About Melinda Skea

Recent Posts by Melinda Skea

Bragging Wagah Border

Hindustan! (I don’t know the rest)! In politics there is a theory called Tit for Tat, also called equivalent retaliation, where an agent will mimic the actions of the opposing agent. They cooperate, you cooperate. They bomb you, you bomb them. They stand at the border and yell, “I’m the best!” you stand at the border and yell, “I’m the best!”

Okay so maybe you won’t find the last scenario in your theory book, but all theories are adaptable and that’s exactly how India and Pakistan have adopted these rules.

Every evening at sunset the wonderful citizens of both India and Pakistan flock to the Wagah Border, located between the Indian town of Amritsar and the Pakistani town of Lahore, and begin festivities that end in hoopin’ and hollarin’ and the retiring of the flag.

When you first drive into the area, you are surrounded by entrepreneurial salesman selling water, popcorn, fruits and teas to people waiting in line to enter the stadium a quarter mile down the road. However, as you pass through the various security check points, each one becoming more narrow and more squished, you’ll notice that the only thing you can take with your is a camera–no purse, no water and definitely no popcorn.

Now, I have a knack for being able to worm my way to the front of lines/concerts/maneuver through large crowds. Knowing this skill, my friends shoved me to the front, latched on and we got as close to the front of the chaotic mess as possible before it narrowed to the first check point. When I dove into the women-only line, some ladies were a bit angry with us. However, I was quickly absorbed into the hip-holding-hip line and began shuffling ahead. Amidst this elbowing and marching, I hear someone yelling “stop touching me! Why are you pushing me!” I turned around and 15 people back, my friend is yelling at a 4-ft tall little old lady, and our other friend is laughing as they scoot ahead. After some commotion and a flash of our foreign passports we were ushered into a VIP section of the stadium to watch the events unfold.

The crowd passes the time waiting for sunset by dancing, chanting “Hindustan! Zindaibad!”, and groups of two–young and old–running the Indian flag to the gate and back. Michelle and I wanted to participate in the festivities, not just watch them, so we joined a group of girls dancing and chanting at the top of our section. They loved that we came and immediately started teaching us the dances–it was FANTASTIC.

When the peeing match ceremony finally began, we stayed up top and watched (sneaky sneaky) instead of returning to our seats. The Border Security Force (BSF) and Pakistani Rangers almost simultaneously begin yelling, carrying the last syllable as long as possible until the last breath is completely spent, and then march menacingly towards the partitioning iron gate, stamping their feet and kicking legs high. Amidst the shouts of “Hail Mother India!” you here a sort of reverberation from the other side of “Long live Pakistan!” And this procession continues until each guard has had a chance to do their peacocking. Then, the flags are lowered, the gate is locked and the crowd is dismissed until tomorrow when they’ll do it all over again. Same time, same place, same high kicks.

An Induction into India

In a land where marriages, outings and festivals are all planned around auspicious dates, India is all about numbers. The decimal system and the concept of zero were both developed in ancient India, it’s a land of 1.2 billion people that speak one (or more) of twenty-five native dialects, is the seventh largest country in the world by area and the second by population, has economic growth of 7.7 percent annually, is 8.5 hours–don’t forget the half!– ahead of EST and its population spend on average eight joyful hours watching each cricket match.

It is also a land of contradiction. Over one million people are considered millionaires while 35 percent of the population are below the poverty line. In many homes a woman cannot show her arms or legs (let alone say her husbands name in public) yet it is home to kama sutra depicting temples like Khajuraho. Cows are found wandering aimlessly in the street (blocking traffic in some areas), yet single file lines are mandatory when entering any government area. And in a car you’ll get pulled over for not wearing your seat belt in the front seat, yet its normal for an entire family to be on a motorcycle or an entire village in a small van.

To add my own data to India’s tally, I have the following tidbits from my 15 days within order among the chaos:

7 cities visited
5 temples viewed
2 forts discovered
4 nature reserves meandered
8 bazaars conquered
6 government sites honored
1 Wonder of the World seen–check!
1 6-hour train ride
8 flights
5 personal drivers
8 bruises
(including one dinner plate-sized whopper)
3 servings of Malai Kofta
1 elephant ride
1 camel ride
1 horse ride
0 tigers seen (or ridden)
16 days (and counting) green hair
1 Bollywood video cameo
1.5 books read
1 Ayurveda massage (one too many)
1 seat belt ticket
9 mosquito bites
1 bout of food poisoning
3 days of Delhi Belly
3/8 cricket game watched
4 seashells procured
9 pairs of earrings purchased
2 scarves bargained
5 fantastic new friends made

Oh, and innumerable cows, lorries, photo sessions and wannabe tour guides.

No Longer a Dream

I believe a large part of the American population have been waiting for this. In conjunction with the 48th anniversary of his I Have a Dream speech, the Martin Luther King Jr. memorial will be dedicated this Sunday, August 28. However, it was unveiled today to the public at large.

Located on 1964 Independence Ave., –1964 chosen as a direct reference to the 1964 Civil Rights Act– it lies between the Jefferson and and Lincoln memorials and makes MLK the first non-president to be honored around the Tidal Basin.

Since it was an unusually fall-ish day (and the fact I’m trying to soak up any ounce of freedom I have before school starts) I decided I should take a stroll into the District to see it. Was I thinking how crazy parking would be? no. But my parking luck seemed to be on because after a few D.C. wrong turns, we found “close” parking and began the trek to the new monument.

A lot of the normal pathways were closed off for the Sunday ceremony and police were teaming the streets. There was a buzz of nervous energy from the thousands of people flocking to the site, but as you entered the memorial you were struck with an air of reverence. The centerpiece for the memorial is based on a line from King’s “I have a dream” speech: “Out of a mountain of despair, a stone of hope.” The artist Lei Yixin sculpted a 30-foot high statue of King named the “Stone of Hope”, which stands past two other pieces of granite that symbolize the “mountain of despair.”Visitors will literally pass through the Mountain of Despair to the Stone of Hope.

I loved wandering around and seeing the emotion brought out in people as the soaked in the setting and read the various quotes chiseled in the walls. In particular I love that the African American community has a memorial that they clearly embrace. I took the above photo of a man talking to his little daughter and (as voyeur) smiled at what a special moment that must be for him. As I looked around at the diversity of people chatting, crying and taking photos, I felt like we, as humanity, are getting closer and closer to making MLK’s dream a reality for all people around the world.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

 

Amritsar’s Golden Temple

Where are all the women? I realize India has a greater percentage of men than women, but even with a skewed ratio you’d think you’d run across some women every once in awhile. Yes, every once in awhile we did but it’s easy to feel outnumbered in certain areas of India, like Amritsar. Thus, I’ve henceforth dubbed it Manritsar.

I’m not sure when I became aware of the Golden Temple (proper name: Harmandir Sahib), the holiest gurdwara in the Sikh religion. Maybe it was the movie Bride and Prejudice or some National Geographic documentary, either way I was obsessed with seeing it one day. When Michelle and I began our India planning in November I kept mentioning it among my top three MUST SEE–Taj Mahal, Holi, Golden temple. She’d never heard of it before and luckily added it to the list. Thus, when I was following our bodyguard/driver to the temple from the Jallianwala Garden, I was filled with nervous excitement.

We put our shoes in the storage area, our driver gave us holy water to drink (I admit I promptly threw it on the floor), we walked through the foot baths and into one of the most breathtaking views I’d seen in India. As you walk out the east gate there is a balcony where you can get a higher view of the temple, which stands in the middle of a small lake. As you descend the series of steps onto the marble pathway surrounding the temple you see groups of pilgrims (men) both young and old bathing themselves in the holy water.

We made sure our veils were on properly and began wandering around observing people in their spiritual rites. And while there is a constant buzz among the worshipers: those participating in langar, prayer or bathing themselves, everyone speaks with a sense of reverence.

During our wanderings we actually even met a woman who was visiting from London with her husband for the SEVENTH time. We chatted about their beliefs, the importance of the Golden Temple within the religion, the strength religion gave to their marriage and even participated in prayer with her. I was impressed to learn that Sikh Gurus have advocated equal rights for women since the 15th century and later read a quote by Guru Nanuk stating, “”From woman, man is born; within woman, man is conceived; to woman he is engaged and married. Woman becomes his friend; through woman, the future generations come. When his woman dies, he seeks another woman; to woman he is bound. So why call her bad? when she gives rise to nobility.” Props from within a cast system society! I also discovered that women could bath in a covered section of the lake if they desire–more props. After taking some photos we parted ways with a few hugs and, on the husbands end, a jab to go find some honorable men.

As I returned to the eastern gate and ascended the stairs to find our driver (we were 30 minutes longer than we’d told him) I was filled with a sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the opportunity to see something I’d always wanted, gratitude for kind and open people, and gratitude for the reminder that this world–regardless of religion–is filled with good people. Truth is truth, no matter whether it’s worshiped and acknowledged through a turban or some funky jammies. I’m honored that in such a spiritual place to so many people in the world, I was able to feel that principle.

10 Ways to Know You’re in India

2) You find footprints on toilet seats
3) No change possible for “large” bills
(i.e. what the ATM gave you)
4) Garbage cans are “out the car window”
5) A massage is really just a wet, tickley mess
6) elephants, camels, tuk tuks and truck roofs are all proper modes of transportation
7) “yes” is answered with a side-to-side head bobble
8) airplane seat belts are an ignored suggestion
9) bowel movements are a normal topic of conversation
10) Black is NOT a chic color (brighter is better)

 

Let Go of Dirty Asia

Let go of the Europe, and step into a grittier, cheaper, heavenly place. I’ve had a lot of discussions with Americans about traveling over the years, and I always chuckle at how well we, as a society, have been indoctrinated. I’m not sure where the love of Italy and London come from or at what exact age the propaganda starts… but Americans are OBSESSED with them.

Now, I will admit that yes, the first place I wanted to go on my own dime was Italy (and I did.) I ate up all the propaganda…and a lot of gelato along the way. But since then I’ve branched out, and boy oh boy am I glad I did.

Where else could I get an hour massage for $6 (and at roughly 9,000 rupiah to a USD, how can you not get at least one a day)? Or–sorry copyright lovers– a [fake] Louis Vutton carry-on bag for $15? Or buy a black pearl necklace/earrings/bracelet set for $30? Or hire a guy to drive me around for two days for $50, petrol included? Or go scuba diving for $35? Or eat to my hearts content for under $15 a day?

In other words: People, there’s more out there than Europe! I know Asia has as bad rap, granted it’s the only place I’ve ever gotten stuck-in-a-hotel-wanting-to-die sick. But, stay away from shady food stands and you’ll be alright. When I went to Thailand in 2007, I swore you couldn’t meet kinder people, then I went to Singapore and fudged the rankings. Then, I went to China the second time and fell in love with their quirky abruptness coupled with giddy laughter and desire to help. But then two weeks ago I went to Bali and I’m quite certain I’ll never find nicer people. Then again, I still have a few Asian countries left to visit.

I know its full of people who speak a completely different language, many of which look more like my 3-year old nephews drawings than an alphabet, learning how to pee over a hole can be intimidating (but I’ve been to far worse bathrooms in U.S. gas stations), sometimes you don’t know what your eating or what exactly your lucky enough to stepping around instead of almost in, but it really is worth it. Outside of the dusty smog roundabouts are some of the most pristine forests, breathtaking vistas, blue waters and exotic colors–and a few animals–you’ll ever find.

So just do it. Take a deep breath, face L.A. and keep going. If you happen to have a bad day, remember a $6 massage is never more than a block away.

A Piece of Bali in Your Back Pocket

When people return from far away, exotic islands, they’re often at a loss of what they’re allowed—by customs and their pocket book—to bring back as tokens of the adventure.  After all, there’s only so much sand and macadamia nuts a person can handle. Finding the right trinket, let alone demonstrating just how exotic a vacation really was, can mean a headache where nothing but blue skies should be. In fact, the smaller the island, the more perplexed one can become. So, on a recent trip to Bali, Indonesia I decided to lay traditional gift-giving aside, and found a world of unique charm within Bali’s own traditions.

Bright Patterns

It’s requisite for all visitors to wear a sarong when entering one of Bali’s over 3,000 Hindu temples. Save yourself the rental headache by going to a nearby stall and picking purchasing your own. It’s the best way to guarantee a good fit, complementary color and a unique souvenir for under $10.

Decorations

The city of Ubud is an artists Mecca and a decorators dream. You’ll find renowned paintings (including a school dedicated to women artists), ornate carvings, furniture and center pieces for your home or office.

Trinkets

Bali is known for its gold and silver jewelry. Whether you’re in the market to spend a few thousand dollars, or just a few thousand rupiah (it’s approximately 9,000 rupiah to a dollar), both street vendors and high-end markets will have a plethora of unique earrings, bracelets, pendants, chains and rings.

Tasty Treats

Sample and tote home soft-shell crab Pringles, dried star fruit, chili mangoes and more. Just don’t eat them all on the plane!

When in Holland, Do as Hollanders

Wherever you are, whoever you’re with, it seems human nature to try and blend into your surroundings; perhaps it’s the innate survival-of-the-fittest kicking in. Regardless, sometimes as hard as you try, the color of your hair, the color of your skin or even that slight accent gives you away.

However, there is sometimes something even more subtle (or not) than a misplaced syllable that’s considered a dead giveaway for, “You’re not from around here, are you?” And that, my friends, is your clothing. Pacific Islanders are a casual, relaxed bunch; Europeans a tad more sophisticated than the rest; Americans…is it the cargo shorts or flip flops that give us away?

Regardless of personal style, when we venture out most of us make the metal check-list of:

1)      No goofy hat (literally and figuratively)

2)      No fanny pack

3)      No overtly bright colored clothing

I full heartedly stand by numbers one and two, yet recently I discovered that in some cases, obeying the third is what might actually leave you singing, “One of these things is not like the other!” especially if you’re in Holland. And especially if you’re in Holland during a World Cup match. Warning: If you’re not wearing orange, you will stick out, a lot.

Dutch people adopted the color orange as their national color in honor of William of Orange (Willem van Oranje), who led the Dutch revolt against the Spanish in 1568 and resulted not only the Eighty Years’ War, but also the formal independence of current day Netherlands–of which Holland is a large section and therefore the nations moniker. Another thing Dutch people revere is football (that’s soccer to some folk) like American’s supposedly love apple pie. Or, as one person explained it to me, Dutch people treat a big football match like the U.S. treats the 4^th of July. Faces are painted, entire houses are painted and if you’re not wearing orange, you’re either unpatriotic or a tourist. So beware what you’re wearing next time you step foot on foreign soil, it may be the most subtle (or not) thing that sets you apart.

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