Last year I trekked into the Moroccan Sahara desert on a very trusty camel named Aszu. In the evening, my guide, Jusef, a sixth grade educated Berber nomad, surprisingly fluent in six languages, fixed me a tantalizing chicken tangine. All that it lacked was a glass of wine, unfortunately verboten for Muslims just days before Ramadan. At night we slept under the incredible desert night skies. Never before had I seen so many stars, stretching from one horizon to the other – the stars so bright and numerous, it was difficult to make out the constellations. That was Morocco, a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, smells, and experiences. From Morocco I traveled on through much of Europe, Russia, Mongolia, China, and finally concluding my trip in Japan. This year's trip will take me to Romania, Ukraine, Georgia, Central Asia, India, Nepal, Southwest China, and Indochina. At times I hope to report back on my experiences and observations, perhaps posting a few pictures and videos that may be of interest. I've posted below a few pictures and videos from some past trips. For my blog on my travels through East Europe check out my blog at http://tallinntovarna.blogspot.com.

I’ve been asking myself lately, is there a theme to all this? Maybe not, but one thing I can say that piques my interest, is the dangerous nexus between religion and politics that engulfs the world today. In Morocco, where the King is both the head of Mosque and State, a Muslim, during Ramadan, can end up in jail for doing nothing more than drinking a glass of water under the scorching daytime heat – his crime, the thirsty Muslim broke the fast. Imams in Morocco claim that such an abhorrent act defies the teachings of God, infringes on the religious liberties of practicing Muslims, and is deserving of serious sanction. Of course, such a violation of an individual’s personal freedom could never happen in America. Or could it? As I write this, the U.S. Catholic Bishops are ferociously attacking President Obama’s Affordable Care Act for requiring institutions to provide birth control under their insurance policies. Like the Imams, the Bishops consider it not just an affront, but an existential threat, to their religious liberties. A poor woman, without the means to support a family, let alone a brutally raped woman, should not expect any sympathy from these Catholic institutions, as they, like their Muslim brothers, are scripturally bound to impose their beliefs on others. Does it matter that no one is telling Muslims that they cannot fast or Catholics that they cannot abstain from sex?

Now that I think of it, I’d like to dedicate this blog to Americans United, a terrific nonpartisan educational organization dedicated to preserving the principle of church-state separation as the only way to ensure religious freedom. Before I move on though, I’d like to share with you this political satire piece I wrote a few months ago when Senator Rick Santorum had a chance of being the Republican nominee. It pretty much sums up my take on what a large segment of the American population would like to see should their wildest dreams come true. Finally, I begin this blog with three postings from last year’s trip just to give you an idea of who I am and what you may or may not come to expect as I embark on this year's trip. If you have something nice to say, I'd love to hear from you.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Cremation


Cremation
“Here on the Bagmati river in Kathmandu, we cleanse and cremate our dead,” my guide, Prachanda, tells me. I count ten pyres on the other side of the muddy river. On one of the pyres, smoke rises from a freshly lit pile of wood and rice grass. On another, a man stokes the crumbling remains of a fire. And on a third, a man sweeps the ashes into the river. Behind another pyre, stacked with fresh lumber, lies a body on a stretcher wrapped in a bright yellow shroud. “It takes three hours to cremate a body,” Prachanda says. “Is it okay to take pictures?” I ask. Prachanda nods his approval and I snap away. “Beyond the bridge is where they cleanse the bodies.” There, a woman and a boy scoop water out of the river and wash it over a cement slab that runs down the concrete steps into the water. Above, a yellow clad corpse lies on a stretcher surrounded by a small gathering of mostly men who look clueless as to what they are suppose to do. Passers-by show no interest as they go about their routines. After considerable hesitation, three of the men lift the body off the stretcher and lay it on the cement slab so the feet barely touch the water. One of the men cuts away the shroud from the face while another cuts the clothe from her feet. It’s a woman. I’m sure. A group of excited school children pass behind the scene without taking notice. Four or five men now care for the body. With their hands, they scoop water out of the muddy river and rub it over the woman’s face and feet. “This is an important part of the purification process — to drink from the Bagmati before being cremated. Each family develops its own ritual.” Three of the men take the body back to the stretcher. One of them puts a garland around her neck and another sprinkles red dust on her shroud. They then proceed to the cremation pyre.
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