Trek Feet

Sometimes we
wander off.

Here is our letter home.

December 16, 2011 1:48 pm

Every evening when the border between Pakistan and India closes down, throngs of patriots gather at the edge of their respective countries for an elaborate, pomp and machismo filled ceremony. The chanting, frothy, delighted crowd was a site to behold. Kids climbing over each other, scampering up buildings and evading policemen just to get a glimpse. How can anyone rally this much national pride and antagonism every night? It was fantastic! I only wish I’d had a vuvuzela. And  maybe that we hadn’t lost the cab driver who brought us out to this middle-of-nowhere sunset showdown.

November 18, 2011 5:00 pm
Of the things we carried home with us from India, wrapped in Hindi newsprint in a cheap blue nylon bag we bought in McCleod Ganj, one of these handmade puppets from Rajasthan is my very favorite. The man who makes them owns a concrete shop in Udaipur, stuffed with half formed bodies and antique fabric swatches, tiny heads with unpainted crowns or one side of a coal black mustache. It was sort of magical to watch him come to life when we huddled in and started asking questions. He was just so Gepetto, you know? Just so hungry for someone to appreciate this little world he had carved. He set aside our purchase and beckoned us back into the stuffy entrails of his stockroom, flipped on the lights and unveiled hundreds and hundreds of the dolls. A frozen troop of sizes and shapes and every one distinctly individual from the next. While my dad waited out front, sweating on the stoop next to a cow and a boy with a great sales mouth, the shopkeeper made one of the puppets dance for us - swooping and demurring, throwing back her head and so delicately tipping and spinning across the floor. Swaying as he swayed her to music in his head. You could have stayed a long long time, entranced and clapping for more.

Of the things we carried home with us from India, wrapped in Hindi newsprint in a cheap blue nylon bag we bought in McCleod Ganj, one of these handmade puppets from Rajasthan is my very favorite.

The man who makes them owns a concrete shop in Udaipur, stuffed with half formed bodies and antique fabric swatches, tiny heads with unpainted crowns or one side of a coal black mustache. It was sort of magical to watch him come to life when we huddled in and started asking questions. He was just so Gepetto, you know? Just so hungry for someone to appreciate this little world he had carved.

He set aside our purchase and beckoned us back into the stuffy entrails of his stockroom, flipped on the lights and unveiled hundreds and hundreds of the dolls. A frozen troop of sizes and shapes and every one distinctly individual from the next.

While my dad waited out front, sweating on the stoop next to a cow and a boy with a great sales mouth, the shopkeeper made one of the puppets dance for us - swooping and demurring, throwing back her head and so delicately tipping and spinning across the floor. Swaying as he swayed her to music in his head. You could have stayed a long long time, entranced and clapping for more.