Realities of Refugees

It's relatively easy to be a distant and detached witness to history. As I read various news sources each day, I am constantly reminded of the important events -- often in distant places -- that are nonetheless shaping the world in which my daughters will live in a few decades. The dizzying array of events in the Middle East in recent years play themselves out on a daily basis in the pages of the world's leading newspapers. Even when I read about these events from afar and think about their impact on the world, it is easy to see them in a disembodied, dehumanized kind of way. Sometimes, in the midst of thinking about the long-term consequences and patterns, I can lose track of how these same events are turning the lives of individuals and communities upside down. 

Today was one of those days when the sheer reality and human consequence of great events becomes so tangible as to become nearly suffocating. 

Lebanon is a small country of four million people wedged between Syria to the north and east, Israel to the south, and the Mediterranean Sea to the west. The nation is stunning in its diversity and its natural beauty. Mount Lebanon rises above Beirut and divides the coastal plane from the long Beqaa Valley in the interior, along the Syrian border. The Beqaa is a place of stunning beauty, flanked by mountain ranges on both sides and filled with beautiful farms, lush orchards, and towns and villages with diverse religious identities. 

When I last visited the Beqaa, the view from a familiar spot was one of villages and towns, roads and farms stretching to the Syrian frontier. Today, that view is slightly different, punctuated by hundreds of small white dwelling places in clusters across the Beqaa. 

These dwellings belong to a large portion of the nearly two million Syrian refugees that have flooded into Lebanon and continue to arrive by the thousands as the conflict continues to deepen. Think a bit about those numbers -- two million refugees in a nation of 4 million. Into a nation that was occupied by the Syrian army for nearly 30 years. A nation still emerging from the terror of a 25-year-long civil war. A nation experiencing significant internal political, economic, social, and religious tensions. 

The refugees themselves are diverse, some fleeing the Syrian government, with others fleeing the Free Syrian Army. They represent Muslims and Christians of nearly every type and stripe, both urban and rural, rich and poor, old and young, highly educated and illiterate. Some with financial resources are living "on the market," renting homes, apartments, rooms, and hovels. Market forces have driven rents and many other prices up by two-three times, impacting not only refugees but the Lebanese population as a whole. 

Others live in tent cities popping up on across the Beqaa. I visited one of these places today, assisted (in a very minimal way) in the distribution of food aid, and visited a displaced family in their makeshift home. Even more than the concrete conditions I saw today, I am sheerly stunned by the scope and scale and human impact of what I saw. Words, frankly, fail. 

In some ways, those I saw today are fortunate ones. I heard other stories of family members of friends living moment to moment, knowing that their home could be hit by a mortar at any moment. I was told of fields and olive groves being burned by fast-moving, foreign-fueled armies of fundamentalists. I heard a brother and sister speaking in Aramaic, the language of Jesus, as they attempted to find their bearings in Lebanon, having experienced the grace of kind Lebanese who have taken them in. They have lost everything, including their tight-knit, ancient village that has endured for millennia. 

One cannot help but feel powerless. Contrite. Humbled. Angry. Aware. Fearful. Vulnerable. Human. 

Misunderstanding

The title of "misunderstanding" could, in many ways, stand at the top of many an article or reflection on the Middle East. Although western societies have spent immense time and effort seeking to better understand the Arab world and the broader Middle East over the past couple of decades, it seems to me that not a lot of this has flowed down to the level of popular understanding. In some ways, the quest to better understand this part of the world parallels in part the US investment in study of the Soviet Union in the 1940s onward. This earlier quest produced some of the great centers of study of Eastern Europe, Russia, Central Asia, etc., that continue to function at places like Indiana University, where I had the privilege to study. Despite years of meaningful and insightful work designed in part to inform public understanding, simpler narratives seem to have prevailed in popular understanding. Perhaps that is just the way of things in this world. Simpler narratives are unquestionably easier to digest. 

A view over Beirut with the Mediterranean in the background

I travel to a lot of interesting places. But few raise eyebrows more than Lebanon. It seems that the popular conception of this place is one of a battered, war-torn Middle Eastern metropolis. Not all that long ago, this was true as the city rose from the ashes of their civil war. Yet Beirut historically and today is one of the world's most cosmopolitan and arguably most beautiful cities with variegated, intersecting cultures. Contrary to a lot of popular understanding in the West, Lebanon is in many ways the center of Arab Christianity. For many years, Lebanon's identity was defined by its predominantly Christian population. This has changed as demographics have shifted toward Muslims since the establishment of huge Palestinian camps in the south of Lebanon after 1948. The delicate balance of power between the Christian population, and large Sunni and Shia Muslim populations (along with others - Druze, Alawite, etc.) has been the defining element of Lebanon since World War II. 

Beirut and Lebanon are, it seem to me, some of the more misunderstood places on earth. Perhaps it is the enduring images of the Lebanese Civil War that endured from 1975-1990 or the iconic images of the bombing of the US marine barracks in 1983 that conjure a prevailing understanding of chaos, disorder, and extreme religious strife. Granted -- chaos, disorder, and extreme religious strife do constitute a significant part of Lebanon's history and culture, especially during my lifetime. Yet even this tension arises out of the incredible diversity and cosmopolitan nature of this beautiful land.

Another India

It has been a short six years since I first visited India. Yet the pace of change in most of the major cities of this nation is nothing short of astounding. My earlier post on Gurgaon -- a test-case in unbridled globalization -- represents that increasingly globally integrated, English-speaking, wealthier India. That world comprises tens or perhaps a couple of hundreds of millions of others who are some how caught up in a world that increasingly includes cars, shopping markets and malls, restaurant culture, and the like. It is a very influential part of India. 

But there is another India. It is the India of the many hundreds of millions. It disappears only in those most elite gated enclaves of the wealthy in the biggest cities. Elsewhere, it is woven continually into the ever-changing fabric of this nation. It is the barefoot sixteen-year old carrying a ton of grain in bags on the back of a bicycle cart, weaving amidst the traffic of a major city or on a busy highway. It is the hardened migrant laborer from Bihar or Uttar Pradesh sipping a cup of tea from a flimsy plastic cup beneath a tree with coworkers after a long day's work. It is the sprawling slums where even a cursory glance reveals things that are truly hard to see. 

Few places raise more questions for me about justice, politics, and economics than India. Simple solutions just don't fit.

Streets of the old city of Ahmedabad

But there's another more subtle and more beautiful divide in India as well. It is the divide between the "old India" and the "new India." This is, no doubt, a hopelessly simplistic device employed by an inexperienced foreigner. The city of Amritsar was for me quintessentially "old India," an India that I have seen in numerous places, but rarely on the scale of a whole city of 1.5M. I can only describe it as about a billion moving pieces and parts that all appear ready to fall in upon one another at any moment. But they do not. They just keep moving, flowing, pulsing. Like many North Indian cities, Amritsar's old city is surrounded by the remains of a city wall, with numerous gates issuing in various directions. Within the old city (and to some extent throughout it) streets are narrow lanes shadowed by ancient 3-4 story buildings, many in a state of seemingly continual ruin and rebirth. The streets flow with cars, horse carts, tuk-tuks, rickshaws, bicycles, motorbikes, and pedestrians. The goods of thousands of tiny shops spill out into the street and vendors cook every imaginable treat over hot flames and oil. 

One of many varieties of transport in India

The "new India" is the traffic-choked streets and highways of Delhi, Mumbai, and Bangalore, with their new flyovers and freeways. It is the world of overcrowded parking lots in popular restaurant districts, of efficient and timely transportation options. It is the new frontiers of social networking that are everywhere in India. It is the India of "progress." 

The lines between these worlds are not sharp. Elements of the old India that are quaint and beautiful butt up against things that are so unjust as to label them deplorable, if not evil. And then the rickshaw driver's mobile phone rings and the "new India" bursts into the picture. Just as lines between worlds are not sharp, value judgements seem very difficult to make, not just for this outsider, but for Indians themselves. Who doesn't value the economic development of the last 20 years in terms of opportunities it has afforded to middle-class Indians and even the slight boost given to some of the poor? Yet it's hard to avoid simultaneous questions that wonder about the effects of these changes on community, communality, and culture. As is so often the case, such questions are hardly unique to India.

A rural scene in Punjab

The Golden Temple

One of the highlights of this Indian trip was a visit to the Golden Temple in Amritsar. 

The Golden Temple is the center of the Sikh religion that is dominant in parts of the Punjab. There are about 26 million Sikhs living worldwide. One of the most readily identifiable markers of a Sikh is the turban worn by most Sikh men. Sikh rulers once controlled a large part of what is now northwest India and Pakistan before their Empire was defeated by the British in the mid-19th century. 

The Golden Temple surrounded by the "tank"

Today, the Golden Temple is to a Sikh what the Vatican is to Catholics and Mecca is to Muslims. Sikhs come from all over India and from large Sikh communities in America, Canada, and Europe to venerate the Sikh holy books that are in the Golden Temple. I read and heard in several places that it is not unusual for 100,000 people to visit the shrine on a given day. I find it believable, given my experience. 

A man taking a ritual dip in the holy tank

One begins the visit by storing your shoes in a massive and well-coordinated shoe-storage warehouse. You then trek through market stalls toward the entrance to the temple. Along the way, Both men and women are expected to cover their hair and enter the temple with completely bare feet. As you enter, you are asked by large Sikh guards in resplendent regalia and holding spears to wash your feet in a narrow stream. You then descend steps into the courtyard of the Temple itself. It is a huge affair, at least the size of a football field. The Temple sits in the middle, surrounded by a large tank of water that reflects the golden cupolas. Sikh men bathe in the tank, while Sikh women go to a special covered section for ladies. The faithful line up to enter the Temple itself and venerate the sacred Granth, or holy books. The words of the holy book are sung continuously, with words displayed in both Punjabi and English on giant screens in the corners. 

Crowded streets outside the temple

One of the striking things about visiting the Temple is the openness of it. While certain regulations are clearly enforced by spear-wielding Sikhs, the general atmosphere is one of relaxation and sharing the beauty of the place, Sikh or not. A free meal is always available to anyone who comes, and I'm told tens of thousands are fed daily. This openness allows for appreciation of the architecture and beauty of the place, another study in the complexity that is religion in India and South Asia. 

The Grand Trunk Road

I spent a good part of the day today on the Grand Trunk Road, traveling between Chandigarh and Amritsar in the Indian state of Punjab. 

Map of the Grand Trunk Road (from Wikipedia)

The Grand Trunk Road is an ancient highway, stretching from Kabul, Afghanistan over the Khyber Pass into Pakistan and then down through North India and Bangladesh to the port city of Chittagong. Overall, the road stretches 2,500 kilometers or 1,600 miles. The route we took today is a particularly interesting piece of the "GT Road," connecting Ludhiana and Amritsar in the far northwest of India. This was once a part of the busy highway connecting Delhi and Lahore, the capital city of the Raj Province of Punjab before the Partitions of 1947. The border crossing at Wagah now divides what was once a united province. Northbound traffic leaving Amritsar appears to be quite light. Lahore is so very close, yet at the same time so very far away. 

The Lahori Gate, Amritsar

The GT Road ranges from modern four-lane freeway to two-lane highway. Buses, cars, trucks, tractors, bicycle carts, and every other imaginable form of transportation jockeys for position continuously. Our bus seemed to be honking its horn more than it wasn't. It's an elaborate dance whose steps I have most certainly not learned.

Sunset over a river along the way

Impressions of Delhi

Delhi is, without question, one of the world's great cities. It seems that it has gained the swagger and self-assurance of the capital of a powerful nation combined with a business and cultural center. By some measures, it is the world's second largest metropolitan area after Tokyo, with a population of 22 million. Regardless of how you measure, it is a "mega-city" defined. It is a dizzying place. 

Some impressions:

It still is not clear to me exactly where the line is between [old] Delhi and New Delhi. Despite the fact that one seems to flow into the other, they stand in startling contrast, at least on the surface. Old Delhi is marked by its maze of narrow streets, ancient homes and mosques, and the domination of the Jamaa Masjid (one of the largest mosques in Asia) and the Red Fort (the home of the Mughal Emperors). To be honest, I don't think I can imagine a thing that I could see in Old Delhi that would surprise me. 

The gate of the Red Fort in Old Delhi

New Delhi, by contrast, is an intensely linear place. It was designed by British architects after the capital of the Raj was moved from Calcutta in 1911. Much of New Delhi still bears the imprint of the preparations for the Delhi Durbar of 1910, when King George V and Queen Mary visited India to be crowned Emperor and Empress of the greatest jewel of their Empire. New Delhi is dominated by the Rajpath, a broad avenue that stretches from the Presidential Palace and Parliament buildings to the India Gate. It has a bit of a feel of the Champs Elysees, but with a much more austere feeling that comes from the stone buildings built in a combination of European and Indian classical styles. 

One of the buildings of the Secretariat in New Delhi

Delhi is an inherently multi-lingual place. Roads are signed in four languages: Hindi, English, Punjabi, and Urdu, all of which are written in their own distinct scripts.  Punjabi represents the presence in Delhi of large number of Hindu Punjabis who migrated to Delhi following the Partition. It seems that it is not without some meaning that Urdu falls at the bottom of the list (more below). Although there are parts of Delhi where one sees nothing but English (wealthier areas of South Delhi, especially), the language of the street is without question Hindi. It seems that it would be difficult to nearly impossible to live in this metropolis without knowledge of that language.

A quadrilingual sign in New Delhi

Delhi in many ways represents a clash of cultures. Although there are a few sites in the city that relate to Hinduism, the vast majority of the cultural patrimony is Islamic, as Delhi was the capital of a state ruled by Muslims from the 12th century until the early 19th. Nowhere is this more clear than in the Red Fort, which epitomizes the blending of South Asian and Islamic architectural traditions that reached their zenith in the Taj Mahal. I found it a bit sad that many of the architectural and other treasures of the Red Fort are in very poor repair. Sixteenth century illuminated manuscripts and 18th century robes decay before your eyes in a museum space that is not air conditioned. I don't think that this is due exclusively to a lack of resources, as I have visited a number of museums and historical sites in India that are preserved in a world-class way. Perhaps this disrepair has more to do with the dissonance between this Islamic architecture and a growing vision of Hindu nationalism (Hindutva) that sees Muslims only as invaders, rather than a vision that sees the complex interplay of numerous religions in the formation of modern India? 

Throne Chamber - the Mughal Palace

The courtyard of the Mughal Palace - Delhi

It sounds cliche to suggest that Delhi is a place of contrast, but it is really impossible to overstate. The contrast between the expensive global shops of Connaught Place in central New Delhi and the squalid slums lining the train tracks leading out of the city could not be starker.

A slum on the edge of Delhi

Gurgaon, India

Delhi is one of those global mega-cities that pushes most of the boundaries of comprehension of what a city can be. Although this is my fourth visit to Delhi, it is my first of any substance or duration. One of the most striking things is the endless pulse of flowing traffic. This is not the kind of "flow" that one sees in those time-lapsed photos of Los Angeles freeways that show seemingly endless neat rows of headlights and taillights flowing down a broad freeway. It is a much more syncopated and unstructured dance of modern cars, Indian-made Ambassador taxis and government cars, tuk-tuks, motorbikes, bicycles, pedestrians, and the occasional cow, camel, or temple elephant. The actual infrastructure on which this flow happens may not look all that much different from Los Angeles after the infrastructure boom of recent years, but the pace and rhythm of that flow is a world away. 

The new Gurgaon (from wikipedia)

We spent most of yesterday in meetings in the city of Gurgaon, which adjoins the city of Delhi in the neighboring state of Haryana. Located 35 kilometers from central Delhi, it was once a free-standing small town in Haryana state. The endless spread of the megacity of Delhi has engulfed it, leading to population growth from about 800,000 in 2001 to over 1.5 million today (in a Delhi metropolitan area of 22 million). The presence of Indira Gandhi International Airport, one of the busiest in Asia, between Delhi and Gurgaon, has led to the city becoming a hub for any number of multinational corporations. The night sky over Gurgaon is lit by gleaming names of almost any multi-national you can think of on the tops of an ever-growing number of skyscrapers. Because of the presence of so many offices and the relatively breezier climate outside of Delhi, Gurgaon has become the home of many of the wealthiest and most powerful of India. Apartments in prime locations regularly start at around US$300k. 

Yet a drive down the main roadways of Gurgaon shows another India as well. Along one street, a row of small mud-huts lined the road. Women cooked over open fires and sold vegetables, while others were carrying water from some distant source. A small, informal market in all manner of goods existed in a tangle of tables, and bullock carts. Behind this rose multiple brand new glass towers, gated and guarded, with well-dressed Indian ladies and men coming and going. A world of contrasts indeed. 

Contrasts in Gurgaon

Ahmedabad, India

It would be a fair to argue that India is one of the most "religious" places on earth. As I write that, I'm not quite certain what I mean by "religious". I don't mean it in the sense of just and ethical society flowing out of a strong religious base. And I don't mean the kind of in-your-face presence of religion in every single edifice of society that you would see in some predominantly Muslim or Buddhist societies. What I mean is a much more intricately woven nature of things where religious symbols and ideas are visible in a million little things every day, from tiny Hindu temples on street corners to calls to Muslim prayer to the smell of incense from Jain ceremonies and the crosses worn around the necks of Christians. Religion permeates India. 

While Hinduism is the religion of a vast majority of Indians, it is also home to the world's third largest community of Muslims, as well as several tens of millions of Christians. Significant Sikh, Jain, and Buddhist minorities also call India home. North Indian Muslim communities trace their roots to the early days of Islam, while some of South India's Christian communities trace their roots to the fourth century (by means of historical evidence) and to Apostolic times (by means of tradition). These various communities have dwelled together in many places for centuries. While it would probably be an overstatement to say that they have always dwelled harmoniously, coexistence was the norm in most times and places prior to the mid-20th century. This coexistence was often strengthened by defined economic roles played by each religious group, differing widely in various localities.

The bank of the Sabarmati River in Ahmedabad, seen from the Gandhi Ashram

The city of Ahmedabad, home to 6 million people, and the largest city of the northwest Indian state of Gujarat, is a perfect example of this religious admixture. Officially, 90% of the city is Hindu. While that may be slightly inflated, no one denies that the vast majority of the population is Hindu. Yet the city's very name (remembering Ahmed Shah, a 15th century Muslim Mughal ruler) and many of its greatest monuments -- Mughal-era mosques and Jain temples -- testify to the strong influence of other religions. The Gandhi Ashram, established in a quest for a more just society by Mahatma Gandhi in the early 20th century, is also infused with religious symbolism and thinking. 

Hutheesingh Jain Temple - Ahmedabad

The architecture of these structures testifies to the interweaving of various religious influences. One of the city's major mosques, built in a low, vaulted style typical of North India, is renowned for its intricately carved stone window grills, replete with ancient Indian symbols and aesthetic. A Jain temple shows that religion's close connections to both Buddhism and Hinduism through its ornate sculptures. Even a late-19th century Christian church, built by Irish Presbyterian missionaries, uses the traditional South Asian artistry of carved stone windows with a combination of South Asian symbols of life, growth, and nature alongside traditional Christian iconography and even some very specific Irish Presbyterian symbols. I don't believe that any of these overlapping symbols indicate a syncretism of belief itself, but rather a shared sense of created beauty.

window of the Siddi Sayyed Mosque in Ahmedabad, carved from stone

This dwelling together has changed markedly in the last 70 years, as it has in many other multi-religious parts of the world over the past century or so. The Partitions of the late 1940s that created predominantly (but not exclusively) Hindu India and predominantly (but not exclusively) Muslim Pakistan were marked by extreme inter-communal violence, especially in Delhi and the Pubjab. Today, a small minority in Pakistan seeks to impose fundamentalist Islam on all, including the Christian minority and a majority of more moderate Muslims (events in Peshawar yesterday only underscore this). Here in Ahmedabad, a stronghold of Hindu fundamentalism, a previously highly integrated city has segregated into religiously homogenous districts, with the Muslim minority informally confined to the city center, Hindus dominating the rest of the city, and Christians and other smaller groups, largely by default, clustered in a few districts. The legacy of the inter-communal violence that rocked Ahmedabad and Gujarat in 2002 still taints the Chief Minister of the state, Narendra Modi. Modi, a member of the Hindu nationalist BJP party, is at present the leading contender to become Prime Minister of India in 2014.

carved stone windows and wooden doors at Gujarat United Theological College

What does the future hold? Will, as some have suggested, the nations of the world become more and more religiously homogenous? Will minorities within religions bent on imposing their vision on everyone within a state be successful? Will Christians stand up for the rights of all who are persecuted for their religious beliefs, drawing on the truth that all men and women are created in God's image? Time will tell. But it is clear that Gujarat, with its religious complexity, will be on the front lines of this 21st century tension.

A poor photographic attempt at detail of the above 

Being in Brazil

I am now at the closing end of a four-day trip to Brazil. Although I meant to spend the entire time in the Northeast of the country -- João Pessoa and Recife -- I ended up spending a full day in Brasília as well. 

Brazil is an immense country, almost a continent unto itself, with geography and population as varied as that of the US. At just shy of 200 million, Brazil trails only China, India, the US, and Indonesia. The distance from Belém in the far north to Porto Alegre in the far south is almost the same as the distance from New York to Los Angeles. The northeast of the country (Nordeste) is located on the big curve of Brazil/South America into the Atlantic Ocean. The population lives largely in a series of big and increasingly prosperous cities on or near the coast. The interior of the region is much dryer and is also the poorest part of Brazil -- a region known as the Sertão. 

The Northeast differs from the South in that the influence of later European and Asian immigrations (Portuguese, but also Italian, German, Dutch, Lebanese, Chinese, and Japanese) is much stronger in the southern states. The history of Brazil, in many ways, began in the Nordeste, and some of the oldest and finest monuments of Portuguese colonial times remain in this region. João Pessoa, Recife, and the neighboring city of Olinda all are filled with marvelous old churches and other monuments going back to the 16th century. Unfortunately, the brevity of my trip did not allow me to experience much of this side of the region. 

When I think of Brazil, several things come to mind immediately:

1.  Coffee - Brazil remains the world's number one coffee producer and few nations have seen their history so shaped by the crop. A meeting rarely occurs without coffee.  These are not the small-swimming-pool sized lattes and other such things that are common in the US (although you can find those here, too). Brazilian coffee is served strong, small, and sweet, in espresso-sized doses, often in tiny plastic cups. Whoever makes these plastic cups must have a very lucrative business! 

A typical Brazilian coffee

2.  Beaches - Although I haven't seen statistics on this, I would guess that a very high percentage of the Brazilian population lives within two hours of the Atlantic or Caribbean coast. Much of the coastline is beautiful sand beaches. Here in the Northeast, beachside hotels are full over the "winter" holidays. Both Recife and João Pessoa have miles of beautiful beach. While they do not compare in grandeur or pretense to the beaches of Rio de Janeiro, they are flocked with thousands enjoying the beautiful Atlantic. Unlike the North American Atlantic coast, which is subject to hurricanes, the Brazilian coast is tranquil. Unfortunately, the famous Boa Viagem beach here in Recife has in recent years been subject to shark attacks, and swimming is now forbidden. 

Boa Viagem Beach in Recife 

3.  Fruit - if there were a fruit olympics, where nations competed over the beauty and variety of their fruits, I would probably give Brazil the edge (with stiff competition from Indonesia). The sheer variety of fruits in Brazil is stunning, many of which do not even have non-Portuguese names. Almost anywhere you go, the list of fresh fruit juices is a lengthy one. These are indeed fresh juices, not the Tropicana idea of fresh, blended right before you drink them and often served in a small pitcher with a spoon for stirring. Most are served unsweetened in their natural state. I've sampled more than I can count in my visits to Brazil, ranging from the conventional mango, papaya, and guava to more exotic caja and maracujá  others whose names I do not recall). A trip to Brazil would be incomplete without sampling Guaraná, the most famous soda of the country, flavored with the guaraná fruit of the Amazon. 

The cajá or "hog plum," which is in season in Brazil (from Wikipedia)

4.  Food - Brazilian cuisine is varied and regional. Feijoada, a stew of black beans cooked with various kinds of meat, eaten with various vegetables and accompaniments, defines the cuisine of Minas Gerais and the Rio-São Paulo corridor. In the Northeast, beans are also plentiful, but are usually brown, more like black-eyed peas. Grilled meat -- churrasco -- is also popular across the country, and Brazilians have very specific tastes as to their favorite cuts of meat. Churrasco is incomplete without a good red wine, usually of Argentine or Chilean vintage, although the southernmost states of Brazil are producing increasingly respectable reds. Northeastern Brazilian cuisine makes heavy use of shrimp, other "fruits of the sea," and coconut milk. No visit to Brazil is complete with consuming an enormous quantity of pão de queiju, or cheese bread, made from tapioca flour and a white cheese. 

unloading coconuts in the early morning for sale on Recife beaches

Small towns that grow on you

When our family moved in 2012 from Indianapolis to Grand Rapids, we moved from the "Crossroads of America," where freeways and national highways radiated in every direction, to the last sizable city as you head north in Michigan. About 20 miles north of Grand Rapids, you notice a major change in the landscape. The fertile farms and hardwood forests that characterize southern Michigan (the "first four tiers") begin to give way to white pine forests over a blanket of ferns. The soils in these parts are less productive than in the south, so agriculture (excepting dairy) is not as important as it is in southern Michigan. There's no question that as you start to go "up north," things start to look very different. 

This becomes even more pronounced once you cross the breathtaking Straits of Mackinac and enter Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Although the eastern part of the UP has been connected to the lower peninsula since long before statehood in 1837, the western part of the UP that abuts Wisconsin and Minnesota was added as a consolation for Michigan's loss of a tiny strip of land that includes Toledo in the "Toledo War" of 1835-1836. (Yes indeed, the rivalry between Michigan and my native Ohio goes far back beyond football). The UP contains approximately 30% of the land area of Michigan, but only about 3% of its population. The largest town in the UP, Marquette, is just over 20,000 people. 

This was our first extended travel in the UP. We stayed in a tiny village called Grand Marais on the shores of Lake Superior. Grand Marais is, in many ways, a classic Michigan story of boom and bust. Originally plotted as a timber town, it grew to several thousand people and had its own railway in the 1890s. By 1910, however, the town had gone bust, and the railway came and ripped up the tracks to move them to Minnesota. The town only began to rebound through fishing in the 1920s when a road connected the town the main highway across the UP. Today, tourism forms the backbone of the economy. Although Grand Marais' history is decidedly less complex, the boom-and-bust cycle is not completely dissimilar from what has happened in Detroit (the city declared bankruptcy while we were in Grand Marais).

Downtown Grand Marais

It's hard to call Grand Marais "pretty," although it does sit rather dramatically on the pristine waters of Lake Superior. The town's downtown has three museums, a post office, a couple of small stores and shops, four restaurants, and a swimming beach on Grand Marais Bay. One of our first "learning curves" was the realization that anything resembling grocery shopping (beyond shopping at the gas station) required a drive of nearly 50 miles, one-way. Any more substantial shopping for clothes or shoes would have required nearly 100 miles one-way. 

On the shore of Superior - looking past the Grand Sable Dunes toward Grand Marais

Yet the town grew on us as we made it our base for exploring a stunningly beautiful region of the Superior Coast. It's the kind of place where they guy who runs the gas station will pull out his toolbox to do basic car repairs. It's the kind of place where people leave their doors unlocked and many things function on an "honor system." 

Perhaps our most interesting experience was walking to dinner at the West Bay Diner. The West Bay combines an early-20th-century frame home and a 1930-s era diner car in a mash up that, while not altogether architecturally appealing, certainly creates an interesting space. This is the kind of place where you dare not be in a hurry or come with a demanding spirit. Things are slow, informal, and clean-but-not-tidy. You just have to get used to the fact that they store their box of onions in the entryway. The story of the owners and the story of how they obtained a diner car from New Jersey is well worth reading. This was the only time I've ever been served by a waitress who is not only a published novelist but has also been published in the New York Times. A fascinating -- and very tasty -- experience. 

The West Bay Diner

It's a good reminder that we can't -- and shouldn't -- expect everywhere to be the same. Perhaps we'd all be a bit better off if we had to plan our grocery shopping a bit more carefully.

Expecting the Unexpected (aka an unplanned visit to Brasília)

As someone who travels a good bit and who is often around people who travel a good bit, I often hear "travel trauma tales." As I listen to these, usually with considerable sympathy, I often find myself being inwardly thankful that, for the most part, my travels have been mostly without incident. Perhaps my run of luck came to an end yesterday, as my still-in-progress trip to Northeast Brazil has not gone well so far. I will spare the "travel trauma tale," however. It's really not all that traumatic in the grand scheme of things. Instead, I'll focus on the unexpected chance to explore Brazil's capital, Brasília. 

Brasília, so I am told, is the largest city in the world that did not exist in 1900. It was built from scratch in the 1950s and became Brazil's capital city in 1960. Somewhat like L'Enfant's Washington, DC a century-and-a-half earlier, it was a wholly new city, designed on a grid. Brasília reminds me quite a bit of Washington, DC, albeit with mid-century-modern replacing the Greco-Roman-revival motif. 

Row of Ministries, with Parliament in the background - for a better photo look here

The movement of the capital from Rio de Janeiro in 1960 was something that had been in the works for more than a century, as numerous rulers of Brazil sought a capital city that was more centrally located and away from the established power structures and influences of the Rio-São Paulo corridor in the southeast. The new capital was also meant to make a strong political statement about the progress and potential of mid-20th-century Brazil. Designed by urban planner Lucio Costas and architect Oscar Niemeyer, the city is designed for both dramatic space and economic functionality. The division of the city into sectors (an embassy sector, a hotel sector, a business sector) take place on a giant grid. These areas are connected by wide, grand avenues and large green spaces. 

The National Museum with Ministries in the backgroud

The "Square of the Three Powers" (executive, legislative, and judicial) forms the heart of Brasilia, sitting at the end of a several-miles-long esplanade not completely dissimilar from the National Mall in Washington. But unlike the variety of buildings of various eras that line the Washington Mall, the first mile or so of the Brasília Esplanade is lined with identical buildings housing various ministries of the government. A large lake abuts this area, creating some fantastic water views. 

The far end of the Esplanade is anchored by a very 20th-century monument, the television tower. As in so many cities, a dramatic television tower was a powerful statement about the government's ability to speak to its citizens in a single idiom and with a common, centralized culture. The tower is surrounded by some lovely fountains today. 

The television tower at sunset

Perhaps the most dramatic buildings on the Esplanade are the Parliament building and the Cathedral. The Parliament consists of two connected towers (not dissimilar from the UN building in New York), together with a "dome" and a "bowl," each housing a house of the Brazilian Parliament. 

The Congress (from Wikipedia)

Although Brasília lacks the beautiful artistry of colonial-era churches so common in most smaller Brazilian cities, its modern religious architecture is among the best I've seen. The Cathedral, which stands on the side of the Esplanade, resembles a crown (it also reminds me of a standing rib roast, but that's not nearly as spiritual). The building is mostly glass, with the main sanctuary about one floor underground, accessed by subterranean entrances. The effect is quite dramatic as the light shines through the stained-glass walls into the sparse interior. It seems to capture in a very apt way the spirit of mid-20th-century Christianity much as the Sacré Coeur in Paris captures the spirit of Christianity fifty years prior. The Dom Bosco Sanctuary, located just outside of the downtown area, is another architectural treasure of floor-to-ceiling stained glass, kind of a mid-century-modern version of the Sainte Chapelle. 

The Cathedral and Belltower

At nearly 3 million, Brasília is Brazil's fourth largest city and represents the fifth largest economic unit in Latin America (many large Brazilian companies are based here). The city lacks the sense of rootedness that many older cities have, even when much of their architectural history has faded away. It certainly lacks the throbbing pulse that makes São Paulo so very frenetic. And it lacks the stunning visual background that Guanabara Bay gives to Rio de Janeiro. It does not have the "global city" feel of the capital cities of other emerging economies -- Beijing, Delhi, Moscow, Mexico City, etc. Yet more than most cities, it captures the essence of a moment of time, a hopeful, progressive moment that seems a bit naive from today's perspective. As Brazil continues to step up on the world stage, I have no doubt that its capital will step with it. Yet it will continue to remind of another Brazil in another time. 

The Cathedral - Interior

Cities and Mountains

It's been a while since I traveled in Latin America. I'm remedying that to a certain degree over the next couple of days in Monterrey in northeastern Mexico. 

My first memory of Latin America was descending into the São Paulo airport in the early evening over the low mountains that surround the city, marveling at the clusters of favellas that stretch up the hillsides. Since then, I've come to appreciate the ways in which urban areas and mountains seem to collide in so much of Latin America. Bogota and Medellín, Colombia; Santiago, Chile, São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; Guatemala City, and Quito, Ecuador all come immediately to mind. Perhaps I've simply missed similar landscapes in other regions, but I think that there is something about this admixture in Central and South America. 

Cerro de la Silla (from Wikipedia)

Monterrey is another one of those cities. It is dominated by soaring sierras, with the city clustering along a valley and up the hillsides. The most impressive is the Cerro de la Silla (Saddle Mountain). The home where I am staying sits on one of those hillsides with a rather spectacular view of the mountains and the skyscrapers downtown. This afternoon, as we drove from town up the hill, one of these soaring mountains was draped with a cloud-tablecloth not unlike what I've seen in Cape Town (ok, so there's a non-Latin American city that has an incontestable urban-mountain mash up). Stunning. 

Monterrey is a bustling, orderly city, Mexico's third largest. It has long been known as a center of business and innovation, strategically placed on the trade routes between Texas and Mexico City. You see this in the soaring skyscrapers of company headquarters (some of the country's largest companies are headquartered here). You also see it in some of the beautiful public art, including a large factory complex that has been very artfully turned into a sprawling public park with a broad artificial canal. The old downtown -- the barrio antigua -- is filled with a grid of narrow streets with low-slung buildings, markets, and churches. Some of the oldest Protestant churches in Mexico are located in Monterrey, including the Baptist church, which dates to 1864. 

The view from my room 

This is only my third visit to Mexico, and all of my visits have been short. Yet I continue to sense that this country, perhaps simply due to its proximity, is one of the most misunderstood. While I think that there's a growing disconnect between what I hear in US news and what I see in the rest of the world, this contrast seems especially stark in Mexico. This is the kind of vast, complex, diverse country that you could devote a life to, and still walk away befuddled. 

Dining in Monterrey

In recent years, the authentic taco, with its soft, warm corn shell, some meat filling, garnish of crunchy vegetables, and sauce, has become more common in the United States. I recently had a taco from a food truck in Grand Rapids that rivaled anything I've had in Mexico. Granted, that particular memorable taco was Korean-themed and garnished with homemade kimchi, but it still had the soft, bitey wonderfulness that characterizes a genuine taco, albeit a bit globalized. And speaking of globalization, I do still have a soft spot for those North American hard-shelled tacos with red sauce, enjoying them as a culinary tradition all their own…

A real Mexican chips-and-salsa

There is no escaping the tortilla at the center of Mexican cuisine. Made of corn masa or wheat flour, they appear at most every meal in some form. The dining table is always graced by at least a couple of kinds of salsa as well, generally freshly made and of varying spiciness. 

My lunch yesterday was in a decades-old large restaurant in the center of Monterrey that prides itself on having been open continuously for 50 years (it is open 24/7). After convincing my hosts that I really do eat spicy food, I ordered enchiladas en mole. This dish is composed of chicken wrapped in tortillas, smothered in a thick and spicy brown sauce. While there are more recipes for mole than stars in the sky, most brown moles seem to share a kind of spicy denseness that comes in some recipes from the combination of several kinds of ground, dried chiles and a bit of chocolate. In reality, this particular mole was not all that spicy (or, to be honest, all that tasty). 

Cobrito - on the right side

One of the local specialties in Monterrey is a dish called cabrito. Cabrito means, literally, baby goat. Cabrito must be prepared from a goat less than three years old, which is the age when most goats begin to eat grass (or so I am told!). The meat is smoked and served with tortillas, fresh onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and chiles, cooked onions, and a variety of sauces. Pieces are wrapped up in a tortilla. While I am not certain that I'd add it to my daily diet (largely because I struggle with the idea of eating baby animals), it was a mighty tasty piece of meat. 

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this dish is its historical origins in Jewish (!) cooking. Prior to the Inquisition in Spain, Jews composed a sizable minority. A few of these came to New Spain, including several prominent families that came to Nuevo Léon in the late 16th century. Although Judaism was banned in the Spanish Empire by this time, a number of these families remained "crypto-Jews" for centuries, secretly practicing the faith of their ancestors. This has apparently influenced the cuisine of Nuevo Léon, in both the presence of cabrito and the absence of pork from most local cooking. 

Few things testify more to globalization than food, whether Jewish-inspired smoked goat in northeast Mexico or Korean-themed tacos in Grand Rapids.

Dining in Bénin

Food is always a bit confusing to me when I travel in West Africa. Although there is quite a bit of similarity across the region in culinary terms, the terminology differs from place to place. The base is some kind of starch -- rice, various forms of cassava, corn meal, various forms of yams, potatoes, bananas, etc. -- served with some sort of stew (often made of a wide variety of greens), perhaps grilled or fried chicken or fish, and hot pepper sauce (piment) as a condiment. 

Benin is no exception. I've experienced several variations on the West African theme, including a very tasty stew made from friend cheese (not unlike Indian paneer) stewed together with a very bitey green leaf, tomatoes, and onions. Fried and stewed fish are common, given the oceanfront nature of Cotonou. Yet I'm told that the quintessential Cotonou meal is based on a cornmeal cooked until thick with tomatoes, peppers, and other seasonings (amiwo) , served with a savory stew of onions and tomatoes, and fish or chicken, with a bit of piment on the side. A variety of western soft drinks are available, yet something called "youki" which involves fresh grapefruit juice and carbonation, seems a common choice. 

Pounded yams with fish stew

At another meal, I chose a fish stew in a red sauce served with pounded yam, what is called fufu in Ghana. This dish is eaten by taking bits of the starch in your fingers and using it to scoop up the fish and sauce. It's one of my favorites, and is quite difficult to find in the US. 

Chicken with amiwo and stew

Dessert is fruit -- the bounties of a tropical land -- mangoes, pineapple, oranges, grapefruit, bananas of all shapes and sizes, watermelon. This is the height of mango season, and you see people selling mangoes all over the city. At one point, I saw them being sold from the back of a dump truck. While some resemble the kinds of mangos we find in a US supermarket (small and light yellow or variegated green, orange, and red), others are like nothing I've seen elsewhere. Some of them are nearly the size of a football and must way 5 pounds. For a mango lover, this is like a window into heaven…

Timmy Tiger with a Bénin mango 

The Elephant in the Room

You can't spend much time in coastal West Africa without being reminded about the issue of slavery. This is especially true in Bénin. I read in several places here that 40% of the slaves that were part of the Atlantic slave trade in the late 17th-early 19th century came from what is now Bénin, through a series of agreements between the local rulers of the Dahomey kingdom and the Portuguese, French, Dutch, Danish, and British traders who traded on the coast near the city of Ouidah. The predominance of slaves from this part of Africa was critical in the development of voodoo (which derives from the Fon word for god or deity) in Brazil, Haiti, and Cuba. 

I had a chance today to visit the city of Ouidah, a sleepy little place between Cotonou and the Togolese border. Ouidah is filled with architectural remnants of the 18th and 19th centuries. A Portuguese trading fort is well preserved and serves as a local museum, chronicling the history of the slave trade, the Kingdom of Dahomey, and the Dahomey diaspora spread across the western hemisphere by the slave trade. 

Memorial on the ocean front at Ouidah

Ouidah sits several miles north of the ocean. On the south side of the town is a large square that once served as the city's slave market. Traders would come here to inspect the "wares". After contracts were sealed, the slaves were then chained together and forced to walk to the coast, where they were crammed into ships and sent around the West African coast to the Ile de Goré in Senegal, where most transatlantic voyages commenced. 

Today, a large monument stands overlooking the ocean, serving as a monument to those who passed this "point of no return." The slave trade during the Dahomey period remains a live political issue today, as some in the country's north continue to resent the fact that the Dahomey kings were very much complicit in the slave trade that took place 200 years ago. 

Museum of Ouidah - an old Portuguese fort

Aside from these sad reminders of human history, Ouidah is a beautiful place to visit, with a quiet culture far removed from the bustle and dust of Cotonou. I am thankful for these opportunities to visit places a bit off the beaten path. 

The coastal highway in West Africa

There is a highway that runs along the coast of West Africa. I have only encountered it in sections between Lagos, Nigeria in the east and Abidjan, Côte d'Ivoire in the west, but if I understand correctly, it creeps up the coast in both directions for thousands of miles and in various states of repair. At times, it fronts directly on to some of the world's most beautiful white-sand beaches, lined with majestic palm trees. My first trip along this highway, in 2006, was on a bus with a group of Nigerians traveling from Lomé, Togo to Lagos, Nigeria. I was the only non west-African on the bus. So as we approached each border, the west Africans generally just tossed their passports into a bucket for "group processing," while I had to physically get off the bus and go through controls at each border. Each time, as soon as I got off, the bus would leave to go to the other side, and I would have to cross the border on foot. For anyone who imagines a tame and calm border crossing, think again. The border crossing from Togo to Benin was perhaps one of the largest markets I have ever encountered, filled with people selling everything under the sun, from goats to cloth to princess toys. It was a loud, rambunctious, zestful sort of place. Had I not been modestly concerned about my bus that had driven off, I might have enjoyed it. After two such border crossings and many hours sitting in traffic coming into Lagos, we made it to our destination, six hours late. 

A market along the highway

Today's trip along the highway was much less eventful, although it did involve one car breakdown that was fixed fairly quickly. The stretch of highway from Cotonou, Benin to Porto Novo, Benin (very close to the Nigerian border) is not the most picturesque, although it is probably one of the best in terms of road quality, with a double carriageway in both directions in addition to a lane for motorbikes. I am fairly well convinced that just about anything that can BE purchased is available for sale on the West African Highway, including possibly some things that SHOULDN'T be purchased. Another trip, this time to the west toward Lomé, found a road recently widened to two lanes going in each direction, but not yet paved. 

Some things that it is hard to miss:

- the enormous SUVs with license plates from Lagos, Nigeria

- the random herds of goats crossing the highway

- enormous roadside fabric markets

- mangos being sold out of the back of truck

- the often elaborately woven palm leaves and stalks that form buildings along the highway

Queuing for the toll booth

Porto Novo and Cotonou, Benin's twin capitals, fade into one another, connected by the aforementioned highway. Porto Novo is the home to the national parliament, while the president's offices are in Cotonou. Cotonou is also the business capital of the country. Porto Novo (New Door in Portuguese) is a sleepy, lakeside town with some lovely old architecture, quintessential views over Lake Yewa, and thriving markets. The parliament, currently located in an unassuming building in the center of town, will soon move to a new lakeside capitol building. Porto Novo lacks the bustle of Cotonou and appears to be a place worth exploring further. 

A quiet street in Porto Novo

There's no doubt that a 90 minute flight from Ouagadougou to Cotonou makes a huge difference. I left temperatures in the mid 30s centigrade at 9:00 am to land around midday in Cotonou with a temperature of 30. The difference, however, is in the humidity. Cotonou is a place where you soak your shirt with sweat in a matter of moments. The lush, green vegetation seems to drip humidity, and water (oceans and inland lakes) is everywhere.

Travel in West Africa is, without question, not easy or uncomplicated. But it never falls short of being fascinating.