Bits and Pieces

Bits and Pieces

 

 

After getting all of the rock bags stacked, several layers of "soil/cement" must be applied to all sides while placing the nylon netting that will eventually be stretched over the outside to provide a flexible mesh for the earthen plaster to adhere to.  Soil/cement is a mixture of sand, cement, a dash of clay and water.  It is one of several mixtures that will be used in the construction of the house, each with its own recipe for its own purpose.  In this case, we are encasing the bags of rocks into an integral whole while anchoring the netting.

 

The process takes several days and, like all foundation work, seems long and tedious (at least to my western brain).  But it is, as they say, the foundation and one must realize its importance and give it its due.  The guys doing the work do not seem bothered by it in the way I would.  They are just as happy as always.

 

The nylon netting is new in my experience.  Several layers are used, each with its own objective.  Managing what could easily become a hopelessly tangled web takes some practice and patience, both of which these guys have in abundance.

 

 

 

Surkhab, Zamurad and I were parked in our van waiting for an appointment when a Pakistani woman walked by.  She was unusual because she was the first woman I'd seen that did not have her face covered by a veil.

 

Now I understand why the women here cover their faces.  This woman was stunningly beautiful.  If that's representative of what is behind those veils, then clearly they must be covered or none of the men would get anything done.

 

And many countries would be invading.

 

 

 

Haddi continues to crack me up.  He knows just enough English, and uses it in just the right places to make life interesting.  This evening he and some co-workers/friends came over after work (I'm rarely alone here) and while eating some unknown piece of citrus, he piped up with, "vitamin C" out of nowhere.  He's got a great smile, as does most everyone over here and along with his large nose and playful nature (both also ubiquitous), he reminds me of my grandfather, Bolla.  Bolla came over from the Italian part of Switzerland when he was 17 so he always had a strong accent.  He smoked these small, black and shriveled up cigars and whenever he would hug me he'd whisper in my ear, "you little shit."

 

 

 

Today (9/29) we drove up towards the mountains (some with snow on the peaks) to the Mansehra area to order some cgi (corrugated galvanized iron) and pick up a truckload of straw bales.  On the way back we got something to eat at a truck stop.  This is the kind of truck stop you would only see in america if you were very high on acid.  The trucks are amazing, all decorated with bits here, do-dads there.  Some have whirling fans of one sort or another and all have a very distinctive, and, continuing the theme, playful horn.

 

While we were eating I rearranged my legs and managed to bump the table a bit, spilling some of Zamurad's tea into his saucer.  I had a moment of discomfort and instinctively said, "Oh!  I'm sorry."  Without missing a beat, Surkhab gave me one of his angelic smiles and said, "no one will yell at you here, Mark."  I immediately knew this was true.  In the same way that Haddi just says "kui bat nahin" when something does not go quite "right" at work, folks here just don't have the same attitude about blame here.  There really is no chance that someone would yell at me for anything but the most egregious transgression.  We all had a great laugh thinking about how different it is in america.  Surkhab said it was good that I would be going to a 10-day retreat just before returning home so I could become calm and peaceful enough to withstand the culture shock.

 

And we all laughed again.

 

 

 

 

 

What a Birthday!

What a Birthday!

 

On Saturday (9/25) I went to a new job that was just starting.  The footers had been dug and there were 300 bags of rocks waiting to be laid for the foundation.  After getting all of the strings in place so we knew exactly where we wanted the walls and cleaning up the ditch in a few places, everyone (about 10 of us) gathered around and a prayer was offered.  I'm not sure exactly what was said, but they do this on every job and all participate.  Maybe this has something to do with the tenor of the work that follows.

 

I had asked Surkhab how long it took to dig the footers for this job (about 24' x 24' x 1') and he said, "a couple of hours."  I was stunned.  I would have thought at least a day, maybe more.  These wiry guys are able to work very efficiently to get the job done.

 

After the prayer, a layer of soil/cement (clay, sand, water and a small amount of cement) was mixed up and spread on the rough ground to make a reasonably flat and level surface to stack the bags of rocks.  Then nylon netting was laid down.  This will later be stretched over the straw bales and serve as a reinforcing mesh for the earthen plaster.

 

After lunch, which was served up by the family that will move into the house, they started laying the bags of rocks.  Each bag weighs about 50 lbs. and is laid in an overlapping fashion just like large bricks.  The guys doing this are amazing workers.  With no drama this very labor-intensive job gets done and by the end of the day the entire perimeter, 2 feet high, was complete.

 

I went home and began my routine of downloading the pictures and videos I took during the day, charging up the camera batteries and reading my e-mail.  The next day (Sunday) we were going to hand over the keys for 2 homes to the new owners and I was going to give a speech at the second one.  So I started to work on it and, after a few false starts, finally ended up with something I liked.

 

On Sunday we went to the first of the 2 sites and because I had donated the money to build the house, I was told to sit in the central chair as the guest of honor.  I was surrounded by 35-40 male Pakistani faces, all with great character and "unusual" looking to my California brain.  By now I've come to love these faces, even if they remind me a bit of the bar scene from "Star Wars."  An immense wave of gratitude overwhelmed me as I thought about how improbable it was for me to be there.  I wondered if this was not some sort of dream.  Perhaps in the grand scheme of things it is.

 

Surkhab handled most of the ceremony except for another prayer by someone else from the community.  He then asked me to say something.  I said that I was honored and privileged to represent Paksbab and to be with all of them for this most wonderful ceremony on this most wonderful day.  Then they gave me the scissors and I cut the ribbon across the door and handed the key to a small boy, the oldest male of the family of 16 that would live there.

 

Some sweets were handed out and several folks came up to shake my hand (which everyone does with everyone in these parts).  Each one, with their smiling faces and wrinkled laugh lines, is a treasure. 

 

Then we went to the second site.  This would be where I would give my speech so I set up my camera on the tripod and got everything ready.  With Surkhab's help, we told Rustam, one of the younger guys who speaks some English, how to turn the camera on and I went to take my seat.

 

After some milling about we got started and I gave the signal to Rustam to start the camera.  Again Surkhab handled the ceremony and at some point he motioned to me to stand and deliver my speech.

 

So with crumpled paper in hand I said these words:

 

"Today is a wonderful day.  Today Maziky Bibi and her 6 children have a new home.

But this is not just any home, this home is special.

This home is special because the materials and labor have been organized and donated by Paksbab, the Pakistan Straw Bale and Appropriate Building Organization as part of an ongoing effort to provide safe housing for the victims of the 2005 Muzaffarabad earthquake.

This home is special because it has been made from simple, local materials in an environmentally responsible way.

This home is special because aside from offering protection from wind, rain and sun, this home will also protect Maziky Bibi, her 6 children and all their friends, family and guests from the catastrophic damage that can result form a major earthquake.

100 years from now this home, made from straw bales, earth and wood, will still be offering this protection.

But most of all, this home is special because of the love and care that went into its construction.

It is an honor and a privilege to represent Paksbab in presenting the keys to this wonderful home to Maziky Bibi.

May she and her loved ones live here in peace and security for many years.

Blessings be upon this home and those who live and visit here."

 

After a few more words by various members of the community (about 25) they brought my birthday cake.  As I was cutting it up for everyone I knew that this would not be a birthday I would soon forget.

 

As we were preparing to leave I went to pack up my camera and discovered that for a reason as yet unknown, the camera shut down a few minutes after Rustam started it, missing most of the ceremony, including my speech.

 

I had several nano-moments of distress before I was able to channel Haddi and utter the words that are now my guiding light:

 

Kui Bot Nahim (no problem).

 

It was one of the most perfect and memorable days of my life and nothing could take that away unless I allowed it.

Working with Muslims

Working with Muslims

 

While I was in New York City I went down to ground zero on 9/11.  There was a protest of the proposed Muslim mosque and the things I heard and the signs I saw can only be described as the lead car on the freight train of Fascism that is rolling inexorably into america.

 

This experience made me ill so I went to the counter demonstration several blocks away, where my people were doing their best to counter the fear and hate, to try and recuperate.  One of the signs I saw there said it all:

 

"When Fascism comes to America it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross"

 

-Sinclair Lewis, 1935

 

So now I am living and working with the Muslims that some say hate us, hate our freedom and want to kill us.  Let me tell you a bit about these people.

 

The first thing you notice is their hospitality, which is legendary in that part of the world not controlled by fear-based corporate media.  They not only ask what they can do for you, but they are always on the lookout for something they can do before you ask.  The other day I was hunched over my computer and, without saying a word, Haddi gathered up a few pillows and placed them behind my back.

 

At times the hospitality can get a bit over the top.  Surkhab cannot resist buying me food from stores and street stands.  But I have no opportunity to eat this food because all of my meals are provided.

 

The environment on the job is remarkable.  There are no radios blasting and even though I cannot understand what is being said, I can sense the tone.  And that tone reminds me more of the cooing of pigeons than anything else.  Their speech is amazingly gentle and pleasant.  The only time I hear a voice raised it is immediately followed by laughter from all involved.  I've been told that one of the guys is the crew leader, but you would not be able to discern who that might be by how the guys interact.  Having worked on a great many construction crews myself, and at times been the crew leader, I can tell you that such an environment is as rare as hen's teeth.  One readily settles into this comfort zone where even the thought of anger or hostility soon vanishes.  I've been waiting to see what happens when something significant goes awry, but so far nothing has.

 

I wonder if there is a connection.

 

 

Yesterday (Thurs., 9/23) Haddi and I went from my apartment to his house so he could do some plastering there.  He lives within a small group of small structures.  Some appear to be mud huts but the one he was working on was made from brick.

 

He wanted to add some sand and cement plaster to several of the unfinished walls and while I was hoping I would be able to help some, between being very tired and the space being pretty confined, I mainly watched.

 

He used a method that was new to me.  First he applied a cement-rich mixture directly on the bricks and followed that with a sand-rich mixture that he built up to about 1 inch thick.

 

Haddi moves with an efficiency and grace that comes not only from decades of experience, but also stems from his culture. At one point, near the end of a day that would have exhausted most of us, he had several large chunks of the sand/cement mixture fall away from a wall that was nearing completion.

 

There was not a nano-moment of distress on his face as a result.  Instead, in his broken English he looked up at me, smiled, and said what has come to be a standing joke between us, "no problem."  I respond with the Urdu equivalent, "kui bat nahin" (koy bot nah-HEEN) and we both had a good laugh.  Without breaking stride, Haddi repairs the damage.

 

I talked later to Surkhab about this and he told me that Muslims are much more accepting of "what is" than we are in the u.s.  As a Buddhist I see the pain and suffering that comes from resisting "what is" and hope to learn from these beautiful souls who have this simple concept imbedded in their millenniums old culture.

It's a Wonderful Life

It's a Wonderful Life

 

I mentioned briefly the driving conditions here, but allow me to expand.  The roads are typical of the developing world (he said as if he knew what he was talking about).  They get the job done, but without all the fanfare of u.s. roads.  When I hear folks whine about the potholes in Atascadero I think back on what I saw in West Africa and now what I've seen here.  Now THESE are potholes!  These things will swallow a small compact whole.  You do NOT go over these, you go around.  Along with all manner of other traffic from motor bikes to large (and brightly decorated – see my flickr page) transport trucks are the folks walking along the side, with or without their sheep, goats, cows or camels.  They are only barely wide enough for 2 vehicles (and sometimes not) so one needs to be alert, have nerves of steel, have a working horn and not be afraid to use it.  The horn is an essential part of driving, warning folks to move aside, or keep out of the way.  Were the horn to be used indiscriminately to express some degree of frustration or rage as in, say, New York City or Boston, it would soon loose its effectiveness a la the boy-who-cried-wolf syndrome.  Instead, at exactly the proper moment a small toot is provided as a courtesy and a warning.  Folks really do have a natural survival instinct so it all seems to work quite well.  I've seen not one accident, nor one seriously dented vehicle, nor one cop.  So when I get on the back of Haddi's Honda 350 and we gingerly make our way through and around all of these obstacles, I feel completely at ease.  I sit back (but not too far back) and enjoy the ride.

 

We are nearly finished with this first house and will have a ceremony on Sunday to give the keys to a widow so she and her 4 kids can move in.  I will be intimately involved in this ceremony for 2 reasons.  Because I donated the money to make this house possible, I will have the honor of presenting her with the keys and am expected to say something appropriate.

 

It reminds me of a scene from, "It's a Wonderful Life" when Mary (Donna Reed) and George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart) do the same thing for an immigrant family who has financed their affordable home through the Bailey Building and Loan.  As my poor old addled brain recalls, Mary presents them with a basket of food, while saying, "may you never be hungry" along with some other great stuff that I wish I could remember.  If anyone else remembers this scene please send details soon.

 

Speaking of addled old brains, the other reason Sunday will be fun is that mine will turn 58 on that day (though I'm demanding a recount).  Pakistani hospitality is legendary and there is no way that the guys will not use this as an occasion to celebrate even more.  A cake is in the works and god knows what else.

 

Meanwhile, I continue to have a wonderful life here in Pakistan.  After a light day on the job, I went back with Haddi to his place along with Rustam and Manzoor.  Rustam and Manzoor took me down to the creek (which was lovely) and then up to a plateau where Rustam's dad, Palis, lives (which has a spectacular view).  These guys are young (20's) and both speak some English.  We managed to have quite a chat along the way, it was very fun.

 

Then it was back to Haddi's place for dinner and Pakistani music videos.  Finally back here to download, upload and write this.

 

My, what a wonderful life!

blog/flickr/credits

hi all,

A few people missed the blog address, here it is again:

http://mrppy1.blogspot.com/

I have just uploaded a few more pictures to my flickr account which can be accessed at:

 http://bit.ly/mrppyflickr

I want to publicly thank Russ Ferriday for all of his computer help and David Weisman for his photo/video assistance.

They both helped me a ton before leaving.

They also continue to offer assistance, Russ provided the Flickr link above and David fixed the problem with the "vignetting" in the corners of the photos.

I'm just getting ready to leave for the job (which we will finish today), as soon as flickr gets done uploading.

I hope to do a proper post this evening.

cheers,

mark

ps  my transportation to the job is on the back of a honda 350, similar to the one i had in my 20's.  fortunately Haddi, expert natural builder and currently my cook, is also an excellent driver on roads that are less than ideal.

i am not afraid.

pictures on flickr

hi all,

it appears that some folks still could not see the photos i sent in previous e-mails and the blog will not (easily at least) display them so i opened a flickr account.

go to flickr.com and search for me by my e-mail address:

mrppy@fix.net

and you should find them.

cheers,

mark

Becoming Un-Mad

Becoming Un-Mad

 

Yesterday (mon. 12/20) Surkhab and Zamurad took me to the local tailor so I could get measured for my dress shalwar kameez.  Surkhab had given me one to work in but I needed another I could keep clean so I could be presentable.  I told him I'd never been measured for anything in the U.S and that, being an old hippie (I had to explain that word to him) I tended to worry little about my outward appearance (concentrating instead on my inner beauty, or lack of).  He said that in Pakistan folks do consider appearance important and that folks who look like I did when I first showed up (before the haircut and beard trim) looked…..(he searched for a word)…."mad".

 

Well, I certainly don't want my hosts embarrassed so I went along with the upgrade without protest.  Heck, I might even get used to looking "distinguished".

 

I also got re-acquainted with my luggage which Zamurad picked up for me in Islamabad (6 hour round trip).

 

We then went back to the job site where I tried again to get the hang of putting up the earthen plaster (the origin, I assume, of the term "mud" used by drywall finishers).  I'm pretty bad at it but at least I know what it's supposed to look like (nice and smooth).  Haddi and Sarfaraz do this quite well and have an interesting technique.  They start by taking a spatula-like trowel and "flipping" the mud onto the wall with a twist of the wrist.  Once on the wall it gets spread out using a standard metal trowel that a concrete finisher would use.  They continue to work with it until the wall is flat and the texture quite smooth.  And, because we are NOT building a McMansion, it only took about 1 day to do the entire inside of the house.  This house is 24' x 24' on the outside, with 2 equal rooms of 10' 9" x 13' 9" and a covered veranda of 22' x 8'.

 

Yesterday's highlight came after work.  Haddi brought his brother-in-law (Manzoor) with him back to my place (Haddi has been cooking for me).  Manzoor speaks some English, enough that, along with some pantomime, some repetition and a lot of patience, we could talk some.  Later on the Paksbab carpenter, Zuficar, stopped by and the 4 of us had a jolly good time.  They explained, for example, that Islam allows a man to have 4 wives, but that is usually reserved for the wealthy.  Haddi and Tabrez have only 1 each and Manzoor is not married.  I expressed the chauvinist opinion that 1 wife would be quite enough for most folks and, laughing, they all agreed.

 

Later on we delved into the political realm (surprise, surprise) and the existence, or lack thereof, of the Taliban, Al Quaeda and Osama Bin Laden was discussed.  I think Haddi put it best when he waved his hand and blew a puff of air from his mouth in response to all 3.  Clearly he, as the others, do not consider them real, much less a threat.  I will pursue this topic with Surkhab and/or Zamurad so we can do so in English.

 

The rest of the evening was spent looking at pictures on my computer, in particular the straw bale home I live in.  We also played some music (they were disappointed that I did not have any Michael Jackson).

 

I'm having the same problem I had in New York.  These guys would stay up until who knows when so I have to shoo them away so I can get some sleep.  But it's all good, I really enjoy their company.

 

Today we paint.  Onward and upward!

Mark gets to work

Traveling to Qulandarabad

 

I seem to have solved the e-mail problem so go ahead and write if you like (but I'm still pretty busy and may not be able to respond).

 

The first order of business today was for me to don my shalwar kameez.  This is the traditional clothing worn by virtually all males.  It is a pair of pants held up with a string and a pull-over shirt that hangs down to the knees.  I'll try and send a picture when I get a good one.

 

We left Kakul this morning to travel to several job sites in Qulandarabad.  Along the way we stopped in Abbottabad again to get a cell phone for me.  For 2500 rupees ($30) I got a cell phone that I can use anywhere (except the US, of course) simply by buying some very cheap minutes with the phone cards that are available anywhere.  The phone no. from the U.S. is:

 

011-92-322-990-2241

 

Along the way I was struck by how similar the terrain is to the central coast of California.  Gently rolling hills and small mountains as far as the eye can see.  The only difference is that here those hills are covered in a beautiful green layer of trees and bushes.  Not sure of the exact type, but there are clearly lots of pine trees.  The weather is also quite similar (gorgeous).

We went to one job site that will be the home of a man, his 2 wives and their 13 children (16 total!).  It's a 2-room affair, about 25' x 25' with a 25' x 8' covered veranda.  It has electricity but no plumbing.  This building was erected by 3-4 guys over a 6-week period.  It has about 6 windows, 1 door and is beautiful!  The folks who will inhabit this home have been living in a tent since the 2005 earthquake.  They have actually moved in to a certain extent because even unfinished, it is so much better than the tent-like structure they are in now.  They move around to avoid being in the way of the workers.  They had to hold up a tarp so the women could go from the house into their tent without any of us seeing them before we could go inside and look around.  Their customs are very strict in this regard.  Because an earth/cement floor takes so long to dry, they poured a standard cement floor to allow the folks to move in sooner.

 

Before leaving for this trip I thought I might encounter some significant level of discomfort.  Either the weather, the bugs or the accommodations would be difficult and I was hopeful that I could survive whatever the universe gave me with grace and good humor.

 

Well I've already mentioned the weather and there are no bugs.  When I was shown the house they have rented for me in Qulandarabad I knew that any attempt to find out what I am made of was not going to happen here.

 

The place is gorgeous! (there's that word again).  The floor is a beautiful mosaic of marble and other stone.  There's a lovely back yard with grass, a fully equipped bathroom and a kitchen.  That will be good for the COOK that will be feeding me (I am NOT making this up!).

 

Curses, foiled again!

 

Wait!  This just in!!  I'll be taking cold showers here (bucket style) unless I want to heat up some water on the stove.  Does this qualify for "hard"?

 

We went on to another site that was on a small mesa overlooking (you guessed it) a gorgeous view of those rolling hills and mountains in the distance.

This is the one I'll be working on tomorrow.  They are in the process of applying the final coats of paint to the outside and last layer of earth plaster on the inside.  This place has an earth/cement floor.

 

I came back to my pad where several other guys are waiting for the cook (Haddi) to rustle up some grub.

 

I'm still recovering from the trip and 9-hour time change (from nyc.  The time difference with California is a very convenient 12 hours) so I just managed to eat before crashing about 7pm.  Woke up at 2:30 but that's getting closer to my normal schedule (I woke up at 12:30 the first night).

 

Finally, at about 10 minutes before 9am on Sunday 9/19, Rustram put a paintbrush in my hand and I stated working with the 'guys" (Rustram a 20 year old kid, Sarfaraz, a 30 year old plaster and Haddi, the old man on the crew (excluding me of course) who is also a plasterer and part-time cook).

 

I've worked on a lot of construction jobs but this one is decidedly different than most.  There is no blaring radio and the conversation between the guys is calm and sparse.  There is no noticeable "ego trip" being laid by anyone (I can tell this even though they speak Urdu) and laughter visits often.

 

And even though I don't speak their language, the conversation during breaks and lunch does not appear to be centered on getting drunk or getting laid (one of the main reasons I got out of the trade).

 

After painting for awhile, we put the final coat of earthen plaster on one of the 2 14' x 11' rooms.  It amazes me how beautiful dirt can become, particularly in the skilled hands of these guys.  By now they knew that I actually wanted to work with them so they let me try my hand at it.  I was no match for their skill but after an hour or so I was beginning to get the hang of it.

 

I really enjoyed working with these guys and I think we are beginning to "bond" some.  They are really nice and even if we cannot speak the same language, we do ok.

 

After the fist full day of work I've had in many months, I came back to my house and took a nap.

Not in Kansas anymore

NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE

My flights from New York City to Brussels to Abu Dhabi to Islamabad were uneventful but long. There's no way you can travel for nearly 24 hours and not arrive a bit tired and crumpled but I was otherwise in good shape.

After clearing customs I went to pick up my bags but they weren't there. I was told to go to a particular counter to file my claim. There were 20 others there as well and they were all engaged in a shoving match to get to the beleaguered clerks. I found a young guy who spoke English who advised me how to engage in this sport, encouraging me to push my way past "Gandhi" a short, nearly bald-headed man. Speaking of men, nearly everyone on the flight was male, probably 10:1.

I eventually got past "Gandhi" though not until after someone else did. My benefactor teased me about not being very good at pushing my way forward and I told him I'd try and get better during my month in Pakistan.

During this time I was not in the slightest upset or anxious. A good sign.

Walking outside it took only seconds to meet up with Surkhab and Zamurad. They knew by this time that many of us had become estranged from our luggage and told me not to worry. I told him that I wasn't worried, particularly since it had happened to so many of us. Clearly some section of the cargo did not make one of the transfers and I would be able to pick up my bags the next day (Sat.).

We got in their compressed natural gas van (kinda a small vw) and headed to Abbottobad on roads that were surprisingly good. One of the most distinctive features of this trip was the transport trucks and busses that were all decorated in brightly colored, Arabic motifs. I pictured one of them in a US style truck stop and the stares it would attract and laughed to myself.

Surkhab and Zamurad had 2 important tasks to perform in Abbottobad. The first was to take me directly to a barber and get me cleaned up. After sending them my picture so they would know whom to pick up at the airport, they both thought I was too "disheveled" looking. They also thought I looked like Saddam Hussein after he was captured and before he was hung. I thought this would be an embarrassment but to the contrary, Surkhab told me that in Pakistan, Saddam is a hero. Apparently the Pakistanis do not watch CNN or FOX enough. Surkhab went on to explain that in Pakistan, appearance is quite important and that those who want respect are neatly quaffed. He also said that I did not need to grow the beard, but since so many folks have said they like it, I figured I'd keep it for awhile at least.

The barber was down a crowded alley in a smallish space. 3 very standard, though older, barber's chairs were there and soon I was in one. I let Surkhab direct the show and after what seemed like an extended operation, my beard was a mere shadow of its former self and my hair 2 months shorter. But I wasn't done at this point. They directed me towards the back where I was to take a shower. The "shower" was only a bucket and cup system but between the bits of hair down my back and neck and a body that was crying out for sleep, I cannot remember another shower I've ever had that felt so good. I came out feeling rejuvenated and looking like a proper Pakistani (or at least a proper foreigner).

The other item of business was to get me registered with the authorities. I'm not entirely certain what this was about, but the process seemed friendly enough and I was not concerned. This also required a trip to the photo shop since the photos I had brought with me for this purpose were in my missing luggage. While at the photographer's shop, Surkhab pointed out the hand carved furniture that their "carpenters" make. I told him this was something completely outside of my abilities and that I would have to stop describing myself as a carpenter since I was clearly outclassed. Surfaces with intricate designs adorned every piece and I wondered how many years it would take me to accomplish something of far inferior quality.

From Abbottabad, we went to Kakul village where Surkhab and Zamurad live. They set me up in their palatial guest quarters which includes a cot and inside, western style, toilet. We tried to get my mac hooked up to their dial-up internet but the set-up disk was made for a pc and did not work for me.

But as with everything else, Surkhab said not to worry. He's got a pc laptop I can use while I'm here if we can't get the mac hooked up. He's also going to help me buy a cell phone (for about $40) that I will be able to use here, as well as in India later on.

I am having serious problems with e-mail at the moment. For the most part I will not be able to respond and might not even be able to read what is sent to me. Please understand and help out by not sending anything that is not vital. Your messages of support are appreciated, but they tend to slow down an already too slow process.

Blog #1 from Brussels

Bye-Bye New York City

I arrived in New York City (nyc) on Sept. 5^th and left for Pakistan on Sept. 15^th.  The time I spent in nyc was as extraordinary as it was unexpected.  A friend of mine said he knew someone in nyc who sold expensive condominiums.  Because the economy is not very healthy, they are not selling well and many are vacant.  I was told that I could stay in one for free.

 

So I imagined staying in a penthouse condo overlooking manhattan for my 10 days in nyc.

 

What I actually got was considerably different.

 

Lenny is the property manager of a single 6-story condo.  He was also putting on a conference in which 2 dozen + speakers would address a studio audience of 200 or so for an event described as "how the world changed after 9/11."  When I arrived I was immediately drafted into the crew to help hang lights, run cables and do whatever else was necessary to put on the conference.

 

It was great working with the other guys but it was typically 2-3 am before I got a chance to go to sleep and then it was on the floor (or later outside) on my camping pad, in my sleeping bag.

 

While these were not the luxury accommodations I had in mind, it was an experience I will never forget.

 

After the conference began, another problem developed.  The place was crawling with some of the most interesting people on the planet (to my way of thinking, at least).  Ray McGovern, ex cia agent.  Annie Machon, ex m-5 agent.  Kevin Ryan and Richard Gage, 9/11 investigators.  Michael Parenti, long time critic of american foreign policy.  Colleen Rowley, whistle blower from the fbi.  The list goes on.  That is the main reason that after the conference started, I still did not get to sleep before 2 am because there was always someone very interesting to talk to.

 

But my final day and a half in nyc were free and they turned out to be pretty special as well.  Tues. (9/14) I met Jessica, a friend of Lenny's wife who had just come to visit them from Brazil.  Since she was free for the day I suggested that we wonder around nyc together instead of separately.  I'm sure I would have suggested this even if she wasn't gorgeous.  We had a good time and enjoyed each other's company as we wondered around ground zero and central park.

 

My last night in nyc was really fun, drinking beer with some of the other techies and telling stories.  The view out of my 6^th floor balcony was stunning.  The nyc skyline, all lit up, with a half-moon above.  It looked quite a bit like a yin-yang symbol and I pondered its significance.

 

My last ½ day in nyc was spent with Renee, a very nice, and quite attractive woman I met at a restaurant in New Jersey on my first day in the area.  It was nice to be sent off to Pakistan with a warm hug.

 

So this is my first blog post.  I am writing this as I fly on my first leg to Brussels.  From their I'll fly to Abu Dhabi and finally to Islamabad.  I left nyc on Sept. 15^th and arrive in Islamabad on Sept. 17 after flying for about 24 hours.

 

I feel great now.  We'll see how I feel when I arrive.

 

My spirits could not be better.  After having so many folks wish me the best before leaving California, a dozen or more folks I met in nyc did the same.  I've got more good wishes than anyone could expect and I'm sure they will help make this trip an unqualified success.

 

My hope is not only to help build some load-bearing straw bale homes and set up some water filtration sites, but also to connect with the people of Pakistan (and later of India).  I want to spread good cheer and love wherever I go.  I also want to learn more about letting the Universe steer my ship.  To more confidently "go with the flow."