For decades the people of Dal Lake, its houseboat community and wider Srinagar inhabitants, have been witness to many of their lakes becoming polluted beyond repair. Now, Dal Lake is on the brink of an environmental disaster with huge economic, social, cultural and ecological repercussions that not only threaten the prevailing way of life for the local community, but also foreshadows the demise of natural habitats across India and worldwide.
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By Julie Fourel
Bel enfant ne pleure pas.
Tu es entouré de rire sincère de cris profond.
Bel enfant ne pleure pas.
Tu es entouré de vie et d’amour.
De l’entraide et de la compréhension dans chaque regard.
De la douleur et du silence dans chaque écart.
Ils savent et se connaissent.Ils vivent ensemble et s’aiment.
Leur famille est la. Tous ensemble ils sont forts.
Beautiful child, do not cry.
You are surrounded by sincere laughter and deep cries.
Beautiful child, do not cry.
You are surrounded by life and love.
Mutual help and understanding in every look.
Pain and silence in every gap.
They understand and know each other. They live together and love each other.
Their family is there. All together they are strong.
Asociatión De Las Bienaventuranzas is a home where we welcome the “poorest of the poor” -as Mother Teresa of Calcutta taught us- permanently or temporarily, providing quality of life, affection and love.
Currently I am volunteering at Asociatión De Las Bienaventuranzas. Every morning I wake up with a smile on my face and an urge to help in whichever way I can because the children are beautiful.
They currently have 170 children, adolescents, young people, adults and seniors who have been declared abandoned or in the process of protective investigation with physical, psychiatric and/or special education needs.
With so much work always at hand, places such as this are always open to volunteers with new and thoughtful ideas.
There is a sense of beauty, magic, and energy when people come together for a common and passionate cause.
Follow Julie FourelVisit: http://asociacionbienaventuranzas.org.pe/contactanos/
By Charlotte Discombe
In my personal opinion travelling is more than just about getting away from your worries and your normal routine of get up, go to work and go to bed. For me travelling is about the experience – that once in a lifetime experience.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the definition of experience is:
– Practical contact with and observation of facts or events;
– An event or occurrence which leaves an impression on someone;
– Encounter or undergo an event or occurrence.
In this sense an experience is something you, as a living and breathing human being, take part in or have a connection to. However, unlike an everyday normal event an experience is something that stays with you even after the experience has finished.
Travelling is an experience itself. You experience time and liminality; the act of being in between places and time frames. But travelling also allows you to experience many of the world’s vast cultures.
A QUICK NOTE
In a moment I am going to recount a month long visit to Japan where I travelled to Tokyo, Nara, Kyoto and Hakone. I wish I had the time and the words to delve into all of my experiences of these places, but alas that shall have to be saved for another day. For now, I hope you enjoy this small account of several ‘once in a lifetime’ experiences in the mountain town of Hakone.
JAPAN: THE EXPERIENCE
I had never been to Japan before. I had travelled around parts of Asia but Japan was a totally ‘new’ place for me. After finally finishing my degree I wanted time to explore. Despite having a little knowledge of Japanese culture after studying Noh theatre, Japanese modern history and anime, I still did not know what to expect from Japan. In fact in hindsight I really was not prepared for the experiences that were about to hit me.
After a couple of days in Tokyo experiencing singing subways, old Japanese heritage sites mixed in with gigantic skyscrapers and an earthquake, we headed out into the mountains.
Hakone is a little town on a mountain just opposite Japan’s most famous, and arguably most beautiful, volcano – Mount Fuji. The town is only a few hours inland from Tokyo, the main city on the coast of Japan, and is a place where (again in my personal opinion) I truly experienced Japan.
Despite being a popular destination for tourists wanting to see the magnificent Mount Fuji, Hakone manages to maintain many of Japan’s sacred traditions that have been passed down through the generations. This is in contrast to the historic cities visited such as Kyoto and Nara which, although filled with historic relics from Japan’s complicated past, have become a lot more commercialised and metropolitan. Don’t get me wrong, these are obviously still amazing places to go and visit and experience for yourself (as previously mentioned), but my time staying in Hakone will be something I will never forget.
To get to the countryside we took the subway, then get on a bullet train – the fastest train in the world going at a rocketing 200mph – and then got a civilian train into the mountains and onto Hakone. I remember this journey vividly. The day was hot and sticky. All the trains were packed and uncomfortable. It was the weekend and many of the locals were also travelling in order to enjoy the countryside in the sun or see loved ones. I remember worrying about mosquitos and about the fact that I had not had the Japanese Encephalitis vaccination (not a good idea folks when you’re going into the countryside). I remember a lovely lady trying to teach me how to write my name in Japanese calligraphy, such a wonderful and friendly beacon in a sea of unfamiliar faces all speaking a language completely unknown to me.
When we finally got to Hakone we were met by the owner of the house we would be staying in. For next couple of days the group had the pleasure of staying in a traditional Japanese house, experiencing the richness of old Japanese culture and rituals.
This house was right on the side of the mountain and was a very long way up from the small town station. It was a sacred place and provided many of the locals with public baths to wash in. There were a few rules that needed to be respected:
On our arrival to the house we shared the ritual of bathing with the other guests and locals of the town. For someone very self conscious about her body, naked or otherwise, this was at first a very unsettling experience. Not only was I to be fully naked in front of my travelling companions, but also in front of men and women who I had never met before and would probably be sitting down to have dinner with in the next couple of hours.
After taking our first wash in the baths we were then given lessons in how to put on and wear a kimono – the clothing we would be wearing during our stay. I never thought something that looks so simple could be so complicated. There were layers and layers of material that all needed to be folded in a specific way to create the kimono. We could even wear our PJs, a rather fetching pair of yellow trousers and belted top, under the kimono. This was again was a completely new experience for me to try!
Once finally suited and booted (or words to that effect) we were shown around the house – yet another experience to add to my ever-growing list.
The house was a bungalow with spongy floors and wooden panels. Furniture was at floor level: we slept on the floor, ate on the floor and drank tea on the floor. There were many window panels covering the whole house, giving the impression that we were outside amongst the trees and wildlife within the wilderness that surrounded us on this mountain. Our bedroom had one massive window panel that looked out over to Mount Fuji. I have to say that waking up to see the sun rise over Mount Fuji every morning will be an experience I will never forget – an image that at first look seems so calm but when looking closer you could see smoke emerging from the volcano, a sign of the unrest right underneath our feet.
THOUGHTS ON THESE EXPERIENCES
Day after day the self-consciousness I felt on this first day, after taking part in so many new experiences, gradually faded. These experiences have become memories and these memories are still with me now. Even the experience of ritualistically washing in front of strangers whilst naked in a public space became pretty liberating.
I admit I have probably bored you by going into very specific detail about said experiences. I haven’t even gone into the fact that meal times were set and the meals were very true to traditional Japanese food. OR the fact we walked up the mountain in our kimonos to even smaller villages and experienced tea ceremonies. OR the fact we got right up close and personal to Mount Fuji. The list could go on… However, I hope you realise that this specific detail is important to me and it is what ‘made’ my trip to Japan. This was and still is what I travel for. I was taken out of my comfort zone in small ways and as a result I got to experience a small but AMAZING part of another culture. If I had not travelled to Japan and to the little town of Hakone, these experiences that I will never forget would never had happened. So if there’s just one bit of advice I could part to you it is travel to experience. Don’t just go travelling to get away, go to experience something new. I promise you won’t regret it.
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By Connor Newson
Here in the bay of Laemsak village, the fine seabed gradient slopes almost unnoticeably towards the open waters of the Andaman sea. As the moon pulls its metaphorical leash on the tide a shallow chasm appears, leaving a thick layer of mud to stretch across the expanding open space of the bay. Then, as the evening sun retreats behind the mountainous horizon, a palette of explosive orange shades form a thin yet marvellous mirror on the film of water left behind. Twice now I have spotted a small silhouette of a man, far out in the distance, gliding effortlessly atop the glassy surface. In the stillness and silence of his movements, a captivating narrative is painted right there in front of me. One in which the mysterious figure is the protagonist escaping to the tranquillity of his vast reflective canvas to dig for shells and shrimp. It is a story that is almost romantic in nature, his elegance awakening my curiosity. So evening, when I come into possession of a large plank of wood identical to the used by the silhouette, I decide to attempt my own version of his story.
In all it was about two metres in length and a lot heavier than one person could easily carry – much larger than I expected. It too k the three of us – Teo, myself, and a local boy called Nigh – to haul it fifty metres to the edge of the bay. The tide was a further two-hundred metres out, and we needed to be somewhere in between where the wood can skim easily across the surface. So we hoist the overweight surfboard above our shoulders and begin tiptoeing across the broken-shell shoreline until we reach a thin layer of wet mud. My feet slide momentarily before submerging slightly beneath, simultaneously allowing the waterlogged seabed to rise and squeeze through my toes. I cringe at the sludge as it consumes my feet, lifting each one in the hope that this would somehow relieve the slimy texture. However, after a minute of hopping from one foot to the other the gluey sensation begins to feel comfortable.
We march ahead towards the glimmering sunset, sinking deeper into the marsh as we advance. My steps become more difficult as the earth swallows my feet, and then my ankles. We drop the plank of wood that is now contributing to our gradual descent, and instead decide to pull it using the rope attached to the nose. It slides with ease. We push on, deeper still, and soon my white knees are peeking out of the concoction of green and brown sediment. I feel the vacuum sucking my right leg beneath as I attempt to pull it out – unsuccessfully. I point my toes and pull once more in the hope that it will ease my leg’s escape. It does, however I fall onto my hands from the excess force.
I look at my limbs that are now half caked in sludge before standing again. All of a sudden my right foot feels significantly lighter, so I lift it only to find it is now sockless. The earth has eaten my sock. It seems that nature is beginning to show its almightiness. I turn back and throw my arm elbow-deep into the hole that was left behind by my foot but feel nothing besides the squelching mud enshrouding my arm. It is lost. Nature wins this time. And as I step forward with my right foot it claims another point with the second sock as it too disappears into the depths. And then a third point is won as I fall face-first and undignified into the dirt.
Having successfully transformed into a muddy and faceless creature, I decide that the most logical course of action is to embrace the territory and my new form. I bury my hands deep and pull out a mass of thick black marsh, black as coal and as viscous as crude-oil. I lather it on every visible inch of my body, with Teo and Nigh following suit. Then we throw ourselves forward and begin crawling on our fronts like soldiers.
After fifteen arduous metres of attempting to swim through the sludge we stop for a break to catch our breath. I look over to Nigh who seems unaffected by the rigorous exercise, and seeing how he is now plunging his hands below the seabed to pluck out shells and shrimp confirms just that. Then Nigh’s face seems to express concentration, or maybe confusion as he feels below once more. With one swift movement, he retrieves his hand from below with a thick rope-like creature clutched in his hand. It falls limp and we stare for a moment before realising its slight movements as it slithers through Nigh grasp.
“Snake” he shouts.
He launches the snake a metre in front and we dive in the opposite direction, desperately hurling ourselves forward despite gravity making our attempts relatively futile. We stop after securing a bit of distance, but the thought of snakes and other unknown creatures lurking just below the sloppy surface makes me shiver. So I decide its time to attempt the mudboard. The three of us climb on, each with one knee resting on deck, two hands clutching the sides and the other foot digging into the dirt to push us forward.
Immediately the nose of the board digs down and thick gunge buries to wood. We are forced to get off and pull it to the surface, fighting against the vacuum that sucks from below. Once again we mount, and once again we sink. It seems that the weight of three people is too much. So Teo and Nigh climb off to rest, but I remain on top, determined to be that silhouette and glide across my squishy sanctuary. I reposition myself at the rear of the board to allow the tip to hover an inch above the seabed in order to avoid cutting into the mud and piling on extra weight. To my surprise this works. I am suddenly liberated from the powerful grip of marshland gravity – more so than two minutes previous to this anyway.
I fly forward, skimming over the bay, faster with every deep push of my right foot as I grip tightly onto the board’s edges. And there in the distance I see the same figure that I have seen twice before. Once again he glides elegantly, stopping occasionally to pluck a shell from the bay and put it in the bucket that rests on top of his board. I beat my foot down hard to catch up with him, feeling now the burning ache of my muscles as I travel another fifty metres on top of the two-hundred we had already crawled through. Finally I reach him, and watch as he moves swiftly past me. I try and keep up but fail miserably as the nose dips once more into the mud, halting my board and causing me to eat the dirt once more. I lay on my back exhausted and defeated, watching the silhouette in the burning mirrored sunset as he sails away.
Slowly, I return to Nigh and Teo. We are two-hundred metres away from where we began. Although out here it’s impossible to gauge any distance really, and moving anywhere takes enormous effort and time. It feels much further, and to return the same way would mean getting home after dark. I wasn’t prepared to stay out here that long with such creatures hidden beneath me. So instead we agree on an detour. Pulling ourselves an extra fifty metres to the sea and swimming around.
As we heave ourselves into the Andaman sea, I can’t help but feel my attempt at becoming that mysterious protagonist on the sunset-coloured seabed wasn’t quite as tranquil and effortless as my mind had made it out to be. And despite the quest being incredible messy and fun, I guess that this filthy paradise is best watched from afar, and left to the professionals to conquer.
WORLD AWAY 