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Take the Ramadan Challenge - Azilal Province, Morocco, Sept. 3, 2010

Log margin notes:

Moroccans Take the Challenge

Ramadan is the Muslim holy month best-known for the obligation of the faithful to fast during daylight hours.

In fact, beyond eating, smoking, swearing and fighting are all prohibited and generally best-behavior is required throughout. The month itself appears consistently on the Islamic calendar, but slides 16 days earlier each year against the Christian calendar.

The holiday also presents two great challenges for a non-Muslim visitor to a Muslim land, particularly one who is here to interact and not simply observe or even sight-see.

The first problem is simply of logistics.

The first meal of the day is served at sundown and is heralded from the minerets by the muezzin in every locality. Traditionally, the fast is broken in the same fashion as the prophet Mohammed was said to, with dates. After the dates, the traditional Moroccan break-fast is followed with hard-boiled eggs, bread and olive oil, juice (often more of a milkshake), coffee (often more of a cafe au lait), shebekia (fried sugar cookies) and soup.

It is not uncommon in some households for people to push back from the table and nap on the floor in the dining salon just a few inches from where they sat and ate break-fast.

Whether nap or no, the next meal is served a few hours later and is quite often a tajine. A tajine is both the name of the dish and the dish in which the meal is served. A conical clay lid is removed from the plate below revealing a stew typically consisting of root vegetables, meat and vegetable oil. The tajine is placed in the center of the table and for each guest to reach into with a piece of bread to scoop a small chunk of vegetable or meat (and almost always in that order.)

Fruit is a typical dessert which is followed by a few precious hours of sleep before the household is again awake under dark skies for one last meal before the muezzin again sounds the call for another day's fast to begin. The final nightly meal may closely resemble a normal late-morning or afternoon tea served during the rest of the year. There is, of course, tea (an imported greent tea, heavily flavored with mint and sugar), bread, olive oil, honey, jam and butter.

Once the sun comes up on another day, many wearied and thirsty people go to work, but many, by way of preparing for another day's fast, are sleeping in. The provincial capital of Azilal (by no means a large city) is almost entirely shuddered at daybreak. The small city is home to a disproportionately large amount of cafes which all remain closed until just before nightfall. Most shops and businesses do operate during the holy month, but frequently on irregular holiday schedules.

Americans Take the Challenge

"Is tazumt?" is how it is pronounced in the Berber dialect of Tashelheit spoken in the Central Atlas region. That is, "are you fasting?" in English.

The Lost Nav was not. As someone who fasts annually on the primary Jewish fast-day of Yom Kippur (and has also dabbled in other Jewish fast-days), I don't object to the concept. Different interpretations offer that it allows people a greater kinship with those who are unable to provide for themselves. It is a lesson in self-discipline. Some people even think it's healthy.

For me, it seems like fasting is the ultimate test of how Moroccan each volunteer is willing to be. How much will we give up our American identities for a Moroccan one?

We are told we must integrate into the communities we are posted to, in order to learn about them and win the trust of the people there; but I feel it is worthwhile to caution against over integration.

We have three goals here, in short they are: to help people, teach them about US and have US learn about them... in that order.

If an American becomes so thoroughly Moroccan, that may be a great way to learn about the native culture, but it undercuts the first two stated goals.

By creating a first impression as solely a student of culture, language and life in the host country, we are thought of as solely students. Some go as far as participating in some of the activities we are trying to correct... drinking from a communal water cup, for example. Therefore, when it is time for the student to become the teacher, from where does the authority come? After learning for so long, what does an American have to teach the Moroccan?

And by yielding so greatly the American identity, are not opportunities lost to teach about the very American culture noted in the second goal?

Let the debate rage in training sessions and cafes among the two camps of volunteers... the Moroccan side and the American side. Both have merits, but for myself and the greater good of Morocco; I will be, as ever:

American.

The Pen Racket: Addicted to Aid at a Young Age - Azilal Province, Morocco, Aug. 7, 2010

Travel log:
They come from the West. Westerners ride into Morocco to enjoy the scenery, the culture and history. Still, what they see on their way to and from the kasbahs and the natural wonders is the evidence of many of the problems their predecessors helped create; and they want to help and the want to give.
So the question is: what are they giving and what are they taking away?
The professionally charitable (or developmentally charitable) say that purely giving chokes true development and does a disservice to the recipient of such well-intentioned and misguided generosity.
The Lost Nav is true to form and quite lost over what may be a solution. Armed with minimal skills in both French and the Berber dialect of Tashelheit, he wanders one hour each way to his local health clinic dreaming up ways to help, or rather develop.
During the hike, brains racked in the service of new community and country, the neighborhood punks demonstrate the early symptoms of their addiction to foreign aid. They also show the symptoms of boredom and the unavailability of more useful activities as they harass yet another 'aromi' or foreigner in their midst.
"Fiyi stilo," they yell and demand in their French-tinged Tashelheit or plainly "donne-moi stilo" in French... "Give me pen!" They carry on further with "bonjour" and "ca va?" in the most exaggerated and snotty French accents they can muster.
Many tourists are duped by this feigned desire for school supplies. Some are likely to give in just to get rid of the little beggars, but the locals tell a different ending to the story.
The pens are traded at the local convenience shops (called 'hanuts') for candy... candy and the sense that foreigners come and are happy to give.

Women Shimmer, Men Simmer - Azilal, Morocco, July 31, 2010

Travel log:
The colors are unmistakable. Every angle reveals a new and subtle shade.
The dresses and headscarves the women wear shine in the sun. Sequins light up the colors, orange, purple, blues and greens against imposing backdrops of red-backed or white-capped mountains and lush green fields dotted with dancing red poppies. The cities are painted pale pinks and yellows. The hillsides seems to ebb and flow as sheep and goat herds graze peacefully.
Even more striking are the faces that look back at the foreigner, of "Aromi" (the usually derogatory word derived from Roman.
In this land where so many people have either visited or conquered, the skin-tones run the range. African influence makes some Moroccans as dark as any people on Earth, some have the more Middle-Eastern look. Many, especially in the isolated mountain-side towns, are quite pale with a ruddy redness and fixing grey eyes. Women's brunette hair, when it can be seen, glows burgundy in the sunshine.
For the men, the energy is more internalized. They frequently go with a glossy southern European look, but for the city-dwellers there is a nocturnal intensity simmering. The daytime is a more proper place for women and their colorful attire; but at night the women yield the streets and Morocco's smaller cities and towns brim with an energy trapped.
It is impossible to shake the feeling that something is about to happen; something wants to happen, but never does. Gangs of young men walk up and down the streets while old men sit at cafes watching and sipping tea in swirling clouds of smoke. There is laughter, the young men (and sometimes old men) shout or push each other, hang on each others' shoulders and hold each others hands.
For the unmarried men, the shame of dating leaves only the option of cozier relationships with their friends. Prostitution is an option which is usually thought of as less shameful than dating, but those intimate friendships are often not acknowledged at all.
The secrecy and desperation for more from life creates a mood as anxious as an unfinished sentence. To a Westerner who knew a different life, it seems that the answer to the unasked question could be just around the next corner, but so far, it has not been. The feeling is palpable and hangs in the air like a fog.
The same crowd that cruises the main strip of Azilal, in Europe or America, would be in search of women to chase down and chat up, but no respectable girl would be out at this hour, or be thought a prostitute.
In the West, the social scene is centered on bars or clubs, but that does not exist in Azilal. Even in the larger cities, clubs are often the domain of men and sex workers. There are precious few answers to the question of diversion here and so many of them seem to fall short of expectation.
Maybe that's what the young men look for when they walk up and down the sidewalks. Maybe that's what the old men talk about over their teapots and smoldering ashtrays.

Haroon is King - Azilal Province, June 25, 2010

Travel log:
Just tell someone your name is 'Elvis.'
People will laugh, pat you on the back, get excited, be interested and congratulatory. It's the same reaction I get when I tell people my name is 'Haroon,' the Arabic version of Aaron.
People call me 'king,' just like Elvis and it all hangs on the reputation of King Haroon al-Rachid. The king of all the Arab lands as told in One Thousand and One Arabian Nights is my name sake and he was known for his spectacular court in Baghdad surrounded by women.
It may not be on a sparkling throne, but surrounded by women occasionally makes the joke complete. In rural Morocco, women often outnumber men who go off to work in the bigger cities.
The women work the fields, chopping and carrying huge loads of feedgrass or wheat tied to the backs. Underneath the huge moving mounds of grass, the women struggle, bent over, but still wearing their shinning and shimmering fabric dresses. To walk passed a group may invite giggles and jokes and questions of whether or not I have a wife or even if I have a wife in Morocco.
There are also situations where the men have the numerical advantage. A rural community's clock is set to souk, the weekly flea market, which brings in vendors from around the area. The vendors make their way from souk to souk to set up their stalls on scheduled days. There, the men are in the great majority. They haggle for all sorts of household wares, tools, clothes (modern and traditional) and fruits and vegetables.
The scene is a hectic mix of business and pleasure conversations, shouts of vendors, kids buying candy, chickens being slaughtered and donkeys pushing their way through the crowd loaded up with supplies to last until the next week's souk.
Separate activities for men and women is a hallmark of life in Morocco. They often eat separately, when there are guests they might sleep separately and certainly the women are less frequently seen outside of their homes and fields.
Even if the king (me this time, not the actual King Mohammad VI who peers down from his official photograph affixed above so many rooms), wanted to change any of this, I have only so much power in this realm. The Berber dialects of Tashelheit and Tamazirt mix in unexpected ways in the Azilal section of the High Atlas and just making my decrees known is trouble enough.

Travel log: You're never alone in the High Atlas.

Ed. Note: Aaron sent this dispatch on May 13. Many apologies for the delay.

Travel log:

You're never alone in the High Atlas.
Trails and rivers cut through and wind around mountains that change color at each bend. Lush meadows give way to red dirt, then grey rock with streaks of purple running to the top; but none reach higher than the white-capped peaks fixed in the distance. At your feet, the little red poppies dance and the wheat sways in time. Alone in the valley, the mind gives up grasp of its previous reality; the vastness, the colors, the smell of mint and sage send thoughts tumbling into an even brighter, incalculable, internal dimension even broader than the one outside ... but someone is always there.
Goat-hearders, shepherds, kids playing, a man with a donkey, women and girls bent over beneath cords of wood or feedgrass are always there. They are sometimes across the valley, sometimes a few hundred feet up the cliff on a terraced field. Hidden deep in the natural colors may be the women's brightly patterned dresses or the carefully balanced goats on the hillside.
The Berber people have lived in the Atlas Mountains for thousands of years. The ancient and abandoned homes line the cliffs where the new, mostly mudbrick or cement, structures are built into the side of the rock above the river. In Morocco's Azilal Province many homes are fitted with electricity, satelite television and running water (hot water may come from a butane-powered water heater. Below the houses, the flatlands adjacent to the river are used for the crops.
Bread is a constant at every meal and many of the fields are devoted to wheat. Peas, potatoes, carrots, olives and almonds also grow with the former three rounding out a typical tajine dinner.
Couscous may be recognized as the national dish, but the tajine must be nearly as common. The very frequent meal gets its name from the conical clay pot in which it is cooked. It is almost always the women who prepare chopped vegetables in a hefty layer of vegetable oil topped with some kind of meat and allow it to stew over the gas range for a few hours.
When it has finished, the pot is traditionally brought to a short table with its conical lid. Bread is torn and laid on the table before eash person who has gathered around to eat on the floor or on long sofa cushions called ponjes. It is not uncommon for the sexes to eat in separate rooms.
The lid is removed to the blessing: "Bismill-h" or "in the name of G-d." The guests repeat the blessing as each reaches into the communal pot with a piece of bread and their fingers to scoops up a bit of food and oil.
The meat, which is often chicken, goat or lamb (but can be beef, pigeon, rabbit, or turkey) is saved for last and divided by the head of the house.
To drink, buttermilk is the beverage of choice with couscous, but with tajine all may share water from a single cup.
A fierce sense of hospitality compels a host to continue to offer his guests more and more food, but to those unacustom to the Moroccan diet, there is little room for any excess.
It should not surprise a Moroccan to be fed five times a day, which makes food a large part of the culture and the social life. Breakfast begins the day with, of course, bread served regular or fried with olive oil, honey, butter or jam. Still, before mid-morning passes people have gathered around the table again for morning tea. The green tea, with its strong natural mint and even stronger sugar, is jokingly called "Moroccan whiskey" because of Islam's prohibition on alcohol. Plus, the act of sitting and having tea becomes the forum for the recent gossip and jokes.
Morning tea passes into lunch (which could be a similar set of vegetables and meat atop couscous, rice or in tajine-form, lunch leads to afternoon tea of more bread and tea, and finally to dinner again when the family ends the day's work around 9 p.m. or later.
Mealtime can be a huddled affair around the small tables. In a household, the older boys often go away to school or work, but large families live together, especially in rural areas. Men may commute to work in larger cities and only return on the weekends, but women may go long stretches of time without traveling beyond their homes or the fields where they are constantly working together.
Many Moroccans are uncomfortable with eating, living and simply being alone. It is thought that anyone living alone is want for pity and needs to be looked after. Even the idea of privacy is not as highly regarded as it is in the West.
Still, no one is ever really alone in Morocco. They say it's lonely at the top, but at the top of so many rooms in Morocco is a picture of the King, Mohammad VI, making sure we're well-looked after and never alone.

In the Loop - Ouarzazate Province, Morocco

Log margin notes:
Nearly 30 children in a quiet town near Ouarzazate have been running loops over their unpaved city streets after school.
The kids range in ages from four to 14 and come out to play in sandals, jeans, sweats, sweaters, argyle socks and the occasional headscarf, where applicable.
Exercise was not uncommon for the soccer-loving boys, but the girls, who make up the majority of the running club, seem to have new found energy.
Running is too patient an activity for most children -and many adults- but the phenomenon here seems to have begun with the Lost Nav, known in these parts as: Haroon, and another Peace Corps trainee, known locally as: Aicha.
The two Americans began their own running when one afternoon they picked up three kids in trail... opportunity was promptly seized and a time was set for a daily trot around town. Word travels fast in a small town that is almost literally a family. The next day nearly 25 little friends, cousins and siblings were gassed and ready at the 6 p.m. start time.
I believe I speak for all Peace Corps volunteers when I note that at one point or another we all wondered who in our host countries would be interested in what we have to say or would care a thing about what we have to teach them. Personally, as a health volunteer I can still not imagine why a 50 year old man wants to hear about brushing his teeth from someone like me.
Yet, as if by Moroccan miracle, Aicha and I had a ready made audience of health-conscious students who not only sought us out, but literally ran after us.
By way of taking advantage of their possibly fleeting attention, we end our half-hour runs with a round of stretching and encouragement to drink water. Running club has helped our own capacity as well. Each day our language for the task improves slightly beyond our combined abilities in French.
We have encouraged some of the older kids to take a bit of a leadership role in this new after-madrassa activity, but it is entirely possible that the club will not outlive the American presence in the town. Even so, it has been rewarding to have even a mild impact on the children of a place that has been so welcoming to us foreigners in our short-pants. I did not even mind buying those soccer-socks as to not show too much leg in broad daylight.
Within three weeks, myself, Aicha and the other three Americans in town will scatter to our final sites across the Tashelheit-speaking world. With any luck, in our two years here in Morocco, we will find as many ears to listen and feet to follow our well-plotted course.
Insh-llah... G-d willing.

Oua-ild Oua-est - Ouarzazate Province, Morocco, Mar. 21, 2010

Travel log:
At every turn Morocco has been another color, another flavor and another sound.
Any average wanderer may be halted by quaint cafes or broad shouldered kasbahs on the lush green coast, but press on through the mountain passes, the treacherous mountain roads... if you have the stomach.
Back in the western interior, in the valley between the High Atlas and Anti-Atlas Mountains, sits Ouarzazate (say: War-za-Zot). The small polished city is complete with a thatched-roof market, cafes and mountain views; but it is also the seat of Ouarzazate Provence.
Twenty kilometers (12 miles) from the city is the sleepy hamlet of Tazentoute... Little Mountain in the Berber dialect called Tashalheit, which is spoken there along with Darija (Moroccan Arabic) and some French.
The town of about 1,300 (where the author has resided for the passed two weeks) has mountain views to attract wealthy Europeans to build rarely used holiday homes alongside the cement and mud brick structures.
Many in the town find work or school in the surrounding province, but return to Tazantoute in the evenings or weekends to live the quiet life among friends and very often relatives.
Daily life in the town is full of work, but centers around eating. Modest incomes still put three meals and three snacks with sweet mint tea on the tables. Most families eat in the traditional style, from the same dish. Frequently couscous or rice is topped with vegetables, saffron and features a portion of chicken, mutton or beef sectioned off by the head of the household for each person. A strong tradition of hospitality will likely leave a guest in the range of well-fed to over-fed.
Three hanuts or shops provide basic needs for the town, including milk, eggs and the occasional roll of papier hygenique (toilet paper) for those still attached to Western ways. Do be careful not to put the PH in the easily clogged squat toilets. Some travellers have taken to packing it out in a plastic bag or even burning it on the spot with a cigarette lighter.
Just down the road seven kilometers, there is a government run sbitar or health clinic in order to treat routine illnesses and administer subsidized vaccinations. The facility is understaffed with one doctor and two nurses, but the three do their best to visit towns and schools in their region to educate and examine the population.
Emergency cases are referred to Ouarzazate hospitals, but the lack of an ambulance or serviceable replacement is "a big problem," said an official familiar with the situation.
The stretch between buzzing Ouarzazate and quiet Tazantoute can feel isolated and insulated, but the cozy spot is perfect for a foreigner to immerse himself in the culture and language of the Moroccan wild west.

NEWS BRIEF - Marrekech, March 3, 210

Casablanca rolling south
By: Aaron Hochman-Zimmerman
Marrekech, March 3, 2010 - The March class of Peace Corps trainees landed in Casablanca early Wednesday.
The group is made up of largely healthcare workers with a smaller contingent of environmental volunteers. California is the best represented state followed closely by Colorado and west coast neighbors Oregon and Washington. Three volunteers represent the Empire State with only one from downstate.
After the redeye flight from Philadelphia, the Americans were met by David Lillie, the Peace Corps' Morocco country director, and a contingent of his staff. The larger-than-average group was able to secure all of their baggage and equipment before a three hour bus ride to a comfortable hotel in Marrekech.
The weather changed significantly during the short trip.
Upon arrival at Casablanca, the warm air was cut by a cool sea breeze which weighed heavy on native palm trees. However, at a short rest stop, the cold air was cut by mist and rain, although a few of the free-spirited volunteers took advantage of a jungle gym outside of the roadside cafe.
In the warmer, drier Marrekech, the well-appointed hotel the Americans were checked into five-person bungalows, fed a lunch of salad, rice, pot roast and artichokes. The group was then shown to a conference room, under a picture of Morocco's King Mohammad VI and guided through an administrative orientation.
The Americans were expected to leave for the mountain pass to Ouarzazate Province early Thursday in order for a series of inoculations and further training. The volunteers are expected to be placed with the first of two host families on Sunday.

One for the Road - Dubai, Feb. 1, 2010

Log margin notes:
On the way back home, the Lost Nav was blown off course by Emirates Airlines' changing schedules. It could have been a ploy to get me to spend money in Dubai.
I learned of the layover days before, but I still headed to the Delhi airport thinking that my Asian adventuring was over.
Still, the flight change left me with a 10-hour layover and I didn't want to miss an opportunity to see another part of the world. In Delhi I met two guys headed to San Francisco, who also had pretty serious layovers, and we decided from the Delhi airport to hit the town in the broke desert Disney.
First thing's first: The terminal in Dubai is huge. The showcase building never runs out of long clean corridors, massive high ceilings supported by marble-looking pillars, glass elevators and adds one indoor waterfall. The Emirates terminal is supposedly the largest air terminal in the world.
Friendly, young and Western-styled immigration officers told the Americans that no visas were necessary to head out into town for a few hours. The Indian passport holders were sent off for an ID check before their passports were stamped.
A quick security check of my carry-on bag was conducted through passport control. Apparently, it is not permissible to bring matches into Dubai.
The three of us headed into town to see the Dubai Mall and the tallest building in the world the Burj Khalifa (2,717 ft).
The taxi ride through the night highways reminded me of Florida... wide highways lined with shopping strips, glass buildings and Western fastfood joints.
When we arrived it seemed that the Dubai Mall is just a mall. It's a big, nice mall, with an ice rink and a little aquarium. It's clean, it smells good, but it's a mall. Maybe it's a big deal for all of the tourists I saw there. There were more tourists than locals. The style of dress ran the range from women's burkas and men's white dishadasha robes and shora headdress to average Western.
After a quick trip around one of the mall's levels, we decided on some dinner.
We made our way outside to a man-made pond that separated the mall... from another mall. A broad selection of outdoor cafes lined both sides of the pond and tourists gathered on a bridge to watch a water show provided by the pond's fountains right at the foot of the Khalifa tower.
The Vegas-style show ended in a few minutes and we sat down to some moderately priced Middle Eastern food.
The next stop was a hotel for a cold beverage before it was time to get back on the plane for a 14-hour half-day of pain. (Hotels are the only businesses allowed to serve alcohol.)
The hotel, a monument to what a traditional Arabian palace must certainly look like, also boasted its own pond and a view of the new off-shore, sail-shaped Burj Al-Arab hotel.
We sat on beanbag chairs at the hip outdoor patio bar while fancy society swells from Europe and West Asia drank fruity drinks and smoked hukkahs in the 60F degree air.
The Dubai experience was only a few hours and it was plenty for me to feel I had seen all there was to see in the Arabian peninsula's no-gambling tribute to Las Vegas phony glamor and excess.
On the way back from the outdoor bar I remembered the first conversation I had in India. I met a friend named Madhur in the Mumbai airport. He told me Mumbai was dirty and hectic and I should leave quickly or I'll never want to come back to India. He also told me I should someday make a point to visit Dubai.
I told him I had a few months to spend in India, one month back in New York and then 27 months in Morocco.
So when would I ever go all the way to Dubai?

Fire on the Mountain - Srinigar, Kashmir, Jan. 29, 2010

[Backdated]
Travel log:
A river of fire ran down a wooded Himalayan hillside above Dal Lake in Srinagar.
The plume of smoke made an exclamation point across a ridge that needs no emphasis.
The fire brought streamers of black charcoal raining down over the city. Even the locals looked up in disgusted wonderment.
"He is a crazy guy," said a man selling food on the roadside by Dal Lake.
The "he" the man referred to sets fires illegally on the foothills and runs. Later he collects his bounty of charcoal to sell.
"Twenty, 25 years ago these mountains used to be beautiful," the vendor said.
They are still quite impressive.
The snowless Himalayan foothills frame Dal Lake, the center of Srinagar's tourism industry.
Houseboats with English names sit just across from the walkway with its streetlamps by the lake. Ferrymen call out and follow foreigners to offer rides across or around the lake on their brightly colored gondolas called 'shikaras.'
Small, but well-kept hotels and restaurants sit opposite the lakeshore on Boulevard Road.
Tourism is a major source of income for the, at times, war torn state of Jammu & Kashmir.
Still, the place looks distinctly more wealthy than other parts of India.
The poverty, begging, smog and crumbling structures in the major cities of Mumbai and Delhi are not found in Srinagar. Streets and sidewalks are in good order, buildings have a fresh coat of paint. Some people even live in single-family homes. There is a large police and paramilitary presence; and aside from fairly frequent spools of barbed wire, the place can look a bit like Long Island.
Especially in the majority Muslim Kashmir Valley, the government pumps in a lot of money to appease calls for independence or even a desire for full Pakistani rule, Indian security experts say.
Money comes from the Muslim world as well, in order to help the Kashmiris stuck under Indian rule in Indian-administered Kashmir.
"They're twisting both," said a former Central Reserve Police officer.
The influx of cash leaves Kashmir one of the most war torn and one of the most well-off regions on the country.
Violence occasionally breaks out, usually surrounding nervy relations between protesters and security officers. Officers also touch off conflict as they cordon off houses and begin searches for militants in hiding.
Mostly Kashmiris are interested in independence, but there are too many barriers.
There is first a contented feeling among the people. The surroundings are pleasant and aside from occasional shootouts, life is good.
The Indian security apparatus also believes that Kashmiris understand that a greater Pakistani influence would likely be counter-productive.
Pakistan's unstable government is not even able to control all of its own territory and could do nothing to benefit the people of Kashmir, they say.
There is also no provision in the Indian constitution to allow for states to just walk away, said Rajendra Kumar, additional director general of police intelligence in J&K.
"How can you allow this?" he asked, adding that other Indian states may begin their own calls for independence.
Plus, China creates another problem.
China helped build and for practical purposes controls the Karakoram Highway from China to Pakistan through Pakistani-administered Kashmir.
Rajendra said that China has claimed that if the status of Kashmir changes, they will deal with the new government. What kind of deal Beijing intends to make is unclear.
India's security community increasingly feels surrounded by China.
The economic rival to the east has made news with incursions across the Line of Actual Control on the mountainous Chinese border on the other side of Jammu & Kashmir state on the Siachin Glacier. China has built naval ports in Gwardar, Pakistan and to the south in Hambantota, Sri Lanka. On Dec. 16, local Maoists took over Katmandu, Nepal.
India, the world's largest democracy, founded on peace, has fires to put out in its own backyard, but like the other great democracies, the US, UK, France; we are learning that democracies are a challenge to protect.

NEWSFLASH - Srinagar, Kashmir, Jan. 30, 2010

[backdated]

Kashmir terrorists desert or live six to eight months, J&K police say

By: Aaron Hochman-Zimmerman

Srinagar, Kashmir, Feb. 1 - There may be up to 300 active terrorists in the Kashmir Valley, but most will not continue their fight beyond the summer, according to K. Rajendra Kumar, additional director general of police intelligence for Jammu & Kashmir.

Rocket and small arms fire from the Pakistani side has supported 12 known unsuccessful attempts by militants to cross the Line of Control between Indian- and Pakistani-administered Kashmir so far in 2010.

  Still, for those who have already infiltrated, "the life of a terrorist is six to eight months" on average, said Rajendra, others simply desert once they reach the Indian side.

Before making an attempt to cross, young men are typically recruited from Kashmir as well as Pakistan and sent to training camps in Pakistan for two weeks to three months.

New terror recruits are frequently poor and illiterate, but even if they are well-motivated, they are "rag-tag criminals," Rajendra said.

Many come from prisons where inmates volunteer to fight in order to have their sentences commuted, he said.

The more intelligent trainees are selected for longer courses in cyber-terror and bomb construction.  The shorter programs are for those better suited as suicide bombers or "foot soldiers" used in hit-and-run type attacks on the police and military, he said.

In the camps, fighters are put through paces in prayers, motivational speeches, small arms and explosives.  They are also shown videos of exaggerated atrocities committed by the United States, Israel and India, he said.

They are told that Muslims have no religious freedom in Kashmir, Rajendra said, but when they arrive "they are surprised at the number of mosques in Kashmir ... they feel that they have not been told the truth."

   A few realize that they are just "cannon-fodder" and they walk away "demoralized," he said.

   More often the terrorists are fanatical.  They launched 10 attacks in January alone, a senior police official in Kashmir said, seven other stand-offs were intiated by the authorities based on reports of fighters' whereabouts.

Some militants lay low and avoid action in order to collect approximately 4,500 rupees ($100) as compensation for about one year of service, Rajendra has determined through interrogation and investigation.

During that time, they pay their way with counterfeit money "that is printed on [Pakistani] government presses" or legitimate currency provided by their terror networks, said E. Rammohen Rao, a former Border Security Forces director general and inspector general for Kashmir.

Aside from cash and sidearms, infiltrators also cross the Line of Control with heavier weaponry.

Ahead of the 60th anniversary of the signing of the Indian constitution on Jan. 26, the J&K police seized a large arms cache of anti-personnel mines, grenades, mortars and 10 kilograms of the explosive RDX, the senior police official said.

"G-d was very kind that we could recover that," he said.

On Republic Day a city-wide work stoppage halted Srinagar, but the national holiday passed without incident in the city.  In the past, boys have been paid up to 150 rupees each to pelt police with stones, Rajendra said.

"Attacks are always linked with media coverage" such as on Republic Day, said another top security official in J&K state, otherwise "nobody will know."

Motivated to fight

The fighters caught and interrogated y Indian security forces say that the case against India is made from a young age and often at Muslim schools or madrassas.

Some captured fighters say they were motivated by a religious belief in heavenly rewards, but others have told of a more tangible, earthly reward for the family of a martyr.

Among the lower social classes, parents may push their children toward martyrdom in order to elevate the status of the family, Rajendra said.

Once a son is martyred, a father becomes revered in the community; at public meetings "he can get a chair to sit," Rajendra said.

There also may be a cash benefit of about 500,000 rupees for the family of a fallen fighter, he added.

Pakistan itself has reason to support the militants in the Kashmir Valley, many Indian security officials believe.

The support for the militants themselves goes beyond covering fire during border crossings, said Rao.

"They are getting weapons from their own ISI," he said of the Pakistani Inter-Services Intelligence.

A theory within India's security community is that if Pakistan can show the United States that Kashmir is drawing resources from its fight against the Taliban, then it can demand more aid from the West.

"In a way, they are blackmailing the U.S. into sending more money," Rajendra said.

Halting similarities - Srinagar, Kashmir, Jan. 22, 2010

Log margin notes:
For a supposed warzone the Kashmir Valley bears a striking resemblance to Long Island, my own homeland. A person could say it is even a "halting" resemblance, but of course, there are some differences.
For example, it only took me a few hours after arriving to have a rifle stuck in my face.
It went like this...
One of the main objectives of the trip was to interview a police intelligence official on the first day. That day was also last day in town before he was scheduled to leave for Jammu, Jammu & Kashmir state's winter capital.
After touching down, I rode from the airport to my reportedly terror-free hotel and noticed the brisk, clean air along with the familiar flora. It really took me back home. They even have oak trees. They also have single-family homes with a fresh coat of paint, sidewalks that are in one piece and only one small, visible slum.
Mobile phones from the rest of India do not work in J&K for security reasons, terrorists made dangerous use of the internet and cellphones during the 26/11 attacks. I had to use the hotel office phone for a local call and the intel guy, my big interview, asked me to show in 20 minutes.
I asked the partially-English speaking hotel manager for directions and was told it was a two minute walk; great.
I set out to be early, just in case I got some bad directions... as though that's never happened before. The directions were to go to the police headquarters building across from the "emporium" building. A seemingly abandoned "J&K State Arts Emporium" building sat below the entrance to one of Srinagar's many small river bridges. On the other side of the bridge entrance road was a high-walled complex with no sign, but a sentry post out front. The not-very-English speaking guards of the Central Reserve Police Force asked nervously who I was and what I wanted. They eventually thought they knew who I wanted and a civilian took me through the gate of what began to look more and more like a TV studio. There were satellite dishes and broadcast sets and finally an English-speaking journalist who told me I was on the wrong side of the emporium building.
I was already late when I passed by the sentries at the gate of the TV station for the second time. I walked around to the other side of the bridge. The building looked even more abandoned than before and the path leading to the door was fenced off. Garbage had been collecting at the road's dead end.
"HALT!" I heard from behind me. A spotlight and rifles went up. It was the same guards I had just spoken to.
I waited just a second to hear: "Who goes there?!" I didn't hear it.
I put my hands up and faced the spotlight, "Oh, hi... it's me again!"
"What are you doing?!"
"The Emporium Building!" I said, pointing to the crumbling structure.
"No! You go out, make a left and a left!" the guard shouted back.
"Oh OK, sorry to... almost get shot!" I yelled and ran around the corner to police headquarters.
On the way I saw a better looking building with the same "J&K State Arts Emporium" sign on it and got to the gate of police headquarters out of breath. I asked for the intelligence chief, but he had left for Jammu five minutes earlier.
I missed my big interview, but I had a few other scheduled in Srinagar.
At first the feeling in the city was uneasy. The Punjab Hotel in Lal Chowk, the town square, was the target of a Jan. 7 attack which ended with two jihadis dead.
On the national holiday of Republic Day there was a small military parade held at a stadium on one side of town. Meanwhile outside, the elements supporting independence for J&K went on strike that Jan. 26.
That day the streets were lined with police and paramilitaries, but aside from an eerie quiet, the day passed without incident. Local observers did take notice that after the most hostile fighting in the region in 1990, the Indian flag was not hoisted over Lal Chowk for the first time in 20 years on this Republic Day.
The rest of my few days in Srinagar, before I chased my big interview down to Jammu, were spent admiring the Dal Lake at the base of the Himalayan foothills. My faithful camera had finally given out, but I had my eyes... and ears. The clear air was quiet enough to hear the birds singing.
They even have pretty good bagels there, although they call them something else. They don't come with lox or cream cheese and they definitely don't come with coffee worth anything.
Still, the food up north is heartier and meatier for the cold weather (Muslims are also much less frequently vegetarians than Hindus), and is more like what I would expect from the Asiatic plains, which is often how the people look.
There is more of possibly a Persian look to many J&K residents. Many are very light-skinned, so much so that when I went to pay the clerk for the use of a printer he was surprised at my accent and said:
"Oh, I thought you were a Kashmiri bloke."

NEWS BRIEF - Srinagar, Kashmir, Jan. 23, 2010

Srinagar security heightened ahead of Republic Day
By: Aaron Hochman-Zimmerman
India Defense Minister AK Antony has warned of increased attacks and infiltrations on the Indian side of the Line of Control between Indian- and Pakistan-administered Kashmir.
In Srinagar, the Kashmir Valley's largest city, security has been heightened with more frequent patrols and barricades, the locals say.
A large celebration of the 60th anniversary of the signing of the Indian constitution is planned for Jan. 26 in the Jammu & Kashmir state winter capital. The event plays a large part of the security concern.
The city, with its mountain views and lakeshore houseboats, typically boasts a strong tourist industry, but during what is the tourist off-season, activity on the streets of Srinagar has been calm.

NEWS BRIEF - New Delhi, Jan. 20, 2010

India must see renewable energy as security issue, says Nobel laureate Pachauri
By: Aaron Hochman-Zimmerman
New Delhi, Jan. 14, 2010 - Policymakers in India must do more to secure the energy supply to protect India's national interests, said Nobel laureate doctor Rajendra Pachauri, who won the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize along with vice president Al Gore. He currently heads The Energy and Research Institute in New Delhi.
India is an energy importing country, he said and "we need to use energy much more efficiently."
There is "a multiplicity of benefits" in the renewable National Action Plan his organization, TERI, put forward to the Indian government, he said.
Too much of India's growth has been "short-sided" and too reliant on fossil fuels, he added.
Ever since 1985, when crude oil prices dropped from nearly $70 per barrel to $20 per barrel, with the exception of the 2008 spike, low process have "given us a false sense of security."
When government and industry around the world have shirked their environmental responsibility, "that [energy cost] has been the biggest factor," Pachauri said.
Now, the National Action Plan pushes for research and development of solar and wind energy programs. Small and inexpensive personal energy harvesting devices could one day be distributed to India's poor and remote countryside, "thereby empowering people at the grassroots level," the plan states.
Nuclear power is also part of the larger energy picture, but it is a technology that must be closely watched, Pachauri said.
"Not every country" has the right to nuclear power, he said.
The situation in Iran "is a consequence of arrogance and stupidity" and likely could have been avoided, he said.
He recalled a conversation with a senior U.S. diplomat. The American official could not see Iran beyond the funding of terrorism, he said.
"Iran is not a monolith" and has many more democratic characteristics than some of its Muslim neighbors, Pachauri said "and we need to build on that."
"If the U.S. reaches out, you will be able to strengthen those elements" which want greater democratic reforms and a stronger relationship with the West, he said.
If a true global effort is to be made to fight a truly global problem, the world must work together to build on what was accomplished at Copenhagen where "at least we had an accord," he said of the deal yet to be signed. "The major elements are quite promising."
And it will be governments that must lead the private sector.
"Governments have to lay down policies," he said, even though there is frequently not a lot of political gain in supporting green issues over business.
Still, China, South Korea and the Nordic countries have all demonstrated commitment to the environment and have made investments into new technologies and other energy initiatives.
A next step to bring the corporate sector into line should be "placing a price on carbon," he said.
If a system of trading carbon credits for, essentially, the right to pollute, "the market will respond," he said.
Even beyond what politicians or business leaders can accomplish, "this has to start at the grassroots level," Pachauri repeated from the National Action Plan.
The battle for the environment is a long one and must rely on the proper education of children who can be taught to be sensitive to the issue.
It will then be children "who shame adults into doing the right things," he said.

Hometown Pride - New Delhi, Jan. 14, 2009

(Top: The colors fly over the historic Red Fort; Bottom: An NCO prepares parade troops for Republic Day near India Gate)

Log margin notes:

Today the Lost Nav made a stop at the desk of Rajendra Pachauri. The director of The Energy and Resources Institute (TERI) shared the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize with the USA's own Al Gore.

The interview stuck to general topics, but a personal highlight was the wait before the interview.

I had a few hours to kill after a previous interview with Subhash Arora a local wine expert. I knew the TERI campus featured an American-style diner and I couldn't resist allowing myself to slip back into old habits for a few hours.

The "diner" hit the mark... it was an actual diner.

The pink neon reflected a bright shade of home on the black and white checkered floor. The signs on the walls helped tell the story: Ice Cold COKE Sold Here. Pegasus needed no other words to demostrate the majesty of "Mobilgas."

I pulled up a stool by the counter, ordered a coffee (not an 'Americano' or a tea with milk, but a coffee) and heard our Long Island folk hero, Billy Joel, on the jukebox sing New York State of Mind.

It's not uncommon for a traveler to think about how much home means, but I was also considering something the wine expert, Mr. Arora, had said.

The smaller wineries would really do well if they could band together and market their product, but "everybody is out for himself," he said, adding that it's a national character trait.

As an outsider, I feel uncomfortable making sweeping assessments of 'national character traits,' but this wasn't the first time I've heard the sentiment. Actually, people tell me similar things fairly often. I heard the same thing about Mumbai's ambulance services... the system and the patients suffer because no one wanted to be grouped under a single dispatcher. "Everyone wants to be the best," the doc said.

I think of it every time I anticipate having to answer the impossible question: What's India like?

One difference between what I've seen here and what I see in New York is civic pride. Honestly, from the way I view the world, I see less here. There is probably a greater sense of personal pride than we have in the States, which is obvious when seeing a homeless man scrub himself clean from a bucket of cold water on a 40F day. Or the way men will have a shoeshine before continuing down a muddy street, where trash collection is inconsistent at best. I personally don't bother even though the shoeshine kids are persistent in offering.

People often speak of corruption here. A tea cart vendor on the Main Bazaar tells of police making collection rounds after midnight. He was even worried enough about reprisal to ask: "Are you police?"

It's not that corruption doesn't exist in the U.S., but I think if not more civic pride, we at least have more civic shame. We may still take a few bills from the register, spit or throw trash in the street, shove someone a little to get onto a train, make that illegal u-turn; but we do it with a shred of shame. Here it seems more matter-of-course that all of these things happen.

I am at a loss to say if a greater national pride is growing along with the gross national product, but I do notice a good effort at Delhi's new metro.

The platforms are painted with boundaries and arrows which herd people to the sides of the opening train doors. People, in fact, do stand in a line to the sides of the opening doors in order to let disembarking passengers off. At least they stand in that queue until the moment the doors open; then old habits die hard and the entering and exiting passengers begin pushing each other to get on or off the train.

Some people here, especially in the media, are fiercely nationalist and incensed at the litterbugs as well as the corrupt officials. Everyone has their own private reasons, but all over Delhi there are public signs of the national spirit. The military and police have been going through their paces for the Republic Day Parade on Jan. 26 celebrating the 60th anniversary of the signing of the constitution. Construction dust is in the air and traffic is held up everywhere as the city expands its public transportation by digging new tunnels for the metro. New stadiums and facilities are going up for the 2010 Commonwealth Games.

So back to the impossible question... What's India like? It's different, but it's the same.

NEWS BRIEF - New Delhi, Jan. 12, 2010

Delhi's Burning

By: Aaron Hochman-Zimmerman

A week-long blast of unseasonably cold weather last night claimed the life of its seventh victim, according to reports compiled by the Times of India.

The poor and homeless, who are exposed to the elements and have no access to modern medical care, are obviously the most susceptible. Hundreds are believed to have died across all of Northern India, according to reports.

Dense fog mixed with smog has played havoc on the city's Indira Gandhi International Airport, delaying foreign and domestic air service.

"It's not usually this cold," said Kunal Kumar who has run a chai cart on Delhi's Main Bazaar for 15 years.

Up and down the muddy street of old Delhi people wrap themselves in extra blankets, scarves and hats. They burn anything they can find and huddle around trash fires. The smells of burning paper and ash add a biting quality to the cold polluted air.

Even locals are affected by the weather and hack and spit in the street (which is not uncommon in any season). Westerners who spend long stretches of time in the city speak of the cough they expect to come down with everytime they stay more than a week or two in the capital.

Nationalism of the wrong kind - New Delhi, Jan. 8, 2010

Log margin notes:

The Dec. 29 post titled All are welcome here noted that shopkeepers described German tourists enjoying a daydream of Third Reich glory in a land where the swastika is revered. Of course, the Aryan symbol was brought to the subcontinent by the Aryan tribe who migrated here nearly 4,000 years ago. Today it is hung frequently by religious Hindus for good fortune.

Apart from swastikas, some booksellers say it is Germans buying copies of Mein Kampf sold on the street. However, there is another bookshop owner who tells a different story.

"There are some misguided Indian youth who idolize Hitler," said Nita Puri director of the Central News Agency bookshop on Connaught Place.

She occasionally asks why they buy Mein Kampf.

"He was such a great leader ...," she said is the usual answer.

Many of the Aryan supremacists in India belong to the extreme right wings of nationalist political parties, she said.

"They are not secret groups, they are well known," she said.

However, sightings of actual neo-Nazis are not well known to the Simon Wiesenthal Center in Los Angeles, according to spokesman Aaron Breitbart.

Further, the German tourists who come into the store are often shocked to see Hitler's memoir, said the fluent German-speaking Puri.

NEWSFLASH - New Delhi, Jan. 7, 2010

Indian ambulances modernize - lack organization, training

By: Aaron Hochman-Zimmerman

A voice from the radio snapped the stream of calm conversation in the ambulance.

The driver geared up to push the crew forward through a maze of morning traffic in North Mumbai. Meanwhile in the back, one medic and one medical attendant made preparations to transport an elderly woman on a ventilator. The siren blared, but traffic was tightly packed.

"We are in emergency and we cannot move," said crew chief doctor Saeed Ahmed of the Ziqitza - 1298 ambulance service over the sound of the siren in his GPS-aided ambulance.

After the 35 minute Mumbai road rally, the crew removed their shoes at the ambulance bay of Prince Aly Khan Hospital and walked inside. Ahmed was briefed on the patient while the crew loaded the stretcher.

It would be another 20 minutes before the crew reached the receiving hospital in Mumbai Central.

During the trip, the woman was never out of the care of a doctor. Her heart rate, breathing and pulse oximetry, the blood's oxygen content, was constantly monitored.

Ambulance companies such as Ziqitza - 1298, Topsline - 1252 and the modern private hospitals have led the way for India's emergency services, but they are small and only in metropolitan areas. Ambulances from municipal hospitals are poorly equipped and are often thought of as just a hearse.

Nationwide, calls are still handled by a varied collection of operators with a range of resources.

The whole system is "far from satisfactory," said Pramod Lele, chief executive officer of Mumbai's Hinduja Hospital.

Most crews plainly have a "lack of expertise," Lele said and are no better than a taxi.

Another chronic problem is the lack of centralized control of emergency assets. Currently, a mix of private companies, political parties, religious organizations and the municipal system operate independently with different telephone numbers, services offered and standards of quality.

Who to call?

"There's no centralized, one single number," said doctor Swapnil Khamare of Hinduja's emergency management unit and some calls go unanswered entirely.

"Many people find it doesn't work," Khamare said.

The public even has a low awareness of the emergency system and how to use it. Many say they would need to call the information line to find the number of an ambulance company.

In New Delhi, St. John's Ambulance Brigade, a volunteer service, has been asked to coordinate ambulance activities for Jan. 26, Republic Day, events since 2007.

St. John's commissioner S.C. Goyal hopes that one day centralized control will expand into the rest of the year, but "the work is enormous," he said.

Goyal admitted that the public's lack of awareness to be a problem, mostly for the municipal operators.

"They tried to give their number through TV and media and so many people don't know," he said.

Goyal double-checked the numbers before stating that 1099 and 102 would connect a caller to ambulance dispatch in New Delhi.

Doctor Mohammad Anees, an emergency physician at Mumbai's Prince Aly Khan Hospital was pessimistic about the prospect of unified command.

"Better communication," is needed between a dispatcher and all of the services, he said "it should be [better], but it is not possible."

"Everybody wants to be the best," he said about the competition for business, however, "the best" is often not very good.

"Night is the worst," Anees said.

"There is not much knowledge," on the part of the crews that arrive at his ambulance bay, he said, but he does not blame the crews themselves.

"What can they do?" he asked with just an oxygen bottle and bandages.

To be effective, an ambulance "has to be a small hospital," Hinduja's Khamare said.

Running a small, rolling hospital

"Sustainability is the most important thing," said Amit Alex, spokesman for Ziqitza - 1298, but his company began with the thought of social responsibility.

Ziqitza - 1298 wants to be accessible to all. It responds to every call without question, Alex said.

The business model provides free care for the poor by charging full price to the wealthy. Up to a 50% subsidy, based on need, is offered for a ride to a government hospital.

Even with such discounts in place, people still neglect to call, he said.

"Indians don't call an ambulance, they take public transportation," he said.

Alex said that his company commits itself to maintaining international standards by training crews to the level of its overseas partner, New York Presbyterian-Weill Cornell Medical Center.

The company is growing, but only in major cities as "you need a large number of rich to subsidize the poor," Alex said, adding that the company also sells ad space on the sides of its vehicles.

Ziqitza - 1298 hopes to prove itself viable in India's eigth largest cities within five years, Alex said.

Topsline - 1252 operates with method of delivering high-speed modern medical care plus a full range of emergency services.

"We have a retail model," said doctor Prabhat Jauhari, Topsline's chief executive officer and "there's a big market for it."

One advantage of the subscription service is that emergency responders have instant access to its registered patients' medical histories.

Jauhari demands that his crews arrive on-scene within nine minutes of a call. If the caller is not a member, the company does not guarantee arrival times as it arranges for payments before a unit is dispatched.

In matters of life and death, Jauhari said "we don't argue about money," but like Ziqitza - 1298, over-zealous charity cannot be allowed to sink the business.

As the industry continues to grow, the Topsline - 1252 model does not suit itself to gathering the ambulance services under one agency, Jauhuri said.

Ziqitza - 1298 would welcome a unified dispatch and communication system so long as standards remain high, Alex said.

To improve the industry, it must find properly trained people.

Most ambulance drivers receive little training, but in the organizations where care is improving, trained medical professionals act as ambulance crew chiefs; although they are typically not certified medical doctors.

If a person graduates with a modern medical degree and goes to work in the ambulance setting, "there is no way he can make a lot of money," said Hinduja's Lele.

Indian ambulance services "are coming up," St. John's Goyal said, but not uniformly.

The countryside still suffers the most from a lack of attention, he said.

"State governments are taking the initiative, things are going on," he said, but "it will take time."

Lions, Temples, Fresh Air: Mumbai - Mumbai, Dec. 12, 2009

[backdated]

Travel log:

After a few days of Mumbai's electric intensity, even a hardened city-dweller can us a few hours away.

For that, locals and tourists head north to Sanjay Gandhi National Park to clear their minds of congestion and their lungs of pollution.

Still, the part is helpless to stop the city's panhandlers, although in the park they come from the simian sort.

Aside from the mostly friendly and very photogenic rhesus monkeys, the park boasts three major tourist attractions: the Kanheri caves of hand-carved stone, the sparkling marble Trimurti Jain temple and a brief safari bus tour featuring white and yellow Bengal tigers, and of course, the lions.

The rest of the park are equipped with cricket grounds, gardens, jungle gyms and a boat pond better suited to the locals.

Begin the journey from city center at either Churchgate Station or the Chhatripati Shivaji Terminus (locals say: CST). The Rs. 9 train to Borivali should take just over one hour. [1 USD = 46 INR] Weekend trains are less crowded than the sardine-can rush hour trains, but even when seats are available, veteran riders (and adventurous tourists) still hang out of open train doors to catch the breeze.

From Borivali Station flag down an available autorickshaw for a short Rs. 15 ride to the main gate. Be mindful that the park is a tourist destination and drivers may try their best to take advantage of foreigners. English can be a difficult with the rickshaw drivers, but if he understood "Sanjay Gandhi National Park," he will under stand "turn on the meter."

After the buggy driver finishes darting through a fierce derby of cars, trucks and scooters, Rs. 20 per person gets you into the park where most of the attractions range from 2 km to 7 km away. Fight your instinct to shoo away the guides shouting offers for tours just beyond the main gate. These un-uniformed, but authorized tours cost Rs. 850 for a car and Rs. 350 for the guide; but a motorcycle tour costs Rs. 650 plus the same Rs. 350 for the guide. Helmets are available for sale at many motorcycle shops in Mumbai, but none of them happen to be in Sanjay Gandhi National Park.

Certainly for solo travelers and even a pair may find it worthwhile to try the park's winding roads on the back of a motorcycle. Bending around each curve stretched out the tension of fighting with the city's hellacious traffic where nearly every inch of street and sidewalk (where it exists) is hotly contested by pedestrians, shopkeepers and vehicles. With the help of the bike, the breeze clears out the oppressive dust and thick air of the city below. The ability to move so freely is completely reinvigorating.

The tour first sets out on the road leading up to the Trimurti Jain temple which sits close to where the slums begin to encroach on the park. The mixing of the two habitats has not been beneficial for either. The park has lost space to the slums and is obviously subject to the waste that its new residents produce. Still worse, in rare cases the park's leopards have been known to prey on children who have, in the evenings, stepped too far from their homes.

Even before the Bajaj Boxer kick-start cycle arrived at the temple, a crowd had gathered around the charming sight of the rhesus monkeys both playing and fighting on the side of the road. People are naturally drawn to their genetic cousins and offer them food, snap pictures and just marvel at their hypnotic "human-ness."

A little farther down the path, the stately marble temple stands proudly astride one of the slums on one side and a field cut for power lines on the other.

Do remove your shoes before walking up the find marble staircase to the first landing and stand beneath three nearly 50 foot tall idols of Lord Adinathh who holds his pose alongside his sons, Lord Bahubali and Lord Bharat.

Dozens more marble idols representing Jain deities ring the outer hall of the temple. Pilgrims who visit and pray often leave offerings of fruit, flowers, incense and rice on the pedestals where the idols sit, legs crossed.

After one loop of the temple and a kick of the ignition, the motorcycle tears on through the forest into a clearing where the forest hills give way just enough to see the road ahead that leads to the Buddhist's hilltop caves.

Before a steep set of switchbacks to the first level of caves, park officers as for another Rs. 100.

The imposing site was carved by hand nearly 2,000 years ago by Buddhist monks. Some were permanently quartered there, but it is believed that the complex was largely used by monks who traveled through the region from all over the Buddhist world.

At the lower level, it is already possible to look across a vast deciduous valley onto part of the skyline at the northern end of the city, about 20 miles away. Opposite the valley, deep within the rock is a towering sanctuary. It's columns and ornate figures are carved around a domed stature which represents, but does not depict Buddha. Many of the tour guides will do their best to recreate some of the morning chants of the monks. The chants may or may not be authentic, but the haunting sounds echo through the hall's acoustics and offer something to prod the imagination.

The climb through the monastery becomes steeper and slightly more difficult as the path continues past the facilities for the monks' basic needs. Living quarters were carved along with more meditation rooms or stalls.

On the opposite side of the dining hall there is a tiered row of one-foot deep laundry basins, which if filled, would drain down the rocks.

Icons are carved at nearly every doorpost and an ancient painting clings to existence on the ceiling of a meeting hall entranceway.

Above the caves, a clearing on one of the higher peaks in the park offers a cathartic panorama which is worth the extra climb.

After a moment of personal meditation head back down and hit the trail to the third attraction on the program, the big cats.

The motorcycle pulls into a field filled with locals and their children on playgrounds and cricket grounds. A park office stands to one side where visitors pay another Rs. 30 for a pass on the safari bus; the only way to see the stars of the show.

Similar to the train ride north, fight your way onto the bus and hope for a window seat near of the camera portholes cut through the protective bars on the windows. The cats remain in their own pens, but considering the damage caused by the leopard population, you never can be too careful.

As the bus makes its way through the forest, the white tiger appears first on the left side. A male struts back and forth while the bus erupts in excitement. The driver pauses for a moment, but soon moves on to a pair of yellow tigers. once sits in the sun while the other makes its own seemingly disinterested paces.

Lastly, the 15 minute ride finds the lions' pen. The popular wisdom is that the cats are most active in the morning, but already by 11 a.m. a lioness is barely visible sitting calmly in a thicket of tall grass. The male lion lounges opposite her, making a display of his teeth while lazily yawning in the midday sun.

Cameras click and the bus pulls away to drop its riders back at the ticket office where the next busload is ready to rush on board.

With the three major attractions filed in memory, the motorcycle makes its way past more forest as well as park housing where many, including my guide, pay around Rs. 1500 per month to live in small villas on the park grounds.

Before stepping back through the gate, which stands adjacent to a highway overpass, turn around back to the park and walk on your own just for a few minutes to the boat pond. Couples or families can rent a paddle boat for Rs. 15 for each person and enjoy a serene leg-powered cruise around the lake.

Up the path from the boat pond is the depot of the park's mini-train which tours a section of the park about every 30 minutes.

If waiting seems like too much trouble, do as the locals and just walk along the narrow-gauge track. The 20 minute ride will take closer to one hour on foot, but the peaceful trackside walk passes by spotted deer pens, more lakes and shadowy lanes away from most of the park's other visitors. Train tracks have a poetic quality which offer a bit of time to contemplate the day's events and what will follow.

Whether by foot or train, once the tracks make a complete loop it is probably apparent that the park's vendors only sell small snacks, fresh vegetables and bottled water. Find a rickshaw back to Borivali Station and into town for your well-earned meal and a cool drink.