.Bongani's Blog.

七夕节: China's Valentines Day

2009-08-26T17:26:00.000+08:00

August 26th of this year is the seventh day of the seventh month on the Chinese Lunar Calendar. Now commonly referred to as China's Valentine's Day, the Double Seventh has been a lovers' holiday for over 2000 years, commemorating the legend of two star-crossed lovers, a poor young Cowherd, Niu Lang (牛郎), and Zhi Nü (織女), a weaver of clouds and the immortal granddaughter of the Jade Emperor, the King of Heaven.

Legend has it that Niu Lang was a masterful flute player.

One day, Zhi Nü hears him playing, and is so moved by his music that she leaves her weaving and comes down from heaven to be with him. The two fall deeply in love, but, alas, the Law's of Heaven strictly forbid relationships between mortals and immortals. When Zhi Nü's mother, Wangmu the Queen Mother of the Western Heaven, finds out, she is furious. With an army of celestial soldiers, Wangmu descends to Earth and takes Zhi Nü back to Heaven for trial. Loyal to his love, Niu Lang chases after his bride, flying in a boat made from his lone ox's horn. As he closes in on his beloved and her captors, Wangmu, with a golden pin from her hair, dashes a mighty white river in the sky (the river we now know as the Milky Way) and forever separates the two lovers. The Phoenix, with her kind heart, takes pity on the two lovers. Once a year, she calls all of the magpies of Heaven and Earth to form a bridge over the Milky Way, allowing the lovers to be reunited on the night of the Double Seventh - the seventh night of the seventh month. Looking into the summer night sky, one can still see the two lovers, stars now known in the West as Altair and Vega.

Originally, Qi Xi Jie (七夕节) was referred to with names such as "Begging for Skills Festival", "Daughters' Festival", or "Girls' Day" because on this night young women would pray to Zhi Nü, the "Weaving Maid", for dexterity and nimble fingers. In hopes that the Weaving Maid will bless the girls with such skills, they will make gifts such as items of furniture out of slender pieces of wood, and they will demonstrate their skills by threading a needle in the moonlight.

To find out the Weaving Maid's response to their prayers, some girls will put a small spider in a box to see if it's made a web by the next day. A neatly woven and well-shaped web foretells a gift of nimble hands from the Weaving Maid.

One of the most famous poems of this legend is Fairy of the Magpie Bridge, by Qin Guan.

Translated by Kylie Hsu

Among the beautiful clouds,

Over the heavenly river,

Crosses the weaving maiden.

A night of rendezvous,

Across the autumn sky,

Surpasses joy on earth.

Moments of tender love and dream,

So sad to leave the magpie bridge.

Eternal love between us two,

Shall withstand the time apart.

.我祝大家七夕节快乐.

Tibetan Pilgrim on White.

2009-06-26T02:28:00.001+08:00

-3882, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Potala Palace, Lhasa.

Magic Circle Pop - Happy Father's Day!

2009-06-21T14:47:00.001+08:00

IMG_4742, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

The Beginning of Father's Day Story

Historians have recorded that there was a tradition to celebrate Father's Day even thousands of years ago. Their study say that 4,000 years ago in Babylon a son called Elmesu carved a father's day message on a clay card. In his message Elmesu wished his father a long and healthy life. There is no knowledge as to what happened to this father son duo but it is believed that several countries retained the custom of celebrating Father's Day.

********

Genesis of Father's Day in Modern Society

The tradition of celebrating Father's Day as seen today originated in the last century. Though there are several people who are credited for furthering the cause of Father's Day, there is far greater acceptance for Ms Sonora Louise Smart Dodd's contribution. A doting daughter from Spokane, Washington, Ms Dodd is recognized as the Founder or Mother of the Father's Day Festival.

Inception of the Father's Day took place in Sonora's mind when she happened to hear a Mother's Day sermon in 1909. Sonora, who was 27 then, had begun to recognize the hardships her father must have gone through while bringing up his six children alone. When Sonora was 16, her mother had died during childbirth. Sonora's father a Civil War veteran by the name of William Jackson Smart raised six children including the newborn on his own. Sonora questioned that if there is a day to recognize mothers then why is not there a day to honor fathers?

Many people laughed and joked at Sonora's idea. But her will did not droop. She began a sincere campaign lobbying for the cause of Father's Day. Her hard work began to show signs of success when Spokane celebrated its first Father's Day on June 19, 1910 with the support of Spokane Ministerial Association and the local Young Men's Christian Association (YMCA). To pay tribute to her affectionate father, Sonora wished that Father's Day be celebrated on her father's birthday on June 5, but it so happened that there was not enough time for preparation and the day came to be celebrated on third Sunday in the month of June.

The noble idea of celebrating Father's Day became quite popular in US so much so that President Woodrow Wilson approved of the festival in 1916. President Calvin Coolidge too supported the idea but it was President Lyndon Johnson who signed a Presidential Proclamation declaring the third Sunday of June as Father's Day in 1966. Then in 1972, President Richard Nixon established a permanent national observance of Father's Day to be held on the third Sunday of June.

-http://www.fathersdaycelebration.com/story-of-fathers-day.html

Since all the Father's Day poems suck, and today, for me, is a happy sunny Sunday (wishing all the same to ya'll!), here's my quick crack attack at it:

(Buffalo Soldier,
Dreadlock Rasta..
There was a Buffalo Soldier,
In the Heart of America....)

If oft a spirit refused to be tamed,
there was no song used to melody his name.
There was an idea in a youth grown to break the sky,
but alas, we still haven't all the answers why.

Through a journey tangled, mangled, and mauled,
stood a dignity bred to stand forever tall.
Against an Age now a ravaged history,
fought a man and a soldier, now a father to me.

On a day that's designed to inspire praise,
This is my Ode, on Father's Day.
Without you, there'd be no me.
Without you, I'd never have first swum the sea.
Without you, my father, I'd be technically naught;
it was with your guidance that I rewired and sought
to breakdown boundaries and borders and fight for my dreams
and to have a good time watching Terminator scenes.

This is a poem to you, dear father of mine.
Something I've created, a thanks in kind. ;)

Greatest Picture of Enz Ever Taken (Full Stop)

2009-06-19T19:25:00.001+08:00

IMG_5294, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

For those of you who are too lazy to skim the photos on my flickr account, you have to see this.

It seems that I have inspired my friends to also forgo the traditional stand and pose-for-it photo..

Kickin' it with the DJ's in the Club

2009-06-18T17:54:00.001+08:00

IMG_1716, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Learning to Master Light and Time.

A Humple Pilgrim.

2009-06-18T12:54:00.001+08:00

IMG_4211, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Stands in front of a massive Mani wheel in an enclave of the Jokhang Temple, Lhasa, spinning a hand-held Mani wheel. These wheels have long pieces of scripture wound around the inside, usually with the mantra 'Om Mani Padme Hum' written continuously in Tibetan or Sanskrit the length of the scroll. The Mani wheels are always spun from right to left, or clockwise, as are the pray beads progressed through, while reciting this mantra.

Aside: the native religion of Tibet before Buddhism was introduced from India, Bön, also used the swastika symbol, but is distinctly different as it is written counterclockwise.

Tibetan Nuns, outside the Bodala Palace, Lhasa, Tibet

2009-06-18T12:33:00.001+08:00

IMG_4049, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

As I was leaving the palace, two nuns stopped and allowed me to photograph them. I ended up seeing the nun on the left again in a set of photographs I had taken a few days later, so it seems like it's a fairly small community. That, however, doesn't mean that there aren't monks and nuns everywhere, walking the streets, enjoying the sweet or buttery Tibetan milk tea, and praying alongside the countless pilgrims that have walked the countless miles to pray at the temples and monasteries of Lhasa. 'O ma ni bae mae ohm.'

A place of immense spirituality and awe inspiring religious dedication, I dedicate this photo with special affection to Sister Barbara.

www.artafire.homestead.com - Where Art and Spirituality meet!

Namtso Lake, the Highest Lake in the World

2009-06-16T14:11:00.001+08:00

IMG_1860, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

And so goes life. At the highest lake in the world, riding yaks, hanging prayer flags, and climbing mountains.

My days in Tibet have been graced with friends and music, parties and monastaries. Tibet hasn't failed to become the most beautiful, the most special, and the most amazing place I've ever been in my life.

I could try to explain and tell stories, but I'll let the photographs speak for themselves.

Postcards?

2009-06-14T14:49:00.001+08:00

If anyone wants a postcard from Tibet, send me your mailing address!!

--

Woody Allen - "Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons."

Zebang si miao (Temple)

2009-06-12T14:27:00.001+08:00

IMG_1699[1], originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Haha, so, thinking that we were the coolest thing since ice-cube trays, we didn‘t bring our passports or permits.

Me: "Enz, do I need t carry my permit with me everywhere?"

Enzi: "No way, no one will ever ask you for that again."

Me: "Should I bring my passport?"

Enz: "Nahh, suan le." ('Forget it')

IMG_1701[1]

2009-06-11T22:47:00.001+08:00

IMG_1701[1], originally uploaded by punkkafari.

In front of Bodala Temple

2009-06-11T15:42:00.001+08:00

IMG_1686[1], originally uploaded by punkkafari.

A Grand Welcoming

2009-06-11T15:38:00.001+08:00

IMG_1669, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Enz and Asan greet me at the airport. I hadn't seen skies this blue since Australia.

IMG_1643

2009-06-11T15:35:00.001+08:00

IMG_1643, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Taken through a plane window - no justice. Should have taken a video.

Mountain Peaks at Eye Level

2009-06-11T15:28:00.001+08:00

IMG_1641, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

About two weeks after I arrived home in Chengdu from my Indochina stint, I decided (with the help of a special donation!) that I would drop everything that I hadn't yet picked up, and run off to meet my flatmate Enz and my friend Asan who had just left to DJ in Tibet.

After the two weeks of wanting to go, but not going, and then going, but not going, and waiting for a permit, and not going, and going and then abruptly leaving at 7 am this last Tuesday morning, I found myself over tired and a bit excited on a plane heading for Lhasa.

I wasn't expecting it, but as I looked out my window at the not so unusual blanket of clouds covering the expanse of the world below in the early morning sunlight, I stopped breathing as I saw a mountain at eye level. As the clouds began to clear, the Tibetan landscape opened up below with red and blue and gray and green and white mountains, hidden lakes and snaking rivers, and scattered villages that seemed impossibly close at our current flying altitude, I almost cried.

I have been traveling and living abroad for so long that it's getting harder to avoid a complete saturation, reaching a point where nothing can break past the confines of the mundane. But at that moment, 5000 meters above sea level on my way to one of the most treasured places on our planet to meet friends, to be welcomed not as a stranger but as a guest and someone missed, my eyes swelled up with the feeling of a dream surpassed.

The Tibetan plateau is one of the most beautiful sites I have ever seen.

Thank you Mom, Dad, Grandpa, Cousin Jay and everyone. From the Top of the World, you are forever in my heart and mind and soul.

My Tibet flickr set page:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/andrewgardejoiaphotography/sets/72157619582843030/

Fwd: Destination, Lhasa.

2009-06-10T15:09:00.001+08:00

7:40 am - June 9th, 2009 - Chengdu to Lhasa, Tibet.

--

Sent from Lhasa, 54, China

the sun at night.

2009-06-02T22:19:00.001+08:00

well, she said, i wanna be the sun

and i said, well what about the moon

and she said, i want to be the cream

and i said well, what about the spoon

and she said, i want to be the one, O, the one!

and i said, one's more fun with two

You know, though the sun rises up to the sky

i said, without the moon, im sure that we would die

she said, but without the sun we'd be so cold

and i said, at night, with the moon, you're not alone.

She screamed aloud, The sun is my light!

I said, to her, the moon is the sun at night!

My Flame Dwindles Without Your Warmth

2009-06-02T22:05:00.001+08:00

An old poem I found while cleaning out my computer.

Is it the pain or the love that causes such sadness?

Is it the fire that burns inside, or the fire that no longer burns beside?

There is desire, and there is the hope and there is the fear and there is the rage and then -

There is the other that holds your hand and your heart and your head and your fears and your dreams.

There is the fight for life and the fight for a good tomorrow

A fight for pride and fulfillment

And the there is the love that makes the fight worth fighting

The flame that needs your love to burn, that makes your flame worth keeping lit.

My flame dwindles without your warmth.

IMG_9734

2009-05-26T14:23:00.001+08:00

IMG_9734, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

This was actually taken with my small S80.

Jinhong, China, along the mighty Mekong

2009-05-24T16:51:00.001+08:00

IMG_9360, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Taken at Koh Rong Saloem, an island off the coast of Sihanoukville, Cambodia.

IMG_9014

2009-05-23T03:24:00.001+08:00

IMG_9014, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Welcome to the XTi photographs! Now begins all the photographs I couldn't upload because they were in a RAW format.

Cambodia.

So what the hell happened in Saigon?

2009-05-23T02:45:00.001+08:00

***read after C'est La Vie Pt. 3***

*************************************************

Having contacted a host through Couchsurfing.com, I drove my (now relinquished) motorbike from Cần Thơ, where I spent a quaint few days with a gay Vietnamese guy and his silly friends, taking boat rides through floating markets, tasting some local food, and just sort of aimlessly being led around to do nothing in particular, to Ho Chi Minh City. I drove the several hundred kilometers in about 3.5 hours, stopping only once to take my just reward of a one half-hour nap in a roadside hammock at an outdoors billiards spot, local Viet café súa da in hand.

----

Aside from the not-as-stressful-as-I-made-it-out-to-be stint on Phú Quốc island (tropical islands are never that stressful), the two weeks motorbiking through the Mekong Delta were tranquil:

random bouts of torrential 15 minute downpours, dodged cattle and cats, dogs and run-amok children, riverside road cruises with the wind in my face and screaming through the gaps in my helmet; lush green trees and vegetation along windingly trafficked canals with ancient bridges and homes only accessible by means of three bamboo polls tied to opposing shores.

But then, gradually, dirt roads and infrequent passing motorists gave way to the gates of the Thunderdome, 2009. The dirt turned into paved roads and then an endless stretch of highway. At the beginning of the outskirts of the capital, there were more cars and trucks and honks and motorbikes and madness than the dust being kicked in the air could ever hope to dissuade to lessen. Driving became an intense racing game of frantic starts and panic-stricken stops, reflexive gear changing, puddle dodging, and the beginning of an adrenaline addiction.

"Saigon, bring it!" I said.

And it brung it, hard and subtle, slow like water-boarding, yet comforting like the initial caress of a black-widow spider. My arrival into the old South Vietnamese capital was nuts and berserk and changed everything.

It started off great. My host Marc was a cool guy with about a decade of ex-pat life in Asia, conversant in Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, and a respectable amount of Thai. We hit it off well enough; we had time in China and our Jewishness in common, he had a spare room, and I needed a place to stay. He, in his despicable but charming way, made me wait for most of the first day whilst he, against possible condemnation, "was distracted" by a pretty guest. It started to rain. I got pissed-off, to neither avail nor to any length of time, and he finally called me. What a way to start a trip. He directed me through the tangled mess of streets and districts to what would become my over-staying-my-welcome home sweet home for the next three something weeks.

To be continued...

C'est La Vie Pt. 3

2009-05-23T02:42:00.003+08:00

I'm back. In the wonderful land of my beloved China.

This strange and foreign place, after all of this time, has really become my home. Over mountains and under seas, down the mighty Mekong and across the white sand dunes of Mui Ne, I've been missing, yearning even, to return, to speak again my second language, to taste again the ma-la of my Sichuan cai, to see and embrace and reminisce and remember and catch up. To chill-out.

And, now, fantastically, I've made it... Not all the way to Chengdu, mind you, that'll be the glorious homecoming of tomorrow. I'm in Chongqing. It only took forever and a day to get here, but Kerouac would have been proud.

---

The final leg of my Indochina journey began with me waking up at three something A.M., semi-consciously gathering my strewn belongings, and marching off into the rain of the pre-dawn morning. Humping my pack and positive that there was no chance in the world that I would make it the hundreds upon hundreds of kilometers - let alone across the Chinese border - to catch a plane in fifteen hours, I marched out to the highway, turned on my Nokia's flashlight, and hoped for what seemed like, at the least, something very unlikely: to hitch a ride on a north-bound Vietnam bus at 4:30 am in the rain.

But Luck and the Fates showed favor upon my ponchoed head. I hailed down a Hanoi bound sleeper bus, reacted poorly to all orders and instructions, and promptly fell into peaceful slumber for the two hours from Ninh Binh to Hanoi; the journey had suddenly became a length of 'maybe', and The Impossible was vanquished.

In Hanoi, I hailed a senile old cabbie ominously driving a beaten up old black-and-yellow, and after the required though utterly pathetic attempt to pronounce the Vietnamese, I showed him the address at which, according to the nice lady's voice on the phone from the day before, I could be sure to have a magical ticket waiting for me, exchangeable for passage to Nanning, China. Being seemingly blind and senile, however, it took him forever and numerous inquiries to find the office. The office was annoyingly hidden away in some nondescript lot in the obscure out-skirt of the main city, to his defense, but nonetheless we arrived to find that I was in fact early, and that the office was closed until 7:30 am. Astounding. I got the cabbie to drop me off at some little street side Phở restaurant for a quick meal before whatever ordeal might present itself. I tell you though, it was the worst Phở in the whole of Viet Nam. It was time to go home.

When I got back to the ticket office, I stepped through the wide-open double doors and quietly placed my bags in the corner. I walked over to the receptionist, and, restraining my excitement I asked, Ni hui shuo zhongwen ma? She self-consciously replied, "yi dian dian." "A little", not quite there yet, I thought... but then, OMFG! Freedom! Oh the beauteous glory of language and communication. The woman next to me was fluent in Chinese and Vietnamese! The lovely Xiao Chen responded to my inquiry. She helped me sort my ticket out and answered all my questions about time and place and money exchanging and everything in the wonderful dancing tones of Putonghua! It sounded like home. I wanted to hug this woman!

And we happily chatted in Mandarin, with several other surprised Zhongguoren joining in, for the next 11 hours.

.smile.

Arriving at the Nanning airport, I was giddy. Everything worked out so well, everyone spoke Chinese. I was full of good Phở by this time and in possession of a currency that made sense to me. I had gotten a good nap in on the ride to the border, and I had received word that my flat mate had successfully handed my business suit off to my associate. There was a hotel already waiting for me with all of its plush and free glory at the other end of the flight, and all I had to do - my job even - was to now, after four months of uncertain travels, sit casually with the lovely, though short-sighted, Xiao Chen as I waited to board the 7:55 to Chongqing. (Xiao Chen thought, incorrectly, that she could simply show up at the airport and buy the next ticket to Chengdu.. syke! Hopefully she made it by now though, and maybe I'll see her tomorrow... poor thing.)

----

I thought for sure that it would have been an impossible accomplishment; fourteen days after I picked up my Chinese visa, and just one week from the moment I got on the Open Tour Bus leaving Saigon, I am sitting pretty, shaven, clean, sipping Chinese coffee with one of the many pulsing hearts of the Chongqing skyline glowing through my hotel window. I'm back in the land where the name An Xiao Long holds meaning, respect, a wage, dresses in shui suits and gets his expenses paid; I type on my equally longed-for 17-inch Powerbook, well fed and very content.

But it hasn't been like this; I have been sick and poor and needy and aimless. I have with little success been trying to speak Vietnamese and trying desperately to find cheap and edible Vietnamese food as I waited for money that never came, money that was to be my salvation and the key to a dream come true. Saigon, oh, Saigon...

The Final Taste of More to Come..

2009-05-20T23:35:00.001+08:00

IMG_1382, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

The White Sand Dunes of Mui Ne in southern Vietnam.

To see all of the photos uploaded, check out

http://www.flickr.com/photos/andrewgardejoiaphotography/

And keep in mind.. these are all the photos that I've taken with my little point and shoot Powershot S80; the Rebel XTi SLR shots are all in RAW and I can't upload them. I took about 700 photos with my other camera over the past two days...

Broken Egg Shells

2009-05-20T23:15:00.001+08:00

IMG_1237, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

These were carefully and intricately created with pieces of broken egg shells.