It has been years, but I am back to the Blog!
There is so much to talk about and last year so much happened I regret not publishing more. Although most of this will be for my own account, I will work hard to prefect spelling, conjuntion, and sentance structure. Anyways, wish me luck!
I want to give a 5 minute sum-up of the past two years so those of you going through my past posts have a better understanding of what happened. My blog slowed down a lot once I arrived in Iran, there were little chances to access the internet. Once I arrived in Turkey everything moved very fast and I had no time to slow down.
I travelled around Europe for 7 months.
I started in Spain, set to teach English and go to University. Instead I found myself without a job and struggling to readjust to Western Society. I unleashed all the emotions at the Gym and studied Spanish at the pool. I struggled to find that person that I needed to be in the West. The Asian Kyle that I spent so long developing was lost in a world foreign to me. My orignial idea to Study in Spain was smashed when I realised that it would take me years to learn enough of the language to do well in University. Unable to find work and the little money I had left dwindling, I packed my bags and hitched to Barcelona!
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Monday, December 14, 2009
The End
Well a lot has been skipped. While in Iran Internet connections were rare and by the time I got to Turkey I was too busy trying to find a job to write. Things are still busy. But things will calm down.
Ill be back with more tales.
Ill be back with more tales.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Shi'ite's Muslims
Muslims
Most of the world is Sunni, but in Iran and some places in Pakistan you can find the Shi'ites.
I found them in a small village 35KM outside of Lahore.
A brown man with a black beard dressed in a black robe preached Islam to a crowd of followers. They sat on a carpet and everyone was surrounded by a technicolored tent.
I arrived early and was given some tea in a small room while waiting. There a man showed me scars on his back from the last festival. Today they would be using their hands to beat themselves, six months ago they used knives.
Just before the sun began to set the procession began. Young men about twenty years old began removing their shirts. Most of them had deep pink scars etched across their backs. The lined up side by side in lines. As they stood facing each other a group of men started singing. Behind them the Shi'ite Flag was raised by two men. To the side, where I stood, was a shrine carried by four men. Inside was a babies shirt that was splattered with blood. This festival, and the pain they were about to suffer, was to commemorate their forefathers who suffered from horrible acts of martyrdom.
The singing continued and the men prepared. The beating started slow at first. They raised their hands and brought them down softly upon their chests. The singers raised their voices and the men raised their hands. The singing quickened and the thumps got louder. They beat themselves with no flinches, shouts, or cries of pain. I watched as blood began to mix with sweat and slide down their chests. Their shouts were suttle, meaningful, and deep. Some of them moved into a trance.
Over and over their bloody palms would raise up into the air and come crashing down against their chest while they chanted Islamic verses. The village was quiet. Nobody smiled. None of the children played. Everyone watched and most people silently said the words being sung.
It was a moving, disturbing, and yet somehow beautiful experience.
Most of the world is Sunni, but in Iran and some places in Pakistan you can find the Shi'ites.
I found them in a small village 35KM outside of Lahore.
A brown man with a black beard dressed in a black robe preached Islam to a crowd of followers. They sat on a carpet and everyone was surrounded by a technicolored tent.
I arrived early and was given some tea in a small room while waiting. There a man showed me scars on his back from the last festival. Today they would be using their hands to beat themselves, six months ago they used knives.
Just before the sun began to set the procession began. Young men about twenty years old began removing their shirts. Most of them had deep pink scars etched across their backs. The lined up side by side in lines. As they stood facing each other a group of men started singing. Behind them the Shi'ite Flag was raised by two men. To the side, where I stood, was a shrine carried by four men. Inside was a babies shirt that was splattered with blood. This festival, and the pain they were about to suffer, was to commemorate their forefathers who suffered from horrible acts of martyrdom.
The singing continued and the men prepared. The beating started slow at first. They raised their hands and brought them down softly upon their chests. The singers raised their voices and the men raised their hands. The singing quickened and the thumps got louder. They beat themselves with no flinches, shouts, or cries of pain. I watched as blood began to mix with sweat and slide down their chests. Their shouts were suttle, meaningful, and deep. Some of them moved into a trance.
Over and over their bloody palms would raise up into the air and come crashing down against their chest while they chanted Islamic verses. The village was quiet. Nobody smiled. None of the children played. Everyone watched and most people silently said the words being sung.
It was a moving, disturbing, and yet somehow beautiful experience.
The Regale Internet Inn with Malik
Everyone who I talked to raved about the Regale. Malik the owner was said to be full of information, planned amazing trips, and supplied the cheapest rooms in town.
Everything everyone said was true.
I heard about trip to see a Shi'ite Muslim festival where they beat themselves with their hands so I got checked in, checked myself out, and then jumped on a motorbike to see the festival.
Everything everyone said was true.
I heard about trip to see a Shi'ite Muslim festival where they beat themselves with their hands so I got checked in, checked myself out, and then jumped on a motorbike to see the festival.
Lahore and the craziness of couch surfing begins!
Well my first few days in Pakistan were nothing like I imagined they'd be. I found a website called Couch Surfing and it gives you a great chance to see the different types of lives in other countries. The basics is that you are able to stay on someones couch for free. It Europe it might be a backpackers dirt flat, in Asia its generally better off people.
I pulled up to their mansion at about 4:00 pm. All the houses were large, gated, and sculpted. They had lawns and sidewalks and street lights. There were proper intersections and roundabouts decorated with fountains and waterfalls. I hadn't seen anything so first world since Singapore.
The servants greeted me at the gate, took my bag, and I was shown to the living room. There the kids introduced themselves to me. Their English was excellent and they were brilliant for their age. I was introduced to the wife and the grandmother and was told that father, the man I met on the website, wouldn't be home for a couple hours. They offered me some food and I was sat at a huge table you see in castles. They brought out 3 huge plates of chicken, mutton, and vegetables. I was really surprised when the continued with bread, rice, salad, and three drink choices. Their hospitality was amazing.
That night the man came home. We met, had a chat and exchanged some tales and then sat out in is 2009 Honda. We drove to his friends house where we were greeted with a bottle of vodka.
The night was an interesting mix of Pepsi, poker, and pizza.
All in Pakistan.
I pulled up to their mansion at about 4:00 pm. All the houses were large, gated, and sculpted. They had lawns and sidewalks and street lights. There were proper intersections and roundabouts decorated with fountains and waterfalls. I hadn't seen anything so first world since Singapore.
The servants greeted me at the gate, took my bag, and I was shown to the living room. There the kids introduced themselves to me. Their English was excellent and they were brilliant for their age. I was introduced to the wife and the grandmother and was told that father, the man I met on the website, wouldn't be home for a couple hours. They offered me some food and I was sat at a huge table you see in castles. They brought out 3 huge plates of chicken, mutton, and vegetables. I was really surprised when the continued with bread, rice, salad, and three drink choices. Their hospitality was amazing.
That night the man came home. We met, had a chat and exchanged some tales and then sat out in is 2009 Honda. We drove to his friends house where we were greeted with a bottle of vodka.
The night was an interesting mix of Pepsi, poker, and pizza.
All in Pakistan.
Paksitan
As I walked the lonely no mans strip of land between the borders flashes of friends, family, and the media began to make my heart thump. In the distance I could see the Pakistan flag taunting me.
"PAKISTAN!"I imagined a man in a 1950's communist propaganda film singing.
In the news Pakistan was reported as one of the most dangerous places in the world. An American was just kidnapped, the extremists threatened to behead a man from Poland, and a Chinese engineer was still missing. Images of screaming women who lost their children, angry brothers burning American flags, and pale white hands covered with dirty blood crying for help from rubble troubled my mind.
As the gate came closer the flag became bigger and the situation became much more real.
"I am going into Pakistan." I told myself out loud.
" There is no way back." I said with a little tension in my voice.
" I have to do this."
At the actual gate Indian and Pakistan soldiers - men who yesterday stared with screams of hate at each other- shared a cigarette.
I handed my passport to the Indian soldier, he looked at it, gave it back. Then I handed it to the Pakistani soldier, he looked at it and handed it back.
I took a breath, and entered the country.
The first police officer I met had beautiful green hazel eyes.
"Why are you coming to Pakistan?" He asked quizzically.
"Well," I had rehearsed this but now so much shit was going through my mind I couldn't think. "Well I am interested in seeing the culture..." I stuttered.
"Are you Muslim?"
I've always disliked questions about religion because they just don't get it over here. If your not a Christian you must be a Muslim, a Hindu or a Buddhist. When you try to explain you don't have a religion they get this kind of confused, astonished, frown on their face.
"I'm a teacher"
It seemed to do and I was sent to customs.
It was a clean building, almost like an airport. Not what I suspected of Pakistan.
"Hellllllo!" A man with a teddy bear face and big great beard called from a desk on the other side of the building.
"How are you today?"
"I'm fine sir."
"Is everything ok with you?"
"Um, yep, Im fine."
"Great, In which country you come from sir?" He asked with a friendly smile.
"Canada"
"Ah, Toronto, Montreal, or Vancouver?"
"Vancouver."
"Ohhh, is this your first time to Pakistan?"
"Yes it is sir."
"Well Welcome, I hope you enjoy my country"
And I was stamped in.
It was hard to not have a genuinely good feeling after meeting a man like that and I walked into Pakistan feeling great.
Five men approached me after I actually entered the country. They were rickshaw drivers. Their English accent was very different than that of Indians. As we negotiated a price more and more men began to crowd around us. Some of them had brown hair, white faces, and blue eyes- descendants of Alexanders armies. Within seconds there was a group of 20 men around me. The situation was uncomfortable.
I was kinda of caught up in it all - The tangerine sun setting in the dusty rice fields, the evening prayer echoing from the white mosque, the curious men with their serious but not dangerous faces. I started at them staring at me. Pakistan was going to be interesting.
That first meeting has sort of summed up my whole trip.
A lot of unnecessary nervousness, a lot of nice surprises, a lot of unbelievable friendliness and hospitality from complete strangers, and a lot of staring.
"PAKISTAN!"I imagined a man in a 1950's communist propaganda film singing.
In the news Pakistan was reported as one of the most dangerous places in the world. An American was just kidnapped, the extremists threatened to behead a man from Poland, and a Chinese engineer was still missing. Images of screaming women who lost their children, angry brothers burning American flags, and pale white hands covered with dirty blood crying for help from rubble troubled my mind.
As the gate came closer the flag became bigger and the situation became much more real.
"I am going into Pakistan." I told myself out loud.
" There is no way back." I said with a little tension in my voice.
" I have to do this."
At the actual gate Indian and Pakistan soldiers - men who yesterday stared with screams of hate at each other- shared a cigarette.
I handed my passport to the Indian soldier, he looked at it, gave it back. Then I handed it to the Pakistani soldier, he looked at it and handed it back.
I took a breath, and entered the country.
The first police officer I met had beautiful green hazel eyes.
"Why are you coming to Pakistan?" He asked quizzically.
"Well," I had rehearsed this but now so much shit was going through my mind I couldn't think. "Well I am interested in seeing the culture..." I stuttered.
"Are you Muslim?"
I've always disliked questions about religion because they just don't get it over here. If your not a Christian you must be a Muslim, a Hindu or a Buddhist. When you try to explain you don't have a religion they get this kind of confused, astonished, frown on their face.
"I'm a teacher"
It seemed to do and I was sent to customs.
It was a clean building, almost like an airport. Not what I suspected of Pakistan.
"Hellllllo!" A man with a teddy bear face and big great beard called from a desk on the other side of the building.
"How are you today?"
"I'm fine sir."
"Is everything ok with you?"
"Um, yep, Im fine."
"Great, In which country you come from sir?" He asked with a friendly smile.
"Canada"
"Ah, Toronto, Montreal, or Vancouver?"
"Vancouver."
"Ohhh, is this your first time to Pakistan?"
"Yes it is sir."
"Well Welcome, I hope you enjoy my country"
And I was stamped in.
It was hard to not have a genuinely good feeling after meeting a man like that and I walked into Pakistan feeling great.
Five men approached me after I actually entered the country. They were rickshaw drivers. Their English accent was very different than that of Indians. As we negotiated a price more and more men began to crowd around us. Some of them had brown hair, white faces, and blue eyes- descendants of Alexanders armies. Within seconds there was a group of 20 men around me. The situation was uncomfortable.
I was kinda of caught up in it all - The tangerine sun setting in the dusty rice fields, the evening prayer echoing from the white mosque, the curious men with their serious but not dangerous faces. I started at them staring at me. Pakistan was going to be interesting.
That first meeting has sort of summed up my whole trip.
A lot of unnecessary nervousness, a lot of nice surprises, a lot of unbelievable friendliness and hospitality from complete strangers, and a lot of staring.
Pakistan - Indian Border Ceremony
We arrived early to get good seats but it turned out to be unnecessary. Foreigners were supplied with VIP seats closer to the action. We watched as excited nationalistic men ran with 6 inch long grins up and down the road with Indian flags. Like most places the men and women were segregated. So as the men and ran and screamed in their sections some of the younger women shined thier patriotic colors by dancing giddily in circles.
At once the officers began blowing their whistles and everyone was sat down.
Less than 20 metes away was Pakistan. The large white and green flag with the Muslim moon waved gloomily in the grey sky.
Only two large gates separated the two countries that are practically at war. Their soldiers were simultaneous with their actions, although the Pakistan side was much quieter.
India started about 1 second before Pakistan.
"Hindustan!" The crowed echoed the commentators shouts with equal excitement.
"Pakistan!" The boarder did not stop sound and the echos from Pakistan's commentator was loud and clear.
This seemingly pointless shouting continued until the commentators burst out into an all out scream. The point, I guess, was to see who could yell longer.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" It continued, with out exaggeration, for more than a minute.
At this time 6 men with red feathers on their heads stomped out of a room. They had Ronald McDonald black boots on that seemed to be much to large for their feet. Their stomps shook the ground and sent vibrations in the stands. The Indians in the crowd were on their feet with uncontrollable delight.
Each soldier took its turn half marching, half running, half stomping towards the Pakistan gate. I suppose on the other side soldiers were doing the same thing.
Once the soldiers were assembled near the gates they flew open and a new staring war started. Ropes were produced and the soldiers, in probably a formal fashion but from what I could see hissyfit fashion, began throwing ropes at each other. Their flags were raised, the ropes were thrown at each other again. The flags were lowered. The soldiers stomped back. Their kicks were straight as arrows and some were less than centimeters from their faces.
The commentators started their screaming again.
And the show was over.
Oh the world today.
At once the officers began blowing their whistles and everyone was sat down.
Less than 20 metes away was Pakistan. The large white and green flag with the Muslim moon waved gloomily in the grey sky.
Only two large gates separated the two countries that are practically at war. Their soldiers were simultaneous with their actions, although the Pakistan side was much quieter.
India started about 1 second before Pakistan.
"Hindustan!" The crowed echoed the commentators shouts with equal excitement.
"Pakistan!" The boarder did not stop sound and the echos from Pakistan's commentator was loud and clear.
This seemingly pointless shouting continued until the commentators burst out into an all out scream. The point, I guess, was to see who could yell longer.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" It continued, with out exaggeration, for more than a minute.
At this time 6 men with red feathers on their heads stomped out of a room. They had Ronald McDonald black boots on that seemed to be much to large for their feet. Their stomps shook the ground and sent vibrations in the stands. The Indians in the crowd were on their feet with uncontrollable delight.
Each soldier took its turn half marching, half running, half stomping towards the Pakistan gate. I suppose on the other side soldiers were doing the same thing.
Once the soldiers were assembled near the gates they flew open and a new staring war started. Ropes were produced and the soldiers, in probably a formal fashion but from what I could see hissyfit fashion, began throwing ropes at each other. Their flags were raised, the ropes were thrown at each other again. The flags were lowered. The soldiers stomped back. Their kicks were straight as arrows and some were less than centimeters from their faces.
The commentators started their screaming again.
And the show was over.
Oh the world today.
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