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We started our exploration of historic Charleston at the City Market, a many blocks long brick arcade in the heart of the city, filled with sellers of soaps, hats, hot biscuits, and sweetgrass baskets and children’s duds sold by their makers, and quite busy even on a chilly, cloudy, February Sunday.

Wandering the city, we found the historic center to be a great place to walk and admire the colonial era architecture (especially all those long, side facing porches or “piazzas,” as they say in Charleston) and soak up the atmosphere.

The Nathaniel Russell House (1808)

The Nathaniel Russell House was the first of many house museums we visited during our short tour through some of coastal South Carolina and Georgia and, as you can see, its restored elegance and opulence was jaw dropping, especially the three-story, cantilevered, “flying staircase,” helping us to understand the lifestyle a slave economy created for those at the top. Russell was a prominent merchant and slave trader who had come down from Rhode Island before the Revolution.

The Joseph manigault house (1803)

Photo: thisismysouth.com

We arrived at the Manigault house in heavy rain and, so, have poached the photo above (duly credited). Manigault was a Huguenot who left France for the usual reasons and established himself as a rice planter with multiple plantations and hundreds of enslaved people inherited from his grandfather. Planters would have a grand house on the plantation as well as one in town. The enslaved people in town were predominantly women due to the type of work required. This was another beautifully restored house, true to the period, typically with original furnishings.

the aiken-rhett house (1820)

The Enslaved Quarters

The Aiken-Rhett House is a preserved, not restored, house, complete with slave quarters which, especially if visited on a rainy day, can be pretty melancholy. “Preserved” means agnostic as to time period and maintained in the same “as found” condition as when taken on by the Historic Charleston Foundation in 1995 after it had been acquired in 1975 by the Charleston Museum directly from the Aikens (who had owned it for 142 years). The Aikens were politicians, slave holders and industrialists; and much of the furnishings and even the painted and papered surfaces have been undisturbed since the 1850s in both the main house and the slave quarters.

The Main House

Among the glories of the house faithfully preserved by the Foundation is the paint in the main reception rooms applied by Wes Craven in 1982 while shooting the horror classic Swamp Thing. Take a close look at the wallpaper to the right of the bust, above. You can see the pins holding small sheets of plastic intended to protect the 19th century wallpaper from further decay. A few more hurricanes and there may be less to see.

The Battery

Being granted a sunny day, we walked the Battery neighborhood, along the more southerly stretch of river with a view out to the harbor and Castle Pinckney, where lots of workmen were out repairing and painting the stupendous mansions.

Fort Sumter

Thanks to a break in the windy, stormy weather, the Park Service resumed boat service to Fort Sumter and we were able to make the 11:00 ferry, learning on the way that the “Fort Sumter” we spotted from the Battery was actually Castle Pinckney. It seems that the fort is rather low to the water because it was largely destroyed by the Union when they attempted to take it back from Rebel forces in 1863. The Confederates, of course, fired the first shots of the war from Fort Moultrie in April 1861 and gained the fort due to the Union’s hopeless position. More modern weaponry had made brick forts pretty much obsolete since the fort’s construction after the War of 1812 on a sandbar transformed into a manmade island. Just above the “l” in “Projectile Embedded” you can see what smacked into the back of the fortification from the Federal bombardment. As those lyrics by Francis Scott Key remind us, it’s not only what comes at you from the front that can be deadly (like the shrapnel from those “Bombs bursting in air”).

Old Exchange and Provost Dungeon (1771)

The British finished their Customs House just before the Revolution, so the cellar intended for secure storage housed prisoners of war instead. The building has long been owned and operated by the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution) who maintain a small museum and run tours of the dungeon. It’s also one of only four buildings still standing where the Declaration of Independence was ratified.

The City of Charleston commissioned John Trumbull to paint a portrait of George Washington to commemorate his visit to the city. He presented the painting on the left, depicting a heroic Washington at the Battle of Trenton. This was rejected by the city because they wanted a depiction of Washington in their city. Trumbull complied, although wags have often wondered if there is a message from Trumbull somewhere in the painting. [For those who can’t quite grasp, and really need to ask: please see the hint below.*]

So, farewell, Charleston. It was a lovely visit to the “Holy City,” a place with too many churches to count.

*The insult is not: “You’re such a horse’s head!”

Approaching Los Angeles in late December, the weather clearing.

Joshua Tree National Park

The best time to visit a National Park is when you can, even if it’s Christmas and half the world seems to be in line to escape the everyday, even if the only restaurant you can find for Christmas dinner is Jack in the Box taken back to the hotel’s breakfast room. Of course, heading back into the park in early morning (how else could we capture a photo at Skull Rock?) is amply rewarded with magnificent landscapes unspoiled by traffic and fellow humans lost, as we are, in their own thoughts. Another park, living up to the otherworldly hype.

The Huntington, Pasadena

The Huntington Library, Museum and Gardens in Pasadena is one more major institution of which we had virtually no awareness, but that merits much more exploration. We had time only to scratch the surface of the, frankly, astonishing gardens and none to explore anything else. While Joshua Tree at times seemed so pleasing to the eye that it must have been designed, rather than simply nature left to its own devices, the Huntington gardens were a continuous delight of showing how nature can be displayed to astonish.

Floats from the Rose Bowl Parade, Up Close

Fulfilling Amanda’s childhood fantasy, we joined 150,000+ of our closest friends to wander among the Rose Bowl Parade floats the afternoon of New Year’s Day. Over the course of the afternoon, her skeptical companions began turning the conversation from never again to if we do this again this is what we need to do. The San Diego Zoo was our favorite, although the dogs and cats on the pet food float were incredibly cute. And, the up-close look gave a whole new level of appreciation to the artistry involved in such an ephemeral production.

An LA freeway at the magic hour, on our way home.

The Riverwalk

Everyplace you visit holds surprise. For us, the surprise in San Antonio was the Riverwalk in the old city that provides a very nice place to walk any time of day or night and seems to be the heart of what draws people into the city. It takes advantage of a natural loop in the course of the San Antonio river that is now supplemented with water from the aquifer to keep a major tourist draw afloat. We enjoyed it as a very pleasant way to walk below the city streets.

The Alamo

The uniqueness of San Antonio to Texas and Texans is, of course, the Alamo, the symbol of Texan independence, pride and grit where the defenders of the mission/fort sought no quarter and received none, the prequel to the battle of San Jacinto which sealed the independence of Texas from Mexico when President and General Santa Anna was surprised, captured, and compelled to sign away his territory. That’s Davy Crockett fighting the Lego bear during the battle of the Alamo in the visitor center.

About the Town

In the name of romance, certainly, the city provided chain link fences along one of the bridges over the river that are now completely encrusted with symbols of enduring love. What we loved was this special pastry from a nearby, and extremely popular, bakery that marries Mexican tradition with French technique. And, this Hilton is notable for being built in 202 days for the 1968 World’s Fair by fabricating the rooms 7 miles away and lifting them in place complete with furnishing, down to the ashtrays (n.b. 1968). The first guests rode their room into place on national TV.

San Fernando Cathedral

San Fernando Cathedral in the heart of San Antonio was founded in 1731 by 16 families from the Canary Islands who were persuaded to settle there at the invitation of the Spanish king because there was little interest by the mainlanders, given opportunities elsewhere. The Canary Islanders remained among the most prominent members of the community. The nightly sound and light show is actually quite good, presenting a whirlwind history of San Antonio in 20 minutes.

Briscoe Western Art Museum

The Briscoe Western Art Museum, with an entry from the Riverwalk, offered an interesting mix of artifacts and art, well presented.

SAMA

In addition to “the usual,” the San Antonio Museum of Art features the Nelson A. Rockefeller Collection of Popular Mexican Art (which appears to have been an out of the blue gift).

Botanical Garden

San Antonio Botanical Garden was another surprise – lots of bloom inside and out – and a great place to wander among the plants and the buildings brought there from the Hill Country.

Missions

North of the nascent city the Spanish established a string of Missions to secure territory against the French moving into east Texas and, of course, to save the souls of the Native Americans they persuaded to live under their protection and conform to their demands for labor and obedience. We visited a couple of reasonably well preserved Missions, as well as an aqueduct that formed part of the irrigation technology the Spanish picked up from the Moors. The separation of church and state is alive and well at the Missions, as the churches are owned, run and maintained by the local diocese, while the surrounding Mission land and buildings are owned and run by the National Park Service. Indeed, the Ranger guiding our tour of San Jose Mission was not permitted to enter the church and met us as we left to continue her narration.

LBJ & His Boyhood Home

Lyndon Baines Johnson, of Johnson City, grew up here a Texan from the Hill Country through and through, immersed in local politics learned at his father’s knee. With his social education jump started by teaching in a school built for Mexicans, he became the most consequential civil rights President, doing all he could for “the people,” only to be undone by a war that wouldn’t bend to his formidable powers of persuasion.

Next to his boyhood home is the headquarters of the rural electrical coop he brought to Johnson City (named for his grandpa) with a blazing display of exuberant excess during the holidays.

The Ranch

LBJ bought the family ranch from his widowed aunt and it became the Texas White House during his administration, which meant that the Air Force had to come up with Air Force One-Half, small enough to land on the ranch’s landing strip. Among the diversions for his guests, he enjoyed driving his Cadillac down the middle of his show barn to admire his Herefords or stocking the pond to take fellow Presidents fishing. (Lady Bird came from money.) You can see by expanding the photo of the bull, that LBJ branded his cattle on their horns, not their hides.

Fredericksburg

German emigration to America was really hitting its stride by 1846 when a syndicate of princes left would-be settlers stranded on the beach when their transportation fell through. The enterprising local agent improvised, purchased another large parcel not claimed by Comanches (as was the unpromising original tract of land) and (ta da) Fredericksburg was founded by 120 hardy and determined souls desperate to start a new life. Today, the Hill Country remains a place dominated by German stock and the town a popular (but, really rather nice) 19th century-quaint tourist destination for which Amanda’s cousins claim some bragging rights. We went through the Pioneer Museum and learned all about the tiny Sunday Houses, the plots for which were included in purchases of farm land so that all community members might have a place to stay in the city come Sunday. The hexagonal building, above, is the first church/meeting place built by the settlers.

The other cities we’ve visited during this journey through just a small part of India – Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur – have all been centers of secular power and wealth and contending fortunes through the ages. We’ve come to Varanasi to see more clearly another side of life, that of the deep spirituality that lies at the heart of the faiths drawn here on pilgrimage, as well as the traditional culture of one of the world’s oldest continuously inhabited cities.

Sarnath

Sarnath, just outside Varanasi, is one of four places of pilgrimage Buddha recommended to his followers. It is where he preached his first sermon after attaining enlightenment at Bodh Gaya under the famous Bodhi tree. It is also where the Buddhist community was established when his first five disciples attained enlightenment.

The Temple was lined with murals of his life from the prediction of his birth to his death.

In 1931 a graft was taken of the Bodhi tree and planted here in Sarnath to establish a deer park and temple. Throughout town there are complexes set up to accommodate Buddhist visitors from different countries. We noticed the one catering to Thai Buddhists in particular. It wasn’t far from the chain coffee shop (no, Indian, not Starbucks) where we relaxed from our trip until things opened.

In the archeological park at Sarnath is a stupa built by Ashoka around 250 B.C.E. Unpacking that, Ashoka was the third Mauryan Emperor and ruled much of the Indian subcontinent, stretching all the way to Afghanistan. Part way through his career, he converted to Buddhism and played an important role in its spread. A stupa contains the relics of a Buddhist monk or nun and devotees use it for meditation, typically a walking meditation circumambulating the stupa. This stupa is one of the oldest surviving ones in India and was one of many established by Ashoka by spreading more widely the relics of the Buddha from the original eight stupas holding his remains. In the medieval period after the decline of Buddhism in India, it was plundered for building materials and the stone box and casket within holding the relics were removed.

Near the stupa are the remains of a Buddhist monastery, apparently also from the time of Ashoka. There is no archaeological trace of the site of Buddha’s sermon or the launching of the faith with his five disciples. However, there is overwhelming literary evidence placing that here.

Among the ruins of the monastery, in a plexiglass case, are fragments of the pillar erected by Ashoka around 250 B.C.E. to commemorate the spot where the Buddha preached his first sermon almost 300 years previously. The Lion Capital which surmounted the pillar is housed in the nearby archaeological museum. You’ll notice that the wheel figure below the lions is featured on the Indian flag. The figure of the lions is the official emblem of the country.

Different animals are featured between the wheel figures, all related to Buddha. Here, the elephant refers to the white elephant seen by Buddha’s mother in a dream predicting his birth and greatness.

Works in the archeological museum recovered from the Sarnath site, mostly from the 1st century B.C.E. through the 12th century C.E.

The Ganges River in Varanasi

The Ganges is a busy river, especially in Varanasi, tasked with bringing purification, remission of sins, and assurance of release of the soul from the cycle of transmigration for those believers fortunate enough to die in Varanasi. Our guide always referred to the river by the name of its embodiment as a goddess (Ganga) and insisted on the inherent purity of its waters, telling us there’s a special bacteria that assures that purity, so that it is quite safe to bathe in and drink. There were no takers in our group.

We walked through the evening streets of Varanasi to the ghats (steps) down to the river where we boarded a boat to head out into the river for our first adventure on the Ganges.

The ghats were quiet as we set out on the water.

On the main crematorium ghat, however, demand keeps operations continuous, as the government now covers the cost of cremation for those who can’t otherwise afford it. One of the big costs is wood, as it requires 250 kg (helping to explain the large amounts of firewood we kept seeing on the highways and then in boats on the river). Perhaps as a reassurance to you, we can confirm that the cremations do not smell. This is due to the use of sandalwood, camphor and other spices. When the fire is finally extinguished, the family gathers the “relics,” some of which are retained at the crematorium with other relics and then washed away with the monsoons and some released immediately into the Ganges by the chief mourner of the family.

At sunset, following Hindu tradition, we each made an offering of deepak (oil lamps) to the river goddess Ganga from our boat idled in the middle of the river, before moving on to another ghat.

Every evening after sunset monks celebrate the Ganga Aarti with chanting, music, incense and choreographed thanksgiving to the river and the goddess Ganga. As you can see, it’s very well attended and a very colorful event.

In the morning, we returned to the ghats and our boat before sunrise, passing a small temple and catching a glimpse of one of the Jain Ascetics (upper right) who renounce everything, including clothing, and keep warm by covering their bodies with ashes. Jainism is one of the world’s oldest religions.

The buildings fronting the ghats are quite interesting.

But, at sunrise the ghats are full of the faithful who come to greet the sun, pray for an auspicious day and, bathe in the holy waters of the Ganges. For many pilgrims this is a first experience and deeply emotional.

A Moment for the Arts

In addition to the various workshops featuring textiles of different sorts, works in stone, and so forth, we found ourselves in a concert space created by the current star sitar player from a family of musicians tracing back 500 years. Yes, Ravi Shankar (also from Varanasi) was a friend of the family. First up, however, was a traditional dancer backed by tabla and a singer playing harmonium (introduced from France in the 17th century). In short, he was fabulous. The rhythmic complexity was astonishing, achieved by slapping and dragging his feet and jangling the 300 bells fastened to each of his ankles, interposed with hand movements and rapidly transforming poses to tell a story also being relayed by the singer. By the way, in training he uses 500 bells to increase his strength. Upper left is the Shiva posture.

Deobrat Mishra, the sitar artist, put Indian music into better context for his western listeners, explaining among other things that there is no harmony in Indian music, but more tones in between those in the western modes, with the Greek Lydian mode coming closest in feel to the music. Again, the rhythmic complexity and difficulty also made for an amazing performance and a fitting summing up of our experience in Varanasi.

With our brief visits to Delhi, Agra, Jaipur and Varanasi, we barely scratched the surface of India, but better appreciate how shallow our understanding continues to be. Wondering where that came from sets you back through the bewildering layers of time and contending traditions and influences of many peoples making their way through the mountains, valleys and plains of Asia.

On our way from Agra to Jaipur (remember, you’re probably reading these blog entries from the last day of our journey to the first), we passed a truck packed with happy, singing people our guide advised us were undoubtedly part of some religious movement.

Just 15 minutes further up the road, we started to see lots of buses parked along the highway and a steady stream of ordinary people walking behind the guardrail, going our direction, when we encountered a sea of people (our consensus estimate was 30,000) gathered for what we came to believe was a talk by a guru or other religious leader.

No, not him! The puppet master of a show at our Agra hotel recruited guests to help set the scene (very convincingly).

It’s the Brahmin cow, in particular when it’s white, that’s sacred, although the flat backed ones we’re used to are also revered. (Is that one actually being taken care of a water buffalo, rather than a cow?) In any case, we came to be sorry for the cows out there. We’re told that people watch after and feed them, but we mostly saw the cows scrounging in the trash or in very awkward situations like the one lower left who was up against the median on a very busy multi lane road, though we must admit that on our return trip he had somehow managed to work his way to the other side of the median. Impressive.

Amber (Amer) Fort

A few miles from Jaipur outside the town of Amer, is a very substantial and stunning hilltop fortress (1592), organized around four interior levels, that was home to the Rajput Maharajas. As sensibilities evolved over the treatment of animals, the prevailing means of transport up the slope became by jeep, although it isn’t nearly as romantic.

Upon entering the fort proper, there’s a stairway/gate up to the next level.

The Maharaja would use the Audience Hall to receive petitions and conduct public business. The Ganesh Gate is the entrance into the private quarters for the Maharaja and his family. The women could discreetly observe events in this main courtyard from behind the latticed top floor windows.

Through the Ganesh Gate and into the private quarters.

Lots of mirror mosaics, silver, colored glass and alabaster relief work makes for a dazzling impression.

Finally, the fourth and most private courtyard for the wives of the maharaja. With 12 wives, there were 12 apartments each with separate entrances. (At this point, we contemporary humans were all standing in the shade when we had the chance, as you can see in the photos.)

Jantar Mantar

In the beginning of the 18th century, the Maharaja of Jaipur constructed 5 solar observatories (Jantar Mantar) in different Indian cities, including Delhi and Varanasi, but of course also Jaipur. In Jaipur is the world’s largest stone sun dial from which the time can be told within an accuracy of 20 seconds (upper left). The observatories were used to compile astronomical tables and are, apparently, still in use today.

City Palace

After lunch at a nice restaurant inside the palace, we called it a day!

Dinner at the Smithie-Singhs

Dinner was unusual. We arrived at the home of a family with 12 daughters and got to visit with them. One of the many themes of our visit to India had been the status of women, as it certainly receives a lot of attention outside of the country. Indeed, one of our guest university lecturers was an expert on women’s issues in India. Of the 12 daughters, 11 had been adopted through social services and all are receiving a good education, encouraged to find their own way. They may sleep three in a bed, but it’s a large bed in a nice home. In fact, they’ve all changed caste and found themselves in a family that’s part of the nobility. The Bollywood dancing was a special treat.

Tomb of Itmad-Ud-Doulah

Alongside the Yamuna River lie the gardens and mausoleum of the Lord Treasurer (Itmad-Ud-Doulah) to the fifth Mughal Emperor Jahangir, housing the remains of his wife, as well, and built by their daughter (the mother of Mumtaz Mahal, later entombed in the Taj Mahal). Besides being comprised of simply beautiful buildings, the mausoleum is important as the first executed in white marble. As with other important mosques, tombs, and forts, the grounds are entered through imposing gateways.

Pleasure Garden of Mehta Bagh

Mehta Bagh was the last of 11 pleasure gardens created along the bank of the Yamuna by Emperor Babur in the early 16th century. Later, Shah Jahan (successor to Jahangir) identified it as an ideal place from which to view the Taj Mahal, which it is under different atmospheric conditions than those we encountered. For us, our introduction to the Taj Mahal was a grey looming, not the color effects created by a translucent white marble set to glow by non-hazardous air. Of course, it is still a beautiful and imposing building, impressively constructed. For instance, the four minarets actually lean outwards from true vertical to create the illusion that they are straight.

Taj Mahal

The next morning we made our way to the other side of the Yamuna to visit the Taj directly. Another illusion employed by the architects was to gradually increase the size of the Koranic verses surrounding the large central arch (above) so that to an observer on the ground they appear uniform in size.

We joined the thousands of fellow devotees patiently waiting for the air to clear to get a better view of this exquisite monument to love.

In the meantime, we donned our little blue booties to go inside and then admire the mausoleum from close up.

Mumtaz Mahal (Exalted of the Palace), neé Arjuman Banu, was the third and favorite wife of Shah Jahan, reportedly generous and wise and an advisor to her husband who accompanied him on military campaigns. She died bearing her 14th child while on campaign (1630), reportedly begging Jahan to build a monument to their love so beautiful the world could never forget. This he did, but spent his final days as his son’s prisoner, albeit confined to a room with a view of the Taj.

One last look at this fusion of Persian, Ottoman, and Indian traditions made possible only by profound love and grief and the resources to express them.

There were numerous warnings about monkeys in the approaches to the Taj Mahal. We had been warned before setting out for the day that, if we still had the marigold garland presented to us on our arrival in Delhi, we needed to leave it behind. Even though they represent purity and positive energy and are associated with Vishnu and Lakshmi, to monkeys they’re a tasty treat.

Agra Fort

It takes a while to get into the interior of Agra Fort, also along the Yamuna about 1.5 kilometers away from the Taj Mahal, really a walled city with a long past. The photo at lower left shows the ramp down which you would roll or pour whatever might impede an invader’s advance, or so we were told. The gateways were designed to protect against the most direct way inside, an elephant breaking through the wooden doors.

The beginnings of Agra Fort are not well understood, but it began to achieve more importance in the beginnings of the 16th century when the Sultan of Delhi moved his capital to Agra and constructed some buildings inside the fort. Thereafter, it changed hands with some frequency, although the Mughal Emperors were frequent owners. Our friend Shah Jahan is responsible for much of the white marble throughout the palace quarters, where he spent his final captive years looking down the river at the Taj Mahal.

The palace interiors were quite beautiful and well preserved from Shah Jahan’s time, providing a sense of what it might have been like to live there.

The older section of living quarters is simply in red sandstone.

Once luxurious and fashionable, especially during the heyday of Shah Jahan’s 17th century rule, Delhi now has an air of chaotic decay, hastened by much of its Muslim population fleeing the violence of Partition to find refuge in Pakistan.

The crunch of daily life with supplies of all kinds in their “final mile” arriving by almost any means, compounded by tour buses gently inching forward, people out shopping, the occasional cow wandering about, people trying to get where they’re going by foot, bicycle, motorcycle (holding, at most, four people), rickshaw, tuk tuk, tractor (thankfully not in the heart of old Delhi, that we noticed), taxi, or private car, and tour groups on rented bicycles, the idea of lanes of traffic completely disappears and there is a certain calm, perhaps even gracious, cooperation and mutual respect amidst the din of horns alerting everyone of the presence of yet one more vehicle with someplace to go.

With such intense traffic, we abandoned our bus and completed the journey to Jama Masjid on foot, following our guide’s constant advice to “walk like a cow” – confident, aware and no quick moves.

Since the mosque is an active place of worship, the women were provided with freshly laundered modesty robes by our tour provider, rather than wearing the mosque-provided robes. Shoes were, of course, left outside with the shoe walla. We heeded the advice to bring the disposable slippers from the hotel. Quite the fashion show.

From the mid 17th century, Jama Masjid is the largest mosque in India and was built by the legendary Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan (who did much of the significant building projects in Delhi).

From the comparative serenity of a storied mosque, we plunged back into the old quarters of Delhi for a rickshaw ride which was strongly reminiscent of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, as we braced ourselves for a plunge through the narrow streets.

Well, that was exciting. Seriously.

Enroute to our New Delhi hotel, we stopped at the Raj Ghat, the cremation site of Mahatma Gandhi in a beautiful park setting. A ghat is any set of steps leading down to a river and “raj” is dominion or rule or royal. We understand all rivers to be sacred in Hinduism, although some more than others. The Yamuna River, flowing through Delhi is worshipped as the goddess Yamuna and downstream merges into the Ganges (or, Ganga Ji). According to the Hindu tradition, Gandhi’s “relics” post cremation were gathered and committed to the river. With some arcane exceptions, there are no Hindu cemeteries.

Qutub Complex

Welcome to Delhi, our port of entry in India, the seat of power for the Mughal and other Muslim Sultans and Emperors starting in the 11th and 12th centuries, the capital of British ruled India (established in the New Delhi sector) and the capital of post independence India since 1947. It also has some of the worst air quality in the world, overtopping the AirQualityIndex’s supposed ceiling of 500 consistently (where 400+ is “hazardous”), such as during our visit.

The most celebrated attraction at the complex is the very imposing and impressive minaret built in 1192 of sandstone and marble to a height of almost 240’, making it the tallest brick minaret in the world. It was a clan of Tajiks who settled in India, bringing Islam with them, who constructed the complex over a Hindu fort (with 27 temples) laid waste and converted to building materials.

Built by a predecessor dynasty of the Mughals, the complex repeatedly reflects the partnership of Hindu laborers overseen by Islamic architects in the ornamentation and some mangled Arabic. This includes representations of nature, such as flowers and trees, not otherwise found in mosques.

What’s unusual about this pillar is not only its antiquity (4th or 5th century) and its multiple Sanskrit inscriptions along its 24’ height, but its remarkable resistance to rust. The notorious Erich van Däniken cited it as proof of the visitation of aliens in his Chariots of the Gods, although he later recanted that interpretation when shown that the ancients were simply good metallurgists.

We all know the story of Mahatma Gandhi, his great campaign of nonviolence and success in ridding India of the British. What eludes us is why any Indian would want him dead. In the last few months of his life, Gandhi had moved into a single small room in a rather palatial home owned by one of his admirers. The run up to and the experience of Partition was devastating for Hindus and Muslims alike, a move long fervently opposed by Gandhi. However, at the last, he relented because of his fear of even greater violence and death if the separation were not to occur. It was that reluctant assent to Partition that could not be forgiven by his assassin, who walked up to Gandhi as he was to deliver remarks in the garden, paid his respects, and shot him. To many Hindus, the dismemberment of a great nation assembled for them by the British was a tragic turn of history. Many believed that Partition would be short lived. It has now been 75 years and is highly unlikely to ever be reversed.

Gurdwara Bangla Sahib

Any halfway adequate explanation of the Sikhs and Sikhism would certainly try your patience, but is well worth searching up on your own. Fortunately, we arrived in India reasonably prepared for the complexities of religion and caste or we would have been quite disoriented. In a nutshell, the Sikhs believe in the welfare of all, the radical equality of all and the obligation to serve all. That has led them to, for instance, provide certain medical services at prices even the poorest can afford (here, in Delhi) and to feed anyone and everyone who shows up at their temples (throughout the world).

In defiance of the (very much alive and thriving) caste system, all Sikhs use the same family name (Singh or lion, a warrior caste name), although not all Singhs are Sikh. Most people working in the kitchen are, to our understanding, volunteers.

A massive number of people are served. These shots were taken a very much an off hour for eating.

After touring the kitchens, we headed to the Temple proper, trying not to slip on the marble after walking through the foot bath in our bare feet, photos not permitted. The gold dome is a marker of a Sikh temple. This particular temple is significant in the history and practice of the faith and was originally a Raja’s bungalow (the opposite of what it means in the U.S.), hence “bangla sahib.” We were getting into this solidarity of the orange head scarves and the chance to spend extended quality time with cousin Gwen, as we got ready to head back to the bus.

Like every big city, Boston has layers – layers of history and architecture and how we use and enjoy what the city has to offer us. In Boston, those layers include new layers of the land itself, as the city filled in portions of marsh and bay and riverfront to dramatically expand the colonial era city.

We thought seeing Boston from the water would provide an interesting perspective, so we joined an architecture tour by boat.

Trinity Church at Copley Square

After traipsing through countless churches and cathedrals, we had pretty much sworn off them as sites of interest. What piqued our interest in Trinity Church was curiosity about its story, or rather, it’s stories. First, the church was built in what’s known as the Back Bay, a large neighborhood in the middle of the city in what used to be . . . (you guessed it – marsh). So, the church is built on thousands of pilings pounded into fill. Then, it is widely considered to be one of the most significant buildings in America. It was the first major project of the architect H.H. Richardson and a sort of master template of an architectural style known as Richardsonian Romanesque that was imitated all over late nineteenth century America in schools, churches, hotels, and town halls. The church was built under the leadership of its Rector, Phillips Brooks, a larger than life personality. Brooks was considered the greatest American preacher of the 19th century (with some of his sermons remaining in use), preached to Queen Victoria at her invitation and wrote the lyrics for “O Little Town of Bethlehem” (while in Philadelphia). The church is in the form of a Greek cross, providing the sense of a large inclusive space for worship, and is a statement of its times in the interior decoration, as well.

The interior design of the church was entrusted to John La Farge, a painter and innovative artisan in stained glass who incorporated half globes and other three dimensional glass surfaces to gather and direct light, as well as combinations of opalescent and clear glass to create compelling images. He and Louis Comfort Tiffany were great rivals (Tiffany’s windows for Arlington Street Church, below). Trinity is filled with exemplary stained glass by various designers:

Arlington Street Church

Meanwhile, several blocks away, in the first public building to be constructed in Back Bay by another well-established congregation (1729) that had birthed Unitarianism, the Arlington Street Church is host to a sanctuary lighted by only Tiffany windows (a sampling):

Public Garden

Metropolitan Water Works

We have a weakness for the beauty of mechanical things, especially displays of 19th century industrial muscle. The Metropolitan Waterworks is now a museum with guided tours of three different stages of technology for getting water pumped from a reservoir to the thirsty citizens of Boston. It was fun climbing through and walking the catwalks, although Jim demurred when it came to the highest level!

Whenever we travel for pleasure outside of our own country, we have to wonder about ourselves. Are we big game hunters or voyeurs, are we genuinely trying to engage with another place, another culture and people, or are we simply trying to satisfy the insatiable human need for stories? Even if we feel welcomed by ordinary pandemic weary people (like the locals cheering us as we rode by on a bus in one Egyptian town), sometimes we feel we have to get out of the way and just observe (watching our toes). So, here are some photos and random thoughts on little things we’ve seen.

The ancient Egyptians were master tellers of gripping stories that propelled their civilization and kept it going for thousands of years. The Divine Right of Kings (in fact, the actual divinity of kings), the Resurrection of the Dead (for everyone), the Unitary Nation State (with the Pharaoh’s crown itself incorporating the symbols of both Upper and Lower Egypt), the Great Battle between Good and Evil, miraculous conception by the gods, the underworld, all go back to Egypt and all that writing on the columns and the wall.

The stories of Egypt, Israel and Jordan are linked tightly together, both in the past and to the present day. In the biblical accounts, Egypt is a place of both exile and refuge. Our guide in Jordan was Palestinian with family he could not visit in the West Bank. Geographically, Cairo is significantly closer to Jerusalem than to Aswan. And culturally, everyone looks back to Abraham and the prophets.

Egypt struggles. In Cairo, thousands of people make their home in the mausoleums of an enormous cemetery known as the City of the Dead (of course, in America thousands sleep homeless on the street). In the country, our guide assures us that conditions are pretty good and that there are many prosperous farmers who choose to live in the old way.

In Israel and Egypt, we had to be conscious of different expectations separating the sexes, whether at airport or other security checks where it would be men on the left, women on the right, or approaching the Western Wall where there are two sections of wall, one for men and the much more crowded one for women.

In Egypt, the Nile is everything. Life revolves around it and the water it has provided as a gift since before we knew of a thing called time.

Throughout the region, reminders of conflict are never far. An armed and very alert escort wearing a suit was almost always with us in Egypt (sometimes police cars fore and aft with Tourist Police markings). In Jordan, we only had a guard when crossing the desert (“because the King insists,” according to our guide). Despite this, despite the consistently heavy police and army presence in Israel, and despite the x-ray machines and metal detectors when entering any tourist destination, we felt safe.

We felt genuinely welcomed by the communities into which we traveled and never sensed any hostility or resentment. We not only were cheered by people on the street in that Egyptian town, a waitress at our hotel in Petra, the two men checking passports on leaving Jordan, engaged us in friendly banter and urged us to come back to stay with them longer. And, our guide in, again, Jordan gave a very moving little farewell speech, “I know your friends and family all told you that you were crazy to come to the Middle East, that this is a dangerous place to be and you came anyway.” (Not a dry eye in the house.) Our Egyptian guide, who took any opportunity to correct the misunderstandings most Americans have about Islam (“all that is just politics, it is not Islam”), also went out of her way to encourage us to buy from the mobs of vendors we encountered at every tourist stop and to even do an occasional sales pitch for one of them, pointing out that we were among the first tourists to be coming back in force after two years of covid when they were just beginning to recover from the chaos of the Arab Spring.

On our last evening, anticipating an extraordinarily early departure for the airport the next day, we walked from our Amman hotel (the one with the artificial Siq) to a nearby large modern shopping area to look for a light supper. We came to an open air multilevel mall lined with restaurants on both sides and noticed just one restaurant with lots of people sitting at tables outside, so we asked for a table and placed our order. Only after sipping our water and eating the complimentary snack did we notice that no one else was eating or drinking anything, but sitting there talking with their untouched food and drinks in front of them. Oops. It was still Ramadan. At first, we felt bad and embarrassed. Then we noticed that no one really noticed or cared. There were no dirty looks. After a while, the main courses came rolling out of the kitchen and ours also came out in the order of ordering. Still, no one else ate or drank until one of the waiters came out and announced that the sun had set.

We hope our heart is equally open to welcome the stranger.