Monthly Archives: June 2008

Visiting Takht-i-Rustam

The extremely interesting Buddhist stupa at Samangan is known locally as Takht-i-Rustam (Rustam’s Throne). Rustam, the hero of Firdausi’s great epic the Shahnama (Book of Kings), written in Ghazni c. 1010 A.D., married the beauteous daughter of the King of Samangan, Tahmina. He celebrated the event, so says local legend, by drinking wine from the basin atop the stupa. Throughout Afghanistan many unnatural mounds of unusual shape are associated with the life of this popular hero and bear his name.

A Japanese archaeological mission under the direction of Professor Seiichi Mizuno, excavated here in 1959 and 1960. From them one learns that this complex was a thriving Buddhist community during the 4th and 5th centuries A.D.

The stupa cave crowns the hill in front of the monastery. Rockcut stupas such as this were popular in India, the home of Buddhism, as early as the 1st century B.C., but this one is absolutely unique in size and construction. The dome-shaped structure of highly polished limestone, 8 meters high and 28 meters across, is encircled by a two-meter wide passageway at its foot which was used by pilgrims for circumambulation.

The relic chamber in most conventional stupas was generally placed about three-quarters of the way up the stupa, and sealed. Since this stupa was carved from solid rock, the relic chamber was located in the square harmika on the summit. The harmika originally supported the staff of the chatri or umbrella with which all stupas were embellished.

The relic chamber…

An innovative drainage system carved into solid rock…

Bridge to the relic chamber…

A puppy belonging to one of the guards at the site. The guards live in the ruins…

The cave entrance to Cave 1 (on the west or left as you face the hill) consists of an anteroom and a large round room with two niches originally sheltering statues of the Buddha. The ceiling is most remarkable, being carved to resemble a lotus blossom in full bloom….

Cave 2 has two entrances leading into a long double corridor with a vaulted ceiling. Off the main rectangular chamber there are numerous individual cells used by Buddhist monks as retreats.

Fore tunnels…

Aft tunnels…

The modesty of this cave entrance sets one’s expectations for what is to come rather low. This makes the experience of actually entering the large chambers that much more remarkable…

Our escort in the main chamber…

Tina provides a little perspective on the size of the chamber… The burn marks on the ceilings are from a millennium of nomads building campfires inside the ruins while passing through.

Our driver next to a bath… Cave 4, a series of four small rooms, served as a bathhouse for the community

The stupa-monastery complex at Samangan was most probably destroyed by the Hepthalites c. 460 A.D.

Flaming Car Wreck

Mr. Downing and I were driving back to Atlanta at the conclusion of Day 3 on our adventure and exploration phase when we saw black smoke billowing up in the distance.

Frankly, it was difficult to imagine our day encompassing another element of excitement given what we had already experienced, but hope springs eternal.

Mr. Downing, who was doing an excellent job driving my rental car, ducked into a gap between the fire trucks which allowed me to snap this picture below. One of the firefighters starting yelling at me and the driver of the fire truck behind us blew the air horn on the truck.

However, the most priceless image was one I’m afraid I did not capture as I was so acutely focused on the accident scene. A fat, sweaty Georgia State Trooper that literally fulfilled every visual stereotype of the Southern law enforcement community (right down to the reflective aviator sunglasses and the handlebar mustache) began gesticulating wildly at us. The image of his beer belly swinging around within the confines of his uniform, coupled with the look of shock and confusion on his face – a face glistening with sweat – is one I will not soon forget. I’m sorry I can’t share it with you, my dear readers…

Quote of the Day

“Rather go to bed supperless than rise in debt.”

– Benjamin Franklin

Atlanta (or Kick This Pig)…

Following my exploration of South Florida, I headed to the north again and after spending another night with newlyweds Gary and Sienna, I headed up Interstate 75 to visit Mr. Downing in Atlanta…

Just over the Florida border into Georgia, I realized I was hungry and low on gasoline… I was driving through a rural area and remembered from the map that I was at least an hour away from any notable towns or cities. So, it was some relief to see a sign for the “Risque Cafe” an exit or two ahead promising to “Bare It All” and offering food and gasoline. What more could one reasonably ask for?

Inside were a gaggle of strippers one could only feel sorry for (with one notable exception). One was overweight, another had boobs absolutely riddled with varicose veins, one looked eerily like the tranny in the movie The Crying Game and all were covered in terrible tattoos (with the one exception I mentioned above). However, this was exactly the authentic Southern experience I was looking for…

And to her credit, my waitress had a cool tattoo on her hip of a guy getting his head blown off – the blood and gore from the impact of the bullet morphing into hearts that swirled up her side and around her neck…

I ordered a cheeseburger and an iced tea (listed as “ice tea” on the menu, of course) which both turned out to be surprisingly good while the girls took turns dancing without enthusiasm on the small stage. The girls showed far more enthusiasm and life when cleaning the poles than they did while dancing, but I can’t blame them because they were getting crap for tips from the two overweight, grizzled old men seated near the stage… One seemed exceptionally pleased with his generosity after giving one of the strippers a $1 tip as he was leaving. Oh well, it isn’t my obligation to correct the injustices heaped upon the single mothers of the world.

Very soon, the siren song of the open road was too much to resist and I was on my way again…

My arrival on Atlanta’s Peachtree Street was marked by a faux carjacking, courtesy of Mr. Downing, that absolutely shocked the driver behind me and a delicious cigar from this box…

I was pretty tired though and before long crashed into my exceptionally comfortable bed made up by Mr. Downing’s girlfriend, Meg…

We set out early the next morning to avoid the worst of the miserable heat in the region and soon stumbled across this photo shoot taking place at a nearby park. Almost immediately some black guys lounging in the shade above (and already drunk at 10:00 A.M.) began shouting increasingly sexually suggestive comments to her which amused us greatly…

As did these geese on the same lake in the same park…

Stopping over at a wooded park in the city for a reflective hangout session… This park was the site of a major Civil War battle and many men rested in this small ravine before climbing out over the top to their deaths… We were here for over an hour and only one other person came through the park while we were there. He was walking his dogs and ended up being quite a cool guy.

This is the cobblestone entrance to the Pope House over which the battle mentioned above was being fought…

Next up, we headed to one of the largest (and most saturated with history) cemeteries in the area…

This Confederate war memorial immediately caught our attention… And would you believe it, we looked all over and somehow just couldn’t find a memorial to the Union dead? Shocking, I know…

Damage in the cemetery from a large tornado that had recently ripped through Atlanta…

This weeping lion is another memorial to the Confederate dead. Too bad they had to plagiarize the design from the Swiss…

Confederate graves…

After touring many of the neighborhoods in the downtown Atlanta area, Mr. Downing showed me this spot by Emory University. Rather extraordinary to have such a site in the middle of one of the largest metropolitan areas in the world… Then again, this was certainly not the first (or last) time the South had surprised me…

We met a gentleman down here that was collecting interesting rocks and looking for Indian arrowheads. He turned out to by a physical education instructor/baseball coach that was rather focused on getting kids engaged in team sports and physical activities in order to expose them to life’s realities. As evidence of his focus and sincerity he threw in the fact that he had been intentionally celibate for the past four years. Interesting fellow…

After traipsing through the creek for a while (which felt damn good in the overbearing heat and humidity) we headed toward this railroad trestle seeking more…

Mr. Downing by the creek assessing our circumstances…

Something about the gritty, industrial look of this scene appealed to my artistic sensibilities…

As did this pair of pants hanging in a homeless encampment next to the trestle… A great deal of speculation on our part provided no further answers about either them or the owner.

Climbing up onto the trestle, we did not have to wait long for a train to come by…

Continuing down the tracks…

We both thought this graffiti was pretty cool…

Proceeding through some of the nicer neighborhoods in Atlanta after our creekside layover, I present these two pictures as a representative sampling of some of the lovely homes to be found in the Atlanta area.

After this relatively pleasant introduction to Georgia, I was completely unprepared for what we would encounter over the next three days…

Key West (or Dream of Mirrors)

After a few days in Miami, I decided to head south and check out the Florida Keys…

The drive to Key West…

I must confess to being a little disappointed in the Keys leading up to Key West. They seemed to consist mostly of trailer parks, gas stations, fast food restaurants and boat parts dealers… The natural scenery was beautiful though.

The Seven Mile Bridge runs over a channel between Knight’s Key (part of the city of Marathon, Florida) in the Middle Keys to Little Duck Key in the Lower Keys. Among the longest bridges in existence when it was built, it is one of the many bridges on US 1 in the Keys, where the road is called the Overseas Highway…

The first thing I saw upon driving into Key West was a Sears store named Searsland… Not a good introduction. I checked in at my hotel and started walking around, hoping to develop a more favorable impression of Key West. Fortunately, I stopped and started talking to some friendly Key West locals who pointed out this boat to me. The story was that the boat belonged to a prominent local dealer of cocaine. My opinion of Key West started to improve…

The old Customs House and now an art museum…

The Daydream by Mortimer Blake…

A Key West street scene… And the wall to Ernest Hemingway’s home in Key West (more on that in a later post)

The southernmost point in the United States. I met a lot of interesting people here…

The Naval facility next to the southernmost point…

Chickens roam freely around the island and it is unlawful to disturb them…

You don’t see signs like this back in California…

The Mexico Series…

Interpol reports that drug traffickers are the largest single group of investors on the Mexican stock exchange.

The Arellano-Felix or Tijuana Cartel is now one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the world. Ramon, Benjamin and Javier Arellano-Felix are second-generation narcotraficantes, sophisticated billionaire yuppies with their own jets and state-of-the-art surveillance and communications systems. They have squads of lawyers, CPAs and consultants. They have long been operating at large, turning up in Hawaii, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Diego and Miami.

Although modern, the Arellanos stick to the basics when it comes to growing the family business, employing “plomo o plata” (lead or silver – i.e., bullets or bribes) to advance their interests.

Below is a family photo of the Arellano-Felix clan:

Hmm….. Well, what did you do last weekend?

These gentlemen believe that performing these acts gets them in closer contact with God… And, yes, this is all real…

The Genius Of The Crowd by Charles Bukowski

The Genius Of The Crowd
Charles Bukowski

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

Physics: We Need More Of It

The Energy Department’s Office of Science is the key U.S. agency funding basic physics research

Girl # 47

Easily bored thrill seeker who has tried sky diving, bungee jumping, river rafting, mountain climbing and snowboarding, but doesn’t find anything exciting enough. Would like to move to Alaska and raise sled dogs, but doesn’t like cold weather. Teaches karate to kids, swims a mile every morning, and still has energy to burn. Has gone through six boyfriends in two years, since none could keep up with her. Finds women too self-centered and men too wimpy. Possibly afraid of serious commitment and left home on her eighteenth birthday. Was raised in Beverly Hills in a wealthy family, and tried living in Guatemala, Puerto Rico and Haiti, but found the poverty too depressing. Can’t imagine finding Mr. Right anytime soon, and isn’t even looking. Has considered college, but isn’t good at memorizing facts. Has been told to grow up, find her niche, get realistic, stop running around, make some plans, save her money, stop eating meat, set some goals, lay off the coffee and quit taking risks, but she doesn’t live her life that way.