Tag Archives: relationships

Lucky, Blessed, or Something Else?

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I was reading a book by one of my favorite authors the other day (Table for Two by Amor Towles). In a bit of a digression, where some of the best of his extraordinarily expressive language lives, he took me back over 50 years to my first encounters with my husband. When I say he took me back, I mean in that instant I felt a flash of pure joy all through my body. It wasn’t just a memory of thought. It was a full body experience of the senses.

I saw him sitting with one blue-jeaned leg dangling, the other under his butt, leaning forward, crossed arms resting on his thighs. His hair was dark and long – a little under his chin all over. He was wearing a dark green, long sleeve t-shirt. His eyes were sparkling – sorry if that sounds kitsch but I don’t know how else to convey the feeling that his eyes conveyed.

I imagine the immense talent of an author to create such an event in his reader makes it all worth it.

It was a flash. No more than 5 seconds. But it started me on a journey.

My husband and I have been together for over 50 years. We thought we were all grown up, adults, when we met. We’d both been living on our own for several years. He was 23 and I was 21. Kids. It was the early 70s. We’d come of age in the 60s with all that entails: the music, the drugs, the irreverence, the belief that we could change the world.

He was the political activist: co-founder of the very first Earth Day, member of SDS (until their anti-Israel stance, an anathema to him even in those days), arrested at anti-Vietnam war demonstrations. I was the flower child, grooving to The Jefferson Airplane and Country Joe and the Fish on the grass in Golden Gate Park, selling candles at Woodstock.

We fell in love over bowls of chili at Rennebom’s Drug Store, 6 foot tall photographs of Galapagos turtles, street parties, and listening to Nixon resign the presidency where we sat in a small bar in Texarkana and the big-haired bartender cried.

We were first stunned to find out we were going to be parents and then confident that we would be able to do it all. Finish graduate school, feed and house the three of us, and continue to change the world

I had the confidence and sense of adventure to be immediately excited at the prospect of what our love had produced (how hard could it be?) and he had the concern about how we were actually going to make it work to keep us grounded. From food stamps, to married student housing, to a cooperative day care solution, our two natures combined to see him through his Masters degree, and nourish a beautiful, sweet natured little girl who constantly charmed us both.

From digging our car out of the snow to get to a pharmacy during a miscarriage scare, to meandering with my best friend, our first daughter, through the arboretum, to the shock of looking at the primitive ultrasound of our twin babies two years later we lived the roller coaster together.

As anyone who’s been lucky or blessed or stubborn enough to persevere and arrive at the point where a marriage can be labeled a Long Term Relationship knows, it’s not always smooth sailing. Plenty of drama, tears, and crises. And it doesn’t always seem worth it. Raising five children with no financial support, not having experience a good example of parenting, and doing it all in a country with a new language and culture is not a recipe for harmony.

I know that my spontaneity, sense of adventure, confidence, and love of change can be scary and downright annoying for someone whose natural need to think things through, check things out, and retain a sense of skepticism and pessimism can drive me from eye rolling to distraction.

We started our lives together as kids, believing ourselves to be quite grown up, unformed but quite sure of our opinions about and view of the world. Life is a better argument for Darwinism than the finch in the Galapagos. It molds us as we make many seemingly inconsequential decisions (as well as the obvious big ones, of course) and we evolve without realizing just how much until a trigger has us looking back at the journey as Amor Towles triggered me.

It’s satisfying for me, having gone on this journey, to realize that it’s been a good journey so far.

Sure, I would change some of my decisions and behaviors if I had it to do over again, but I also forgive myself because I remember where I started, who I was, and who I’ve become. I couldn’t have made those better decisions or behaved in those better ways before I became who I’ve become.

One very gratifying feeling is that of great appreciation of and love for my husband and partner of over fifty years. Sure, I would change some of his behaviors and decisions if someone put me in charge of such things. It’s a very good thing that no one will be doing that because I have a feeling it’s the disconsonance of our natures that makes it all work.

And, after all, he was doing yoga every morning for over a month in Rishikesh and is even beginning to be less squeamish about calling it yoga instead of exercise.

I don’t know where I’m going with this Ode to My Long Time Relationship just as I don’t know where our life together will take us from this charming old fashioned haveli lodging in Jaipur. I think I write partially out of nostalgia for a simpler time when couples more often stuck it out long enough to reap the benefits of the companionship and kindness of a Long Term Relationship. And maybe partially out of an awareness of the constantly evolving nature of love born from extended travel together.

It’s a wonderful thing and I wish it for more people even as I recognize that the Western world has been moving in the other direction.

I think this sociological evolution is the bastard child of good intentions. In my generation’s desire to change the world we went dashing down the path with little awareness of possible consequences. They’ve not all been good.

But that’s a thought for a different time and place.

Do We Really Get It?

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All told, we’ve been in India almost a year. We’ve spent over two months in Kerala, four months in Rishikesh, and a week to ten days in Hampi, Meysore, Delhi, Goa, Mumbai, Varanasi, Darjeeling, Khajuraho yogashram, Kaziranga, Puri, Shimla, Dharamshala, Dalhousie, Chennai, Pondicherry, Auroville, Bandhavgargh, Rambagh, Jim Corbett, and the Andaman Islands.

My partner has been learning Hindi off and on for 7 years. Between his Hindi and Google audio translate we’ve had many conversations with people about their lives and their opinions about many issues – geopolitical, philosophical, sociological, religious, and how they view the future.

We’ve observed familial interactions, public and less public behaviors, hygiene and eating habits, changing clothing preferences, and acceptable and less acceptable commercial activities.

We’ve experienced the kindness, patience, and acceptance of Indians in many different situations from driving to waiting in line to communication difficulties to cultural misunderstandings.

When asked how many children an Indian has they will invariably give a number that reflects only male children. Mothers as well as fathers respond in this way. Sexist? I don’t think so. It seems that in traditional Indian families (and in spite of rapid and visible change it’s estimated that over 90% of Indian marriages are still arranged marriages) sons remain in the nuclear family home after they marry. Their wives become subservient to the matriarch who travels with them on vacations and sets the tone for parenting. Daughters move on to their spouse’s family. They are only temporarily part of their parents’ lives. I’ve come to believe that is why they’re not included in the natural spontaneous reply about the number of children in the nuclear family.

Is this belief accurate? Maybe. Maybe not. One thing I’ve learned is there’s no point in asking for clarification. Such requests are met with puzzled expressions followed by acceptance of my theory regardless of its accuracy or inaccuracy.

Here’s a much more prosaic, but much more day to day question I’ve been asking in vague euphemistic terminology since our very first visit in 2016. Why don’t Indians, especially women, use toilet paper? It’s excellent for the ecology of every country and certainly one with a billion and a half people, and yet… What’s the deal? It’s all well and good that our tushes and other intimate places are actually cleaner after that spritz from the bidet but what is it about walking around wet that doesn’t annoy them? And is it even hygienic?

They’ve learned that foreigners need toilet paper. Hotels provide small rolls of it and are happy to replenish it as frequently as their patrons allow themselves to make the request (we tend to buy our own to avoid the issue altogether). But when asked why they don’t require it themselves I’ve been met with puzzled expressions and literally no answers, They don’t understand why I do require it but accept it and I don’t understand why they don’t require it but still ask from time to time.

The nearest things I’ve received to an answer have been (1) the concept of the comfort of dry being preferable over damp is a Western concept (really?!?) and (2) you can carry a small towel to dry off, keep it in a small plastic bag all day and wash it in the evening (a nice solutionbut I doubt Indian women actually do that).

That may be similar to something an Indian friend of ours said recently. He owns an amazing guesthouse literally 50 meters from a pristine Arabian Sea beach. He’s made lots of improvements over the past few years. Indian tourists are accustomed to ordering their meals and eating in their rooms. They seem to prefer it. It might be a question of the chicken and the egg. Maybe at one time hotels didn’t have restaurants. So our friend didn’t have a restaurant but realized that the (mostly foreign) guests preferred not to eat in their rooms so he added a really nice place to eat.

His showers had no hot water. Granted it’s quite hot in Thumboly Beach and the locals see no need for hot water but others do. As a result, he decided to arrange hot water and told us he had done so. In most Indian showers there’s a shower head and also a faucet beneath it about a foot annd an half off the floor with a bucket and plastic cup below it. Turns out he set up water in the lower faucet and not in the shower head.

When we laughed about it with him he said something quite true and profound. He said that one of the differences between Israelis and Indians is that Israelis look at something and immediately start figuring out ways to improve upon it while Indians look at the same thing, accept it as is, and immediately figure out a way to live with it. There are pluses and minuses in both approaches.

And what about respect for personal space, acceptable noise levels in public places or in hotels late at night, what it means to be a couple, the relative merit of avoidance or honesty in confronting legitimate disagreement or misunderstanding; the cultural differences go in and on.

Even when we think we get it we have to keep asking ourselves if we really get it.

There’s no escaping the fact that part of the joy in being in India is the adventure of the Western shrug of shoulders or the Indian wag of the head. The humor in “I don’t know.” The puzzled expression followed by a smile.

You aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. And ain’t that grand?

Not Agreeing to Disagree

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We live in an age where so-called enlightened people (you know who you are) are reluctant to stand up for their beliefs. Where the words “right” and “wrong” are taboo, “evil” is an archaic term, “good” is a question of perspective, and regarding all disagreements people prefer to politely agree to disagree.

I know someone who has decided to not regard himself as a member of humanity because of all the terrible things people do to each other.

Is that really a possibility?

While I don’t believe so, I don’t close my eyes to the terrible things happening in the world or my part in them as a member of humanity. But I also refuse to see all actors and all actions as a question of perspective.

I don’t agree to disagree.

I acknowledge that I am not knowledgeable about every conflict around the globe. I am too lazy or busy with other things of more importance to me to educate myself about most of them. I accept that my opinion about those conflicts, should I be foolish enough to insist on an opinion, is of little value or accuracy. I don’t agree to disagree with those who have an opinion. I simply confess my ignorance.

I accept that unfortunately it is no longer possible to trust news sources as accurate and unbiased. Lacking a simple alternative, I concede that my opinion can only be superficial, uninformed, and speculative. Not to mention lacking in importance, and very likely offensive to many of those who have done the research, spent the time to form an educated opinion, or who are actually living in the conflict.

I live in an area of conflict. I live in Israel. The conflict in our very tiny country has been going on since biblical times. The names and faces of our enemies have changed over the centuries but the conflict is the same.

It’s unclear to me why so many people around the world feel the need to focus on and weigh in with an opinion about our conflict.

More than 45 armed conflicts are going on today in Africa alone. I challenge you to even recognize some of the names of the countries where these conflicts are taking place (how about Burkina Faso? I had to look that one up.) There are 21 such conflicts going on in Asia, 7 in Europe, and 6 in Latin America.

Why don’t we see demonstrations about any of those conflicts? Why aren’t there daily “news” reports about them? No outrage about them?

My friend who no longer considers himself part of humanity is right – we’re a harsh, often brutal, murderous species. Many of us would like to think of ourselves as having progressed past territorial, ethnocentric, belligerence but the facts on the ground prove otherwise.

Why, then, is Israel constantly under the world’s microscope? Why is the lens of that microscope constantly out of focus? Why is the eye looking through the microscope so willing to ignore the possibility of a resultant lack of accuracy? So sure of the hypothesis that there’s absolutely no modesty about the conclusions.

I rarely allow myself to get dragged into conversations about what’s going on in our corner of the Middle East with people who live in other corners of the world. It seems pointless to talk about reality on the ground as seen through the eyes of someone who actually lives on that ground. As the saying goes – “Don’t confuse me with the facts.”

It’s a bit disappointing to hear the same tiresome rhetoric when the rhetoric makes no logical sense and is being spouted by people who one is justified in considering intelligent.

The rhetoric of “We realize that burning babies alive, decapitating people, gang-raping women, and starving hostages is truly terrible, but surely murdering 30,000 innocent (sic) residents of Gaza is a disproportionate response.”

I can hear the echo, echo, echo from the media and Arab propaganda. Why can’t they?

I don’t intend to explain why that rhetoric is patently ridiculous and totally transparent to anyone who cares to put their preconceived notions and biases aside. I just want to put forth the question of why people are so eager to have an opinion based on nothing when it comes to Israel.

And now comes another wake-up call.

People! There is good and evil in the world. As much as we prefer to say it’s all a question of perspective, we all actually know it when we see it.

We all know in our hearts that whatever our differences may be politically and philosophically, it is evil for us to machete limbs from the bodies of those with whom we disagree (Sierra Leone), to throw gays off roofs to their death (The Islamic State – Iraq and Syria) and to sex traffic women and children (Libya and others), just to name a few of the actions of obvious evil.

We all know that it’s good to provide shelter for abused women, food for those who don’t have enough, medical care for those for whom it’s unaffordable, to listen to people in distress who need an empathetic ear, and share our resources with those who have limited access. We may not do all of it, but we recognize the good nature of those activities.

It’s not rocket science and it’s not a matter of culture or perspective.

I don’t agree to disagree about any of the above and I’m past being tired of those who are. I’m disappointed and I’m sometimes angry and, while not interested in shouting it from the rooftop, I’m no longer willing to smile when told we’ll just have to agree to disagree. I’m willing to agree to disagree about the best restaurant in Jerusalem or the most fun activity in Disneyland.

Our world is a tough neighborhood with some very evil, brutal residents. It always has been. In the past, the good guys didn’t accept evil as a given and didn’t excuse it as cultural or a reasonable response on the part of the downtrodden. There were clear rules of conduct even for the resistance of the downtrodden that didn’t include beheading and rape.

Regardless of what my young-ish friend thinks, we cannot drop out of humanity. We’re all a part of humanity whether we approve of the behavior of all our counterparts or not. So let’s get on with realizing the limitations of our knowledge, acknowledging the presence of evil actions and evil people who carry them out, and refusing to agree to disagree with uninformed opinions and evil.

Whether or not you choose to recognize this reality – Israel has restructured the Middle East to secure relative peace and quiet for a decade to come with all that entails for the rest of the world. None of it at our own instigation nor without a high price in lives lost and families without one parent home for months at a time.

We don’t expect a thank you but we could do without your slogans condemnation.

Traveling with Family – Part 2

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Families are complicated. Large families are largely complicated. I used to think my own dysfunctional family – bipolar mother and clergyman father – was more complicated than most. Then I grew up.

My partner and I have five adult children and sixteen grandchildren. It goes without saying that each of the twenty-eight people in our family is a multi-faceted, quirky, fascinating person in her own right (we are 17 females and 11 males but I’ll be using all sorts of pronouns).

Just the fact that, to my mother-in-law’s great anger, we “turned our backs on the great country which gave us so much” and moved to Israel already sets us apart from mainstream USA. Add to that oh so many others of our personal traits and decisions and it becomes easy to see why I add the word ‘quirky’ to a list that otherwise applies to one and all.

But this isn’t about our family in entirety, just Tsippy’s family of 4 (not counting her soon-to-be ex-husband), and us.

As you read in Part 1, Tsippy is a successful career woman who has been raising her three children virtually on her own for the past two years. Her kids are 14, almost-12, and almost-8. Not particularly easy ages, but are there really easy ages? I think that might be a myth.

One of the things you didn’t read in Part 1 is that her oldest is a trans boy. There’s so much that entails. Heartache and joy, difficult challenges, serious crises and decisions, celebrated achievements, lots of introspection, acceptance, juggling, tears, eye-rolling, embarrassment, laughter, and, finally, and most importantly, love.

He and I are very close.

He doesn’t like a lot of people. He has no patience for bullsxxt.

He can take social situations like school (because he has to) and family gatherings (because he’s learned they’re theoretically healthy and relatives’ intentions toward him are good) but only in limited doses. After 3-4 hours he’s emotionally exhausted and needs alone time,

For whatever reason, he’s chosen me as “his person”. If his Mom is his coping strategy, as he’s told me, I’m his #2 (At least most days).

He agreed to come to India because I’d be there. I was flattered.

His almost-12 year old sister is the exact opposite socially. She has a gajillion friends, is a talented dancer, and a good student. She’s cheerful, physically affectionate (a great hugger), and has a killer smile. She drives her brother crazy and, at the same time, idolizes him. She’s ridiculously understanding of how hard his life is and the attention he requires from their Mom. She reminds her Mom that she requires attention, too…a lot.

The youngest is the kind of boy who wakes his Mom up every morning with “I love you, Mommy.” An amazing soccer player. Give him a soccer ball, pizza with lots of tomato sauce, and his Mom, and he’s good to go.

Add doughnuts to the list of things he loves

Tsippy herself is an inspiration. Many single Moms are. She’s learned the importance of balance the hard way – each of her kids’ needs, her own needs, work, home, friends, extended family, keeping up appearances and also not giving a crap, asking for help from the right people, accepting that she’s not in control of how a lot of stuff turns out – even the stuff she cares about the most.

So that’s the constellation, other than me and my partner. You’ve met us and gotten to know us here over the past umpteen posts. If you haven’t, you can go back and do your homework.

We met up with them after their 5 hour cab ride from the Delhi airport to Rishikesh. They’d slept in the car and were on a high. Excited about the cows wandering the streets, the kiosks with colorful clothes, jewelry, and bags of all sizes, and the diversity of dress and skin color of the people passing by.

They wanted to taste all the street food we saw and tell us all about their flights. Preferably at the same time. They tried on scarves and checked out the saris and salwar kameez. They only very reluctantly agreed to go to their hotel.

Food became an issue. We’d discussed it before the trip and prepared for it as well as we could. We chose restaurants with varied menus; Indian food but also pizza, chips (French fries), and cornflakes. The pizza and chips were a bit different than what they were used to so we often left 3/4 of every dish behind. They ate pringles, chocolates, rice, cornflakes, and doughnuts. Not a great way to sustain human life but it was only for two weeks.

They didn’t complain.

Not about the food, or the endless shopping, or the loud craziness on the streets, horns blaring, or the cow sxxt which required diligent attention, or the limitations we set on how much money they could each give to the ubiquitous (and deserving) kids and adults with their hands out and a sad look in their eyes.

There was very little bickering – much less than at home – and not many flare ups.

When the henna drawing on the oldest’s leg didn’t come out like he hoped, he took it out on his sister. Big time. Why? (what silly person asks a 14 year old why?)

So far so good…until it wasn’t

We all saw how much of an effort the oldest made to participate in all our activities. He really wanted to be a part of it all. Even the activities that strained his coping skills to the max. When his perfectionism ruined his pleasure in his miniature painting of a peacock during our 3-hour workshop, he barely mentioned it. He just set it down, wandered off, and found a place to sit with his phone.

When he chose to remain in the hotel in Agra, Tsippy and the others went to the Taj Mahal on their own and had a great time taking goofy photos. No guilt tripping. Everybody was happy.

The youngest was patient (long suffering) as we shopped. He had his grandfather to hang out with. He got compensation with a long dip in the (very cold) Ganges. The oldest was happy to hand out candies to all the village children in compensation for what he defined as the day from hell (4 hours of extreme heat). The sandwich kid who has a VERY hard time making decisions was allowed all the time she needed, even when (inevitably) she decided not to decide.

There was a lot of give and take. A lot of mutually respecting personal boundaries and foibles. A lot of appreciation for our time together; even if it required taking a few deep breaths from time to time. Even when the oldest said at one point, admirably, “You know, I’m totally restraining myself from yelling at you for that very annoying comment.”

Another shop???

And it wasn’t only an amazing bonding experience for the grandkids.

My partner is quite religious. He observes all the rituals; keeps all the restrictions. Our kids aren’t religious and have always had a strained relationship with their father around these issues. They see him as inflexible and putting religion before his relationship with them.

He feels that because he’s “the religious one” and none of the kids observe the rituals and restrictions, if he doesn’t make a point of observing them when he’s with our kids and grandkids there won’t be any room for those observances there. No one will make sure there’s a space for him to do what he needs to do.

I see both sides and understand the behaviors but it’s mostly not my story to rewrite. I know that he puts his family above and before everything else in his life.

Of course if no one felt threatened the kids would make a respectful place for my partner’s religious observances in their homes, and he would be more flexible and make space for them not to observe while he does.

Easier said than done.

Our time in India with Tsippy and her family coincided with the Jewish holiday of Passover. Lots of restrictions and observances.

Tsippy and the grandkids were positive and respectful at the Seder and my partner was understanding and encouraging when they’d had enough and asked to be excused.

We found out which of the many Indian bread options are not made with wheat, and made the decision to eat kitniyot (legumes and rice) which are not considered “not kosher for Passover” but are, for the most part, not eaten by Ashkenazi Jews (which we are). That made it possible for us to eat with our family, and for Tsippy to say towards the end of the trip that his flexibility made her very happy and feel very embraced by him.

No words were ever more welcome.

It was two weeks of grace; of kindness, love, acceptance, and gratitude. It wasn’t without its sad moments; realizing (not for the first time) that we can’t create a bubble of perfection and ease for the people we love. But it was two weeks we’ll all remember for the bonds we made.

There’s talk of a trip together to the Serengeti.

Travel Buddies: Ephemeral Windows into Other Realities

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Every single person on the planet has a story. We never even walk by the vast majority of them. Then there are those we walk by without seeing; the ones with whom we have brief encounters without really listening; those who share our lives in some way but whose hearts we rarely see into; and, if we’re very fortunate, a few with whom we exchange intimate confidences.

There’s an interesting phenomenon, a side effect of traveling, that involves the instant and inexplicably deep personal connection between people who meet, share a few hours or days, and never meet again.

A special bond is perhaps forged as a result of similar cluelessness about surroundings & cultural behaviors, or lack of routine and familiar faces. Or maybe the freedom of absolutely zero preconceived notions or previous acquaintance. Tabula rasa.

There was the family from Latvia who shared a lodge with us in the Peruvian Amazon. She confided that they’d been having marital problems & were moving to Boston where her husband had been offered a professorial position. Maybe a change of place would improve their relationship. They were traveling with their children for a year before the new academic year. He was determined to go to a shaman in the jungle to experiment with a special hallucinegen and unpleasant about her reluctance to join him. In the end, they left their young children and their passports with us – people they’d known for two days – and headed into the jungle.

In the morning they still hadn’t returned. Thankfully, they straggled back a little before noon. Hungover but healthy in body if not in mind.

And so it goes. We tell each other things we haven’t told close friends. We trust each other with confidences, money, and apparently sometimes our children. We enthusiastically join in adventures we might have had trepidations about. We listen to, tell, and enjoy vastly different opinions, occupational stories and familial foibles unselfish-consciously. We laugh a lot.

Antony (no ‘h’ in the many Antonys in Kerala, even St. Antony, and if you see an ‘h’, it’s not pronounced. There is no ‘th’ diphthong there.) was born in a very small fishing village in Kerala. Son of a fisherman, Antony loves nothing more than being out on the water in a small boat, meeting with childhood friends, hearing the waves lap the shore or crash on the rock barrier near his home. He chose a different life, though. Antony went to the military academy and spent 24 years in the military, retiring from his last position as Colonel, in charge of the anti-terrorist unit in northern India. He’s a hero in his hometown, and elsewhere. He went on to establish three businesses in the area surrounding his fishing village, employing over 90 people. It keeps him busy and away from his fishing village and the sound of The Arabian Sea. He’s not particularly interested in money for himself. His wife, Teresa, manages their bank accounts, saving what’s needed for their two children’s university educations, and gives Antony a small monthly sum to fill his motorcycle with gas and buy coffee during the day. He established businesses because he recognizes that along with employment comes dignity for his friends and neighbors. He’s also one of fifteen men who meet monthly to play games, share stories, and put money into the kitty for anyone who might be in need. His home is open to people at every level of society and they are happy to join him there for a drink or just a visit. Antony decided long ago that at sixty he’ll retire, he’s 49 now, and give himself the gift of The Arabian Sea’s whisper in his ear every day. An eclectic man, he never ceased to catch our interest or raise thought-provoking questions for discussion – philosophical as well as ‘what if’s’. We felt honored to be invited to his nearby home for dinner with his wife and son (his daughter was away at preparatory exams). It’s clear how much his son admires him and what a loving father he is (he told us that his wife keeps the kids in line because he can’t tell them ‘no’). I’m sure he was a tough officer in the military – he’d have to be – but in civilian life he has mischief and the sparkle of laughter in his eyes and a huge heart filled with kindness.

Katie’s only daughter lives in Pondicherry. Katie wasn’t much of a Mom. She was a flight attendant for Air France for her entire professional life, flying here and there and rarely at home. Her ex-husband raised their daughter. Retired now, she spends several months a year in Pondicherry, resigned to never being able to make up for lost time with her daughter, but determined to be a part of her life. A passionate woman, Katie’s views about French politics control a large part of her life. In the streets every weekend in her yellow vest, her harsh political rhetoric intrudes in almost every conversation. Macron, and Sarkozy before him, are the devil incarnate. And, yes, she does use those words. Enemies of the people, proponents of a new world order that disenfranchises everyone but the wealthy, robbers of the private benefits and income of the middle classes and the poor. Her political anger seeps into her extreme watchfulness in order to protect her from being taken advantage of, even by our sweet, accommodating host in Thekkady. We invited her to join us for a quiet day of walking in nature, surrounded by cardamom, coffee, and tea plants. Calmed by the sheer serenity of all that green, her political persuasions faded into the background, only occasionally peeking out to make a brief appearance.

Nancee was born and raised in a house in the forest, 40 kilometers southeast of the Kerala city of Munnar. She lives there still, in her house surrounded by fruit trees and passion fruit vines, and walks the kilometer to work as cook and cleaner in a three-story guesthouse/hotel owned and run by J.P. A quiet, shy woman, her smile can light up a room. When we commented on how much we loved the passion fruit that showed up on our breakfast table after we requested fresh fruit, she brought us a bag of the most delicious passion fruit I’ve ever eaten. I come from a country known for its plentiful, extraordinary fruit – picked in the morning and in the market in the afternoon. Passion fruit is one of my favorite fruits, but I’d never seen passion fruit so big, firm and tasty. She’d picked them from the vines surrounding her home, along with large cocoa pods (interesting, but not so tasty). She acquiesced graciously to my request to watch her cook our breakfast so that I would be able to replicate it at home, only a little embarrassed at first to have me looking over her shoulder. When we left, after two weeks at Arusakthi Riverdale, she approached me hesitantly, hugged me fiercely, then joined her palms at her heart and gave me a small bow. We didn’t understand each other’s verbal language but the language of our hearts was loud and clear.

Rav Yonaton wears a mixture of Indian and Hasidic clothing, along with his long payot (side curls) and large kippah (skullcap). Born and raised in London, the son of a totally secular family, he moved to Israel where he became religious, married, fathered a son, divorced, re-married, lived joyously in poverty, and shared in learning Torah with his new South African wife. Waking up to the necessity of providing for their upcoming baby, he lucked into a job as a mashkiach (kashrut supervisor) for a Baltimore company and relocated to Jewtown, India, near Fort Kochi (Kochin). His wife joined him there with their month old daughter two weeks later. Ever enthusiastic, ever sensitive to the cultural and social realities around him, Rav Yonaton has endeared himself to the largely Catholic community. A nice mural of him walking with his daughter can be seen on the wall of one of the newer, more comfortable hotels. The Hindu family across from a memorial headstone for a Kabbalist from the 17th century, located in an alleyway, helps to make sure the memorial’s burning light never goes out and joins the Rav there sometimes when he comes to daven (pray) there. We looked forward to having a bit of chicken after over a month as vegetarians, but there were only small bits of fish in the rice for Shabbat. Rav Yonaton explained to us later that he prefers to respect the poverty of his neighbors and not stand out as having the more expensive chicken on his Shabbat table. His contract will expire in the fall and he has no idea if he will be returning to unemployment, but his infectious smile precludes worry about his family’s future. As he walks us back to our hotel after havdala (the prayer to end Shabbat) at his house, he greets and is greeted by most of the passersby, each in his own language (and there are many). Loving and loved, he has no worries.

Vita and Ben are getting married in June after sharing their lives for over seven years. They’ve moved to Stamhope Hill in London, where she is a researcher for an NGO whose task is to evaluate the work of other NGOs and he is a youth worker in an adventure camp. They clearly both love their work and each other. She never wanted to marry and, in fact, when he proposed for the umpteenth time while on a romantic vacation in Japan (and was confident that she’d say ‘yes’), she told him to ‘Fxxk off!’ After a 20-minute conversation about why he wanted to marry, she was convinced, demanded he re-enact his proposal and afterwards said ‘yes’. He’s into the whole large wedding in a spectacular venue thing and she’s going along with only minor irritation in her voice as she reacts to his telling us the plan. Why marry at this point? Children are definitely on the horizon. They share a beer or two with my partner as laughter gets more and more raucous. Vita and I bond more over morning yoga on the balcony overlooking a tropical jungle. Our own temporary piece of paradise. We all swap hiking stories from beautiful Periyar National Park. They’re younger than our youngest child but age differences disappear easily among travel buddies.

Viktor is a solo traveler from Yerevan, the capital of Armenia. Somewhere in his late 40’s or early 50’s, he shares in the lives of his nephews but doesn’t see children in his future. A businessman, he’s not exactly rich but wealthy enough to help his extended family wage a decade-long (losing) battle for his ancestral home against the municipality, and pick up and come to a meditation seminar after an online Sadh Guru meditation course. Because of jet lag, he overslept and arrived two hours late to the seminar where he was turned away – ‘The Guru gave explicit instructions that no late arrivals were to be admitted.’ Offered an alternative – a 3-day retreat at the Sadhu Guru’s ashram in Coimbotore – he decided to attend and extend his time in India. That’s how we got the opportunity to make his acquaintance in Morjim Beach, Goa. We learned a lot about Armenia – he’s a super patriot. His only regret about living in Yerevan is that no one there is into spiritual meditation, or at least he hasn’t found anyone. He and my partner talked together for hours about Armenian history and politics. We visited the local fish market together and chose a big fish to have our cook fix for us one night. The cook didn’t like the look of the one we picked out so carefully, jumped on his motorcycle with it, returned it to the fish market, where he purchased a better fish for us. It was totally scrumptious and we shared a wonderful evening together with the sound of the waves and a lot of shared stories. Having fallen in love with Goa (What’s not to love? Beautiful, empty, clean sand beaches and gorgeous sunsets.), he extended his time there and we bid him adieu before heading for Kerala.

Ruth and Dieter, an Austrian couple, joined us for several days in Thekkady. We have a love of pure veg South Indian food in common that made walking down the potholed road outside our guesthouse together to The Hotel Aryas a given. They are as adventurous as we are when it comes to experimenting with new dishes and more so when it comes to eating with their hands. They went on a 20 km hike in Periyar National Park the day my partner went on a 15 km hike and I read for a couple of hours before meandering the streets and shops of Thekkady happily NOT hiking for hours and hours. They were to leave for a tree house hotel close to Ayursakthi Riverdale the next day but when they heard our praise for our amazing guide, Raj, on our 5 km nature hike earlier in the week, Dieter, a botanist finishing up his PhD, couldn’t leave without joining us on a return engagement with Raj. It meant they had to spend an extra 2500 rupee (about $40) to hire a taxi to get to their next town because they’d miss their bus, but they were game. We were happy to share the experience with them. Raj didn’t disappoint and it was so much fun watching how excited Dieter was to learn all about the flora in Periyar. Raj knows the common name and scientific name for every flower, tree and bush. Ruth, an occupational therapist, has amassed tons of botany from her many years with Dieter, as I have gained knowledge of bugs and crustaceans from my years with my partner. It was a pleasure spending time with such a like-minded couple, in spite of their being Austrian, barely thirty years old, and being in India for the first time.

Neema taught me to cook South Indian dishes, including the masala dosa my partner loves so much. More importantly, she and her husband, Prasad, spoke to us for many pleasant hours about their India, their family, and their experience working with many tourists. A soft-spoken, gentle soul, Prasad actually worked for many years as the captain of a commercial line of ships. Neema spent her first five years of marriage (an arranged marriage, of course) traveling along with him, visiting ports all over the world, even after their daughter, Olivia, was born. It was a special privilege only the captain’s wife enjoyed. Once Olivia was a bit older, they settled down in Neema’s parents’ historical landmark home in Wypeen Island, just a short ferry ride away from Fort Kochi (Kochin). Neema’s parents live in the house as well, though we never caught sight of them. Prasad is well-read, andknowledgeable in many areas including history, Indian and world politics, world geography, ichthyology, a bit of botany, and many languages. As Neema taught me to cook, Prasad and my partner kept each other entertained. Prasad was the one to open up the, formerly unknown to us, history of Jews further north in Kerala. After cooking class, Neema put her feet up and we chatted about being mothers of independent, strong-minded young women, building a business which relies heavily on customer service, the trials & tribulations of developing and maintaining a social media presence, remembering to give back to the community, and, of course, where to shop for clothes and gifts close by for good prices and quality.

Raj Kumar is a member of the indigenous mountain tribe called the Munnan. To this day they live in small villages in the mountains with a king and village elders. When outsiders approach one of the villages, an elder meets them outside the borders of the village to decide whether or not to allow them to enter. The Munnan have control over Periyar National Park, though it’s technically a government park. The Munnan have always had control, considering it their tribal land. Of the the 357 square mile park only 118 square miles are accessible to tourists, in order to properly conserve the fauna and flora. As a result, elephant herds live in their natural age-old way, goddesses of their territory, are infrequently sighted, and make it clear with threatening noises and agitated behavior that they should never be approached from less than 100-150 meters. The park rangers are all Munnan. They guide small groups on nature hikes from 5-18 kilometers and carry out night patrols to be sure that poachers cannot harm the animals or protected flora, including sandalwood and mahogany trees. Raj Kumar was randomly selected to guide us on a 5 km hike. As we waited for a British couple, Peter and Sara, to join us, their hotel agent having asked if we agreed to add them to our private hike, Raj began to describe the park to us. We were immediately impressed by his knowledge, English, and ability to field queries. As we watched him pull the raft to shore for us to cross the small lake, he suddenly dropped the rope, patted me on the shoulder and said, excitedly, ‘Come! Come!’ He took off up a small hill and we took off after him. Once we hit the peak, our eyes followed his pointing hand across the water where a mama elephant and her baby were grazing. A beautiful sight that his sharp ears, hearing the older elephant cooing to the younger, made possible. We were to learn to trust his ears, eyes and instincts, which directed us to the huge Malabar Squirrel, two glorious Hornbill birds (who took off in flight and flew overhead, exhibiting their full colors and shapes), beautiful butterflies of many different colors, caterpillars of all sizes and monkeys high up in the branches (before they began throwing things at us). There was not a common name or scientific name of any flower, bush, or tree that he didn’t know and recite easily. He was happy to allow us to sit silently, without moving, for five minutes, at my partner’s request, in order to hear the increased sounds of forest birdsong and the noises of animals in the trees once their wariness disappears – a moving experience to try if you never have – but hold out for 20 minutes! My partner, a water biologist and ecologist with a PhD, and Raj, an autodidactic naturalist, found kindred souls in each other, swapping facts and vignettes from nature. Raj proudly told us, neither modestly nor arrogantly, that, though it was commonly believed that the jackal lived in Periyar, it had never been proven until he took a photo, at his own peril, after stalking a jackal for many hours. We arranged a second hike with him two days later and, had we stayed, would have been happy to go out with him a third and fourth time. There just seems to be no limit to the changes in the forest from day to day or to his understanding of nature’s glory.

Only a third of the way into our 6 month trip in India, I could add many more travel buddies to this already-too-lengthy post:

Abdul, our host, our twins’ age, who graciously took us on the worst road we’ve been on in India so we could have the day we wanted walking through quiet fields, unharrassed by tour guides or crowds, and was nonplussed when something important fell down from under his car after one particularly deep hole in the road. He found a piece of cardboard in the trunk and a tshirt and tied the cardboard under the car before happily climbing back into the driver’s seat and taking off. He explained one morning, with a chagrined smile, that his guesthouse, motorcycle, and junky car all belong to the bank – loans he hopes to pay off someday. A familiar cross-cultural story.

J.P., another host, perplexed that most days we just hung around the river behind the guesthouse or took the 8 km walk across the bridge, circling back through the small village. He never stopped asking eagerly if we wanted a tuk-tuk to go into Munnar each morning (we went 3 times during our two weeks there). He loved that he and I share a daily yoga practice and smiled with a small bow each time I came back in, though his own daily practice was long over (he does a half hour at 5 a.m.). When we left he gave us a brightly colored red and gold something or other (??) and said we would always be family. He’s since sent Whatsapp messages asking how our trip’s going and then wishing us a happy 2020.

Kavarappa maintains an art gallery on the third floor of his home on a sleepy residential road in Mysore. We found the Bharani Art Gallery online, hired a tuk-tuk to take us there, found the gate locked and no one around. Our driver called the number we found online and Kavarappa opened the gate and then the gallery for us. Some of the art was fascinating. My partner is contemplating buying a piece of Vedic art by a Finnish painter. Kavarappa then invited us into his home for coffee. The conversation was great and quite informative. He is Coorgi (Coorg is about 130 km from Mysore) and still has a coffee and pepper plantation there which, sadly, his two children will not take over from him. The way of things in India today.

The list goes on, but this post doesn’t.

One common denominator of travel buddy relationships is the desire of human beings to be really seen by other human beings. And it may be that reason that relationships are telescoped while traveling – because of their necessarily ephemeral nature.

The very sweet young waiter, who served us dinner for 13 nights, spoke almost no English but summed it up far better than I can explain it when he said shyly, as we departed the rooftop restaurant for the last time,

“Please remember me.”