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.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Mekong River


Mekong River
We are traveling up the Laos portion of the muddy brown Mekong River, a two-day boat trip from Luang Prabang to Houei Say. There are seven passengers: two young women from Germany, a couple from Switzerland, and a couple of lovers (a young man from Australia and his girl friend from France). We have a crew of seven, including an English and French guide, although everyone on the boat speaks English. I sit in the bow taking in the breathtaking scenery at every turn. An occasional primitive village, hut, or fishing skiff appears, signs of people living in the thick jungle along the banks, a day’s trip from the nearest hospital or school. The Swiss couple sits down next to me and we engage in a lengthy conversation about religion, the economy, geopolitics, and what it means to live a happy life. “We hope Obama wins,” the woman sighs. “We believe Bush stole the election in 2000. How can that happen in America? That would never happen in Switzerland. The decision as to who becomes president of the United States is too important for the world to leave to the Americans. Europeans should be allowed to vote as well. Obama’s intelligent, his heart is in the right place, and he’s moving your country in the right direction.”

Village Festivities
We stop at a small primitive village, known for its whiskey. “Sounds like a party,” the French woman observes as we disembark. Toura, our Hmong guide, says, “It’s the festival of ‘Boun Khao Phan Sa’, the day the monks enter the temple for two months for study and meditation.” A small temple with a single monk appears to the left of us and to the right villagers dance to a CD of ‘You Spin Me Round’ by Jessica Simpson. In the background an aging generator bangs away. The partiers see us and scream, “Koom ped! Koom ped!” “They want you to join them,” Toura says. The young lovers promptly jump into the mix, taking from a gyrating toothless lady a glass of beer in one hand and a shot of whiskey in the other. As they swig down the two and sway to the music, they motion for the rest of us to join in. I join in and one of the revelers hands me a beer and a shot of clear liquid. “Tastes like vodka,” I say. “Try that stuff out of the barrel there. It’s really powerful,” the Australian hollers over the music and pressing bodies. An emaciated old man dances in front of me and wants to tell me something. He drops to his knees and scribbles in the dirt with his finger. The others press around dancing applying me with whiskey and beer. I don’t know what this is about and look back to Toura for assistance. “They’re telling you the old man is eighty — the oldest in the village.” Later Toura tells us, “The average age in the village is fifty-eight. The children are born at home. Usually only one in the family goes to school.”

Toura
Back on the boat, Toura sits down next to the Swiss couple and me. “I have a question,” he asks me. “I’d like to know about this video that has gotten the Muslims so mad.” “I don’t know if I can tell you much about it. I’ve only caught the headlines.” “Religion is confusing.” He says. “I don’t think our religion works very well. In this region we practice a combination of Buddhism, Hinduism, Shamanism, and Animism. If I have a problem or am sick, I first go to a Buddhist monk. If the monk can’t help me, I go to a Shaman. But now, I started reading the Bible.” “Where did you get the Bible?” “From the church in Luang Prabang.” “Do you go to that church?” “No.” “How much of the Bible have you read?” “I just read a little of the beginning and now I’ve jumped to the first book in the New Testament.” “Has anyone told you what to read?” “No.” “Have you talked to a minister or a priest?” “No — I just want to know a little bit about Christianity, whether it works, and how many times you have go to church?” “Actually, I’m not sure that’s the point of Christianity.” “Huh, I don’t understand.” “Well, some Christians may believe their faith will solve their problems and the number of times they go to church will make a difference, but I don’t think that’s the real point of Christianity.” “I’m confused, so what’s the point?” “Salvation — Christianity, you see, is a method for achieving salvation.” “Is that it?” “Yes, I think so. Check out John 3:16. I think that’s it in a nutshell.” “John what?” “John 3:16.” “What?” Here, I’ll write it down: ‘God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life.’” Toura smiles down at the slip of paper, “Thank you very much!” As he leaves, the Swiss man turns to me, “I thought you said you were a non-believer.” “I am.”
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