The Saddest Christmas (2023) and Bleakest New Year's Eve (2024)

How to say, "Merry Christmas" while Gaza is being annihilated? How to say, "Happy New Year" when more than 22, 000 lives have been taken by Israel's barbaric genocide? Western media is parroting  absurd propaganda lies that Israel is defending itself against Hamas terrorists. Repeating this dishonest, racist formula only emboldens the vicious, indiscriminate bombing and ethnic cleansing. The horror is live-streamed onto our phones, yet even calling for a ceasfire is reframed as somehow being antisemitism. Since when is demanding an end to human rights violations and war crimes reflecting racism? 

70% of those slaughtered in Gaza are women and children. 

Are they all "terrorists", that nuclear weapons-enabled Israel needs to defend itself from? By non-stop massive, deadly bombing campaigns? Where starving people are huddled together in makeshift tents in "safe places" they were ordered to go to. Whose homes are demolished. Who are being deprived of food, water and medicine. These unfathomable mass atrocities have nothing to do with a "war on Hamas", but instead we are witnessing an  intensification of a seventy-five year-long campaign of ethnic cleansing of Palestinians by a settler colonial, Zionist project intent on replacing the indigenous  Palestinian population with a Jewish-only ethnonocracy. 

Israel has been violently oppressing Palestine for decades. In addition to militarily occupying Gaza for 56 years, Israel has cut-off Gaza from the rest of the world since 2006. It is an isolated, besieged territory. Claiming Israel  has a "right to defend itself" when beleaguered, encaged people resist their captors is simply nonsensical. A conqueror cannot claim self-defence when the oppressed people resist their subjugation. This is not a war between two armies. There is brutal, long-standing, illegal, military occupation confronting a people denied their fundamental freedoms who understandably refuse to be erased. 

Peace cannot come about by  a continuation of Israeli oppression and denial of basic freedoms. Lasting peace comes with justice. Justice means upholding international and humanitarian law, where all people are treated with dignity, freedom and equality.  From the River to the Sea.

In spite of the mind-numbing horror unfolding in Gaza and the West Bank, the good people of Vancouver did not succumb to despair, but instead creatively mobilized on New Year's Eve to express love, hope and solidarity with the Palestinian people as they continue to resist their oppressors and move ever closer to their liberation. It was a powerful, beautiful and meaningful New Year's Eve after all. 

Summertime in Hungary

 

My cousin and I were cycling around Hungary's Lake Balaton in 36 degree heat. Global climate change ensured that our outing was taking place during the absolute hottest month of July (2023) ever recorded - ever since even humans learned how to cycle! As I was visiting from Canada, and because we're both avid cyclists, we decided even though the entire European continent was enveloped in an infernal heatwave, that this was the day to set-out. 

Lake Balaton, Central Europe's largest, is a defining feature in the Hungarian landscape - both the natural, external, geographic landscape, and within, the interior, psychologic landscape. People literally love this body of water. One can frequently hear Hungarians talking about how while they may have swam elsewhere in the world, nothing compares to swimming in their precious Lake Balaton; sometimes referred to as the Hungarian Sea or the Hungarian Mediterranean. Beautiful indeed. 

   

Given the record-breaking heat, we decided to tackle the smaller 85 kilometre circuit (see the accompanying Strava route map) which included a short ferry ride. In addition to stunning sunflower fields, we were able to cool down en route at some  lovely, popular beaches. The wild cherry draught beer (naturally in moderate quantities) was also real nice. 

Next time, I hope to cycle the entire "Balatonkör" - the complete 204 km circuit of Lake Balaton. 

My summer in Hungary - Magyarország in Hungarian - turned out to be quite an active affair which included a week-long hiking trip through Nográd County in northern Hungary. At times we simply walked in and out of Slovakia through the ancient forest straddling the two countries.

I aim to weave a spiritual dimension into all my travels. Sometimes I actively plan this, while on other occasions the sacred unexpectedly reveals itself - allowing me a momentary, luminous glimpse into Heaven on Earth. As such, my heart quickened when I learned from our guide that we were walking in an area near Salgotarján where 18th century hermit caves had been carved out of the basalt. After climbing up the steep slopes and looking out at the expansive landscape from within this cave - for a moment, I understood that I was peering out into the infinite.

On another day of hiking, our small group visited a Buddhist temple.  Now, while I knew of the Hungarian pilgrim-scholar, Körösi Csoma Sándor (at times, he used the Anglicized, Alexander Csoma de Koros), I was astonished to visit an authentic Buddhist Temple in this rather remote region of Hungary in the small village of Tar. Here a Peace Stupa was constructed by the local Karma Kagyüpa Buddhist Community and later consecrated by His Holiness the Dalai Lama to honour the life of the itinerant Hungarian mystic, poet, seeker and linguist, Csoma Sándor. It was he who opened the eyes of the Western world to Buddhism by creating the first ever Tibetan-English dictionary whilst living in harsh, self-imposed isolated conditions in another remote hermitage  cave; this one in Zanskar, in the faraway, enchanted Indian Himalaya.  

Earlier this year I had  been trekking in the Nepal Himalaya and was familiar with Tibetan flags strung across high mountain passes. Seeing them here flutter in the hot Hungarian landscape surrounded by linden leaves and not along glaciated  high altitude peeks, I had a sense of the universality of, and indeed, the need for, their essential message of peace, unity and compassion for all sentient beings.

(The credit for the two photos from this Buddhist community do not belong to me. The stupa in the sunset is from the Group's website and the Tibetan prayer flags were photographed  by my cousin, Magda. In my astonishment to have stumbled upon this reverential place, I was so swept away that I remembered to take only one picture of a sacred text.)

Bús Zsófia was my father's grandmother. Little is known of her, except that she was born on April 14, 1874 and passed away on August 8, 1922. She was born in  Várpalota, the same Hungarian village where my dad was born and where this summer I was visiting with my few remaining relatives. She is my great grandmother. I gathered this limited, preliminary information by talking with archivists and searching birth and death certificates at City Hall. 

One afternoon, whilst hiking in the ancient oak forest with my cousin, she told me that another relative (everyone I meet seems somehow to be "a relative" in this town) recalled stories of how Zsófia was buried in the nearby, abandoned old cemetery. As a little girl she would occasionally visit Zsófia's tomb and was therefore able to describe for us the location of her gravestone. 

We found the overgrown tombstone and began clearing it up. What a totally unexpected, meaningful and powerful encounter it was for me to discover the place where my great grandmother had been resting for over a hundred years. And so the journey goes on  ...

   

  

A Birthday in Nepal. Or: What's another year, when you're walking amidst a 45 million year-old mountain range?

 

Since my first journey to Nepal in 1989, I have been drawn back to what was  then the Hindu Kingdom of Nepal, and after painful political upheaval, now the Federal Democratic Republic of Nepal - at least a half dozen times. The charming and remote Himalayan villages, the cacophony of Thamel in Kathmandu, the unabashed display of spirituality, including a seamless interweave of Buddhism and Hinduism, the children greeting you with choruses of Namastes - each one a prayer recognizing our inherent divinity - the magic of this land continues to warmly embrace me.

As I live in Vancouver, I reside at sea level. Consequently, even though I am familiar with the signs of AMS - acute mountain sickness - I always experience  some pre-departure anxiety around this topic. I obsessively review the altitude at which symptoms are to first appear (2,500 meters above sea level is the usual threshold) and check whether my Diamox tablets have expired or not - which I take with me like some sort of pharmacologic rabbit's foot, as I haven't had to use them in years. This is all part of my pre-trip ritual, like packing and unpacking a thousand times in an attempt to shave off a gram or two in my luggage. 

Arriving in Kathmandu after a far too long flight always thrills me. The city has of course grown over the years. Some of the changes are positive. The redevelopment after the catastrophic 2015 earthquake is impressive. The artful reconstruction of ancient temples flattened by that horrific disaster is a joy to behold. The increased traffic congestion and accompanying pollution is obviously far less pleasant.  Here I confront one of many inescapable challenges and paradoxes facing the contemporary traveller to Nepal.  While many longtime Western adventurers to Nepal bemoan the gradual urbanization of  the country, complaining for example that development of roadways detracts from the traditional  tranquility of some  trekking routes, I find it selfish, disrespectful and smacking of a type of  "tourist colonialism". Why in the world should children residing in remote mountain villages have to continue to walk for half a day to go to school so one can have an "authentic trekking experience"? 

 

The challenge is not to purposefully bypass modernity, but to ensure that the precious and unique culture, aesthetic and history of Nepal is preserved while not erasing and replacing it with a quick, uninspired  project that lacks soul and integrity.

The itinerary this time was the Tamang Heritage and Langtang Valley Trek. The combining of these two separate trekking routes makes for a wonderful two week excursion. Tamang is next to the Langtang Valley. Tamang is a Tibetan Buddhist region. Walking amidst traditional villages is a richly rewarding experience. As in other parts of Nepal that I have visited, the Tamang people are very hospitable, gracious and kind. The views of the Langtang and Ganesh mountain ranges are spectacular. 

The Langtang Valley was heavily impacted by the enormous 2015 earthquake. The village of Langtang was entirely obliterated for example. Hundreds of lives were lost amidst the disaster. Over the ensuing years, villages have been beautifully reconstructed and the return of trekkers has provided income useful to further the reconstruction. Walking amidst the  mind-bendingly beautiful landscape and chatting with friendly villagers, I couldn't help but wonder how much of the psychological trauma  continued to reverberate in the people's consciousness. I hope that our return to their valley helped in some small way to soften that pain. 

On a much lighter tone - the Snickers momos were an amazingly delicious and creative way to recharge after a demanding day of trekking.

One of the most memorable experiences was to spend my birthday in the Tamang village of Thuman. Participating in devotional chanting (and occasionally sipping yak butter tea and later chang - fermented barley wine) at one of the ancient Buddhist monasteries was an unexpectedly blessed and enormously meaningful birthday gift. Suddenly my notion that all travel is a pilgrimage was again crystallized. 

I felt an unmistakable sense of  connectedness to all which was present; there in that welcoming sacred space - and beyond. 

As I didn't wish to draw attention to myself, I refrained from mentioning my upcoming birthday to my travel companions. Nevertheless, our guide gleaned this information from our passports and later that evening, in the small, family-run guesthouse, our small group of intrepid travellers secretly arranged a surprise birthday party for me. A wonderful and happy culmination of my birthday in Nepal.

                        

The village of Kyanjin Gompa was the final destination of the Langtang Valley Trek.  I did not sleep much the night prior to that last day. Anticipating the early morning 4:30 departure in total darkness to greet the rising sun at Kyanjin Ri  (Nepali for "peak"; elevation 4,400 meters and a 600 meter ascent) made for a fitful night.  The effort was of course well worth it. The view was spectacular. Our supportive banter motivated one another over the rougher patches and the camaraderie deepened with each breathless, slow step.

Back in the village later that afternoon, I notice a lady working at - well I'm not quite sure what she is doing. She continually empties basins filled with crystals while white particles flutter away. A beautiful and enigmatic image. I am curious and smile. She returns the smile and thus I approach her. Before I know it, I join her in her task. Two hours working together ensue and we have cleared all the sacks of salt crystals from the tiny pieces of material that have gotten loose from the bags containing the salt. The bags of salt were transported by donkeys to Kyanjin Gompa village to be used to supplement the diet of local, domesticated yaks. The technique was to empty the sacks of salt crystals into the basin which then are poured out to the ground. As the large, heavy salt crystals fall onto a tarp, the wind carries away the lighter fabric that had broken off from the sacks during the transport by donkey caravan. 

After completing the job, she thanked me for my assistance with a lovely smile while gently caressing my cheek. Beckoning me to her very simple home nearby, she gave me four small roasted potatoes. A precious, serendipitous encounter winds down. Another  unexpected gift from Nepal that will stay with me long after I leave.

  

Returning to the Kathmnadu Valley, I take a few more photographs before I start my long journey home. The magic of Nepal will likely draw me back into her embrace. Hope it'll be soon.

Namaste.