Travel Blog

Let’s face it – art is not the first thing that comes to mind when most of us think about New Orleans, although some time spent with the girls carousing in the Quarter is always time well spent.

 

But next time you’re in the Big Easy, try something completely different: Save the Quarter for the evening and spend your days on the trail of great art.

 

 Must Do: Gallery Hop

Start on Julia Street in the Warehouse District, the area of town where converted warehouses have become great restaurants, lofts and art galleries and what some call the SoHo of the South.

 

On Julia Street, hop through more than 20 galleries; try Arthur Roger for contemporary pieces from regional names, Heriad-Cimino for nationally established artists as well as prominent Louisiana artists, and Soren Christensen for contemporary sculpture.

 

Then, get blown away – by the city’s glass artists – at the New Orleans Glass Works and Printmaking Studio inside the New Orleans Artworks facility. Its half gallery and half working studio, with a bit of classroom thrown in – and a fabulous place to watch master glass artists at work.

 

When you do wander over to the Quarter, and of course you will, stroll down Royal Street for more gallery hopping including Marcus Akinlana’s Royal Heritage, where he exhibits his vibrant works of NOLA life. Many days, Akinlana can be found just outside the door, working at his easel, which he sets up right on the sidewalk.

 

As you wander around town, see how many of the 40 whimsical fleur-de-lis sculptures you can spot around town. From the Central Business District to the Quarter, these sculptures – a fundraiser to benefit local artists and children’s charities in the wake of Katrina – are a reminder of the devastation wrought by the killer storm, as well as the hope for the future of the city.

 

Must See: Muse about art

New Orleans has amazing art museums, many of which were closed following Katrina. The New Orleans Museum of Art in City Park is now open five days a week, featuring its excellent permanent collection of French and American art; The Ogden Museum of Southern Art in the Warehouse District is as rich as your uncle, with the works of southern artists dating back to the late 1700s. More contemporary art can be found just a stone’s throw away at the Contemporary Arts Center, also in the Warehouse District. If it’s a pretty day, stroll through the five acre Besthoff Sculpture Garden in City Park.

 

Must Eat: Classic NOLA

Emeril Lagasse’s namesake eatery has always been in the Warehouse District – and while it is quite the tourist attraction, Emeril’s is still one of the Crescent City’s best –and most fun – eateries. Plus, the walls of the old pharmacy warehouse in which the restaurant is housed are covered with local original art, so there’s plenty of eye candy as well as traditional NOLA favorites. Reservations are a must – if you book early enough you might be lucky to grab some of the seats at the food bar, where you can watch the cooking action up-close.

 

Must Drink: Historic watering hole

In the Quarter but still a bit off the beaten path, Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop is a favorite watering hole for locals and out-of-towners in the know.  Lafitte’s is one of the oldest buildings in the south, dating back to the 1700s, featuring low-ceilinged, rambling rooms, a quick bar and piano sing-alongs that are hard not to join. 

 

Must Sleep: Renaissance Arts Hotel

Sleep artfully in a converted furniture factory that features a sculpture garden, gallery space and Chihuly chandeliers in the lobby, as well as original art glass and giclée prints in the guestrooms. The Renaissance Arts Hotel is smack in the middle of the Warehouse Arts District; the factory’s original exposed brick walls are a nice contrast to the stylized and contemporary furnishings and the lush bedding. Art takes center stage throughout the entire hotel, from the aforementioned Chihuly sculptural lighting to the very cool woodcut print of Louis Armstrong in the foyer. Rates are very reasonable for New Orleans, starting at $159 / night; look for weekend packages for even better pricing.

Warehouse Arts District information

 

The Hotel: The Holiday Inn on the Bay, San Diego CA (the buildings with the pink trim) Photos courtesy Holiday Inn.

The Skinny: A multi-building property on the Embarcadero in downtown San Diego, the hotel was renovated in 2007 and overlooks San Diego Bay. 600 rooms with balconies, free wireless Internet access, 3 restaurants on site - a pub-like Elephant and Castle in the main lobby, a deli and a Ruth's Chris Steak House on property but not actually in a hotel building. Rates: $159 and up.

The Raves: Fabulous location, being close to the airport and within walking distance of the USS Midway, cruise ship terminal, Seaport Village, ferry to Coronado and other downtown attractions. Convention Center and Gaslamp District are a short cab ride away. Fantastic views over San Diego Bay; the room renovations were basic but well done, the balcony was a plus.

The Rants: Choppy to navigate; we checked in at one building, then hauled over to another building where our room was located. The kids-eat-free program never translated to a credit to our dining bill (either during or after our stay) and our room (a suite for $359/night) had two balconies - which is a plus and a minus. While the view was great, the poorly insulated windows and sliding doors whistled and trembled with the bay breeze all day and night long - felt like we were in a haunted hotel.

The Rating: 3 suitcases. Despite the renovation and excellent location, it is still a Holiday Inn, so think value for the money, very few frills and basic service.

Our rating system:

1 Suitcase: Don't even go there!

2 suitcases: Paging the general manager - you've got some serious work to do!

3 suitcases: A few minor issues, but a good value.

4 suitcases: Worthy of your money and an excellent experience

5 suitcases: Book it at any price!

It's a no-brainer that taking a trip -whether for business or pleasure - is a nice change of pace from the everyday routine.

And according to the research of the Travel Industry Association (TIA), there's more than just a change of scenery in store for those who travel.

The industry group recently released a compilation of findings from various travel-related polls, from those conducted by a variety of scientists and even online travel providers like Expedia, since the year 1992.

Overall, the surveys found that travel is beneficial both in personal and work terms; here are just a few of the findings from the various studies:

- Travelers rate their overall health higher while on vacation, and report getting three times more deep sleep after a vacation, as well as sleeping almost 20 minutes longer.

- An annual vacation can cut a person's risk of heart attack by 50%.

- Women who take more vacations are more satisfied with their marriages (Ladies, let's hear from you - true or false?)

- Three out of four executives believe that vacations are necessary for them to prevent burnout (78%) or that vacations improve their personal job performance (75%)

- Travelers experience a 25% increase in performance in vigilence tests after returning from vacation, with those 45 and older showing a performance increase of 50%.

According to TIA president Roger Dow, "One study shows overwork costs employers about $150 billion a year in stress-related absences." Dow notes that there are 78 countries where the right to annual vacation of a specific duration is prescribed by law.

So the next time you're wondering if you can really afford to take time off from the office for some R&R, the answer seems to be a resounding YES!

A trip to a Disney resort is the ultimate family vacation, and comes with the ultimate of price tags. So is there such a thing as an off-season at Disney? We asked travel agent Amarjit Keshav from Give me a Break Travel for her advice.

 

Q: Is there any such thing as a 'off-season' at Disney World? If so, what
is it - and what is the best way to find lodging deals or ticket and
lodging packages?

A. I would say the best time to travel to Disney is September through
the first part of October. This is when Disney tends to offer
free dining plans, or free upgrades on park tickets. Plus, everything is less
crowded. I advise all my clients to take the dining plan, it is
fantastic.

To find the best deals, call a travel agent who is a Disney specialist,
this tells you that the agent has tried and tested the resorts, dining
plans and theme parks so they can plan your trip down to the best way to
get on all the rides, as well as best times and places to eat.

A lot of people want to book on the Internet; it can be very overwhelming
especially if you have never been to a Disney resort before.

 

Amarjit Keshav is an agent with Give me a Break Travel, a small company of home-based agents who specialize in destination weddings, romantic travel and familiy vacations as well as Diseny vacations and travel to Europe, Africa and the Far East. Contact Amarjit at (901) 383-6708. www.givemeabreaktravel.com

The Product: Women's Give and Go Bikini Brief, from Ex-Officio, $18.

The Features: Nylon & spandex, lightweight, breathable, odor-resistant, wicking and quick-drying - 2-4 hours, according to the company.

The Test: Who, me, travel without matching bra and panties? Unheard of - but for the sake of journalism, willing to give it a go. Took the Ex-Officio panties (and just two others of my own, instead of my usual six) on a recent long-weekend to Knoxville, where I spent much time in the company of strangers touring all the city had to offer. In the rain.

The idea with these panties is that you can bring just two pair for any trip - wear one, wash one, according to the company. Just wash with shampoo or shower gel, rinse and hang to dry - 2-4 hours, according to the bag, and VOILA! you have a clean pair of drawers. I've tried this whole wash-out-the-panties-at-night-and-wear-them-the-next-day thing before, without much success, so I was skeptical to say the least.

The result: Count me a fan. The panties are comfortable, fit well, were as soft as my usual unmentionables, and as promised, dried out in a snap - even after I drenched them on purpose just to see how quick dry they were. The answer? That drenched pair was dry within 2 hours and 27 minutes.

 

Somewhere off an undefined path between giant boulders at 17,040 feet in the Khumbu of Nepal, something special is hanging in the wind.  On that ridge in sight of the tallest mountain in the world, Mt. Everest, its base camp and the death-defying ice fall, somewhere out there are sixty prayer flags flying in the fierce winds. These unique flags were first sanctified at Calvary Episcopal Church in Memphis, Tn., and then approved and blessed by Lama Gesehi of the Pangboche Monastery, the oldest in the Nepal Khumbu, The flags were created by the fingers and spirits of children from girls under 18 years old locked in prison, to teens at Calvary Church, to my granddaughter Megan’s first grade class in Nashville.

 

I believe we are the first to ever hang individual Christian prayer flags in the Base Camp Area. Now some climbers carry up their college or university flags, or their state flags (lots from Texas) and maybe some charity flag. But our flags were made by unique hands expressing each child’s desires, needs, and requests before God. What Amazing Grace is in this.

 

It was my quest to take these holy pieces of cloth to the base of the highest mountain on earth. If I had been younger and with more courage, I’d have taken them to the top but I could not reach that intense condition at age 68, having just undergone breast cancer and radiation. The oldest man to ever summit Mt. Everest was a 70 year old Japanese climber. He is making another attempt this year at age 75. One of my guide Jim Williams’ well-trained Sherpas is accompanying this gentleman. The oldest woman to climb the mountain was in her early sixties. It’s not a challenge to be taken lightly. Since Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay first summited in 1953, there have been 3679 successful summits by 2436 climbers including Sherpas and 210 deaths. (Sherpas weren’t even counted until the early nineties.

 

What is the ecstasy that can drive a human to risk his heart, soul and body by driving it to such extreme as to reach even base camp? Many try, few get there because they cannot deal with altitude sickness. Is it the pain, the suffering, the life-risking at every step of the way worth it just to say you have been there, much less summited this mountain monster that really gives no guarantee who goes where or accepts what? Is it ego or religious pride? Although there are many Tibetan prayer flags hanging at base camp, most of those are hung by the incredible Sherpas who are really responsible for most people ever getting anywhere on Mt. Everest. 

 

Well on the morning of May 2, 2008, Jim Williams and Nima Tashi, both icons in this field, (Jim’s fame was first from climbing the seven highest mountains on each continent in less than a year and being on the first ski trek to the South Pole and Nima’s is for his ten successful summits of Everest, including accompanying Peter Hillary and Jamling Norgay - son of Tenzing - on their memorial climb in honor of their fathers) pushed me up and further than I was really willing to go to make sure we got the flags to the right place - in view of Everest, of Base Camp and of the Ice Fall - that’s the place where metal ladders are laid across huge crevices so that climbers can hopefully cross over without falling in. We were not allowed to approach base camp because the military had landed about 60 soldiers checking every person for his summit license and enforcing the blackout of all informational equipment in the camp. The joint Nepalese and Chinese army are in control until after the famous Olympic torch reaches the top of Everest, if it ever does.

 

The wind was brisk, the sun bright and burning, and the mountains clear on our day. My breath was short so I sat on a huge rock while Nima and Jim actually secured the flags to enormous boulders with other boulders or just with string. I said a prayer, cried a bit, and then we had about an hour hike back down to dreadful Gorek Shep, ate a Snickers bar, and then left for the three hour trek down to Lobuche, a not much better sleeping spot. Ironically, as we left, the clouds rolled in and an enormous snow fell, reeking havoc for the trekkers in the area (many climbing Kala Pattar to get the best views of Mt. Everest). In fact, reports passed on the pathway claimed that over 200 trekkers were stuck in that awful environment of Gorek Shep (that’s a settlement on a dried sandy lake where the human waste from Mt. Everest is disposed of in deep holes each year.) 

 

I had to smile in my soul because God, our God, permitted me that moment to hang the prayer flags, get back down to a more reasonable altitude where I could breathe better although I am wheezing with a terrible chest congestion. I’ve been steaming up with a lot of hot lemon tea, sucking on Halls mints, drinking gallons of water and wrapping up in every piece of warm clothing I have including long underwear. I just wanted so badly to get down and out of this scenic but cold, challenging place. I don’t fit here. Most Westerners don’t either. But we all think we can conquer our fears and show our courage in Khumbu Valley.  I wonder.

(Audrey's personal blog is at www.audreygonzalez.com.)

Update: On Friday morning, Audrey made it to Everest Base Camp (17,040 ft.).  At the moment she's on her way back down to civilization to recuperate. Her weekly dispatch will be up in a day or so.

This is the third in a series of weekly dispatches especially for Commercial Appeal readers from Audrey Gonzalez, who is on a two-month trek in the Himalayan region of Nepal. (Her daily blog is at www.audreygonzalez.com.)

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Smoke sits on Kathmandu like a comfortable sofa. It pillows in it because there is no breeze to take it anywhere, and where would it go but tighter in the deep valleys. The mountains clasp the air in a vise. And it’s hard to breathe. I finally have a face mask that you pull down over your head and then pull up over your nose when in the traffic and outside. In air conditioned hotels, it’s at least filtered and somewhat comfortable. We are back in Kathmandu to do laundry, shower well, and re-pack for the trek to the Everest base camp which begins tomorrow with a 5:30 a.m. domestic flight to about nine thousand feet high in the foothills.Whatever else happens on this long trip, it’s going to be hard to beat the few days at Chitwan National Park. Snuggled into a real jungle - langur monkeys, with black faces and a body of gray hair,  frolic in the strange trees and water vines and strangling figs - is Tiger Tops Camp.

On the face of the camp - three dark buildings that disappear into the landscape - there are balconies to sit and watch the elephant feed in the open area in front. The dining area is a very dark rondel where all meals are by candlelight so really for three days I had no idea what I was eating. In the bedrooms were gas lamps with one of the eco-friendly curly light bulbs, but they hardly emitted enough light for someone like me to see. I guess some electricity is better than none at all. The charm is you are always outside, or able to be outside, keeping the doors open if the mosquitos aren’t passing. And in the background most of the day are the trumpet calls of the elephants and the responding piercing screams of jackals.Each morning before the sun tried to break though the clouds of smoke (this was the season of controlled burning the shrub and dead leaves in the jungles) I was awakened by the most amazing orchestra of birds with every kind of sound instrument. I’d just lay there and realize what those of us miss when we live in air conditioned environments with television on or keep Ipods plugged to our ears. We miss God’s song. We miss the free music of extraordinarily talented birds. Here, as I asked, what bird is that, what is that sound, I know I heard the songs of cuckoos, magpie robins, flying peacocks, jungle fowl, jungle babblers, herons, storks, egrets, - there have been over five hundred birds sighted in this camp alone. They decorate the tips of tall reeds, grasses in the swamps and huge umbrella-like Kopak trees as we pass on our daily safaris atop elephants.

The elephants. These speak adventure to me. Elephants slept a stone’s through away from us. We went to lectures about them in their compound. I was even allowed to ride one bareback in the elephant  quarters, an honor not usually allowed guests. We sat and watched each morning as they were set free from their hobbles to go into the grasses and play, their trunks raised, their voices squealing, their bodies dancing as they were free for a while. There was a rogue elephant patrolling our area who had to be avoided. He was in musk and randy. If he had encountered the one male in our camp, a battle would have taken place, therefore our male was behind protective wire fences until the rogue disappeared. We learned about the attachment of elephants to their trainers - they have three for life who take care of them in shifts. The driver is the most important of the trainers. They know their elephant so well that they rise in the night when they hear a certain sound, a rattle of the chain on one foot, a stomp of another foot, or feel their restlessness and they attend their charge. I also learned that annually in November, there is an international elephant polo match played at Tiger Tops.
 
Each morning and afternoon we’d climb up stairs to a mounting station and our elephant, wearing a box like saddle where up to three people could sit, backed her rump under a small platform so I could step on and sit down with my legs hanging out to one side. Roughness depends on the gait of the elephant. My favorite elephant Sundai had a horrible gait so your hips must be loose enough to swing back and forth in rhythm to her rhythm. (It could throw your back out or stir up hemorrhoids.)  It didn’t take long to get used to it nor to come across the rare Great One-Horned Rhinoceros, many with new calves hiding in the muddiest of swamps and deepest of grasses. We also encountered a mad Gaur (a type of wild water buffalo with horns), the marsh mugger and the gharial with its long wire pincher nose - both two species of crocodiles are on the endangered list - and the hog deer which runs with its head down like hogs do. But we were looking for the Royal Bengal Tiger, and they are merely a chance sighting, nothing guaranteed. Our first safari we saw spotted dear, rhinos,thousands of birds, and tracks of the sloth bear (about the size of the black bear but very elusive) but no tiger tracks. No tiger.

The afternoon outing, we had the best elephant tiger hunter and the best elephant driver. Sundai was a small female elephant who enjoyed the search through grasses taller than my garage. There’d be all sorts of weeds, reeds and dried grasses woven into a mat, coming out of sluggish black mud in a river bottom, and I’d think, No Way can we make it through that - what’s on the other side? Sundai ploughed through like a good elephant would. She may not be able to see perfectly, her eyes wide on the sides of her large head, but she can smell, hear and sense beyond belief.  Standing on Sundai’s rump was our Nepali guide Dan, who had even spent six months in Jackson Hole a few years ago. So we went where none of the other elephants were going because Dan and our driver knew I was serious. I wanted to see that tiger. (There are about 40 adult tigers in the park, but a tiger is nocturnal and roams at night. We had seen plenty of footprints on the road that passed through the camp.) 

After about two hours, our driver got extremely excited. I could tell by the sound of his voice , his pointing, and his body movement as he urged Sundai into difficult places. He saw footprints, fresh footprints. And he kicked Sundai behind the ears and we went down and up radically while I just held on for dear life and had my camera ready. Suddenly there were six other elephant around with passengers from another camp as well as ours. They knew something was up. Only the two star hunting elephants were in the marshes however, pushing through all sorts of blind moments until suddenly Sundai let out a loud trumpet as did the companion elephant - it scared Jim, my trip guide, so much that he yelled too. I was in such delight, I just laughed. We were right on top of the tiger, completely hidden in the high grasses - I couldn’t see him at all but Jim and Dan could - Jim had reacted in fear the two forward elephants (ours) had trapped the tiger and might step on him. He didn’t realize elephants are overly cautious about where they step, and will not go where they are doubtful.

Suddenly with all that noise, this amazing orange and black beast of beauty leaped out of the grasses into a small opening. My camera went dead immediately. But I saw him. I saw this amazing wild creature, this Bengal tiger. Jim did his best to get a photo. I was speechless. As the young tiger, new to this area, apparently, disappeared again, we all took a deep breath and realized that was the most amazing adventure we had experienced. Sundai pulled up a stack of bright green swamp grass and stuffed it into her mouth, unfazed.

This is the second in a series of weekly dispatches especially for Commercial Appeal readers from Audrey Gonzalez, who is on a two-month trek in the Himalayan region of Nepal. (Her daily blog is at www.audreygonzalez.com.)

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It’s the contrast that surprises a trekker in the Annapurna Range of Nepal.

On the one hand you are in the shadows of the tallest most dramatic and beautiful mountains in the world - the Himalayas which people risk their lives to walk through and to see at various moments of a day. It is like staying at nature’s most extravagant hotel.

Then there is the reality of the people who live in poverty that they don’t see as poverty. When I asked a young girl if she had any dreams, it was as if she didn’t know what a dream was. So I rephrased it, what do you want to be in your life and she giggled and turned away and said to work in the restaurant of the little hotel we stayed at in Landruk. Jim [Audrey's guide] explains they don’t live in poverty but are self-sufficient, planting enough to survive a year, doing only what they need to do to be a family who rises and sleeps according to the sun. I guess it is the way it used to be in early America.

I don’t understand how Nepalese can live in the haze of smoke that always surrounds communities. It bothered me. Early in the morning after the cock crows and the cowbells ring, and birds vigorously twiddle their songs, fires are lit. If there is no breeze, then the smoke hangs over every community and sometimes blocks the domineering view of the snow covered peaks.

This and the constant odor of cow dung as we hiked made me nauseous until the rains came and there was a spirit of cleanliness for a while.

Most women and girls own faces of beauty of a different order than what we see in the States. And from six or eight years up, they all, no matter how poor and starving, dress in bright long wrap skirts (for sure you don’t see them in pants or shorts other than harem pants under skirts) with contrasting patterns for tops, shawls, and blouses. So no matter how brown and dirty the road or the place, they bring cheer to the environment. Their heads are usually wrapped in scarves while they may walk on bare feet or in sandals. Their lives are just as full of labor in the fields and homes as that of the men, who are not colorful in their dress, except for some Hindus who dress in the white over shirt and narrow legged pants Nehru style. There is one color hair and one color eyes - black and dark brown. Their skin ranges from chocolate brown to a good suntan. There are no rosy cheeks or freckles. Rare are gray hairs and never blondes.  Most females (girls and women) wear a gold stud in their nose or a gold ring. Gold is a measuring stick and plays a role in dowries for marriage.

alt='Chicken Man carry-all'>What amazes me is that humans do the work of donkeys and pack horses. They are the Mack trucks of the stone steps.  They share the paths with water buffalo, cows, and backpacked carriers sipping water from their bottles and balancing on hiking sticks. The vans are the porters loading trekker’s gear and bags into giant baskets which are then strapped onto their back vis-à-vis their forehead. I’d think they’d suffer major migraines as they carry incredible loads up and down never ending stone stairs. If you want something, the only way it can get to you is by a man’s back. If you want to get somewhere - you have to do it at the snails pace of walking up and down these paths until you reach where you need to be. There is no transport other than your feet. Using my old hiking boots - the ones I wore when I went up the Grand Teton five years ago - was a wise choice. I’ve not had a blister, nor do my feet ache. But the rest of the leg, whew.

Distance is not measured in miles or kilometers, but in time to get where you are going. The hours against the distance seem impossible. You don’t get anywhere fast.  Time is adjusted depending on one’s ability and speed to climb, the amount of altitude gained or lost and the severity of the steps. As we trek, I cannot take my eyes off the rocks I’m trying to step on to, knowing a misstep could mean a broken ankle, leg or spirit. It is like a long, long puzzle because it’s not over until you have chosen the right pieces to step upon and you arrive. Arrive is a big word for me. It’s over. I really don’t enjoy the trekking, but am delighted I did it when I get to the “arrive.”, have a snack, and turn my head upwards to see the magnificence of Fish Tail Mountain or Annapurna South and the others all of which seem to touch the heavens to see much more than humans will ever see.

You and I would probably be bored at the life style of the Nepalese peasants. When not beating grain, plowing the fields to plant rice, washing their clothing in a puddle of fresh water channeled through plastic tubes, or working the millstone to grind flour,   life is sitting and chatting, waiting for trekkers and porters to stop in for a soda pop. (Can you imagine a life with no television, cell phones, video games, iPods, or computers? Would we survive?)

When we tourists decide to stop for lunch, it’s usually at someone’s open lodge home with picnic tables outside in the cool air, and an outside kitchen, all pots and pans in aluminum and neatly arranged on shelves. The owners become chefs and after you order, maybe from a menu or maybe just come up with an idea of which Nepali meal you wish, the work begins. So don’t be in a rush. Sit around. Don’t put your feet up (it’s rude.) Jeta and our porters help with the chopping, kneading and preparing the food. A man might go into his gardens to pick greens, herbs, cauliflower, broccoli, peas, and carrots.

Dough is made from scratch for pot stickers or chapatti or whatever the meal bread will be, so there is no prepackaged anything.  It’s amazing how good the results. There is no dessert, unless fruit and yoghurt (from water buffalo milk) become the final touch. Trekkers eat tons of food. I’m amazed at how much Jim puts down. His meal and my meal, although Nepali’s consider it rude to eat off of another’s plate.  If you mention to Jeta a possibility (like banana fritters or momo (vegetarian pot stickers) they’ll show up so be careful or you’ll be embarrassed by the amount of food laid out as yours. I won’t even tell you how cheap meals are in the mountains of Annapurna.

After five days trekking through the Annapurna, we are off to the Chitwan Jungle, where the sun is tropical hot, the elephants accessible, and the lodge one of the best in these Asian parts.

This week, Audrey Gonzalez  begins a two-month trek through the Himalayan regions of Nepal and (political conditions permitting) Tibet. Her guide is Jim Williams of Exploradus LLC. This will be her first weekly post especially for Commercial Appeal readers. More postings and pictures can be found at her personal blog, www.audreygonzalez.com.

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The brilliant colors on the people and houses of Kathmandu cover a multitude of flaws. The city and country are in the midst of an attempt at a democratic election, giving the people a chance to decide if they want to continue under a constitutional monarchy with King or to be led by the revolutionary Maoist party in a Parliamentary set up. The people who inhabit the mountains and valleys of the Himalayas outside the major cities feel safer with a King who takes care of them. The urban people are prone to a more active government interested in reform and fixing the sagging city up. (The major highway to China was build in the sixties and has not been repaired once. It’s a disaster of potholes.)  The conflict of power has pushed Nepal, once again, into a egregious situation. This coupled with China’s ban on people crossing into Tibet until after the Olympic torch has summited Mt. Everest (on the China side), has cooked a dahl of tension that could bubble out onto the grill. You know how hard it is to clean up the grill.

For four days, I’ve learned to cover my breathing apparatus with my pink scarf as I pass through streets congested with pollution (caused by the seasonal coming of smoke residue from India as farmers burn off the dried rice stalks) and garbage. There is no garbage pick up. Dump in the nearest lot or in front of the house.  Forget altitude sickness (we are at low altitude in Kathmandu). The zinger is the pollution. Even policemen wear face masks along with their blue camouflaged suits, body bullet proof gear and carry rifles to threaten anyone ready to disturb the calm. Yesterday as I visited the Hindu haven of Bactapur (only foot traffic allowed like at Mt San Michelle in France to preserve the historicity of it), troops of policemen paraded in and began knocking flags off the balconies and windows of those who live in the small town. Most of the flags were of Maoist persuasion and with hammer and sickle. Everyone was getting ready for the election today. Transport of any flavor was not to be allowed for 24 hours - except for the international observers - and after going to dinner at a young Sherpa’s apartment, we had to hire a taxi willing to return us (stuffed with momo or dumplings and french fries) to the hotel through back streets.

Kathmandu is a city of contrasts. I first experienced the colorful peace and solitude of the Kopan Monastery, high on a mini-mountain where young boys from age 4 to 21 learn boarding-school style the Dalai Lama’s ways while worshiping in glorious temples and stupas filled with Thangkas and other images of Buddha’s five divine poses.  Another sacred Buddhist site is the Monkey Temple, with an impossible name of Swayambhunath, which means self-risen, just appeared over 2000 years ago from a lake no longer there without anyone making it happen.  Monkeys enjoy the grounds, and hence for the nickname. The hill and steps rise like a lotus until one reaches the top where the white stupa is painted with two giant Osiris-like eyes of Buddha and a nose that is the number one sign in Nepali. Here I walked clockwise the walls of prayer wheels, touching each one (wondering who else’s fingerprints were under mine) and stopping in the four large rooms on four corners to push the giant prayer wheel around until a bell clanged, meaning a thousand prayers had been offered. The Buddhist prayer that is repeated in numbers like our Hail Mary and the Lord’s Prayer is "om mani padme hum" which means hail to the jewel in the lotus, the jewel being the highest God. I prayed my style for the children of Memphis’ ghetto.

The other side of the Kathmandu religious coin is the Hindu. A trip outside the major city to Bactapur is sort of a horror show of traffic, people unattentive to beeping horns and machines throwing up dust. There are 30 brick factories in the area as well so a red cast covers the area. Bactapur is an ancient city of red brick and fascinating carved wood screens for windows. It is mostly temples and rest houses for the old people, but there are living quarters as well. Hindu temples are locked. No one goes in them. People worship outside, sitting in yoga poses around the perimeters and patios, and making offerings (usually red powder) to the many animal-monster figures that make up the Hindu repertoire. I don’t understand how people can remember so many characters and what they help with or not help with, then as well to have such a hopeless theory about life, reflected in the cast system of India. At least the Buddhist have one Buddha with various facets and poses of Buddha. And of course we have our Trinity, the three in One of our God. Makes more sense to me. Christianity and Buddhism seem to be hopeful religions, the latter trying to rid their faithful of all desire and whatever complicates life so that enlightenment is attained in this life, and the other trying to rid ourselves of sin so that we are fit to have life after death in the embrace of God the Father.

When you read this, I’ll be breaking in my hiking boots on the Annapurna Royal Trek. If you can find a map, we’ll start at Pokhara, drive to a turnoff to Dhampus, then set out on foot, with porters carrying the bags, for Pothana for the first night, then Landruk the second night, then to Chhomrong the third, which is at 2170 meters high. We’ll sleep in lodges all the way. Then we hike to Tadapani and begin the passage through incredible rhododendron forests, passing through Ban Thanti which is at 3180 meters, the highest elevation of this circle, and on to Ghorepani for the night, then descend the challenging 3280 steps (real ones) to Tikhedhungga for another night, and finally reaching Birethanti and Nayapul where we’ll be met by a car for a wild and curvy ride back to Pokhara. There we will spend a night and drive to Chitwan Jungle the next day to hopefully ride an elephant to find Bengal tigers.