The · Cruller · and · The · Currypuff

So this experiment in journalling the Road Trip seems to have failed - we're on our way back, and there has been nary a post in several weeks! Today we leave for Cambridge Springs PA. Our second visit to see the Pettersons' and this evening, David will be playing some music.

We're both feeling exhausted from being on the road for so long. David more so than me as he's been driving and playing music. It's definitely been a challenge to live with someone in such close proximity - the Geo Prizm isn't known for its space. Such stories to tell.

But now we have to leave!

Despite travelling across the country over a period of 7 days by car - I seem to have developed insomnia-like symptoms due to the different timezones. That said, Sholeh's living room is a pleasant place to have to lie awake in, what with wifi, gentle vent hum and .. an metal knight's armour in the corner (which would spook me if not for the fact that it's midget sized!)

David sleeps down the street, at another friend's place - our arrival at which was made more interesting when he walked in to see Robbie, an unlikely face from New Horizons (he of legendary high fives, I'm told).

Our drive cross-country has been pleasant, the initial roadtrip to KY was tiring, despite stops at Yellowstone, Kansas, St Louis, and various rest areas. Car camping isn't quite as fun when the car isn't stationary and leg room is limited. I entertained myself giving out awards for best and worst gas stations; the boys (David and his brother Jonathan) made do with "KS & MI Rest Area Ball", an activity which for now will go unexplained.

David's National Park pass not only got us into Yellowstone for free, it got us discounts to go up the St Louis Arch, which looks alot higher than it actually is. One of the guys decided it would be fun to form words with our bodies from down below the arch for the viewing pleasure of spectators on high. We sufficed with a simple "HI" before succumbing to the call of the aerobie.

Kansas was flat. Berea KY was rainy. IN has water that tastes.. different.
We camped at Brown County State Park, last night, falling asleep to an orchestra of winged insects and toads. Ogle Lake did not prove ogle-worthy, although it was peaceful enough to read Baha'u'llah's Writings by.

And now Chicago. David played at the open mic at the Red Line Tap. I've discovered that the scene here at least is dominated by relatively angsty alternative acoustic : whatever happened to melody? The B-team were pretty awesome though, can't really go wrong with a glockenspiel in your ensemble! Unfortunately we didn't get a chance to organize anywhere else for David to play at (yet). In the meantime, there's the Baha'i House of Worship, the Persian Conference.. and Sholeh and a bunch of other people we hope to meet here.

Next stop - Indiana. But that's still a weekend away!

-prema

SO.

It's been a jumble of OR_WA_ID_MT_WY_CO_KS_MO in the past three days. Awards have been given out (already, so soon!) to the best and worst gas stations thus far. The boys (David & Jonathan) have had their annual KS & MO Rest Area Ball - there shall be a website on the sport soon, I hear.

We should be in Berea, KY by early tomorrow morning. And there, more updates shall follow.

-prema

So, as you may have noticed, we haven't been keeping the journal up to date. This is partially because over the weekend we were in Teluk Intan, where there is no internet. Also, it's partially because we should be leaving for home in a few days, and those last minute things are taking up most of our time and energy. See, there it is: the phone call indicating that it's time to go. So, more sometime later. Perhaps in the Singapore airport, which has a really nice-looking lounge, if only we can get to it.

This day has been so productive that it deserves to be over.

Internet cafe early for his first Spiritual Assembly meeting ever - the Forest Grove Local Spiritual Assembly, attended via Skype from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.  Nothing is ever done the normal way with this one.

Following that, a meeting with a representative of Elite Digital Technologies, who is printing CDs for their suddenly-a-record-label, Major Ninth Records. He says she is the CEO, because why not? She says he's the artistic director, because..well, he's the talent.

A Spiritual Assembly meeting, printing 2000 CDs, starting a new company - this day really deserves to be over, but it's not.  They still have to buy some computer equipment, design a company logo for the first purchase order, print business cards for two businesses, and perhaps most important, eat some roti canai.  And it's only 3:30pm.

It is the brutal edges that define things: the harsh lines of differential between stone and air, light and shadow; the sharp distinctions that cause us to give one aspect of God's creation the title of "one," and another the title of "another."  Here is a wall, there is a lake; this is love, that is anger; the prayer hall is different from the courtyard, and they aren't allowed inside because Muslims are different from non-Muslims.

They walked around the complex of Malaysia's national mosque after picking up her identity card.

On the surface, everything has that edge to it - heck, that's what a surface is - but look a little closer and the edges blur.  Since Greek times human beings have divided existence into a chain of being, extending between God and the lowest levels of creation.  Prema's dog Arjun is somewhere in the middle of the chain.  He evidently understands that he shouldn't have run through the open gate to cavort around the streets of Petaling Jaya, because when finally corralled again, he looks positively guilty.  The avocado tree, on the other hand, is not the least bit concerned that it grows into the neighbor's yard and must be trimmed.  No amount of berating will shame it into staying on this side of the fence. And it would never think of trimming you back - agriculture is strictly a human activity, right?  Wrong: there are ants which cultivate aphids for honeydew.  In fact, the boundary between man and animal is fuzzier than we might imagine.  We may never be able to communicate with an ant, but we can hold conversations with apes through sign language.  Blurry edges.  And the chain extends above us beyond our vision.  We all may be human, but there are humans and then there are humans.  We may have limitless potential, but we realise that potential to different degrees.  How many of us will understand the mind of Martin Luther King or Mother Theresa?  Who could understand the reality of Christ, Muhammad, Bahá'u'lláh?

They sat in starbucks in the morning, fidgeting with the internet, making calls.  His words made an edge between them.  Her feelings were a study in blurred lines.  Where does one opinion end and another begin?  Why is there no line between love and anger?  Their footsteps traced the edges of the light and shadow.  The passage of time is like stepping back from a Van Gogh; the strokes get blurry, but the picture becomes clear.  The painting was finished at the exact moment that separates afternoon from evening.

They arrived in Malaysia, supremely exhausted by the never-ending train/plane journeys. Toast and tea restored some semblance of life. Friday concluded with a dinner neither could finish. David was found capable of withstanding the fiery bird peppers, with relish even. She was suitably impressed. He however showed little interest in spicy unshelled prawns, "too much trouble for the taste" was his verdict as he dipped his soiled fingers gingerly into scented water to cleanse them. She smiled indulgently as she reached for more.

They set off on Saturday in search of wifi (wireless internet access) and found themselves at a Starbucks cafe at the Petronas Twin Towers. Those world-famous sky-scraping spires, once the tallest ever, said to dominate the Kuala Lumpur skyline. But David, quite possibly the worst tourist in the world, never saw the towers, despite sitting several hundred feet away. Instead, they were occupied with Skype (calling David's parents - hi guys!), dancing fountains and as always, each other.

Plans to do the nearby Saturday night market were foiled by jetlag as both crashed hard in the late evening. Only to wake at 1am, disoriented and hungry. Curry puffs (now officially one of David's Favourite Foods) and stringhoppers with chicken curry served as a quick snack before they resumed sweet sleep.

Sunday was not memorable. She recalls yet another Starbucks stop. And an attempt at speed shopping at the Reject Shop - a great place for factory overstock clothing. She enjoys shopping with him, and he with her. She would have him procure a whole new wardrobe, if he'd let her - it's not often one gets to dress a handsome and willing man. (ouch) Okay, a cute and cooperative man. (ow) Fine, just a man. Although she would have you know that he is adorable, gorgeous, cute, good-looking and handsome, as well as agreeable, cooperative, and willing. (note: he added that part about being agreeable)

The week yawned ahead of them.

"Do the 'he' and 'she'."
"Okay, then how would I say it?"
"Hmmm.... This is too narrative."
"He" wondered what "she" meant by "too narrative," but it was too late: the post had already begun, no stopping it now.  Much like the journey unfolding before them.
The past three days had gone by in a single 17-hour blur.  May 3rd, Portland Oregon: May 5th, Singapore.  What of May 4th?  Only the Pacific Ocean knows, and it's not spilling its secrets.  The only witnesses to the mysterious disappearance of May 4th spoke exclusively Japanese, and no translators were available - although there were nostril cleaners, so in case you need that kind of thing, you can find them in the Tokyo airport on a day that doesn't exist.  I'm not sure if they're around on real days.
Does anyone else realize that a single baby can cry for 7 hours straight?  Leave them at home with the grandparents!  (Hi mom.)
She would have you know, as well, that he can play video games for four hours and not notice the time fly by.  But so can she.
He runs through the streets of Singapore alone, frantically looking for money.  Is this a pattern for things to come?  So prognosticates the woman who lost a bet owing to the sudden and unexpected presence of a giant crab.  She laughs.
They made it to the train station, lugging all their ... well, luggage.  She had complained at home about the unnecessary weight involved with his packing job - hard suitcase inside backpack - yet it was her bag that finally caused the sore shoulders.  Breakfast of red bean paste-ries and a rest for the shoulders.  Then, in characteristic fashion, they board the wrong train car.  Or did they think there was only one 8a on the train?  No, someone else had that same seat, and in car S.  Their tickets were for car R.  In defiance of a direct order from a train janitor, they are still in car S, 13 C and D.  It's okay.  The conductor has smiled at them several times.  Ah, young love.
Young love is spending an hour trying to take the perfect picture of itself looking out the window.  Too washed out on the left, turning itself inside out, light to dark to light, and voila!  Img_0927.

The dogs are barking outside again - they anticipate the sirens from the police and fire departments - and I believe that a cricket has somehow gotten stuck in the roof. Not an easy task for a cricket I should think, but there it is, a distinct creak-creaking from just above me and to the left. Apparently the boy crickets call out with that chirping sound to attract the girl crickets. Stick to what works I suppose. Although one wonders how many little crickettes there are cavorting around my rafters in mid-February. Ordinarily, so I hear, the virility of a given male cricket can be accurately ascertained by the sounds that he makes. It takes quite a lot of cricket energy to call like that, so the more he calls, the more, well, *energy he has. That is the official story from the cricketologists, but I'm not really sure they've adequately gotten into the little insects' minds. It could be that the lady crickets just get tired of all the racket, so they give in just to get the guys to shut up and stop pestering them. Or maybe they like being pestered, because then they know they must be as beautiful and fashionable as the cricket babes in Chirp magazine, with knees so knobby that every cricket knows they've been airbrushed.

The little guy in my roof called about five times and then stopped, a performance that I'm guessing wouldn't warrant much attention in, say, April, but maybe he gets points for being the only one who keeps calling in the dead of winter, with no response, like leaving voicemail messages for someone who already has plans.