Jains: A Peaceful Bunch

Some of the holiest sites in India sit way off the well-worn path. Ranakpur, about three hours from the tourist center of Udaipur, is on the list of secluded locations.

Dedicated to Adinath, the first enlightened human according to Jain teachings, Ranakpur’s temple is one of the most sacred Jain sites in India. It is also among the more beautiful and intricately carved temples we encountered.

Constructed during the 15th century, the temple is widely considered to be one of the most spectacular Jain structures on earth. Inside one finds over 1,440 pillars, each of which is unique (including one pillar at an odd angle, which supposedly serves as a reminder of the futile nature of striving for perfection). The pillars, walls, statues, and ceilings are carved in such elegant detail that one scarcely knows where to look.

When they aren’t building lavish and incredible temples, the Jains tend to be a peaceful bunch. Not a particularly well-known religion, Jainism closely resembles the Western conception of Buddhism.

The primary path of Jainism is strict adherence to the practice of ahimsa, or nonviolence. Not only does this include a vegetarian diet, but often also excludes onions, garlic, and other root vegetables, as living organisms may be harmed when the vegetables are pulled from the ground. In order to avoid inadvertently harming even the tiniest of insects many strict Jains sweep the ground ahead of them as they walk, rarely go out at night, and even go naked lest bugs get trapped in their clothing.

In addition to ahimsa, vows taken by Jains include satya (non-lying), asteya (non-stealing), bramachariya (celibacy), and aparigraha (non-attachment). Monks practice these vows in the strictest sense, while the common man is expected to adhere to them as much as is practical.

With 4.2 million followers Jainism is among the smallest of the major world religions, but they sure do know how to make some beautiful temples. Where spirituality and architecture meet, there one finds some of humanity’s most amazing structures.

Desert Giant

Jodhpur’s afternoons swelter. It’s a heat that sneaks up behind you, wrapping a heavy, sweaty arm around your ribcage, covering your mouth and nose with its clumsy, chloroform hands. Moments in the grip of such heat leaves beer boiling, soda scalding. It is a heat that immobilizes, penetrates, permeates. It hangs itself around your shoulders, a winding shawl, demanding you pay it homage. Gallons of sweat, liters of water.

Rajasthan, India’s desert state, is a land of camels and turbans. It is dry and dusty, yet full of mystery and magic. Johdpur’s fort is no exception. Full of exotic twists and curls, flourishes and artifacts, the fort transports visitors to another era. It’s a time of Maharajas and camel caravans.

The fort is a massive behemoth. Rising out of rock and desert, strong and impenetrable, it looms over the cubic crumble and tangle of streets that makes up this blue city. And the giant, its courtyards and winding staircases full of history, sleeps over the blue city. Its nap drips shadow pools where people and dogs while away the blistering desert afternoons.

Haveli Heaven

In touristy Rajasthan, the Shekhawati region is seldom visited, bypassed for the grand forts and palaces of the other desert cities. The few visitors who do head to the towns of the dusty, arid Shekhawati typically go for one reason – the havelis.

In the intense heat of the summer months, we were the only visitors. There wasn’t another white face to be seen in the town of Nawalgarh, and most hotels were partially or fully closed. In overcrowded India, it felt like being in the middle of nowhere.

The havelis, extraordinarily painted homes, reaching often grand proportions, were the attempts of 18th and 19th century Mawari merchants, who often lived far from home for long periods of time, to show their neighbors how successful they were.  The murals often cover the mansion-like havelis from baseboards to rafters, depicting everything from everyday scenes to Hindu gods to family portraits.

Compared to the massive forts and temples available in other parts of India, the havelis represent an understated grandeur. Of course, many of the havelis are in need of some restoration and TLC. For most tourists, it probably doesn’t seem worth the fight and jostle of almost four hours on a local bus to see some rundown mansions. However, there is beauty in the understated, splendor in the dilapidated.

A Drop in the Bucket List

The Taj Mahal tops any number of must-see lists. And not without good reason. It is iconic, a majestic, beautiful structure, renowned as a tribute to love eternal. Its marble inlay that covers the arches and gateways is delicate and precise.

It is also India’s biggest tourist trap. At 750 rupees (roughly $13.50), its entrance fee is more than double that of most other historic places of interest. For perspective, that’s more than our nightly budget for a hotel room.

And of course it doesn’t stop there. The city of Agra is a veritable sales pitch played on loop. Tuk tuk drivers encourage you to stop at shops, stay in hotels where they get a commission. Vendors don’t understand that sometimes, no matter how low the price, you just don’t want what they’re selling. Everyone wants a cut, a kickback, a couple more rupees.

But, every once in a while fortune shines bright on our little trip through Nepal and India. First, our timetable landed us in the Buddha’s birthplace on the Buddha’s birthday. Then, we found ourselves in Varanasi on the day when the newly-elected (in a landslide) Indian Prime Minister was visiting the city.

Turns out, in Agra we got lucky again.

We arrived on the last day of a three-day holiday honoring the death of Shah Jahan, who built the Taj as his wife’s mausoleum. During said holiday, the 359^th Urs (deathiversary) of the Mughal emperor, the cenotaph chamber, which contains the graves of both Shah Jahan and his wife, is open to the public. Also, entrance is free.

Of course, free entry and a major holiday are not without their downsides – specifically the massive crowds that push and pulse their way through the gates. The line to get inside the Taj and view the tomb (opened once a year during the holiday), even during the height of an Indian midday in summer, was more like a mob four people deep, wrapping all the way around the outside of the mausoleum. Needless to say we only saw the outside of the building.

In the end it was a bit like a postcard, only far more crowded. Magnificent structure. Check on the ol’ bucket list. Happy we didn’t have to pay to see it. 

Ciudad de los Gatos

Panama City is a vibrant clash of old and new. Towering skyscrapers, stretching out to sea on filled-in land, glass reflecting back the blue of the midday sky; while in the slums and old sections, building facades crumble and decay, dilapidated history. Everywhere construction clogs and clangs, the revamping of a prospering metropolis.

Casco Viejo, a small oceanfront quarter, was once the entirety of Panama City. Now practically falling down, the old city contains hollowed-out shells of former buildings, empty windows staring blindly on narrow streets, weeds overgrowing windows. Bordering on being a slum, its roots in history.

And everywhere, mixed in among the rubble, stalking pigeons, relaxing in the parks and churches, were cats. As we walked about the old city, taking in the history and seeking shelter from the daily rains, more cats. Outnumbering stray dogs, Casco Viejo’s cats were more numerous than we had previously encountered.

As a cat lover, I find this to be a good sign for things to come in Panama. Just as the presence of a handful of boutique hotels and restaurants in Casco Viejo speaks to a bright (expensive) future for the historic area, so too the presence of cats speaks well for our future, however short, in Panama. If the cats are sticking around, the Panamanians must be doing something right. 

Holy Salt

Spending multiple days in Bogotá, a large, cold, sprawling city, warranted a bit of peripheral exploration. Enter: nearby Zipaquirá, home of Colombia’s Salt Cathedral. Originally merely a salt mine, the Catedral de Sal has gone through several incarnations before reaching the status of pilgrimage destination, holy sanctuary, and tourist attraction it possesses today.

Throughout history, up until man developed refrigeration techniques, salt was incredibly valuable. Understandable, as people tend to be neither physically tolerant nor especially keen of rotten meat. In fact, our English-speaking guide informed us, the word ‘salary’ has its roots in the word ‘salt’ (imagine my surprise when a google search confirmed the etymologic origin). Since the massive salt deposits were discovered several hundred years ago, Zipaquirá’s salt mine has been active, though it is less prosperous in the modern age of home appliances.

In the early 1930s, a sanctuary was carved into the mine for the sake of those who wanted to pray for protection before beginning their day’s work. In the 1950s, the sanctuary was expanded and dedicated to the patron saint of miners (because if there’s one thing Catholic countries have no shortage of, it’s patron saints). However, after 40 years of mining and praying in the same place, the mine was shut down for structural issues; the problem with building a cathedral inside a mine is that now your cathedral is in a damn mine.

After a major facelift, including structural additions and building only in the inactive areas of the mine, the modern incarnation of the Catedral de Sal was constructed. It wasn’t cheap or easy, but it is thoroughly impressive.

The downhill stroll begins with the Stations of the Cross. Though the rock in the mine is too hard for any detailed carving, each station features a large stone cross in various symbolic depictions, places to kneel for those who wish to stop and pray, as well as LED lighting.

A beautiful circular room, complete with an overhead dome, painstakingly hand-chiseled, represents the division between heaven and earth. Marble angels, designed by an Italian artist, perch throughout this massive complex. And, multiple staircases offer sinners the chance to repent before entering the main cavernous cathedral.

As you reach the farthest point underground (or farthest reached without donning a hardhat), you enter the main sanctuary. The primary cathedral is separated into three sections, partially due to structural limitation, representing the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. It is enormous. All told, the Salt Cathedral can (and each Easter Sunday does) hold up to 8,000 people.

Truly a magnificent feat of engineering and the human proclivity toward repurposing and interior decorating in places that are otherwise drab.

Seoul Searching

Having spent a year and a half in Southeast Asian countries, a week in Seoul was something of a shock to the senses. Accustomed to hot, humid weather, a laidback pace of life, and dirt-cheap everything, we suddenly found ourselves thrust into the middle of a surprisingly Western city, complete with winter temperatures, urban sprawl, and smog. Luckily, we were visiting my college roommate, Mr. Peter West, so we had our own built in tour guide, making it much easier to adjust to such Western living (and someone with female friends who could loan me warm clothes and shoes, without which I may have frozen to death).

While tagging along with Peter, I learned a handful of interesting things about South Korean food, culture and lifestyle. 

In a world without scooters, tuk-tuks, or motorbike taxis, having an efficient transportation system is invaluable. Getting all around Seoul, and to the surrounding cities, was incredibly simple given a massive web of subway lines and bus routes. Thanks to easy transport, we were able to spend time roaming through palaces, perusing modern malls, walking Korean street markets, meandering streets lined with tea shops and traditional houses, and sampling Korean and Western foods. 

Scissors are vastly underrated in the West. In Korean restaurants, scissors are a widely used utensil. Used to snip off noodles served from a common dish, scissors prevent that sloppy snap that flings sauce everywhere. At Korean BBQ (or "Meat Restaurants" as they are locally known), scissors are also used instead of a fork and steak knife. Both solutions are so simple, but I wouldn't have thought of them on my own. 

Soju is the devil. Alcohol made from sweet potatoes, plus a dash of evil, soju is a dangerous drink. It might not taste very strong, but when ingested soju can cause incredible intoxication, as well as spontaneous attacks of boisterous laughter and random fits of karaoke. It is also known to cause the worst hangover ever. 

Southeast Asia might be less "developed" than South Korea, but I vastly prefer their ideas on what constitutes an appropriate workload. The Koreans spend the majority of their time working or studying, sometimes into the wee hours of the night. There's something much nicer about living in a culture that values free time, a lack of stress, and an afternoon nap. 

Traditional architecture interwoven among highrise apartment buildings, Seoul is the combination of ancient Asian culture and modern Western influence, with a dash of poorly structured English and brightly colored cartoon characters. Seoul was the perfect layover between Southeast Asia and America.