My Ayurvedic Moment

Some time ago, me and two other friends found ourselves in the province with not much to do.  Ronald, a regular traveler through most of the Philippines, and our defacto guide suggested we get a massage at this place he knew off but never actually went to.  So off we went, three guys with time to kill. 

At the massage place, I had a room to myself while the two shared one.  I lay down, and soon enough the masseuse arrived.  I thought nothing of the fact that he was a man, and had myself a thoroughly relaxing massage.  It turns out that in the other room, my two friends were giving each other “the look” the moment their male masseuses’ came in.  It turns out male on male contact still carried a kind of homophobic vibe to it.  Oblivious to the near revolt that was going on in the next room, I was lulled into bliss by the manly hands that manipulated the knots out of my body. 

Since then, this story kept cropping up at reunions and parties and although I laughed along with them, secretly I thought “what was the big deal?”

Jump forward a couple of years.  I find myself in India, home of the therapeutic and medicinal Ayurvedic massage.  My wife and I had just come from the majesty that is the Taj Mahal in Agra which was followed by a grueling 6 hour road trip among India’s infamous Agra-Delhi highway.  It started off nicely, we passed serene countryside, every now and then the sometimes dreary brownish green landscape was interrupted by a group of sari clad women in the most outrageous colors imaginable, at one point I even saw a neon orange one.  But between these and the trucks, over laden by heaps of hay I was soon lulled to sleep as I always am in any form of transport.

Soon however, as we were nearing the more populated areas, the beeping starting.  Horn blowing on the road it seems, is a part of life in India.  It maybe as justified as “hey man, I’m coming through” or as ridiculous as “you, in the opposite lane, I’m passing by so stick to your lane okay”.  I couldn’t decypher the rest of the reasons why our driver Jagdish was blowing his horn, sometimes I think he just liked to see if it was still working.  After close to 2 hours of this, my stress levels were way up and we were both glad to arrive at the relative sanctuary of New Delhi’s Le Meridien hotel.

It was my wife’s idea to de-stress with a nice massage and so we headed off to the spa.

The choices available included some international types of massage, from Thai to Swedish but I was intrigued by the local Ayurvedic massage.  Apparently, in the state of Kerala you can check into an Ayurvedic hospital in order to treat everything from hair loss to spinal injury.  I couldn’t let it pass me by.  When we initially made our inquiry through the phone I was asked if I wanted a male of female masseuse, and remembering my previous encounter I opted for the female. 

When we checked into the spa, I was given my first surprise.  Apparently, traditional Ayurvedic massages are considered an actual form of medical treatment and before a trained practitioner even came close to me I would have to fill up and sign a disclaimer, which also required me to give part of my medical history.  No problem, I was what I consider in the prime of my life and gladly signed.  Next surprise, it turned out that traditional Ayurvedic massages do not allow cross gender contact and so I would be assigned a male masseuse.  No problem I think to myself, despite my friends previous reactions, I would not cringe from male on male contact . . . . for massage purposes that is. And then our spa receptionist dropped the A bomb.  “Sir, traditional Ayurvedic massage is performed with two masseuse simultaneously”.   This took me by surprise.  I was aware that Ayurvedic massage involved a lot of hot oil but being told now that two burly men would be rubbing me down with hot oil simultaneously, well that just gave me some pause for thought.

“BRING IT ON!” I shouted silently to myself “That will do fine” I told the receptionist nonchalantly.  I just had to go through with it.  In my constant struggle for one upmanship with my friends, whether it was mountain biking down a fast hill, trying dyno that last handhold on in the rock climbing gym or just trying to goad ourselves into a triathalon, I find I had painted myself in a corner.  I just had to go through with it in order to say “Dude, you remember when we were massaged by men?  Well I just beat you, I just got massage by two men . . . eat my dust.”

The massage itself went fine.  I lay on my back and had four hands rhythmically rub my body from the bottom of my soles to my shoulders.  I have to say I was hoping for more of a sensation, maybe that’s not the right word, more of a difference but it felt no different from an ordinary massage.  Then they asked me to turn over and this is where I almost lose it.  Four hands rubbing, kneading your back is fine, but the same number of hands rubbing your chest automatically makes me . . . smile in a ticklish sort of way.  Were it not for my intense teeth clenching and the face towel covering my eyes the masseuse handling me (literally) might have thought I was getting some perverse pleasure beyond the therapeutic ones the massage intended to give me.  I was torn between laughing out loud and jumping out running away kicking and screaming.  Thankfully, after a while, one of the guys gives me a tap and says “Finished already, did you enjoy?”

“Yes” I said, still fighting the grin that still hung around “Yes, I did, thank you very much”.

 

Prologue

Not long afterwards, I find myself in the backwaters of the state of Kerala, ground zero and the origin of Ayurvedic medicine.  As I check into the resort I’d be staying at for the next 2 days the receptionist asks me if I would like to try a relaxing and traditional Ayurvedic massage.

“Can I get just my head and shoulders massaged?” I ask.

“Why yes sir” she answered.

Just to check, I asked “Will they be massaging my chest area?” signing towards my newly realized sensitive area.

“No sir, only the head and chest sir, but if you would like . . . . “ she replied, slightly quizzically.

“No, no, no, no " I replied a little too hastily and after getting my composure asked "And it will just be one person massaging me?”

“Yes” she answered me skeptically looking at me.

“Then sign me up” I said nonchalantly, but deep down inside I was screaming “BRING IT ON”.

Patience is a virtue . . .

Sorry guys, another technical photography entry here, still haven't been able to get over this fever I'm currently experiencing and so I can't get myself down to my home office to my image library database. Here's a bit of good news though.

Some of you know I've been trying to stick to the mantra of "if it ain't broken, don't upgrade" which is why I'm still shooting with a Canon 30D (since then they released a 40D and a 50D after that) with my back-up body being the old 350D (yup, there's a 400D and a 450D now). I've been trying to figure out how I can break my old 30D so I can upgrade to a 50D but common sense has stopped me from taking foolish measures and it looks like it has paid off.

Canon announced their new entry level camera, the Rebel T1i (that's the same grade as my 350D) and it's looking great. Has all the features I'm looking for, a 50D sensor, Digic 4, self cleaning sensor, high ISO settings. Of course I'll wait for the initial reviews but if all the stuff they announced works like it should then that's my next camera.

Oh yes, they'll also have HD video capability which was previously only available in Canon's 5D model, a model I couldn't afford. Read the full press release on Canon's Website here.

Displaying the goods

Okay, there must be a million gazillion photographers out there now who are itching to display their works online.  Flickr is nice but has too much of a community feel to it and smugmug (which is what I use www.pathfinderphotography.com) is perfect if you're really in the business but if you're just after a free space then it's somewhat limiting, 14 day trial only.

I bumped into a new website that so far seems to offer a perfect free solution.  Carbonmade provides you with 5 projects or galleries and you can display a total of 35 images on your site.  Look what I put together in one morning - www.joeyzaballero.carbonmade.com. I think it's perfect for showing off mini sections of your portfolio - maybe 5 architecture projects, 5 travel projects, etc. or good for showing off a little bit of everything.  In any case, I know some of you are raring to try it so go for it - www.carbonmade.com.

Where is this?

Took this somewhere in the US, sipping coffee with a friend. It's a busy place and there's lots of people around so taking a picture with no people around is quite a feat.

What the Duck!

It's Friday so time to lighten things up with some humor. I recently discovered this cartoon. Great point of view, basically from the photographer's. Go to www.whattheduck.net for daily cartoons.

Indian School Bus

I was walking down a street in Fort Cochin, India and it so happened that it was the end of the day for the local school kids. A stream of children walked home but there was also a line of the ubiquitous autorickshaws waiting to pick up their passengers. If I were to compare them to our local transport in the Philippines I'd say they were a cross between a jeepney and a tricycle. They don't follow a set route like the jeepneys here but there would be no way we could turn a tricycle into a schoolbus like they did in India. For one you could never stand up in our tricycles (only sit) and we don't have roof racks on ours.

Although universally these modes of transports (autorickshaws, tricycles, jeepneys) are the scourge of the roads, ever cursed by their fellow motorists, but try running a city without them and everything will grind to a standstill. For one these kids would have to walk home.

Sharing the love

Here's a great website of a photographer that kind of shares my philosophy of trying to get everything in camera (vs. doing a lot of photoshop . . . . which I don't use).  It's even more amazing when you see her photos, the apple photos are not photoshopped!  OK she does live in Iceland where sometimes the sun doesn't set giving her a virtual golden hour for half a day but still, some very amazing photos.  Visit her site www.rebekkagudleifs.com.

WWII Revisited

I recently had a chance to discover a great historical place right in my own backyard. The island fortress of Corregidor, a focal point of WWII action in the Pacific, it's where MacArthur left with the promise of "I Shall Return". To think it's only an hour's ferry ride from Manila.

Now I've been to other war memorials and places of interest but Corregidor was different. Sure they've put up memorials but also, a good chunk of the island was left untouched. Apart from clearing out the overgrowing jungle, the buildings, the bunkers and the gun placements are pretty much where they were back in the 40's. It's eerie in a way, to be able to walk up to a bunker door and see bullet holes that you can stick your fingers through or to walk down Malinta Tunnel, the last hold out, and experience what it must have been like knowing defeat was right around the corner.

More amazing were the Japanese tourists that were with us. A couple were on our tram as we went around and although the spectre of war must have been long gone even before we were born, I couldn't help but notice the reverence they had for the place, including the Japanese War memorial on the island. Standing to attention and a curt nod spoke heaps.

Kashgar's Cattle Market . . . and one great souvenir.

Our final stop in China was Kashgar. Just the name itself seems to conjure up some small town outpost in the middle of the desert. To further re enforce this, the best place to go in Kashgar isn't the local shopping mall, cinemaplex or hottest bistro, it is cattle market on a weekend. Locals descend on the market from far away and one can see them walking on the side of the highway with their lifestock in tow.

It's an amazing place. You see people unloading life stock, showing them off to potential buyers who in turn check out the merchandise but prodding them, looking at their teeth, etc. As I was taking photos, this guy walks up to me and asks if I want to buy a knife. He pulls out this old worn, blade with goat horn handles and an old leather sheath. I've always grown up around knifes, ever since my dad gave me a Swiss army knife even before I knew my left from my right. As a matter of fact, that knife taught me my left from my right when I cut myself rather deeply on my right thumb. "Wow, that's a nasty cut on your right thumb" my mum said as she was patching me up. . . . "right thumb" I'd repeat over and over again.

By I regress, so when this guy pulls out the knife it was too good to be true.

It's old and used which means it's an actual working man's knife, not one of those flashy cheap souvenir knives they sell at the market. I hold it , notice the blade, sharp but worn due to excessive sharpening. How many sheep has this thing killed, which hilltop did it come from, how many years of service did it give its previous owner? It was too good to pass up and so I bought it and I probably paid too much for it. Right after our transaction is done, the knife salesman pulls out another one, this one shiny and new, the blade shiny in the sun, the sheath not leather but some sort of colored vinyl. I pass on that one.

Earthquake Memorial

Probably one of the most more poignant memorials I've been to was the one in Taskent which was put up as a rememberance of the 1966 earthquake that practically levelled the town. Close to 300,000 homes were demolished and there was a tremendous loss of life. Since it was during the height of Soviet power, where information and aid coming in or out of the Union was scarce, there was a lot of post earthquake damage too. I think our guide also mentioned that since it mostly hit the Jewish quarter evcerything was kept under wraps.

I really like this memorial, a strong man with his hand not totally out but with his stature still saying "No harm shall come to my family" thereby protecting the woman. The woman in turn (since she was Soviet) wasn't helpless either, she on the other hand has her hand extended out protecting the child she is carrying, it's almost as if she were saying "If you get past my man, you got me to deal with". I thought it would have been funny if the child also had his hand out, protecting . . .. his pet dog or something.

The statue itself is only part of the memorial. Eminating from the three figures is a crack, much like you'd expect in an earthquake heading out to a granite cube that is cracked. On one side is the date and on the other is a face clock stopped at the exact time the earthquake struck.

A New Travel Companion

Wow, I just looked at the last time I updated my blog and it seemed ages ago. I apologize although there is no one else to blame except the force of nature that has swept through my house. Now everything is in disarray, I sleep a sleepless sleep, furniture is all over the place and yes, there is sometimes a definite aroma of poop in my bedroom.

Yes, my new travel companion has finally arrived, or should I say travel companion in the making. Eve has truly turned our lives around but I refuse to believe that the only places we'll travel from now on will be places with diaper changing facilities. True, I've just had to bail on a trip to Nepal that my friend and I were planning to go on for over a year now but that's only until little Eve's lungs can handle high altitude air. In the meantime I guess it's time to explore things closer to home, that and I still have a ton of stories of my past travels that I need to share.  So sorry for the even more spradic postings on this blog but I promise I'll make it up to you guys with my next entry.