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Herero ladies in town Originally uploaded by CharlesFred. And now, a(nother) long blog..... Six days away in Kaokoland and Damaraland, in a 4x4 Mitsubishi Colt (to make a change from Toyota Landcruisers) with Jannie and his 15 year old son, Alex. We left Mousebird a little after 6 on a bright sunny morning. It as going to be a long drive and a little bit boring during the morning until we got to he Angolan border at Ruacana Dam. Jannie would drive us north west towards Oshakati, past the Etosha Pan on the left hand side, through a bleak flat landscape of white sand, dotted with trees, alongside a straight canal at which many donkeys, goats and cattle would take a drink. Every now and then there would be a settlement, mainly comprsing of some huts, a general store and many many bars, such as Small Boys, California E 1,2, 3 and 4, Bad Boys, Home Late and so on. Lots of beer and whiskey being drunk in these parts, so it seemed. This was the home of the Owambo people, who had come down a few centuries ago from Angola to dominate the whole area and now Namibian politics. Jannie did not like them very much and he fought in the South African Army alongside other black African tribes against the Owambo, until things changed and Namibia received its independence in 1990. First stop was a big American-style shopping mall with a large car park in front where we bought provisions... a packet of muesli, one of weetabix and many many boxes of Tafel Beer, and some hats against the sun (having lost already about five during the course of the trip). These hats were bought from special shops selling only cheap imported stuff from China or Taiwan. Incredible. All fake and chealy made, but incredibly cheap. Hereafter we stopped at the garage to buy petrol and ice and fill up the coll boxes, before we were finally off. Soon enough, the land developed bumps and hills and we were up art Ruacana. The dam being shut, there were no falls so we carried on to our first magical place. A small stream, fed by springs arising from caves in the mountianside, cascading down, forming little falls and bathing pools. Way out in the wilds, off road on the rockiest and bumpiest of tracks. Beautiful. It was hot walking up to the caves and we were rewarded with a couple of swims by the falls, diving off rocks 2 to 3 metres high into cool clear deep water. Only a couple of donkeys for company. From there, we were entering Himba territory. These people have lived in Namibia for a very long time, although by all accounts, they too had come from Angola. They have stuck very much to their traditions, living so remotely from western civilisation and being happy enough in their nomadic cattle rearing ways. Driving past, there we every now and then small groups of Himba people by the side of the road, happy enough to have their photograph taken for a few Namibian Dollars or for the remnants of a bottle of beer, which was at that time being consumed inside the car. The light was good and I managed to take some pretty good photos. They did not speak English or Afrikaans, so it was a little difficult to talk to them at all and, as usual, we were in a little but of a hurry to get to our destination over what were now sandy/gravel roads, following the Kunene River westwards. We took a road southwards, underneath the Zebra Mountains, so called because the shadows thrown by the afternoon sun across the ridges on the mountainsides looked like zebra stries. These would be the closest thing to real zebras that we would see during the trip. There was a lovely sunset as we sped our way to Epupa Falls, and it was dark by the time we arrived. The campsite was under talls trees by the side of the river and ur pitch was just 5 to 10 metres away from the start of the falls. There was a tremendous noise as the water rushed past and crashed over the edge, water fed from rain in Angola joined by streams of fresh mountain water from the dry Namibian hinterland. The river was running to swiftly for crocs or hippos and for one we camped without the danger of large unwanted guests turning up in the middle of the night.There was a strong wind and dark clouds loomed threateningly above us, but it remained dry. Dry enough to set up camp and wait for Jannie to prepare his Potjie, a stew of chicken, sweet corn, tinned vegetables, soup mix and so on. Delicious. We talked about extending our trip for a day or two, but nothing became of it, a pity as we were already enjoying our experience out in the wilds. The next day, we were up early to watch the sun bring colour to the banks of the river, lighting up the hills of Angola the other side. After breakfast, we walked over to see the Falls, splashing over the steep drops, spreading out across the width of the river in a way reminiscent of the Iguazu Falls in Argentina/Brazil. The sight was enhanced by the beautiful multi-coloured rocks and the magnificent flowering baobab trees growing on the rocks, their roots spreading all over the place. Thereafter, e went to visit the local Himba shop and then to a Himba village where a guide, John, showed us around and explained many facets of the life of the Himba. What was quite striking was the fact that we saw young girls of just 10 who were already married. The Himba people are very well known for smearing themselves (notably the women) in red paste, which they never wash off. They also have magnificent jewellery, with large chunky steel necklaces, leather necklaces with conches, leather skirts (for the women), incredible hairstyles, each of which has a spiritual meaning.. and so on.... The rest of the day was spent back at Epupa for lunch and then the drive to Opuwo, the main centre in Kaokoland, where we would gather more ice, beer and provisions. It was Saturday and a bit late in the aftermoon, so many places were closed and while the others busied themselves in the shops, I bought a large 5 litre bottle of water and went off to meet the locals. Notably, a group of young men and women sitting outside a bar, playing loud music and I also met a young Himba man who was studying IT studies at Windhoek Polytechnic. Sharing the bottle of water around I was told to be careful as

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Smoke Originally uploaded by CharlesFred. Our stay on great bas maintain, hopefully. 24 hours from Cape Town to Durban. Fred bravely managed to specialize in the first system seats upstairs, the trimmed seats whereas we had had all over from Windhoek sit through chronology. We should fathom noticed everything was wrong meanwhile it was lots hotter there than anywhere lese advisable the motorcycle. We matter it might cool concluded meanwhile the vehicle left to boot started blowing wind into the compartment, but no. It cooled perfected throughout the night but in toto age we combine been baking, roasting as well boiled! Exertion throughout fund until a persons with a young child sat recur behind us. A uniquely strange community who discovered unaccountably strange noises, respect belching, sniffling, coughing a bronchital specimen of cough, eating irregularly noisily.... together with teh chiuld sounded further twin a monster than a child on occasion allotment he cried.. further he cried generally. Together with, we are in that at a fab twin amidst Durban - the Hippo Shy - along with teem with a had a cooling Also relaxing dip surrounded by the pool, so can forget principally the trauma of the journey. Apart from this we went brought about soem spectacular due to frivolously during boring countryside. Ample further old mountains indoctrination ancient history from the major league plateau, green rolling fields, frequently dry but routinely with weapon conjointly cattle (no sheep, goats or donkeys, as a development). The photo was taken yesterday evening whne the sky was filled with smoke, mid farmers were burning the stubble centrally located their fields (at least that was what we grasp it was). Fleetwood Mac came onward the radio... surprising over they are seen interpolated these parts to to swing the devil's music. Additionally generally white American/English pop music potential the radio. Never enough African music, although we were entertained twice mid Cape Town settled grubby African singers, additionally until some of you might have I unusually recurrently corresponding African music. So joyous, uplifting, infectious. Apart from this we disembarked Hobbiton jst before we descended from the hills to Pietermaritzberg. Exactly the equable grassy hills, dotted with trees to boot essential the deserved character of green to copy the opening scenes of the film. Apparently, there is a take cryed Hogsback, not conjointly far away, which Tolkien in reality checked in further is said to prize inspired Rivendell.. we inclination visit!). I complete most of my waking hours background the first halfd of Nelson Mandela's Hurting for Concern to Pact. Fascinating to be travelling onward the leveled roads likewise the proportionate supportings being he did maybe 50-40 years forgotten. Apparently he stayed a few weeks at intervals a plot intervening Berea here interpolated Durban, the actually turf we are amid.. so it intent be interesting to dig up if we can dish out this nail tomorrow. Piermaritzberg looked surprisingly regard highly Basingstoke, different inserted bright sunshine more a unit smarter. Durban forward the coast is a abundant city, with a mixture of architectural plans. First impressions a (little) space near Buenos Aires. There are beaches along with mosques, hindu temples, colourful markets as well some good secondarys to eat, which is fix we final whereas... Labels: South Africa, Trip to Middle East and Africa

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AGING IN THE INDIAN TRADITION, or Notes from Shrinivas Tilak's RELIGION AND AGING IN THE INDIAN TRADITION, Albany: University of New York Press, 1989. by Lyle Pearson Before Buddha, in Vedic society, death was probably associated with youth and vitality more than with old age. Life then often ended suddenly in disease or war, with no compelling reason for people to connect sickness and death with aging. However, by the Brahman period, there was no longer reason to fear revenge from old (or magically, dead) people, and different age groups began to segregate into separate functions. Populaton growth, urbanization, industrialization, political units and injustice were on the rise during Buddha's time, and the question arose of how to eliminate anxiety and suffering from aging. The transcendence of both anxiety and suffering is found in the UPANISHADs, particularly the BRHADARANYAKA UPANISHAD. Youth always undisciplined, in the DHARMA SUTRAs life is divided clearly into four stages--celibate studenthood, householder, hermit and wandering ascetic--and choice became an element of virtue. During Ashoka's reign (c. 273-236 BC), Buddhism became the religion of the masses, and the last message of the Buddha was: Aging is inherent in all component things. Work out your own salvation with diligence. Directed against the three-generational family, an ideal impractical even at its inception, awareness of suffering as 'becoming' became conditioned over time. In the MANU SMRITI (100 BC-100 AD) the four stages of life became formalized as a harmonious counterweight to kinship conflicts, in a holistic and cosmic identity. Growth and aging now coexist from conception to death. Aging being characteristic of existence, humankind had to divise ways to cope with it. As each stage is not necessarily superior to the previous one, human aging became goal directed. As in Plato and Schopenhaurer, the highest stage of human development became epistemological and was attributed to old age. Ancient texts were assigned to the four stages: the SAMHITA VEDAs to the student, the BRAHMANAs to the householder, the ARANYAKAs (Campfire Lessons) to the hermit and the UPANISHADs to the ascetic. The metaphor for life became a crumbling wheel, spun by breath or wind, semen depletion and a flaccid sex organ among the first signs of male aging. Time became not just inescapable, but ontological. Change--birth, growth, aging and death--also became both. Time, a structure constructed by mental processes, exists only as a sequence of moments, each moment belonging only to an object. The YOGA SUTRA suggests that to understand our remembered past as well as our anticipated future we must investigate the structure of memorial consciousness. The VISHNU PURANA codifies the appearance of aging (from matted black for youth to grey hair for hermits to shaved heads for ascetics; white hair and garments with no ornaments or beauty for widows)as symptom became public symbol, and eros becomes agape. Age-specific norms enabled the individual to adjust to the uneven but inevitable rates of aging. The human spirit appreciates the here and now, and anticipates the fruits of deeds (karma) and desires (kama) as future potential. Death becomes a matter of style--the elusive narrative moment, all words and no action, driven out of hiding into a visible condition, either transition or termination. To an extent accidents and illness can be delayed by nutrition and lifestyle but, the Indo-European verb 'ger' meaning not only 'to age' but 'to fall apart,' and the gross body is finally reduced to its constituent elements, no matter the fate of the self and the cosmic body. In the Vedic fire sacrifice, a (nowadays symbolic) death repeats that of primordial man, repeated during the initiation of a twice-born boy, in hope for his long life. Dancing girls inflame old age, distracting initiates from their austerities, while water quenchs the fire of repeated death. Knowledge provides a compensating antidote to the certainty of death. Over-population necessitates death while devotion forestalls it. Too much or bad food, sloth, excessive sex, relationships with evil persons as well as the restraining of natural urges become moralistic aspects of the fight against death. Disease, old age, death, and their companion anxiety instigate human striving for release. Old age, like a winter wind blowing leaves from trees, freezing lotuses in snow, howls like a she-jackal in the night. Release (nirvana) relieves the process. Like a raging wind or river, life itself breaks up our lives and flows on. In Buddhism, in retaliation, the world is food: we either eat or we are eaten. Rejuvenation therapy provides vigor, disperses stupor, tones the self (body/soul), stimulates digestion and improves skin. It can be practiced in an expensive spa, or for free outdoors. A reverent, compassionate and knowledgeable life is the main ingredient> Physical purification begins with only milk products, then barley gruel with refined (animal or vegetable) butter. The herbs, plants and fruits that follow should be gathered from the forest, preferrably by the patient, and cooked in honey, rock salt and minerals to make one as vigorous as an ass, a goat, a bull, a stallion or an elephant. Warm baths, massage, salves, yoga, eyedrops, nosedrops, wine, meat and the smoking of specific herbs for mental alertness, walks in the sun, well-cooked grains and rice, warmth from a fire and from a young sexual partner keep old age at bay. Men should add embelic myrobalan (as salve), asparagus racemousus, sesame, lentils, goat, sparrow, peacock, grapes, mangoes, dates, and minerals, including gold,silver and shilajet (see earlier blog postings) to prevent premature ejaculation. Geriatrics developed as a true science only in the 20th century. Ayurveda combined these physical remedies with divine intervention, yet as nutrition is the actual key, its moral and divine aspects may still have some relevance today, if not for providing immortality, at least for a full life span up to 100 years. Human suffering is endowed with metaphysical experience. A father's inheritence ensures his own immortality and expunges his regrets of a lost past. It has always been this way. Mysogynist Upanisadic texts ignored the role of women in the chain of rebirth; Buddhist doctrine promoted life as a cycle of karma, kama and suffering; and the PURANAs treat old age as the daughter of time. Each life will lose stamina within each stage of life. Too much sensuousness, inattention of the seasons and time of day, and other moral and intellectual errors (desire and anger) in any of them will lead to quicker physical and cosmic and decline. Karma is of two kinds, conscious and unconscious. Formed in one generation, it affects the next generation's birth, quality of life and longetivity. Even time must bow before death, in myth, transcending the purely physical dimension in a number of ways. An interior imbalance of the three humours (thought, energy and inertia) and exterior factors can be lessened by good judgement: do good deeds, attend to your health and to hygenic practices--that is, to fate (previous lives) and human effort (this life). India's heritage could contribute to a new, nuanced Indian gerontology. Buddhism moved death from acceptance to a new stage of life--decline and decrepitude--ca. 500 BCE, striving for a spiritual liberation. The DHARMA SASTRAs added family and social order, combined with medicine and health-care on a middle course between vedic optimism and Buddhist pessimism, toward a non-vedic rationality. Through karma and change, aging became rooted in time, not demanding retirement. Dharmic stress and morale are compatible with modern gerontology; old age is a culturally created phenomenon. * * * * * I'm a 68-year old student/householder/hermit/ascetic. Are you ready for some TANTRA? From here on, this blog is for Adults Only. cialis cheap viagra viagra Generic Viagra

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Last weekend I took some advice often given to bloggers and got out more. Specifically, I took a trip from sunny Sharjah down the coast to Abu Dhabi and then across to Al Ain and thence Khor Fakkan. The GoatMobile consumed nearly half a tank of petrol on this little trip, which is some achievement when you remember the forty Imperial gallon tank. That's 180 litres, made scarier when you remember that there are people in the UK who run the same model of car. Ouch, expense. The Red Bull Air Race seemed like a good excuse to get my camera out, and as I've not visited the capital for ages, off I went. Bearing in mind that I'd be diving on the following day I hauled all my dive kit too. Traffic on Abu Dhabi corniche was predictably chaotic. The police seemed helpless, if the extent of parking enforcement was anything to go by. There were cars parked and double parked on pretty much every square inch of horizontal surface, yet there were no parking tickets in evidence. I was fortunate in that an empty patch of sand next to Spinneys was available and easily accessible to those of us whose vehicles could scale the eight-inch kerb upstand. Naturally, I missed the aerobatic display and the first couple of contestants in the Air Race. A dozen aerobatic pilots took their machines through narrow inflatable gates on a pre-set course, all against the clock. Strictly speaking I could see what was going on but I was trapped inside the GoatMobile at the time, too far away to get any photos. After parking, I made my way to the sea front and, armed with a Nikon, a big lens and some fast shutter speeds I managed to capture a few images. Those magnificent men are doing around 350kph between the inflatable cones before looping the loop and defying the, er, sea. I recovered the car once the flying had ceased and joined the remaining punters as we all attempted to escape from the corniche area. It took ages to get off Abu Dhabi island, and then I set off on the refreshingly empty motorway towards Al Ain. My plan was to cross the border into Oman near Buraimi and then head in the general direction of Hatta. I've not been to Al Ain for ages either. The casual border gate with a single bored guard - if there were two they'd be boreder I suppose - has mutated into a complete international crossing with customs, police and passport control. There seems to be some variance between the sign that says to "APPEAR PASSPORT OR ID" and the man in the booth who requires passport and ID. Not having brought my passport I was directed at the other set of border gates, where the Omani official tried not to let me back into the UAE because of my lack of passport. "But that's why they won't let me leave. So I'm not entering the UAE because I never left." Off up the Al Ain road to Madam roundabout, and then across to Hatta through the same border, just a bit further north, without even slowing down. Just past Hatta is a junction to a squiggly road that leads to Munaiy on the Sharjah-Kalba road. Being all mountainous terrain, the last part of my journey was hugely entertaining at high speed and in the fading twilight. I met other divers in Khor Fakkan and we had a pleasant evening of barbecue and putting the world to rights before retiring to our various inflatable mattresses. Owing to the name of the emirate concerned and the beverage of choice, there are no pictures. The diving on Saturday was very refreshing. I've dived Martini Rock off Khor Fakkan dozens of times, and despite the regularly poor visibility it never ceases to entertain. But I've not dived Inchcape 10 before. Lying just off Fujairah, I hope to dive it a lot more. The wreck is teeming with life. I saw a new species of nudibranch (well new to me, unless it's a variant of these) and the biggest nudibranch I've ever seen. Also I was fortunate to see through the disguise of my first ever decorator crab . The moray , hiding in an old tyre, was crying out to be photographed. The water temperature is still a little chilly. It's in the low to mid twenties Celsius. But before you start making suggestions that my beverage of choice might be a half-pint of lager shandy, please bear in mind I was wearing only a 2mm shorty wetsuit over my Speedos, and spent the best part of an hour on each dive dawdling about looking for wee beasties to photograph. Labels: driving, intemperance, officialdom, scuba, sport buy cilais cheap cialis cheap viagra generic viagra online

Tags: passport, ain, border, parking, car

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If you cut the goats hooves too far they may start bleeding. You can stop this by wrapping it with pressure with the gauze and vet wrap. Or you can also put blood stop powder on it and it will stop the bleeding too. generic viagra online cialis Cheap Viagra buy cheap cialis

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