778100585530658" /></a>Click on the picture for an enlarged view to read the text.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-48766162120332098312007-01-29T13:48:00.000-06:002007-01-29T14:24:03.477-06:00CBC Post-Trip InterviewClick on <a href="http://members.shaw.ca/ronjanzen/India%20Interview%202.aifc.mp3">this link</a> to a post-trip radio interview by the CBC. Please note that this is a large file (approx a 10 minute interview) and may take a while to load if you don't have hi-speed connectivity.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-73024633983571939892007-01-29T12:55:00.001-06:002007-01-29T12:55:58.480-06:00Wedding March in Agra<object width="425" height="350"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YHYC57zRtg4"> </param> <embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YHYC57zRtg4" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"> </embed> </object>Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-24643278393350030072007-01-29T08:24:00.000-06:002007-01-29T10:44:09.842-06:00A Bag of Chips<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvsRYNk6zhApjfsSvl5WkU07ejllpaqq8a7ljtKhYCQF-BKJJLAGhp5EyOuIIF7-GqZOv6OVkJEjUJwHSe3BQmqflzOt7jbe-ZZUqQUDIDHAqvtfXmiH8JbEmdlM3E1bjNn2PvVXXop_o/s1600-h/IMG_2356.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvsRYNk6zhApjfsSvl5WkU07ejllpaqq8a7ljtKhYCQF-BKJJLAGhp5EyOuIIF7-GqZOv6OVkJEjUJwHSe3BQmqflzOt7jbe-ZZUqQUDIDHAqvtfXmiH8JbEmdlM3E1bjNn2PvVXXop_o/s200/IMG_2356.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025459744676364338" /></a>We went went to the market to browse and I bought a bag of pataki (sort of like chips). I lingered on the sidewalk outside the bakery munching my snack while the rest of group shopped. Pretty soon someone gently tugged my sleeve. It was a mother holding her child and begging me for a handout. I gave her my bag of chips and she immediately walked across the street sat down and began to eat them (I noticed she actually dug in herself before giving them to her child..). It was obvious that they were very hungry.<br /><br />Anand explained to me that she was a Muslim and most likely a divorced woman. There is an unfortunate practice of an old Muslim law that a man is entitled to three wives. When the men divorce one of the wives they may abandon them and any children that they may have. The women too often end up homeless and begging. The practice is illegal but of course difficult to enforce by authorities. Women and children are so often the victims of social injustice.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-24682626536644455792007-01-29T08:16:00.000-06:002007-01-29T08:21:07.086-06:00Ceramic Artisans - Jaipur<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MDeMPch4VTNVUa5R95YgopjGZcB_JkwSzXKHb8VgJjbS7e48d4ks7u57O8dailUoI2JZ22s_NrSOY8D-El7JAX5Mrh2qzpbCgtqzD7Mmg3TGaJgFZF1Zz4i5vw-fzGaciqcwsK7CB3s/s1600-h/IMG_2006.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MDeMPch4VTNVUa5R95YgopjGZcB_JkwSzXKHb8VgJjbS7e48d4ks7u57O8dailUoI2JZ22s_NrSOY8D-El7JAX5Mrh2qzpbCgtqzD7Mmg3TGaJgFZF1Zz4i5vw-fzGaciqcwsK7CB3s/s200/IMG_2006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025456441846513650" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVR3L54c0Q7CMw9NDDRgYbJ5x0PkkO8Xpc_d4gZWKnFB1WTpeR1-4oiI9UUWyVNejDG8D2TVRFVLeEGB4h73YkytFouG2LtloIJg9lGsETbCue7ZHPJ8kMixV4W2d4f3CVZlHatBTSWPI/s1600-h/IMG_2005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVR3L54c0Q7CMw9NDDRgYbJ5x0PkkO8Xpc_d4gZWKnFB1WTpeR1-4oiI9UUWyVNejDG8D2TVRFVLeEGB4h73YkytFouG2LtloIJg9lGsETbCue7ZHPJ8kMixV4W2d4f3CVZlHatBTSWPI/s200/IMG_2005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025456562105597954" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrdrS3IHwXFXaYhi3oGkPCyQUKGRqHFY4MvykRKRwE-8UgngtWzIps6_gTf2W26cKCgniFBQwLn9S3YTa7DHcH6FrahBPemJd1lTYyqgOkgMO69oHZBvXVvh6g7vcj64AJtEUjsw93HnA/s1600-h/IMG_2003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrdrS3IHwXFXaYhi3oGkPCyQUKGRqHFY4MvykRKRwE-8UgngtWzIps6_gTf2W26cKCgniFBQwLn9S3YTa7DHcH6FrahBPemJd1lTYyqgOkgMO69oHZBvXVvh6g7vcj64AJtEUjsw93HnA/s200/IMG_2003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025456819803635730" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8NVoU78sKSEhclQ3WtYQkItuX6kXmH7auu53AsFaR5JaetWVWYlEZASLItgBXkLIBpxQ5LsTtRNUoxemO9Zs6D9xGdKto2FDbhy4aNTJdF2AE9LHMG6t2jaEim5BREV2ocCZK6d2E0I/s1600-h/IMG_2019.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8NVoU78sKSEhclQ3WtYQkItuX6kXmH7auu53AsFaR5JaetWVWYlEZASLItgBXkLIBpxQ5LsTtRNUoxemO9Zs6D9xGdKto2FDbhy4aNTJdF2AE9LHMG6t2jaEim5BREV2ocCZK6d2E0I/s200/IMG_2019.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025457098976509986" /></a>Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-48315014335870898252007-01-27T20:28:00.000-06:002007-01-27T20:43:55.067-06:00Tara Projects - stone carvers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRmjZsIA8tO5QIY_RjW9kSpIWzQAZgD-G5rFqnpMl7O9R66aH_cyqiLKrSt9SVLOuMoCm65-b8qQenzZ4hjMflDdcT7-Ccny7LQqS8zGyik4ZR2lJzoEYeiOjMfhAAeozVcFoNWuGZdA/s1600-h/IMG_2123.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRmjZsIA8tO5QIY_RjW9kSpIWzQAZgD-G5rFqnpMl7O9R66aH_cyqiLKrSt9SVLOuMoCm65-b8qQenzZ4hjMflDdcT7-Ccny7LQqS8zGyik4ZR2lJzoEYeiOjMfhAAeozVcFoNWuGZdA/s200/IMG_2123.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024906454104391634" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIt_oZnFKny_P00z6qWq3Y8JFz08YypajZmLWzcdCUi72IA8rkjEzp4Y1QREGSn3ua3DSfi2r6dCJbx3_Skq9FkgNoNdb2mn5X8DYkDgFlGE5vDFKOLa2eXGi8EtRQeiznucVX3uJv10o/s1600-h/IMG_2110.jpg"><img style="float:left; 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margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOlkYT-XAUJfyCqifr6yu9DfHMZ7undRR0V_HUq2HR0CoGPCgwnaOdjinf4wYcpKfSEnXdAZyzdI7_683ZYLzv1gscozeV_40w2buJq0skTYKUb2f7f_09QvDrz6Qc7um38TlfEklErE/s200/IMG_2107.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024903108324867954" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQY-AIV3FLJ_IcZ_JYjsKOlZ94DdebEPwko6Mzz6iw3KEKCYYS3jjAkJdRsPmPTNGlXDk165mxROIolh2dGEndXGAGDhAWIq9fe5xUO4tSMqBgqtMgdaa0xY3wrabBoDRo_tAi96C_0w/s1600-h/IMG_2104.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQY-AIV3FLJ_IcZ_JYjsKOlZ94DdebEPwko6Mzz6iw3KEKCYYS3jjAkJdRsPmPTNGlXDk165mxROIolh2dGEndXGAGDhAWIq9fe5xUO4tSMqBgqtMgdaa0xY3wrabBoDRo_tAi96C_0w/s200/IMG_2104.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024903885713948594" /></a>Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-32161208759765521062007-01-27T20:15:00.000-06:002007-01-27T20:46:25.396-06:00traffic jam<object width="425" height="350"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZvNQwt4YK74"> </param> <embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZvNQwt4YK74" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"> </embed> </object>Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-35007989997637610762007-01-27T19:50:00.000-06:002007-01-29T17:26:26.340-06:00Dehli - Raj, the shoeshine boyOut for a morning walk in search of an American style cup of coffee, I was soon shadowed by a shoeshine boy. He was most persistent that I should be his first customer of the day. He followed me, requesting again and again to shine my shoes, for several blocks. I went into the restaurant for my coffee and to read the paper. When I came out, he was waiting for me. So, we walked together back to the hotel where I was expecting to meet the rest of group and go out for breakfast. He had very limited English but he started to tell me a bit more about himself (this was very smart from a business perspective and I started to like him…). He was without parents and supporting his younger brother from his meager shoeshine earnings, from what I could make out. His name was Raj. He had softened me up by now and I was ready to have him shine my shoes but I really didn’t have time. So, I told him that if he was still in the area he could do my shoes after I finished breakfast with group.<br />We had a leisurely breakfast together with our tour group and Ivan, Minha an Anand from Asha Handicrafts. After breakfast we walked back onto the street and there he was waiting for me. It had now been about three hours since he first met me on the street. I’ve no idea why he was so persistent. Surely there must have been many other customers for him to pursue but for some reason he remained fixed with certainty that I needed to be his first customer that day. I learned later that the first customer of the day was an important Hindu ritual and considered to be an indication of the blessings that where to follow for the rest of day. I watched him do a quick little prayer of thanks right at my feet as he closed up his shoeshine box and thanked God for my business.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDjEPh-CGyLGFi5CqU-fL9Lkm1an2NERyT2LCWQjZPi_MbwUT1mGdLhlw-0gCBZfBqyOIEvEG1MQATnMmsm_VyZcJiYln0OJzeFL1lb4JtkqJv3Zt4vPr_XBW9PpYw-03xSoBvDs5xTg/s1600-h/IMG_2353.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDjEPh-CGyLGFi5CqU-fL9Lkm1an2NERyT2LCWQjZPi_MbwUT1mGdLhlw-0gCBZfBqyOIEvEG1MQATnMmsm_VyZcJiYln0OJzeFL1lb4JtkqJv3Zt4vPr_XBW9PpYw-03xSoBvDs5xTg/s200/IMG_2353.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025454698089791458" /></a>He gave me a terrific shoeshine (I don’t know if he transformed me into a “movie star” like he said he would, but the shoes looked great) and with Ivan and Anand as interpreters I was able to learn more about his family life as he worked on my shoes. He is 19 years old and has been the sole supporter of his only sibling, a younger brother around 12 years old, for the last 6 or 7 years. His Mother died in child birth and the circumstances around his Father’s death were a little unclear although he seemed to indicated illness was the reason. He indicated that he had struggled with many types of jobs to earn a living to support himself and his brother. Recently he had “rented” his shoeshine box for 30 rupees a day (about 80 cents Canadian). Anything above that was his profit. He was badly wanting to own his own box and he told me that a new one was about 550 rupees (maybe $12). The price was huge for him, but the daily rent was also the difference between indenture and independence. I was ready to just give him the 550 rupees but how could I be sure he was telling the truth? I could only speak to him in very broken English and had only known him for a few hours.<br />Ivan and Anand agreed with me that Raj seemed to be a very sincere fellow and they also wanted to help him. So, there on the street in Delhi, we possibly planted a mustard seed (see Jesus’ parable in Matthew ). I asked Raj to walk us back to the hotel. I went up to my room and retrieved my Nike baseball cap for a gift. I gave it Raj and then paid him 200 rupees (about 10 or 20 times the street rate) for the shoeshine (in the meantime he had also done Luke’s shoes) and Ivan and Anand explained to him that it was for the purposes of purchases his own shoeshine box. They then told him that on Feb 28th they would be back in Delhi on another Asha visit and, if he had added 50 rupees to the 200, they would give him another 100 rupees towards his goal. It wasn’t about the $12 for us (we spent more than that minutes later in the market), it was about how to help Raj and to maintain his dignity and provide sustainability in his life. I later discussed with Ivan and Anand the possibility of setting up a loan fund for shoeshine boys that would borrow them the 550 rupees for boxes (perhaps even built by other Asha artisans) and manage their loan payments. They were intrigued about the idea and said they would explore it. I could imagine a Ten Thousand Villages “Living Gift” campaign of buy a shoeshine box! Think of it, just $12 to put a young man into business and the building of the boxes sustains other Artisans (and the idea is hatched on a “learning tour”)!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYm1fGie5m5Ah-p3PSX0WCl9ud9ykDPGhDdbUZBqJmmeRpTlYjzG6UIXEqhJq6EIncj3SMN20VLNn3nLUX6HBfhbPl33KWh8lwSCRGLVqCUu5UzcMrq8luYN-cNI6EtWE7gZOur4hSDis/s1600-h/IMG_2354.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYm1fGie5m5Ah-p3PSX0WCl9ud9ykDPGhDdbUZBqJmmeRpTlYjzG6UIXEqhJq6EIncj3SMN20VLNn3nLUX6HBfhbPl33KWh8lwSCRGLVqCUu5UzcMrq8luYN-cNI6EtWE7gZOur4hSDis/s200/IMG_2354.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025597617421533314" /></a> <br />This is a picture of Raj standing with Luke and wearing the baseball cap I gave him . When we were done with the whole thing he was calling me father and Luke his brother. The contradiction that is India once again hits me squarely in the chest. Two son’s, both 19, one educated, employed, going to university, strong and healthy. One impoverished, unemployed, hungry, dirty and quite possibly (though I don’t know) homeless. Both of them intelligent, kind, hard working and worthy of the best father possible. And India was again melting my heart and I was trying to swallow the ever present lump in my throat. The night we left Raj waited outside the hotel door for quite awhile because he wanted my cell number. I never gave it to him. I tried to explain to him that his relationship needed to be with Ivan, Anand and Asha Handicrafts. That felt lousy. So why, on this last day in Delhi, with only a few hours remaining till we go home, did I connect with Raj? Did God send me & Luke to India to be a part of planting a new seed of fair trade? We don’t know, but the trip has been a powerful blessing to both of us.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-69895977567784762952007-01-26T04:47:00.000-06:002007-01-29T09:01:59.149-06:00Delhi - morning coffee<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4CSeK2yNVAdswig58S-QlJeCXHGtH236xxAIUlEHQcsBC1yp6cqapD_Jwzjwoq6JXdFvku1EB_sqLxoIDI5YUoW6NUiXmRhAaHbXK_LmE-rXQ8aiMFJQmrygZkrCA46a9nHGf3kTsJA/s1600-h/IMG_2234.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4CSeK2yNVAdswig58S-QlJeCXHGtH236xxAIUlEHQcsBC1yp6cqapD_Jwzjwoq6JXdFvku1EB_sqLxoIDI5YUoW6NUiXmRhAaHbXK_LmE-rXQ8aiMFJQmrygZkrCA46a9nHGf3kTsJA/s200/IMG_2234.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025466011033649218" /></a>After touring the Taj Mahal and Fort Bahdra in Agra yesterday we loaded up and drove to Delhi for our final day. The Taj Mahal was stunning of course and awesome. However, it seems almost heresy to say this, but I tend to agree with Diana’s assessment that I thought it would be bigger. I guess after all the years of looking at pictures and hearing about it perhaps it does become bigger than reality. Anyways, a truly memorable experience and a stunning structure. Also a fascinating story to go with it.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9FTq3DeVsWN2X3CqupGwezK8E53VeWTjY6pwI0H74EAk8GLAze8JR0Xcqhm_bqYk-u_FwgxJqRuTvd4J5ycLPyzq7qTZVBNYGR1ihIgIH9wkP82IQOSLn3jX2Jydv4LNXNb0Q-BBhMA/s1600-h/IMG_2289.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9FTq3DeVsWN2X3CqupGwezK8E53VeWTjY6pwI0H74EAk8GLAze8JR0Xcqhm_bqYk-u_FwgxJqRuTvd4J5ycLPyzq7qTZVBNYGR1ihIgIH9wkP82IQOSLn3jX2Jydv4LNXNb0Q-BBhMA/s200/IMG_2289.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025466590854234194" /></a><br />It was another long day driving in the van. The trip was unremarkable relative to our daily travels. Which is to say that it was packed with sites and sounds that will take me months and possibly years to adequately process. For an average Canadian the simple act of being driven around in India is endlessly fascinating. If anyone tells you otherwise, I would check their pulse. We got lost in Delhi for a while and so we arrived at our hotel around 6:30 pm. Delhi strikes me as a city with a slightly higher standard of living than the others we’ve seen, but it might just be where we were driving. Our hotel is modest but adequate. It is unfortunately situated along a hotel strip and there are tourist haggler’s and hawker’s by the score. You have to keep your eyes fixed forward and walk with purpose to keep them at bay. Most of them are agents working for other hotels and they are trying to get you to switch hotels. I was looking for an internet connection and quickly learned that either I had to switch to a hotel with a connection or I had to give up all of my personal ID to get on-line. I think they might be selling the information to the call centre shops all over India. Whenever they insist on a phone number, I write down my parent’s defunct Winnipeg number. I found one place that wasn’t asking for too much info but then they wanted to photocopy my passport. So, I walked out. Unlike other businesses, they didn’t follow me out begging me to come back and lowering the price. It was obvious that what they wanted was my information, not my business. The Cyber Café owners seem to revel in the fact (and I guess I don’t blame them) that they actually have something that the tourists really want and they make us go to ridiculous lengths just to get 30 minutes of time to check e-mail. They don’t realize they are actually undermining themselves. A foreigner should open a customer friendly Cyber Café here – they would do a booming business.<br />The next morning I gave up the hunt for an internet connection and just went for a walk and to find a good cup of black coffee (I’m getting a little tired of the milky and sweet Indian coffee). Instead of doing my tourist march-walk, I just relaxed and whistled lightly while carrying my newspaper. The reaction on the street was fascinating. I turned from a business target into an interesting foreigner. I was still approached by rickshaw drivers and shoe polishers but they just asked politely and when I said no they engaged me in other conversation. A young boy (well, maybe not so young, I’ve realized that young adult Indians generally seem to look much younger to me than they actually are) who started out wanting to polish my shoes finally gave up the sales pitch and just walked beside me telling me about how he lost his parents and now supports his brother. I love wandering around like this and letting the encounters happen. I feel sorry for the women in our group who aren’t really safe doing this. It’s a marvelous experience. Diana intends to travel alone to the south of India for the next three weeks. She is smart and careful and will be in for some great experiences. I have not felt unsafe or threatened once on this trip.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZx57QVRdbDWmdcHC5NvpKbeiVwgsVRmp02x_EYAPFnK7O7qnEPE9RPAA5iZT3Si8HiRgKWgSY0CBT1yrMvQ37DoHHauv9JfwEb3I7r53UzErcCfZZqtiHuUoiqQyWl4QIJB4ceFi984/s1600-h/IMG_2322.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZx57QVRdbDWmdcHC5NvpKbeiVwgsVRmp02x_EYAPFnK7O7qnEPE9RPAA5iZT3Si8HiRgKWgSY0CBT1yrMvQ37DoHHauv9JfwEb3I7r53UzErcCfZZqtiHuUoiqQyWl4QIJB4ceFi984/s200/IMG_2322.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025467110545277026" /></a> <br />Today it’s Republic Day in Delhi and most of the shops are closed this morning. So, I went back the hotel for my coffee. Turns out they have good coffee! So, I sit in the lobby (they only have room service, no restaurant) reading my paper and enjoying the coffee. The doors are open and as I read the clip clop of horse hoofs over the cobble stone street wafts into the lobby, carried along by a cool morning breeze. The concierge, sitting on the solid marble steps (this is a modest hotel, but still has marble everywhere, it seems to be as plentiful as chip board in Manitoba), starts to sing quietly in Hindi. It’s a perfect morning cup of coffee.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJgr50E_3WTpy-l-UOFQfwELviD_AfSMY_a44hWwG1OQ2QoYWgPyGdpEC7GhSEoPcCG_PFoRuegk4KvxUg5ACZmK8iRtIEK6bR6uFrv0U2NHxnPEkf6PNbeDOtX2n48zbj0NcWPY1N20/s1600-h/IMG_2096.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJgr50E_3WTpy-l-UOFQfwELviD_AfSMY_a44hWwG1OQ2QoYWgPyGdpEC7GhSEoPcCG_PFoRuegk4KvxUg5ACZmK8iRtIEK6bR6uFrv0U2NHxnPEkf6PNbeDOtX2n48zbj0NcWPY1N20/s200/IMG_2096.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025467677480960114" /></a><br />Ivan, Karen and I had a good discussion about what we are taking from this trip over supper last night. I’m so impressed with Ivan. Just 26 years old, married 1 month and so wise and passionate about fair trade and micro economic development and a committed man of faith. I pray that Luke also sees what a giant of a man this is and how blessed we’ve been to be hosted by him. In hindsight, I think that as a young man I failed to recognize some of the great men and women that I was blessed to encounter and I missed great opportunities to learn and develop. It’s also important for “older” men, like me, to realize that we have lessons to learn from young adults.<br />I’m going home today and I’m anxious to see my wife, children and friends again, but there’s an ache in my heart for this country. I doubt that I’ll ever be able to think about this trip without that accompanying ache.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-90856056274411995772007-01-24T09:03:00.000-06:002007-01-24T09:04:16.996-06:00Drum Roll Please...Here's what I know you've all been waiting to see...I found this guy just outside the City Palace at Jaipur... -Luke<br /><br /><object width="425" height="350"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xX5FD6O8pog"> </param> <embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xX5FD6O8pog" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"> </embed> </object>Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-32123208465601937662007-01-23T22:10:00.000-06:002007-01-23T22:15:54.381-06:00the evil eye<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrSGOlGWxdRn3pN_oph67P1XwGjIhhYFf110RqrX2iFXNd1OtoIldv9Ws_RKwH2-_BKgUe01jUl4nKu8tm1MPbBXSjxtEamEpfSsv1U6V23T4OlSx0FtrBbIc1bp-o1R7zCs5XjpV_sE/s1600-h/IMG_1892.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrSGOlGWxdRn3pN_oph67P1XwGjIhhYFf110RqrX2iFXNd1OtoIldv9Ws_RKwH2-_BKgUe01jUl4nKu8tm1MPbBXSjxtEamEpfSsv1U6V23T4OlSx0FtrBbIc1bp-o1R7zCs5XjpV_sE/s200/IMG_1892.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023445727137087234" /></a> Worried about a jealous neighbour? Two peppers and lemon should take of it. You see this combination strung up and hanging all over the place. It’s a superstitious belief to ward off the evil eye.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-72855346340354993422007-01-23T21:19:00.000-06:002007-01-23T22:08:55.129-06:00Jaipur - they were just lapel pinsMonday, January 22, 2007 - This was a 19-hour day packed full of sites and sounds. We arose at 3:00 to get to the Mumbai airport for a 5:30 am flight to Jaipur. Everything went smoothly. The airline was first class and Air Canada could certainly learn a few things from them. <br />How do I adequately cover this day? There was just too much. We started with a tour of a solid marble Hindu Temple that was dedicated in 1985. It is huge and the expense is unfathomable, yet it is only of 6 or 8 that the benefactor has built in India. I spoke with one of the master marble carvers still working on it. He’s been working there for 18 years! The craftsmanship is fabulous and stunning.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYESFjC4j2tw1c21vZUiKHkOGZZPcY2Qc2oJT9czVLVXhw1TvHwECvZ9IqiOcuJvMPsvnz6XXhArYIPySmeBcjavJuDhK0zpPPobcNRkFI6eGKwP22Ft67_y_P5FI0pK8QgvmRNjilUro/s1600-h/IMG_1867.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYESFjC4j2tw1c21vZUiKHkOGZZPcY2Qc2oJT9czVLVXhw1TvHwECvZ9IqiOcuJvMPsvnz6XXhArYIPySmeBcjavJuDhK0zpPPobcNRkFI6eGKwP22Ft67_y_P5FI0pK8QgvmRNjilUro/s200/IMG_1867.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023435492230020802" /></a><br />Then it was on to see one of Asha’s silver jewellery producers. After all of us cleaned out our wallets and packed the remaining corners of our suitcases with product, we spent some time with a couple of the artisans working just above the jewellery store. It is beautiful high quality work. They employ approximately 50 artisans through this one shop. I had to wonder if fair trade was really fair enough in this case, I purchased a number of pieces of solid silver jewellery that only added up to $85 USD total (I won’t say what – that’s a surprise for my wife and girls). Although, typically products end up about 400% to 500% marked up by the time they hit the shelf in a Villages store (I think – by the end of this trip I might be able to run a Villages store!) so, maybe I did pay a fair price from a wholesale perspective.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq9w9dCYjiL7QKY8TnqJJ5BNGX_-kEK5d83fr4eJ8-fstw2-eYPBQkS0kN7Q-OF5s_793bTmUy7hul_GwhwEEvorMwxuIzGmtlp9WB8Mv84_qCs2WRMjLjJsReFX1AOQkivQSypS0B8z4/s1600-h/IMG_1885.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq9w9dCYjiL7QKY8TnqJJ5BNGX_-kEK5d83fr4eJ8-fstw2-eYPBQkS0kN7Q-OF5s_793bTmUy7hul_GwhwEEvorMwxuIzGmtlp9WB8Mv84_qCs2WRMjLjJsReFX1AOQkivQSypS0B8z4/s200/IMG_1885.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023436359813414610" /></a><br />Then we spent the rest of the day doing what apparently thousands of other North Americans, Europeans and Japanese do here on a regular basis – site seeing. Jaipur is a beautiful city with many incredible sites, but is marred by tourism. We visited the City Palace and the Amber (Amer – locally) Palace and finished the day with a meal, camel ride and elephant ride at a Resort in the city. All very kitschy, touristy stuff, but the sites were amazing, our hosts Ivan, Mahinder and Neena (sp?) were gracious and caring and it was a great day.<br />Although all the sites were terrific, it was a group of Muslim kids living on the street that I will remember from this day. We arrived in Jaipur before 8:00 am and the places we wanted to visit were not yet open, so we stopped at a Hotel for some tea and breakfast. Luke and I weren’t really hungry and needed to stretch our cramped and aching bodies from the marathon (worst ache for me is my nipples – I think I now understand Noreen’s breastfeeding trauma 20 years ago – do not buy MEC running jerseys…). So we walked around the area of the hotel. Just down the street was several families living under the canopy of a commercial warehouse. There were quite a few kids of various ages. They were waving at me and incredibly cute. I asked if they wanted to come across the street for a picture under the tree. In no time I had a cluster of a dozen and pretty soon the parents, brothers, sisters, in-laws and grandparents showed up as well. They were so happy just to pose and see their picture on the viewing screen of the camera. The thought occurred to me that a meaningful social program in India would be to set-up a portable photo studio and offer affordable simple photography for these homeless families. Many of them have never seen a picture of themselves and the parents have no family picture records.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinyKV5XhyphenhyphenTwdclgjWD-s7bmZfayo-BBnnamFjRr8c05lQMQIEotmn1fABM64ySM6-5p6NNlPKml7GrrsO1GSgNxozA2XbsKQ_-nCE1znnjzlalu1E8S8X0TdGRtlPPfODkjHdJBVuANoQ/s1600-h/IMG_1843.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinyKV5XhyphenhyphenTwdclgjWD-s7bmZfayo-BBnnamFjRr8c05lQMQIEotmn1fABM64ySM6-5p6NNlPKml7GrrsO1GSgNxozA2XbsKQ_-nCE1znnjzlalu1E8S8X0TdGRtlPPfODkjHdJBVuANoQ/s200/IMG_1843.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023437403490467554" /></a><br />They were just old lapel pins, but it would have taken a fistful of i-Pods to create a similar reaction in Canada. Before we left on the trip I went through the box on my dresser where I had been tossing lapel pins collected over the last 15 or 20 years. It was like a lapel pin history of our lives. Pins from Winnipeg, Steinbach, Winkler, Mennonite Church Canada, Garden Valley School Division, Steinbach Credit Union, Steinbach Bible College, South Eastman Health, Winnipeg Goldeyes, Government of Manitoba, Hoeppner Reunion (I get a special kick out of thinking about that Muslim kid running around Jaipur with “Hoeppner Reunion” proudly stuck to his shirt…), etc, etc. The kid’s went crazy for them, along with the adults. The women were asking for more and pointing to their ears, meaning that they intended to use them as earrings! The 40 or 50 pins were gone in seconds.<br />And I walked away in tears again. Just bloody lapel pins. Damn it! Has the world gone so freak’n mad that people have to live with such blessed little pleasures in their lives? Deep breath Ron, got to get through this trip in one piece. It’s o.k., you’re just a Mennonite prairie boy and this is an ancient civilization, what do you know. <br />This is what India does to a person. It absorbs all of your past experiences and collection of life events within seconds and then overwhelms them with the power of it’s everyday presence. If I stayed here much longer I don’t think I’d remember who I am.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg05ySpYBW4tpwD76DL7GKLhuFpcf9D0NAq20kwYmPB5rwG_z5n8AeL0ZUoYULJUrRZwhd5qujSLw_1TKF0U_S8vOOqjX0V8JIKQDbxWlvh_f-UASQHo-NVRQ4gReEIlVDj8Kga4riL0WU/s1600-h/IMG_1984.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg05ySpYBW4tpwD76DL7GKLhuFpcf9D0NAq20kwYmPB5rwG_z5n8AeL0ZUoYULJUrRZwhd5qujSLw_1TKF0U_S8vOOqjX0V8JIKQDbxWlvh_f-UASQHo-NVRQ4gReEIlVDj8Kga4riL0WU/s200/IMG_1984.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023438601786343154" /></a>Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-62918795743151428512007-01-21T07:02:00.000-06:002007-01-21T07:26:36.188-06:00half-marathonWe did it! The half-marathon went exceptionally well and it was a golden moment crossing the finish line with Luke, holding hands and embracing on the other side! We ran smart, we ran hard, we ran well. Our strategy was to run long and hard at the start and shift to 10 minute runs and 1 minute walks near the end. We also took two water bottles at every chance, drinking one and dumping the other on our heads. Patrick, if you’re reading this the “power-ups” where a big help! There was nothing available for nourishment on the run other than water. We were really glad for those jell packs! The time is not record setting, but we’re actually not sure what it is. My watch tells me 2:32 but Jeremy Piercy (from Shared Earth, London) who started with us but dropped back and is quite sure he never passed us, says his time was 2:15. I think we’ll just go with that! It certainly felt like a strong run, my knees didn’t hurt, Luke’s throat didn’t hurt (although it started to again right after the race – a minor miracle for him) and even my heart rate was an incredibly low. The only negative was after the run, we had to stand in a 2 ½ hour line up to return our running chips. I was sorely (literally) tempted to give up the $30 and keep the chip. Totally ridiculous to have marathoner’s standing around in the sun right after a run. I was amazed that I never saw anyone collapse. The upside was having a nice chat with a Mumbai resident standing in line next to me.<br />Anyways, this wasn’t about our performance. It was a great event. We missed nearly all of the festivities waiting in line, but there was around 30,000 runners and the streets were lined with people cheering us on the whole time. There were massive conga lines weaving all over the streets in the Dream Run with thousands of people carrying banners and dressed in costumes, it was great! A television reporter asked me several questions at the end of the race, so, who knows – maybe we’ll be on Indian TV! If we are I hope they don’t cut the comment about Asha Handicrafts, I know they’d be pleased with the coverage. I'm not sure how we've done on the overall goal of $32,000 CDN in fundraising. I think we made it though. The UK group raised about $9,000 Pounds and I think we've raised around $10,000 CDN so we should be really close. <br />Unfortunately there will be no pictures of us running. We couldn’t carry a camera and the rest of the group was in the Dream Run and, again, because of waiting in line after we missed connecting with them totally. We just got back to the hotel and Luke is asleep already. I’m so proud of him, he gave it everything to do this with me. I’m such a blessed Dad. And now, I’m going to follow Luke’s lead and hit the sack (our relentless schedule has us up and off to the airport at 4:00 am to fly to Jaipur). It’s such a good hurt.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-78842626387348331442007-01-20T10:27:00.000-06:002007-01-20T10:35:37.229-06:00No Picture Day...Mumbai, 12 hours till we runAfter a pre-marathon workshop at Asha, I took an afternoon off to rest up for the marathon tomorrow. It’s my first free time since leaving Steinbach and that feels like about a year ago. It’s interesting how constant change and unfamiliarity seems to make time stand still. Constant change and familiarity (like at home) is just the opposite, time races past.<br />I was too wound up to actually just sit around and rest. Plus, I needed some safety pins for my running bib. I’m running as number 5003 with the subtitle “VETERAN”. Either I’ve been recruited to the Indian Army or they are under the sadly guided impression that I’ve been here before! Anyways, back to getting the safety pins. It was a long meandering walk till I found a small “general store” along the street and picked up a couple of packages of pins (I think all 7 of us will likely need them). I mentally stored landmarks as I walked because I was quickly in unfamiliar territory. On the way back I started to forget my landmarks, but told myself I’d know it when I see it. And it worked, I made it back to the hotel without any wayward incidents (although I kind of hoped I would get lost, just for the adventure - but then I wouldn’t rest…). I passed all kinds of interesting things and my photographer’s finger was on the trigger the entire walk. But I took no pictures. I couldn’t do it. These are people living their everyday lives, not monuments, not sideshows, not performers. For Canadians the pictures would tell a powerful and necessary story, but how do I communicate that as I invade their personal space? <br />Instead, I just walked up to people and talked to them (well, o.k., I was brave enough two times). There is a slum area just a few hundred meters from the hotel. I stopped in front of a roadside stand where a fellow about Luke’s age was setup with an ancient sewing machine. The stand was about the size of the little shelters that farmers in our area setup at the end of driveways for their kids to wait for the school bus. Except it was made from about 10 different materials of various types and shapes and leaning together at crazy angles. As we briefly talked (it was difficult as his English was almost nil), I thought how vast the chasm was between us and yet how small. As small as stopping to care. Stopping to take interest. Stopping to see him as more than a quaint picture addition to the thousands of images I already have. It’s really the same at home. How many unseen neighbours do I have? The Dutch Connection trailer court is not unlike some of the sites over here. It’s nicely tucked away though, out of site, not lining the road beside a nice hotel. We’re very sly at home, oh so careful about protecting ourselves from our own visions of poverty. And so quick to blame people for their circumstances.<br />Jesus follows the Beautitudes with the passages on being Salt and Light (check out Matthew 5 for a change). After blessing the poor, the meek, the hungry, the thirsty and the mourning, he tells the rest of us to make a bloody difference. It’s no coincidental alignment of scripture. I feel like He’s walking right beside me on this trip and “gnarking” me the whole time (something my Uncles used to say when they got fed up with me nagging them to drive the tractor on my summer farm visits – probably some low-german derivative twisted into English…).<br />Immanuel, Asha Resource Centre Manager, closed his presentation at the workshop with the story of the starfish. You know the one. The moral being that throwing just one of the millions of starfish washed up on the seashore back into the sea may seem pointless, but it makes all the difference to that one. It’s true of course and a very appropriate description of the work of Asha and Ten Thousand Villages. So many lives have been changed and in some cases a cycle of poverty has even been broken for a family or a small community.<br />But I’m a macro-economist. I don’t fully buy it. It makes all the difference to the one but it doesn’t end the cycle. It doesn’t change the absolute certainty that the tides will continue to form and millions will continue to die. I think we need both. We need the fair traders who will work at the micro economics and affect change in small increments that occasionally become larger agents of change. But we also need the Ghandi’s to affect system change. Jesus was very personal in His ministry, one on one. But in the final gesture, He sacrificed it all to affect global change. Maybe, we all just need to realize that He’s done it by living like we believe it. And maybe Canadian Mennonites need a new Anabaptist Ghandi to stir up our placid and comfortable lives. I’ve been wearing my “make poverty history.ca” white arm band from Ten Thousand Villages for about 6 months without taking it off. It feels like an empty statement here in India. I feel like I should throw it in one of trash filled gutters running all over this neighbourhood. Wonder if Bono has ever been to India?<br />Well, see you at the finish line!Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-11117175188405017642007-01-19T20:25:00.000-06:002007-01-20T00:10:23.200-06:00Cave Rapper<object width="425" height="350"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dHCpXAjp3fE"> </param> <embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dHCpXAjp3fE" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"> </embed> </object>Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-90393990390864987812007-01-19T20:05:00.000-06:002007-01-19T20:39:09.244-06:00Back in Mumba - 48 hours till we runI thought I knew something, I thought I did something, I thought I made a difference. I know nothing, I understand nothing, I affect nothing. The greatest democracy on earth is a contradiction too wide, too deep and too far to explain. A few days ago I was beginning to think that India was a Country in the process of imploding. Today we spent the day touring the business, banking and government districts of Mumbai. It’s huge, it’s powerful and it’s expanding at rates we would find unbelievable in Canada. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjht8KJiGQUtJfGNG7ZdKTOvoorzF6qtkQtCVUbOf1h82B5izCN8Wt4fxIYdCM_eTPoE83D_pDwmrn8iR1J9rkbFes1wdMouyBxXMAPxV8c29EY-UMHRyUNgkuT3fF__XJoWwwbIDVM9ak/s1600-h/IMG_1723.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjht8KJiGQUtJfGNG7ZdKTOvoorzF6qtkQtCVUbOf1h82B5izCN8Wt4fxIYdCM_eTPoE83D_pDwmrn8iR1J9rkbFes1wdMouyBxXMAPxV8c29EY-UMHRyUNgkuT3fF__XJoWwwbIDVM9ak/s200/IMG_1723.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021933945893535378" /></a><br />We spent the day in broad 6 lane avenues graced with palatial homes and new steel and glass office towers. I thought I understood how this works. A student of economics, business, political science and commerce I was taught to believe in the democractic/capitalist miracle of the majority middle class. It’s not here. I see only the super elite/super rich, a modest managerial/technical middle class and a majority of desperate poor. Why? Where is the trickle down of capitalist wealth? Why are so many millions completely outside of this economic rebirth and when will they be included? The contradiction hits us full in the face as we sit at the beautiful city centre in traffic gridlock and children appear, as if from no where (and everywhere), and thrust their hands through the windows to hawk something or simply to beg. We stop at a swanky Bank to cash some travelers cheques, first I’ve ever seen a guard with a double barrel shotgun at the door (he would NOT let me take his picture…). Then we walk around the corner to the vehicle and there’s street barber where you can get a shave and a haircut for 5 or 6 rupees (yup, that’s right, “shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits” is still a reality here).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymCoy-SgMdIl9yoeb1DGS5j_WKowWcCcch6JAlFYWOa42h-HGIHzGxBCFnrv66z0ypEuIuGWeuhwehHlc65d7DvIb711m7O2AtMmlkB7aO1CWjGX5nEcByWHoaEUcb9ovpKnyFQ1Oid8/s1600-h/IMG_1730.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymCoy-SgMdIl9yoeb1DGS5j_WKowWcCcch6JAlFYWOa42h-HGIHzGxBCFnrv66z0ypEuIuGWeuhwehHlc65d7DvIb711m7O2AtMmlkB7aO1CWjGX5nEcByWHoaEUcb9ovpKnyFQ1Oid8/s200/IMG_1730.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021934615908433570" /></a><br />I was encouraged to learn that the poor are a political force. In Dahvari, largest slum in Asia, the land has become valuable for development. To protect the slum residents the government has passed laws that include the limiting of hi-rise developments to only certain heights unless developers build new homes for the poor and relocate them. There are also laws protecting the displacement of slum residents unless they are relocated at the developers expense and give new housing.<br />Nonsense Journal (2)…<br />We did a very touristy thing today and took a ferry to Elephanta Island. About a 45 minute ferry ride South of Mumbai on an Island in the Arabian Sea. Although the Island has no elephants, it is named for a life size carved stone elephant that was discovered on the Island. However, the Stone Elephant has been moved to the zoo in Mumbai. But there are still the carved stone caves from the 7th century. Fantastic structures that were well worth visiting. We discovered that they also had amazing acoustics and Luke had a little fun with rap beats and scales! (see the youtube post Cave Rapper - above)<br />I bartered again today and I think I made a good deal as well. A 2GB SD Card for the camera for about $45 ($2,000 rupees). This will really help with all the video snaps I’ve been trying to take. But there’s really no joy in the bartering when you do it from a position of relative wealth. It makes some sense to me when it’s between individuals of relatively equal economic position. But it seems ridiculous for me to be wanting to pay less than Canadian prices just because I can. Not to mention that I’m here for the purpose of promoting fair trade. So, I guess I’m part of the contradiction that is India.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaJbvdvzFSjfJuXIq2ZCE1rt6bX0M1-9oZ9QnqbTOhBm1PTvsO5MxFt6Sl3WDEBIJX7idNd41MhpD28_9N4Nz2D5nBVenXXe-UPb8vaTL55wg7Se7XRZkFXA1R3zEoWzzc1Ph-aUtWpI/s1600-h/IMG_1780.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaJbvdvzFSjfJuXIq2ZCE1rt6bX0M1-9oZ9QnqbTOhBm1PTvsO5MxFt6Sl3WDEBIJX7idNd41MhpD28_9N4Nz2D5nBVenXXe-UPb8vaTL55wg7Se7XRZkFXA1R3zEoWzzc1Ph-aUtWpI/s200/IMG_1780.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021935358937775794" /></a><br />Sorry these pictures are all messed up - Luke is in bed fighting a sore throat, how can you tell!Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-38088700876005876862007-01-19T20:00:00.000-06:002007-01-19T20:23:57.019-06:00Ahmedabad – day 2We started the day with a tour of the St. Mary’s Womens Co-op, which is run by the Dominican Nuns here. The co-op provides work in textile embroidery for about 450 women. It is an astounding operation which includes a school and a hospital. We met the women at the facility and observed how the products are made including the training centre. It is beautiful hand embroidery which is put on wall hangings, shirts, handbags, table clothes, etc. The women live right around the Co-op and are able to do the work at home and make trips to the co-op for training, picking up more materials, quality inspections and receiving payments on their work. They said that Ten Thousand Villages is their largest product purchaser. I was so pleased to hear that because the program clearly makes a fantastic difference in the lives of these people. <br />We broke up into groups of two and went visiting the women in their homes in the slum. This was such a moving experience. I am still trying to figure out exactly what it meant. Visiting these people in their slum homes was like traveling to another world. And for the most part these were good slum homes. They had tin roofs, cement walls, tile floors, hydro and running water. They even have property ownership. The embroidery work that St Mary’s provides has been key to making this possible for these families. Today we have experienced first hand the beginning and the end of the Ten Thousand Villages supply chain. It all starts with identifying the needs of these families and it ends with providing for at least part of those needs. This is why I’m here. This is why I’m involved with MCC. This is hands and feet for my faith. This is meaningful discipleship and profound ministry. Spending my time at the Board table doesn’t always reflect the holy ground on which this work treads. God goes before us in this work and we need to see his face in these people.<br />The curiosity about us was at least equal to our fascination with the slum life. The doorways were crowded with neighbours who came to see who was visiting and why. One young girl, with a three month old baby, appeared in the doorway and asked our interpreter something. He waved her into the room and then announced that she was requesting if Luke and I would give her a new name for her baby! We kind of smiled politely and laughed it off and proceeded to change the subject. However, she persisted and asked again. This time taking the covers off the baby and showing her to me for a picture. So, Eleanor, Yvonne or Lana if your reading this there may be a baby in Ahmedabad that is your name sake!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSqmpU2Lg0Kmqpord9M1NwovtjwmSIHT_nom2dfnYcMzLdN94ktQxrmfUgsdMHxk5hQlT4qVIVXmx2qUecOYjWpuaxSWKvw0lSvrToeWHhuS8uGPikeoOVSKfwP8GGYvX-ulhC94eLbxs/s1600-h/IMG_1618.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSqmpU2Lg0Kmqpord9M1NwovtjwmSIHT_nom2dfnYcMzLdN94ktQxrmfUgsdMHxk5hQlT4qVIVXmx2qUecOYjWpuaxSWKvw0lSvrToeWHhuS8uGPikeoOVSKfwP8GGYvX-ulhC94eLbxs/s200/IMG_1618.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021929028155981394" /></a><br />The slum was just beside St Mary’s and as we walked back I came upon a scene straight from Rohinton Mistry’s “A Fine Balance” which you simply must read. There were three tailors, all young adult men, crammed into a old shack right beside the street. Veejay, who was our interpreter, said they would be working as sub-contractor’s on a piece work basis – just like in the novel!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVC71C_ZS2q-5p4FHbj5DQ1KIQZAu1LrvbREFCqma2qMID3U1MIlWj9qtn6eoaw0CupS7egMXBW1rtk5_1feQUxMUUB6u-HjnWYX6SrKx9HvA7CFgHVbFYmCHVkmmaf6SJcHWx5Xto-lI/s1600-h/IMG_1626.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVC71C_ZS2q-5p4FHbj5DQ1KIQZAu1LrvbREFCqma2qMID3U1MIlWj9qtn6eoaw0CupS7egMXBW1rtk5_1feQUxMUUB6u-HjnWYX6SrKx9HvA7CFgHVbFYmCHVkmmaf6SJcHWx5Xto-lI/s200/IMG_1626.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021930213566955106" /></a><br /> In the afternoon we went to Ghandi’s Ashram and toured the grounds. The 82 year old Tour Guide there pointed out to us that the name of Ten Thousand Villages comes from Ghandi’s writings. I noticed that one of the principles of Ashram life was control of the palate and this included not eating spicy food. You have to be here to imagine just how radical that is! There are entire markets devoted to spices of every flavour you can imagine and more. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPi50g3B91Y5eiwa7MKGpY4f1_G8i9Cfn18LdPdfqBnaV2eW1JxFyDV9DCXV6Nel4CWosuGRaVvlfcMlKL8ywA9Im4lnaM_rfvGQi5NRq-0xjDrmCwnKpZPfKCsjLirTqSlpa9uvAMmoE/s1600-h/IMG_1662.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPi50g3B91Y5eiwa7MKGpY4f1_G8i9Cfn18LdPdfqBnaV2eW1JxFyDV9DCXV6Nel4CWosuGRaVvlfcMlKL8ywA9Im4lnaM_rfvGQi5NRq-0xjDrmCwnKpZPfKCsjLirTqSlpa9uvAMmoE/s200/IMG_1662.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021930862107016818" /></a><br />After the Ashram we went to the Stepping Well of Adaj. This is a beautiful stone sculptured well from the 15th century and it has a tragic romantic history. If I got the story right it was built by a Muslim King for a beautiful Hindi woman who said she’d marry him if he built the well for her. He built the well and had the architect and master builder’s murdered so that another well could never be built. Marriage between a Hindu and Muslim was forbidden that the Hindi women threw herself into the well because she could not marry the King.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKl5WdlE0E4w3SJi5HUVW0cssBgHhP3GTB0O7QSmuHqF8pU_68Ot77EFqpeerRnr2CMvWyMrHne_yBT_dDssWRMtI0qCoTAcEtgDu6bP6trBwQzNy9CSJ1H7AmZnTVMJLz-a9qOah1AqQ/s1600-h/IMG_1673.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKl5WdlE0E4w3SJi5HUVW0cssBgHhP3GTB0O7QSmuHqF8pU_68Ot77EFqpeerRnr2CMvWyMrHne_yBT_dDssWRMtI0qCoTAcEtgDu6bP6trBwQzNy9CSJ1H7AmZnTVMJLz-a9qOah1AqQ/s200/IMG_1673.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021932361050603138" /></a><br />Nonsense Journal (1)…<br />India has this interesting, quirky, beauracratic, and trivial tendency that we keep running into in hilarious ways. For example, while visiting the Jain temple, there was a “keeper of the shoes” (there is a person for every little task imaginable, particularly at monuments and public historical sites…I often have no idea why there are people appearing in pathways and doorways, apparently just to watch us in a pretentiously official way as we walk past) and he processed the storage of our shoes in most ceremonial and official fashion. We had to line up in a semi-circle around him and remove our footwear one by one while he took out numbered tokens and proceeded to give them to each of us. Behind him was a large box with cubbyholes for the footwear (like in a bowling alley) and there were corresponding numbered slots. When he finally got to Luke and me (everything being done slowly and with much deliberation), he paused for a long time to assess where to put our shoes in the virtually empty box with about 75 cubbyholes. Finally, he selected slot 66 and then but both pairs of our shoes in their and gave us token number 49. Luke and I held our sides until we were a respectful distance away and then roared! Ah, India! (Remind me to tell you also about the Tour “Nazi” at the Textile Museum some time…)<br />In the evening we went to a night market and then out for supper to a great Indian restaurant. Sister Lucia and Sister Sylvia from St. Mary’s hosted us fabulously. After the meal, walking to the car, we attracted the attention of street beggars again, as had been the case most of the day. By now my money belt was feeling like a lead weight. The boy shadowing me, maybe 13 years old, was carrying a couple of balloons that he had twisted together and was trying to interest me in for 100 rupees (around $2). The price quickly dropped to 50 rupees and then to nothing as he simply held out his hand and pointed to his stomach. My heart was breaking, if there was any structure left to it that could actually break after these past 5 days, and the wad of 50 rupee notes in my pocket felt like a file of convictions. All of them writ large with greed, indulgence, over consumption and injustice. Sister Sylvia came to my rescue (“my” rescue, the irony…) with a doggie bag of leftovers from supper, which she had thoughtfully requested and now gave to the boy. Matthew sums up Jesus’ ministry in Mtt 4:17 by simply stating, From that time on Jesus began to preach, “Repent for the kingdom of heaven is near.” I find that popping into my head for some reason. As India takes another piece of my heart, another day ends.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-34691869899580123872007-01-17T08:25:00.000-06:002007-01-17T08:54:26.803-06:00Ahmedabad<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNegamiGI6j-Z56Pt5mLhMEdfs7t7xm8wIxUtcrO3h9ZqkTrCo1ERB4iJzF2ddM-rm4-bN6Y2nonJcw6n18D4ZgV65jwbKbOkXSrO9f3pTcII4aGYbavisDrQdDuBAEkZH0TB1BUabDx8/s1600-h/IMG_1485.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNegamiGI6j-Z56Pt5mLhMEdfs7t7xm8wIxUtcrO3h9ZqkTrCo1ERB4iJzF2ddM-rm4-bN6Y2nonJcw6n18D4ZgV65jwbKbOkXSrO9f3pTcII4aGYbavisDrQdDuBAEkZH0TB1BUabDx8/s200/IMG_1485.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021005940899823106" /></a><br />Our day started at 4:30 am as we packed for the train ride north to Ahmedabad from Mumbai. We hired two taxi’s for the group. These are a slightly larger version of the three wheeled auto-rickshaw which seem almost as numerous as the people Whenever you think that it can’t possibly get more crowded or chaotic, it does. Whenever you think you’ve seen the most persons packed into a tiny rickshaw or taxi you see more. About the first time that I’ve seen one of these drivers challenged with carrying capacity was with our luggage. The drivers seem baffled by how much we are carrying around and how to arrange it into an efficiently packed space. We all thought we were modest and practical by packing no more than 2 bags each, a day pack and a suitcase. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg1mfH8bj8xnuKnNZFJgiB2ToOZDNKXo7Cw3IxhFQKfO7_15xUnqKJkQLCtQzDtG44kK-endX95-rf3qMmQB-kV-EtmxqT0SCCOg7S1bq6YoVRm34cMxpzBC0qBWUnhiD71VggEws_FN4/s1600-h/IMG_1503.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg1mfH8bj8xnuKnNZFJgiB2ToOZDNKXo7Cw3IxhFQKfO7_15xUnqKJkQLCtQzDtG44kK-endX95-rf3qMmQB-kV-EtmxqT0SCCOg7S1bq6YoVRm34cMxpzBC0qBWUnhiD71VggEws_FN4/s200/IMG_1503.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021011494292536866" /></a>But when you put it all together it’s looks like enough to fill a half ton truck. And half-tons, SUV’s, and mini-vans are simply not around. Maybe all our baggage, or what it represented, is what annoyed our taxi driver. I ended up sitting up front with him (close beside him – this vehicle is not much bigger than an Austin mini) and when I asked him if he spoke English he flashed me a very angry look and a pronounced NO! I kept to myself for the rest of trip while Luke, Karen and Arlene in the back seat giggled.<br /><br />How long have we been here – two days, two weeks, a month? I have to think hard about that. It’s just day three but my mind is racing with thoughts, my ears are aching with sound and my eyes, my poor eyes, they’ve never processed so many different and intriguing images in a constant stream. It’s just the last 24 hours that I want to journal, but I can’t focus my thoughts on where to start. I’m jumping around in my mind from one experience to the next, unable to weave the fantastic chaos of the day into a coherent story.<br /><br />I fought back tears for the first time today. Strange in a way. As I anticipated the trip I kind of braced myself for the poverty and despair that I knew would affront my senses. However, it was the trip to a 15th century Mosque in Ahmedabad that broke me down. As we toured the palatial grounds of this ancient site, the speakers came on and the Oman began the call to prayers. There were many locals (Muslims I assume) around and they were fascinated by us. They asked to take pictures with us, like we were dignitaries or something. As that ancient call to prayer filled the air and combined with their genuine friendliness I felt suddenly felt tears welling up as I thought about how our world was so filled with hatred and war between Muslim and Christian. I had to walk away from Sister Sylvia, the nun from St. Mary’s (where we will visit tomorrow) who is our guide for the afternoon and evening, and cover my tears. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vdJmL0ZT-l9TU8WOtdbGm0_VGB6AKqW92dyfmG-r_p09W-HVlF72ki-6M33EV29w346THMh-JWTVXq1PisGBL4aZ3vhyas0rbvqQN7WdIp7syaTYztH8_jXYJnMmCtyqBaPjmGlrDV0/s1600-h/IMG_1517.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vdJmL0ZT-l9TU8WOtdbGm0_VGB6AKqW92dyfmG-r_p09W-HVlF72ki-6M33EV29w346THMh-JWTVXq1PisGBL4aZ3vhyas0rbvqQN7WdIp7syaTYztH8_jXYJnMmCtyqBaPjmGlrDV0/s200/IMG_1517.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021011902314430002" /></a>I notice Luke is drawing a lot of attention from the kids and teens (particularly the teenage girls – which looks really curious as they are dressed in kurti’s and sari’s and he is in jeans and a t-shirt). At one point he inadvertently walks past an entrance where the rest of us went into. When he realizes it and turns around, there are about a dozen people right behind him all pointing helpfully to where we are!<br />As we bomb around Ahmedabad (the hotel driver assigned to us is a complete maniac who manages to draw out the international symbol of other annoyed drivers every few hundred feet as we blare our horn, cut people off and push them out of the way) we are waved at, called out to and even followed by total strangers who are just interested in seeing us. on the street. I could fill pages trying to describe what traveling is like. It really is beyond description. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpDrKFQaZj-juYKpKsrYIFLfEK7OZrhFWK23auxS3ZNfgnn7klgbCKAYVEKQDfCmVCaXcIi7X_kbYHb1BPz_IYcHGhLTYf9jJvbR0_LNcJyt01_JMCge9uCijJmODcP5gojYnXmy3kkjo/s1600-h/IMG_1489.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpDrKFQaZj-juYKpKsrYIFLfEK7OZrhFWK23auxS3ZNfgnn7klgbCKAYVEKQDfCmVCaXcIi7X_kbYHb1BPz_IYcHGhLTYf9jJvbR0_LNcJyt01_JMCge9uCijJmODcP5gojYnXmy3kkjo/s200/IMG_1489.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021007392598769170" /></a>An auto-rickshaw loaded with about 7 or 8 school girls follows us for several KM’s weaving in and out of traffic so they can keep waving and greeting us. They are incredibly cute as they alternate pushing their faces out the sides and backs of the rickshaw to wave. The driver is grinning ear to ear as we snap pictures and he keeps his poor rickshaw, with it’s 70cc engine floored trying to stick to our bumper.<br /><br />The ancient Bazaar with more sari’s and kurti’s than I ever thought possible, roof top dining in Ahmedabad, the train porter selling books with titles like Mein Kampf, 101 Moral Stories about Grandpa, Sexy, Stylish and Spirited, our picture on the cover of the sports page (beside David Beckham, as Luke pointed out) of The Free Press Journal of Mumbai. My head is swimming, I literally get dizzy trying to journal about the day.<br /><br />I badly need to run. But I’ve no idea where to run. There are no open spaces. I can’t understand how the 30,000 people who will be in the marathon have completed their training. Running 4 or 5 times a week in this traffic, I just can’t fathom.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3JAFtVrdqJ-9wigveXakz4IE-o7oM_rpweIU5PCgw5eno6X3EYzl9opBty9M9EN04vRK2bUBA58z4XH7ol6lC144E928cLM2JY4rfxiXsymCBkxS1fganfgbFn0lUz_tOx8caD2ruF8/s1600-h/IMG_1613.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3JAFtVrdqJ-9wigveXakz4IE-o7oM_rpweIU5PCgw5eno6X3EYzl9opBty9M9EN04vRK2bUBA58z4XH7ol6lC144E928cLM2JY4rfxiXsymCBkxS1fganfgbFn0lUz_tOx8caD2ruF8/s200/IMG_1613.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021012293156453954" /></a>Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-83747147982979077382007-01-15T11:27:00.000-06:002007-01-15T11:42:39.472-06:00press and getting aroundToday we went to the offices of Asha Handicrafts (the organization in India that Villages purchases products from), met the staff and received a tour of the facility and orientation to the program. We also went to their first retail outlet, a brand new store in a new mall somewhere in Mumbai (I've no idea, I was so lost from the minute we started driving). It's a beautiful store with great style, design and branding. We were all very impressed at what an excellent job they've done of their first ever retail outlet.<br />Asha had also organized a press conference regarding the marathon and what a press conference it was! The whole thing took around 3 hours and I counted approximately 25 reporters and photographers. None of us were really prepared for such a major press conference. Karen did a great job of delivering an off-the-cuff statement to the press and then they randomly interviewed the rest of us. There were also significant speeches by Asha staff and four rounds of "running" while the photographers snapped pictures of us! Bizarre we could actually end up with our pictures in major Mumbai newspapers and interviews on the radio. 15 weeks ago I couldn't run 3KM's and now Mumbai journalists are asking me if I've been a life long runner and how many events I've competed in! Life has some strange twists.<br />We drove and drove and drove through Mumbai today and it was endlessly fascinating. A river teaming with life passes the car window. Look to one side and there is a family of five on a motorcycle smaller than my old '78 Honda CB400. Look to the other side and there's a fellow, more like a human OX, pulling an old old trailer loaded with possibly 1,000 lbs of building materials. And I'm coming from a media interview for getting off the couch and running a few miles... I'm starting to understand how India takes one's heart.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-88235973794161333862007-01-14T22:05:00.000-06:002007-01-14T22:37:39.536-06:00Holy Cow! We’re in India!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLYn388btB0ix5iIbrzjxtSBKCWWR7cWVVQsY-kQMzed27tPG0-c5SnBxEw4WP_Pvwqa2FlATJ0uwRN6ewV-iyJ-zOkxeU5CEs_AkBGXcPO3DE6gTdX02hyphenhyphen8W97cftJ7kCG0iQE5vGpbs/s1600-h/IMG_1383.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLYn388btB0ix5iIbrzjxtSBKCWWR7cWVVQsY-kQMzed27tPG0-c5SnBxEw4WP_Pvwqa2FlATJ0uwRN6ewV-iyJ-zOkxeU5CEs_AkBGXcPO3DE6gTdX02hyphenhyphen8W97cftJ7kCG0iQE5vGpbs/s200/IMG_1383.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020110508938083826" /></a><br />We arrived at the airport in Mumbai around 11 p.m. after a smooth flight from Paris. The arrival is surreal. How else to describe it? I keep having to remind myself that I am not in a movie, this is the real thing. The first thing to impact me is the air. It’s palpable. I had read descriptions that you could taste the air in Mumbai and it’s true. The atmosphere exudes/oozes descriptions of every kind and yet eludes adequate reflection of any kind. <br /><br />We are met by a couple of men apparently employees of the Park View Hotel, where we will stay for the next two days. A short walk takes us to a van for the ride to the hotel. We are immediately shadowed by a mother and child begging for money. They say nothing but shadow us with their palms upraised. They both look just like any telethon charity fundraiser that I’ve ever seen. As soon as the bags are loaded in the van, the haggling begins. They want $20 US for loading the bags, then $20 CDN when they realize we are not Yankees. Then 250 Rupees, finally they settle most begrudgingly for 50 rupees (more than twice the amount our guide books tell we should pay). Diana handles the negotiation and stands firm for the final settlement.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62-ABFZRimwGQG927R5uRFhGuC7NTJzf0-q8TdoJIgr2OZPWtVMJL6X_16haIJoPq9xnsKvcTaqKCrUg6zgo8yKmqWq3QXKY11pDCmpSys1toSrBfm8UbGG2950SxMF2d5i_ZgyvUqxM/s1600-h/IMG_1379.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62-ABFZRimwGQG927R5uRFhGuC7NTJzf0-q8TdoJIgr2OZPWtVMJL6X_16haIJoPq9xnsKvcTaqKCrUg6zgo8yKmqWq3QXKY11pDCmpSys1toSrBfm8UbGG2950SxMF2d5i_ZgyvUqxM/s200/IMG_1379.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020107785928818146" /></a>The ride to the hotel is fascinating. The van driver blows the horn approximately every 10 seconds. Apparently it’s a driving courtesy to warn when you are close to someone (most all of the time) and when you intend plow through an intersection. There is a sea of vehicles all around us moving and merging and surging. In a kind of ordered chaos the horns, all going at once, seem to be having a conversation of sorts that somehow determines who will pass and when.<br /><br />It’s 1:00 AM and dark but the scene along the road is stunning. Street after street looks like uninhabitable shacks. Then you realize that they are all active businesses, apartments, restaurants, hotels, etc. I notice that there are hundreds of people sleeping along the side lanes of the street. All manner of cobbled together shelters line the roads. Some apartments looked like they’ve been bombed out and then reinhabited by draping canvas and tarps over the crumbling walls and missing doors, windows and roofs. It’s frightening and fascinating and despairing all at once. I spend most of the night tossing and turning trying to process just this one 20 minute ride to the hotel. Finally I get up and start writing some notes at about 6:45 AM. It is totally dark. At 7:00 AM God turns on the light, it’s morning, just like that. No sunrise. I’ve no idea how I am going to absorb what lies ahead in the next two weeks. It’s fantastic to be sharing this with Luke. <br /><br /><i>“The first thing I noticed about Bombay, on that first day, was the smell of the different air. I could smell if before I saw or heard anything of India, even as I walked along the umbilical cord that connected the plane to the airport. I was excited and delighted by it, in that first Bombay minute….but I didn’t and couldn’t recognize it. I know now that it’s the sweet sweating smell of hope, which is the opposite of hate, and it’s the sour, stifled smell of greed, which is the opposite of love. It’s the smell of gods, demons, empires, and civilizations in resurrection and decay. It smells of the stir and sleep and waste of sixty million animals, more than half of them human and rats. It smells of ten thousand restaurants, five thousand temples, shrines, churches, and mosques, and of a hundred bazaars devoted exclusively to perfumes, spices, incense and freshly cut flowers.”</i><br /><br />- David Gregory Roberts, ShantaramRonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6690402359043906914.post-58740538132395315682007-01-12T20:44:00.000-06:002007-01-12T21:03:23.793-06:00Toronto!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUHvtOevYbuktVaDtcGM1SDRSBBAzciuxE_9OG22EUE59kS910c6NoITqvgFKhIQRQ8PLTFPUVIk63aphQgOgfJbJ7-tSloZH32eP-6HF4PogLfgS0vuLrLdxURKBrURF2EEVyiNXr_Cs/s1600-h/Winnipeg.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUHvtOevYbuktVaDtcGM1SDRSBBAzciuxE_9OG22EUE59kS910c6NoITqvgFKhIQRQ8PLTFPUVIk63aphQgOgfJbJ7-tSloZH32eP-6HF4PogLfgS0vuLrLdxURKBrURF2EEVyiNXr_Cs/s200/Winnipeg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019343865865682354" /></a><br />Hey everyone, this is Luke. We just arrived at the Mariott in Toronto, after a short flight that seemed way too long. It's 7 degrees and raining here in Toronto. Wow..coming from minus 40 it seems like a tropical vacation already. Dad and I are contemplating going for a run tonight, but the hot tub and pool are equally enticing. En route, we watched the new episode of The Office, which was as funny as usual. For those of you with Skype or MSN messenger, I will be online later on tonight...probably about 10:30 - 11 ish Manitoba time. Tomorrow, our flight for Paris leaves at 3:30, so we may actually get a chance to sleep in before our long-haul of a flight. There's a woman staying here who's also going on the India tour, and I believe we're meeting her for breakfast tomorrow morning. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxcbqSGz1Af5B_F_tZ9juAOosMjILAyod_EQBwoxg3qIAz1t_ThpjqeGKqgVs5ZL0w2KWYrsh-dFGjDq_4C0lv5c0a7lfH8-RjHv7NtCm3xRyy2woZjfjhrF-yQCW0itOp4AA0fi_5dLA/s1600-h/Toronto.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxcbqSGz1Af5B_F_tZ9juAOosMjILAyod_EQBwoxg3qIAz1t_ThpjqeGKqgVs5ZL0w2KWYrsh-dFGjDq_4C0lv5c0a7lfH8-RjHv7NtCm3xRyy2woZjfjhrF-yQCW0itOp4AA0fi_5dLA/s200/Toronto.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019345167240773074" /></a><br />Dad just sat down beside me on this plush leather couch with some candy, so I think I'll sign off for now and enjoy.<br /><br />Cheers!Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03728652473162936611noreply@blogger.com3