Peace Caravan: Journey Along the Silk Road

NO WOMAN NO COUNTRY

2011-12-15T08:29:00.000-08:00

Afghan Women want Peace but not at the cost of loosing all they have gained in the last 10 years. Yes, they believe in Peace but their rights are non-negotiable. During this Transition Process, Afghan Women want to emphasise security issues for the military and police, but, primarily for civil society.

Burkah Sellers Kabul, Afghanisgtan 2005 As Executive Director of a non-profit my trip to Afghanistan in 2005 was to coordinate the Ministry of Education's mandate to locate and select schools in the Waras region, an area with the greatest need. I had no idea what to expect only that Waras was a day's drive south west from Kabul in the opposite direction from the historical Bamiyan city district, where there is a proliferation of NGO's giving aid. Little did I know that this would turn into six days and the majority of that time spent on horseback traversing a dozen shale covered passes of the Surb Koh the mountains that surrounds these villages.

The Second International Conference on Afghanistan held in Bonn, Germany last week, marked 10 years from the first conference, in 2001, when Hamid Karzai was chosen the leader of an Afghan Interim Authority. In the 10 years that have transpired, Afghanistan women have worked diligently to enact changes for the better - including a law giving them protection against violence. “But then, as today, the law is rarely enforced with 80% of women and children experiencing some type of violence on a daily basis, occurring in both the cities and the rural areas.”

The Afghan women delegates spoke openly about their lack of protection, at the press conference hosted by CARE International the day following the Bonn Conference. The women delegates were not invited to participate directly and this CARE press conference gave them the international platform to emphasis the need to be on equal terms with the men of Afghanistan. “Since women make up 51% of the Afghan population, they stressed their right to be actively involved in the discussions, decisions and negotiations during the Transition Process.”

Mother and child Worzang, Afghanistan 2005 The women of the villages have special needs, and spoke to me privately in hushed tones. There are few doctors in the area, and no one was specializing in women’s health issues. There is no midwife system in Afghanistan and since most women are shy and modest by nature they often give birth alone. This is one reason that Afghanistan has the worlds highest maternal mortality rates, at 1600 for every 100,000 births. The infant mortality rate has similar statistics, at 166 per 1,000 live births. One in four children die before they reach the age of five.

There are striking similarities between the Afghan women, as they look to secure their future, and their American sisters, who surprisingly are facing a backlash to their own rights. The recent Initiative 26; “a Mississippi state constitutional personhood amendment that would have given full rights to fertilized eggs, would have banned emergency contraception, birth control pills, and IUDs as well as all abortions, even in cases of rape, incest, or to save the life of the woman or girl. The Personhood Amendment would have even gone so far as to eliminate medical choices for women, including some cancer treatments, in vitro fertilization, and could allow the state to investigate and even prosecute a woman for a miscarriage.”

The Personhood Amendment aims to reverse the gains made by Roe vs Wade. “While women’s rights supporters successfully defeated the dangerous Initiative 26. Anti-abortion and anti-birth control extremists have indicated that they intend to put a similar measure on six state ballots in 2012”. As of December 14 , 2011, “Personhood USA Petitions claims that GOP Candidates Lead on Personhood; Bachmann, Santorum, Gingrich Sign First-of-its-kind Personhood Pledge”

This past October, women in Topeka, Kansas, where shocked when the district attorney’s office announced that they would stop investigating domestic abuse cases. Prosecutor’s say they're overwhelmed with so many felonies, and the need to incur budget cuts, that they can't afford to pursue these and other misdemeanor cases. This move by the district attorney’s office has outraged civil rights advocates and who say, “Austerity has gone to far”

Carrying greens for evening meal Jark, Afghanistan, 2005

The peaceful landscape is an oasis of calm with the emerald fields of grain, apricots and raisins contrasting with the soft brown mountain backdrop. Village life is simple but for the women the work is hard; women worked the sparsely fertile land, threshed the wheat, tended to the cattle, carried crops back to the home and cooked the meals.

These examples crystallize the regressive policies that threaten the essential core rights of the individual - particularly women and children. I have observed, as I travel across the many Silk Road countries for my Peace Caravan project, that this need for an “inclusive voice” remains an ongoing global struggle for women. In this 21 Century, I believe that the time is eminent. Raise the rights of women and with an equal determination in the future of their lives; their families, village and nations prosper. For without women, there is no country.

With respect, and to honor the courage of the women delegates at Bonn, The Afghan Women’s Network-AWN, and all those who have focused their energies over the past two years to give Afghan women a voice. I present:

FACES of the WOMEN of AFGHANISTAN – photographs from my journey through Afghanistan in 2005.

Women Begging outside of Mosque Herat, Afghanistan 2005

Young Girl in White Warzang, Afghanistan 2005

Washing up Jark, Afghanistan, 2005 Washing up, cleaning clothes and showers all take place in a stone room off the main house. The water flows from a hollow bamboo stick protruding from the rock wall falling directly into a trough cut through the stone floor. Clothes are rubbed clean against the floor, scrubbed till the soap runs clear then left to float in the water filled trough to rinse. It is an amazing piece of engineering and even though the water was ice cold, exacerbated by the stone floor, it was a luxury and a refreshing pleasure.

TRI Tashkent Conference -Tashkent, Uzbekestan

2011-12-05T17:28:00.000-08:00

Marla Mossman seen on the monitor during her presentation at the Tashkent Conference

I was delighted to be invited to give a virtual presentation at the The Region Initiative (TRI) REGIONAL TOURISM PARTNERSHIP AMONG SOUTH ASIA, CENTRAL ASIA AND EASTERN EUROPE CONFERENCE in Tashkent, Uzbekistan - November 22, 2011.

The conference was organized by TRI Honorary President, Mr. Agha Iqrar Haroon, and attended by partners from Central and South Asia, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Iran and Pakistan - all tourism experts and professionals in tourism NGOs and practitioners.

The audience had the opportunity to view the Peace Caravan: Journey Along the Silk Road video before I participated in an interactive discussion, answering questions via Skype. I stressed the view that Central Asia, which has wonderful cultural and environmental opportunities in eco-tourism, handicrafts, and traditional arts needs to impart a new global awareness campaign. I and my Peace Caravan Project’s mission is to be a positive role in telling the world how peaceful the people and beautiful the landscapes are in Central Asia and all along the Silk Road.

I was especially moved by the Conferences recognition that "tourism is an effective tool for peace and should be considered a harmony generator. It was decided that all countries will work together for the revival of the historic and traditional route of the Great Silk Road."

For more information on TRI and the Tashkent Conference
http://www.theregionaltourism.org/Tashkent-conference.htm

Social Good Summit Summary

2011-09-30T15:25:00.000-07:00

First Tweet by the First Ladies of Africa at the Social Goods Summit

Last week I attended The Social Good Summit, held in New York to coincide with the United Nations General Assembly. It was jointly hosted by Mashable, the UN Foundation, and 92nd Street Y, and was sponsored by Ericsson. Many media notables, world leaders, Nobel Prize Laureates, activists, U.S. government officials, movie stars, business leaders, bloggers, and journalists joined in on conversations on the most important and crucial, global issues.

Noticeably, the conversations lead to Africa and ultimately the focus was on the needs of Women and Girls. From Dr. Muhammad Yunus, Founder of the Grameen Bank to Archbishop Desmond Tutu and Mary Robinson of the Elders each spoke of the need to appeal to religious and political leaders - for better education, to raise the status of Women, to save lives during pregnancy and childbirth - just a few of the issues facing women.

While it was promising to hear that Women were finally at the forefront of global discussions, I was disappointed to not hear any mention of Uyghur Women and Children living in far western Xinjiang Province, China. Their traditions and customs are on the brink of extinction., since, Kashgar, ,the historic Silk Road city on the main trade route linking China and Europe, has been designated as “a special economic zone”

Second Annual Social Good Summit

2011-09-15T10:27:00.000-07:00

I’m happy to pass along that I will be a guest blogger at the Mashable/92Y and the UN Foundation’s Second Annual Social Good Summit beginning on September 19.

A brief description by Mark Leon Goldberg the managing editor of UN Dispatch

“Between the United Nations General Assembly meeting and the Clinton Global Initiative, UN week in New York is always a fascinating, hectic and exhilarating week. Last year, a new event was thrown into the mix: The Social Good Summit. About 1,000 people hung around the 92Y in Manhattan for three days of inspiring meetings, lectures, presentations and interviews about how social media and emerging communication technologies are being harnessed for the global good.”

Confirmed Speakers:

Ronit Avni, Founder and Executive Director, Just Vision
Matthew Bishop, American Business Editor and New York Bureau Chief, The Economist
Pete Cashmore, CEO and Founder, Mashable
Beth Comstock, Chief Marketing Officer and SVP, GE
Ami Dar, Founder and Executive, Idealist.org
David Jones, Global CEO, Havas and Global CEO, Euro RSCG Worldwide and Co-founder, One Young World
Nancy Lublin, CEO, Do Something
Simon Mainwaring, Founder/Author, WE FIRST
Alec Ross, Senior Adviser for Innovation, in the Office of Secretary of State Hillary Clinton
Raj Shah, USAID Administrator, United States Agency for International Development
Ted Turner, Chairman, Turner Enterprises, Inc. and the United Nations Foundation
Elie Wiesel, President, Elie Weisel Foundation for Humanity
Muhammad Yunus, Grameen Bank

Check in with the Peace Caravan blog for current updates!

The Highs and Lows on the Karakorum Highway

2011-06-20T09:22:00.000-07:00

Mustagh Ata Xinjiang Province, China

Animals grazing in the pastures below the gently sloping west ridge of Muztagh Ata- Father of Ice Mountain in Uyghur.

It only really hit me when I arrived at Lake Karakul, after the long drive up the Karakorum Highway – the notion that I was actually here! It had taken another year, and a return trip to China, to finally be at the lake to see the magnificent Muztagh Ata’s snow capped peaks reflecting in Karakul’s cool waters. I too was all water as I shrank onto the wooden bench, head down hunched over, crying my eyes out. I couldn’t stop crying looking at the incredible natural beauty. And then – the dismal, so called yurts that I was supposed to sleep in for the next two days. I had envisioned a view on the lake, in a felt covered yurt. Instead these were concrete yurts, badly cracked from the yearly earth tremors caused by the growing “young” mountains; some of which were the tallest peaks in the world. To make matters worse, the yurts were tucked behind the massive government-run concrete Guest House. With a High Voltage Radio tower looming right overhead, like a giant steel predator. It was dreadful. I let all my tired sadness run out of me in a crying jag that even the gentle Allahbardi, my guide and translator, could not stop. The only consolation was to push on to Tashkurgan, another 2 hours drive deeper into the Pamirs. We were all exhausted especially Amdulla the driver who had been going all day and wanted to arrive before dark. I needed to gather my emotions and get back in the car.

Camels are pack animals, perfectly suited for the high altitude treks. This herd was grazing at the sparse green thicket by the side of the highway, when I jumped out of the car and scrambled down the gully, landing about 100 yards in front of them. Very curious, they gracefully wandered over to me, stopping inches from my face. I dare not move, as they soon became bored, realizing I had no food and silently strode pass me without a second glance.

Red Tashkurgan, Tajik Autonomous County, China

A Tajik woman with traditional head covering walks through the high alpine meadow, tending to her sheep. The majority of the population of Tashkurgan are ethnic Tajiks living in the region for generations.

Yaks Lake Karakul Xinjiang Province, China

The town of Tashkurgan is at an average altitude above 4,000 metres (13,000 ft). The Muztagh Ata, at 7,546 metres (24,757 ft), and the Kongur Tagh, at 7,719 metres (25,325 ft), are the main peaks in the Kunlun and Pamir Mountain Ranges. The Karakoram Highway is the highest paved international road in the world, but at its peak at the China-Pakistan border it is only paved on the Chinese side. An engineering marvel started in 1959 completed in 1986 connecting Kashgar, in the Xinjiang region of China, to Abbottabad, of Pakistan. A suburb of Islamabad made recently famous as the safe haven for Osama Bin Laden.

Ayalim - Apa - Aela -Yeza /Wife – Mother – Family - Village

2011-06-02T07:23:00.000-07:00

Neighbors Beshkeiram Village, Kashgar Xinjiang Province, China

Shadebeth; seen here in the blue dress, lives in an old style mud house, traditional for centuries in Xinjiang. Her home is in Beshkeiram, a quaint village 11km from Kashgar. Its rare to see a mud home that is occupied as almost all the houses are quickly being converted to brick walls - on Government orders.

As I travel around Xinjiang I have observed that culture survives with the women. It is because the women’ role as the central pillar, her family flourishes. In a traditional Uyghur household the marriages are arranged with the bride and groom’s consent to their parent’s choice. The just married young Bride moves into her husband’s home to begin the process of learning how to be an Ayalim – wife in Uyghur language. She will develop the style of cooking of her mother-in-law, learning the foods her husband likes to eat. After a few years of living with the man’s family the young couple may move into their own home, built on a portion of the family’s ancestral property.

I met Shadebeth when I visited her mud style home and was saddened by her tragic story of loneliness. She tells me with tears flowing, that she has no children. That her life is very difficult since her husband has left her, to live with his son from his first wife. Shadebeth has no one to turn to besides her close friend and neighbors. This extended family is common to the Uyghur villagers.

Today we wear Yellow and Orange Beshkeiram Village, Kashgar Xinjiang Province, China

The family gathers outside their home on the Poplar lined street. The traditional carved wooden doors mark the walled entrance to the inner courtyard of the typical brick house. As is fashionable, the entire family is color co-coordinated to the mother’s clothing.

Making Chuchuro Kashgar, Xinjiang Province, Chin

Nsagul and her two daughters- Aisha and Maryama make the famous tiny “Ear-shaped”- Chuchuro. Lamb filled dumplings served in a light vegetable and lamb soup. “Tamlick” - Delicious in Uyghur.

Red Baby Cradle Old City, Kashgar, Xinjiang Province, China

6 million Uyghurs live in Xinjiang Province today comprising 47% of the population. Unlike the city dwelling Han Chinese who are restricted to one child, it’s common for Uyghur’s, to have five to six children. Primarily farmers, the children will eventually help with the multitude of chores in the home and on the farm.

The Jade Rush

2011-05-25T08:31:00.000-07:00

Jade Prospector Hotan, Xinjiang Province, China

Hotan played an important role as the major market on the oldest Silk Road route. Situated at the base of the Kunlum Mountains and the southern rim of the Taklamakan Desert, it was renowned as a silk weaving center. Yet, centuries later, it’s the unique White Jade that is still being dug from the White Jade River in Hotan today.

To get a better look, I decided to travel up river to Malika Awat, a small village 6km north of Hotan, to see what the locals were digging up. Its was Saturday, and the air thick and mysterious from the sand storm kicking in from the north.

A bad sign for as the car drove up to the edge of the river the view was a dismal empty gravel pit. Except for one lonely Jade prospector, and his team of three men, they were all that was left on the dry riverbed that day. I decided to pay him a visit, and with trepidation, hobbled over the smooth blue and grey stones to find out his story. Its seemed all the other villagers had left due to the sand storm but this man was still working because he was living at the side of the river since his village is 75 miles away. His enthusiasm increased with the news that a villager found a piece of Jade the size of a man’s hand that morning. It was worth an estimated 500,000RMB or $77,000US. I wished him well, and commended him for his perseverance when I learned that this risky endeavor had cost him over 10,000.RMB or $1,500.00US. That’s a lot of money to the Uyghur household. I could only imagine what his wife was thinking as he slept each night alone amongst the rocks.

The next day, while enroute in the opposite direction to the Imam Asim Shrine, I discovered the big business of Jade, in the 21st century. The sight and sounds of the gigantic earthmovers was stunning in contrast to the vision of yesterday.

But, it was the small family of one woman and her two children, picking away at the earth that gave me the sense of the desperation. They were all there for the unlikely chance of finding a single piece of jade. The precious stone, when unearthed, glimmers a radiant light that even the smallest pebble is revealed from amongst the other rocks.

Dig for Jade Hotan, Xinjiang Province, China

Earth Moving Red Hotan, Xinjiang Province, China

Picking in Blue Hotan, Xinjiang Province, China

Stone Seller Hotan, Xinjiang Province, China

The real business is conducted at the outdoor Jade Market where dozens of prospectors come face to face with the merchants and middlemen involved in the modern Jade trade. Vendors, like this young girl with her stones displayed, compete for the highest price. Like all the others, she is armed with a water bottle from which she continually shoots the stones with water to make them shine.

1 gram of Hotan White Jade A+ quality is valued at 15,000.00RMB or $2,310US

Last year a camel herder dug up a baseball size piece of Jade that earned him 800,000RMB or $123,000US.

Uyghur Wedding Kierya, Xinjiang Province, China

2011-05-21T10:55:00.000-07:00

Village Street Donkey Cart Keirya, Xinjiang China

Inside the old Kierya village the tightly wound, hard packed sand roads are busy with local traffic. Here, away from the rushing highway, the air vibrates with the chirping and twittering sounds of the hundreds of birds taking refuge in the cooling branches of the Poplar trees that line the banks of the gently flowing streams running along side the roads. Donkey carts are still the major means of transport for this fertile region. Keirya is the home to 300,000 people who are primarily Uyghur farmers who work the rich soil to harvest apricots, melons, raisons, corn and wheat for the infamous noodles, the staple of every Uyghur diet.

I traveled 9182 miles, 20 hours flying time, a total of 3 days travel time to to return to Keirya in China’s Xinjiang Province. The home to the authentic Uyghur people whose way of life is dramatically changing with every passing year. The super highway system that connects this once remote southern oasis city is nearing completion. Now, donkey carts gallantly compete with huge oil tankers, semi-trailers, cars and motorcycles fitted with flatbeds that pass them, speeding down the highway, loaded with people and produce alike.

I was fortunate to learn of the local wedding of Mamut and Halahnhan, from the friend of my young guide. I ventured into the old village and happily joined in the celebrations just as the entourage arrived at the family homes for their separate receptions; women and girls in one house, men and boy in another house. Luckily for me this was a true boy meets girl next-door love story as both houses were directly across the street from each other.

Mother of the Groom Greets Guests in her Home Keirya, Xinjiang China

Hasiyat Turd; Mother of the groom, at the entrance of her family home greeting guest to her son Mamut’s wedding reception. In traditional Uyghur style, she wears the formal attire and the tiny hat once made by the women of this small village in Kierya. Her tiny hat, worn for weddings and funerals, is very rare as they are no longer handmade by the local village women.

Aunts Waiting Wedding Party Keirya, Xinjiang China

Bridal Offering Keirya, Xinjiang China

Bride's Wedding Party Keirya, Xinjiang China

Female friends and family of Halahnhan, the young bride, are welcomed into the home of the Groom. They all sit on the heavily carpeted floor as they lean against the colorful wooden panel dado that lines the lower portion of the interior wall. The remaining wall is then covered right to the ceiling in bright patterned carpets. The bride will now live in her husband’s home, becoming part of the larger extended family.

Cottage Keirya, Xinjiang China

Village Street Keirya, Xinjiang China

Keirya is 112 miles East from Hotan or 4 hours driving time. Hotan is 322.50 miles South East from Kashgar or 10 hours driving time. Kashgar, Xinjiang Province’s far Western city is located 2100 miles, 7 hours flying time from Beijing. New York City is 6760 miles, 13 hours flying time, East to Beijing.

Peace Caravan Video Preview

2011-05-09T06:44:00.000-07:00

Friends and Patrons gathered on March 24th to preview the new Peace Caravan fund raising video. Soon to be shown on this website in the next coming month. I want to thank the gifted investigative journalist and director Stephen Digges of WIR Media/Pictures for his patience and diligence in making this video.

Coming soon to this website..........

Insight Tarot Fund-raiser

2011-05-09T05:56:00.000-07:00

Friends of the Peace Caravan gathered on April 20th for an evening of fun and individual tarot readings to gain insight and meaning into their most personal issues. Later we all discussed how being attentive to these subtle qualities in our lives can guide us on our journeys through life.
I want to thank my sister Myra Mossman for the powerful tarot readings that she gave that evening and for her generous donation to the Peace Caravan project.

To learn more about Insight Tarot please visit: www.insighttarot.com

Peace Caravan Presentations

2011-02-07T14:35:00.000-08:00

Peace Caravan Presentations

Marla Mossman

Peace Caravan: Journey Along the Silk Road
Northwest Art Center

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Alshire Theater

Minot University

Minot, ND

Contact: Avis Viekley

Peace Caravan Photography Exhibitions

Marla Mossman
Photographs

Peace Caravan: Journey Along the Silk Road

February 14 through March 17, 2011

Northwest Art Center

Alshire Theater

Minot University

Minot, ND

Contact: Avis Viekley

701-858-3264

Day 21: Urumqi to Turpan

2010-06-26T23:12:00.000-07:00

Tuyu Vallery Mosque, Turpan

Taking a local bus in any country is always an ordeal when traveling with my camera bag. It has to stay with me at all times; solution is to purchase an extra seat, but in China with so many people this is a problem. Instead, I hitched a ride from Urumqi to Turpan with a private mini-bus for the Chinese day tourists, my luggage in full view, securely stored behind the driver.

Funny thing about these Chinese tourists, they detest the sun so much. Driving in our shaded cocoon with window curtains pulled tight I could not see any of the scenery leaving Urumqi until we arrived at the first viewing stop. A wind farm located about an hour outside the city. I had an attitude that I could care less and was not too thrilled in stopping, since we have these in California too.

Also annoying, was the tour operator who felt obliged to begin talking the moment we pulled away from any site and continued talking until we stopped at the next location. Then, she would gather us up, to begin explaining something in great detail. At one point, I am sure having run out of facts or anecdotes, she started singing for a few miles, to every-ones delight except mine. It’s these little things that convince me not to go on group tours.

Since Turpan lies below sea level its the hottest place in China, yet most of my fellow passengers where covered from head to toe in some version of a poly-fiber material. Each time we unloaded from the bus to visit a site, umbrellas opened, face masks put in place and cotton gloves where worn to help obscure any inch of skin from the sun’s deadly rays.

Finally, after much delays and unnecessary stops to visit, reconstructed forts, artificially restored old cities, museums and factory outlet stores we arrived in Turpan, for lunch. It’s my time to depart the group and the new friends I made and head for my hotel. In a few hours my greeting for “Hello” changed from the Mandarin, “Ni Hao” to “As-Salam 'Alaykum” now that I was in the mostly Islamic Uyghur, Xinjiang Province. It’s a simpler life of farm and family, where the sun shines 270 days a year.

Tomorrow is Day 24 and I am spending a few days in this charming town know for its grapes, famous for its raisons.

Day 16-20: Dunhuang

2010-06-23T18:16:00.000-07:00

Mingsha Sand Dunes, Dunhuang

To me, the quaint oasis town of Dunhuang represents the meeting place between sand and civilization. Walking down the tree lined main street leads right into the Mingsha Dunes’ sweeping 20 story arabesques. Approaching, it seemed to go from pavement to sand in a few short steps.

Curious about the camels I had photographed at the dunes in the morning, I set off again later that evening with friends from Long Island, Joan Digby and her husband John, who happened to be in Dunhuang too. I ventured back toward the sand, veering off the road onto smaller trails that meandered into timeless moments. They spoke to me about the early caravan traders who arrived at this point where the Northern and Southern Silk Roads converge.

Camels Coming Home, Dunhuang

Dunhuang, being an important destination for the traveler to either stock up for, or repair from, the arduous journey crossing the fiercely hot Taklamakan. I too, prepared for this next phase of my journey, and rode the Bactrian camel for a few hours to get the experience of the desert. It was not too pleasant, as my camera kept hitting the camel’s front hump then onto my leg. Making the entire trip an event as I kept switching positions trying to get comfortable on this graceful animal of the sand.

Tomorrow is Day 21 stop over in Urumqi then onto Turpan the hottest place in China.

Day 13-14-15: Jiaguyuan

2010-06-22T07:38:00.000-07:00

The Fortress at Jiaguyuan, in Gansu Province on the edge of the Gobi Desert is the most western section of the Great Wall that eventually undulates its way to Beijing. Today there is little romance about this cold desert city except its perfunctory usefulness with dozens of chemical factories processing the raw minerals from the nearby Qilian Mountain. Once a strategic fort guarding the narrow pass that bears its name. It was the last outpost for travelers on the Silk Road leaving China for the wilder wilderness of Xinjiang Province and the West.

Western Section of the Great Wall, Jiaguyuan

I was drawn to the fort’s high-terrace pavilions and crenellated walls, but after a day and a half shooting I soon tired of this relic of the past. Wandering through a nearby village I came across these farmers sitting by the side of the road playing a local board game.

The player’s own confusion on his next move reflected my inner turmoil; should I take the crowded 5-hour bus to Dunhuang or hire the driver who I have been with these few days in Jiaguyuan.

Go-No-Go, Jiaguyuan

I decided on the taxi driver to take me through the Hexi Corridor on the 5-hour journey. He told me he would bring his sister along as an extra driver. But when I arrive at the car the backseat is full with sister, wife and child all ready for the adventure ride to Dunhuang.

Tomorrow is Day 16 and the Sand Dunes at Dunhuang.

Day 7 to 12: Xi’an

2010-06-15T20:23:00.000-07:00

As my 7th day in China turned to dusk, I left the shadows of the Great Mosque and the chaotic sounds from the lively Muslim Market that sprawled through its narrow side streets. The density was intense with the layers of activity. Tourists, hawking vendors, three-wheeled motor surreys, and the roaring motorcycles were becoming tiresome.

I soon retreated to the peaceful gardens of the thousand-year-old Big Wild Goose Pagoda located near my hotel. To my delight, while I was wandering the grounds, I came upon a small green alcove where a monk from the Da Ci’en Temple was tending to his pet grasshoppers, which he kept in small jars. These captive insects were each busy munching on a single soybean as the monk tenderly fed them special food from a tiny toothpick. It was a timeless quintessential moment.

Monk with Grasshopper, Xi’an

Terracotta Warriors Found, Xi’an

Tourists from around the world fly in for one day to see the famous Terracotta Warriors, the discovery by three farmers in 1974 that has changed Xi’an forever. But for me, it’s the romance of Buddhist monk Xuanzang , the intrepid traveler. His epic journey to India opened relations with China, when in 629, He left Xi’an to bring back a comprehensive understanding of Buddhism. His journey marks the beginning of the Silk Road and I am following in his path today, retracing his footsteps in Xinjiang Province. The Big Wild Goose Pagoda was built to house the thousands of sutras and manuscripts Xuanzang carried with him on his return to Xi’an 17 year later.

Big Wild Goose Pagoda Park, Xi’an

Tomorrow is Day 13 and I am off to Jiaguyuan the Western section of the Great Wall and the gateway for the Silk Road travelers from the west entering China.

Day 6: Summer Palace, Beijing

2010-06-09T07:41:00.000-07:00

This morning I photographed the historic Lu Song Yuan for the Silk Road Hotel Group. The head of marketing fell in love with my destination photographs and commissioned me to photograph, in my own style, three of their properties. This is a great honor; the Silk Road Hotels are respected for their cultural authenticity and located in some of the best places in China. I am delighted too, since one of my joys in traveling is finding hotels that have a unique local flavor. Now, I’ve been invited to stay in traditional hotels in Beijing, Dunhuang and Shouzou. This is one of the mystical indications that I am on the right path.

Once I finished shooting at the hotel, I headed to the enchanting Summer Palace located on the northwestern edge of Beijing. It’s my last day in the capital city and it should be a toss up between the Summer Palace and the Forbidden Palace. To me it was a no brainer. I’d seen the rooftops from afar but I wanted to be in nature with Pagodas, surrounded by lakes, flowing streams and picturesque bridges. All the iconic romantic symbols of Chinese landscape design in one place, a photographers dream and I was not disappointed.

Red Pagoda, Summer Palace, Beijing

Corridor, Summer Palace, Beijing

Tomorrow is Day 7 and I am off to Xi’an the capital of ancient China and the city from where the Silk Road originated.

Days 5: The Great Wall and Houhai Nights, Beijing

2010-06-06T22:15:00.000-07:00

Wall Walk View, Mutianyu Great Wall, China

The Great Wall is one of those “must do’s” when visiting Beijing. I’ve seen the wall from photographs, from movies, from outer space. For me, I was not so much interested in the wall, as seeing the neighboring village outside of the city. I chose to visit the Mutianyu section, some 70km north and one of the best preserved. Also, fewer tourists visit since the drive is almost two hours from Beijing. I found Mr. Lui at the front desk of the hotel when I went to inquire about a car and driver. He seemed friendly enough and even spoke a little English. Devananda was coming along too, and would be able to translate. Mr. Lui picked up Devananda first and they both arrived at the hotel exactly at 2:00pm as planned, since I was hoping for sunset shots at the Great Wall.

It was a fun ride, we chatted and laughed our way out of the city. The dense chaos of Beijing soon dissolved into green fields and tree lined sidewalks. Each tree was painted with a band of white paint and a red stripe about one third the way up its trunk, creating this beautiful pattern as we moved along.

I was lucky to find that there is a cable car to take you to the top. Unfortunately, the car stops at 5:30, which did not give us much time on the wall. This meant that there would be no sunset shots.

Surprise, surprise how jaded am I! Seeing the wall in person was more than I ever imagined. It’s impressive as it undulates over ridges, dropping down into valleys, snaking its way across China. We climbed to the first Watch Tower where the jasmine flowers were blooming all around us filling the air with a sweetness that was heaven scent.

Once down from the mountain I did a bit of yoga and Tai Chi with Devananda. Then had a delicious dinner on the outskirts of Beijing. We arrived to the hotel late and set off to the HouHai area for a drink to catch the night scene. The hutongs to the lively Back Lakes district were alive with activity as people prepared for the evening.

Mao Entry, Suoyi Hutong, Beijing

Night Scene, Houhai, Beijing

Tomorrow is Day 6 and I am off to the Summer Palace for my last day in Beijing.

Day 4: The Lu Song Yuan and Hutong Culture

2010-06-04T18:00:00.000-07:00

NanLuoGuXiang –“Nan-Loo-Go-Shoe-On” is how I say the words all together really fast. I love the sound of Beijing’s oldest hutong area. Today, a fashionable shopping street lined with bars, restaurants and shops. I see the Yuan Dynasty’s hutong, (Mongolian for water well) layout of 16 narrow lanes leading off from this central lane a bit confusing. I am looking for the 3rd hutong, No.22 Banchang Lane, which is where I am to find the Lu Song Yuan Courtyard Hotel.

Finally leaving the western style Hi-Rise of the Wangfujing Grand and New York behind me, I will be living street level in my new room in the once private residence of Grand General Zeng Ge Ling Qin. He was a defense minister in the Qing Dynasty and his home is in the traditional quadrangle courtyard style. This is typical of the elegant residences of the officials, and aristocrats who live within close proximity to the Forbidden Palace. Today sadly the hutongs are being torn down to be replaced by the dazzlingly new structures that have excited the world.

Window View Court Lu Song Yuan Hotel, Beijing

Chinese Lamp in Window, Lu Song Yuan Hotel, Beijing

View From My Room, Lu Song Yuan Hotel, Beijing

I never tire of the ubiquitous red lanterns all over the Beijing, now they are hanging right outside the doorway to my private courtyard.

Tomorrow is Day 5 and I feel in my element, excited to begin exploring the area, then later in the afternoon its to the Great Wall. I’ll leave the Summer Palace for my last day in Beijing.

Day 3: Temple of Heaven, Beijing

2010-06-01T17:21:00.000-07:00

“Tian Tan Park, East Gate. Just remember that name and I’ll meet you by the ticket booth at 9:30.” These were the instructions that Devananda gave to me as we Skype the night before. This morning, I told it to the bellman and he explained the instructions in Chinese to the taxi driver. And that’s how I get around, sort of like the game “Telephone”, and it usually works.

I get to the park early to settle in to enjoy the throngs of tourist, who arrive in two, threes, and tens. The big groups arrive in formation, usually led by ambitious women with sunglasses and large umbrellas. It’s getting hotter, and I am becoming breathless waiting. It’s easy for me to loose patience in the stifling heat. When from amongst the crowd I see a familiar smiling face wrapped in a big red bandana. It’s Devanada, radiating such joy and delight that I forget about being anxious. He leads me into the park, where I immediately buy a straw hat and join in with the other missed-matched tourists. Devananda waves me over to a crowd of couple’s ballroom dancing.

Joy of Dance, Tian Tan Park, Beijing

A few groups over and 50 -75 people are line dancing while others watch. Drifting up the stairs to the colonnade, we follow the sounds of windpipes, then move on pass the classical opera singers and the cello players. Where’s the Frisbee throwers, the dogs, the runners? I thought this was supposed to be a Park! I am moved by the Chinese people’s great sense of happiness from these simple pleasures. As I ascend the marble steps to the Temple of Heaven, I am reminded of Jerusalem. The Temple mount’s vast expanse feels the same, the layout similar.

Tian Tan, Beijing

Temple of Heaven Fire Grates, Beijing

We pause, glimpse inside and take photos in the Temple’s arches. We move to the grounds below, where amongst the sparse Aspen trees, we find the place to do Tai Chi. Here is Devananda second home. He’s been practicing in the park for years, with his special master. Soon, others watch as Devanada shows the locals how a specific exercise is preformed. He explains in Chinese the reasoning behind the action. Suddenly, the crowd breaks into applause impressed by Devananda’s power and fluid graceful movements.

Devanada Tai Chi, Tian Tan Park, Beijing

Unfortunately, I have to leave the peace and tranquility to attend the panel discussion with the Beijing Cultural and Historical Preservation society. It’s about to begin shortly.

Then I plan to join up with Ira and May for some classic Peking duck. Its only Day 3 and I am already falling in love with this country and the people.

Peking Duck Surgery, Xiheyaju Restaurant, Beijing

Tomorrow is Day 4 and I move to my new hotel Lu Song Yuan and then off to the Summer Palace.

Day 2: Panjiayuan Market, Beijing

2010-05-30T21:05:00.000-07:00

Up early to have breakfast with Ira. He collects me in his car at the front lobby and we literally go 2 minutes when the driver does a U-Turn into the Crown Plaza. Before I can say, "Tzao Shang Hao" (good morning), Ira and I are drinking coffee. Its french toast for him and scrambled eggs for me. Could be in New York.

After all these years, I finally get to see Iras Beijing. Hes been living in China for over 23 years and to hear him speak Chinese is so much fun. He delights in chatting with everyone, as I was soon to find out at Beijings famous weekend Panjiayuan Market.

On our way to the market, we did a quick stop to the historic NanLuoGuxiang hutong to check out my new hotel; the traditional courtyard, Lu Song Yuan. More about that in tomorrows blog. Its a good thing the driver missed the entrance to the hutong otherwise I would not have gotten this shot of the two guys taking a nap in the bus.

Luggage Sleeper, Beijing

Panjiayuan Market View, Beijing

Market Porter, Beijing

Man with Suitcase, Beijing

Whos Next, Beijing

Tomorrow is Day 3 and I am off to the Tiantan (Temple of Heaven) to meet up with my friend Devananda.

Day 1: Arrival, Beijing

2010-05-29T20:35:00.000-07:00

By the time I arrived at the Wangfujing Grand, my hotel in Beijing, it’s 5:00pm and my body’s tingling from enduring the 14-hour international flight. Dusk is settling over the city, quieting the traffic noises to a gentle hum, relaxing me even more than the timeless lull that envelopes me. Exhaustion combined with excitement means that I was too wired and tired to do anything other than take a few photos from my room.

My obsessive pre-planning had paid off and from my window I have a clear view of the Forbidden Palace rooftops less than 1 km away. Perched from my 12^th floor vantage point I get my bearings and establish my route for the evening - travel along the hutongs until I reached Tiananmen Square.

Forbidden Palace Roof Tops, Beijing

Park Pagoda, Beijing

Jet lag rules tell us; upon arrival not to sleep during the day, but that does not work for me. A short 2-3 hour nap is perfect to cut the rough edge from the buzz of the plane still shooting through my body. But by the time I am ready for the city its nighttime and this end of the famous Wangfujing shopping district is almost empty except for a few locals doing business on the street.

Wangfujing Street Life, Beijing

I feel safe alone – I always do, especially when the people who live in the country tell me not to worry. So off I go looking for dinner even though its 9:30 I am hungry. I see a noodle shop open that’s clean, friendly and I point to the photos of the veggie noodles. Happy and full I pay the bill and head off in the direction of the first hutong to the left, its left, then left, then left again along the small side streets too narrow for most cars.

Hutong Street Dining, Beijing

Its getting darker and the streets are becoming more deserted as I continue to walk and soon I am beside the majestic outside walls of the Forbidden Palace. Its not until I turn the corner onto Chang’An Avenue do I hear the throngs of Chinese who make a pilgrimage to this historic site. I am overwhelmed at their joy and happiness. It’s a pleasure to be amongst the thousands of families and I join in and take their pictures too.

Moa Couple at Forbidden Palace, Beijing

Tomorrow is Day 2 and I am off to the colorful Panjiayuan Market with my childhood friend Ira Cohen who has lived in China for 23 years.

Beijing Cultural Heritage Protection Center(BHP)

2010-05-04T06:33:00.000-07:00

While in Beijing I will be attending the Capital Conversations panel

discussion on May 23rd.
I hope others interested in the preservation of historical landmarks will plan to attend. See you there! Marla

The Alamo and Old San Antonio

2010-03-08T16:38:00.000-08:00

The sun was setting too quickly as I finished my notes following my lecture for the Women's College and the University Texas at San Antonio. The last hint of light evaporated like ink soaking the sky darker shades of blue. I was anxious to start photographing the city, yet with less than a few minutes of light, it was a race to get to the old Mission San Jose, the bell tower and dome now silhouetted against the night sky.

Peace Caravan Presentations and Workshops

2010-02-12T09:07:00.000-08:00

Visiting Lecture Series

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

7:30pm - 8:30pm

Hilbert College‘s

William E. Swan Auditorium

5200 South Park Ave., Hamburg 14075

Contact 716.926.8856

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Women’s History Month Lecture Series

Thursday, March 4, 2010 12:30 p.m.

University Room, Business Building 2.06.04

Women's Studies Institute

The University of Texas at San Antonio

One UTSA Circle

Contact: 210.458.6277

Peace Caravan Photography Exhibitions

2010-01-11T09:10:00.000-08:00

Bread Seller Kabul, Afghanistan

Marla Mossman

Photographs

Peace Caravan: Journey Along the Silk Road in Afghanistan
March 22nd to April 30th 2010
The Ware Family Gallery at Blaney House
West Virginia University
306 Purinton House
Morgantown, WV 26506
304.293.0784 (office)
304.293.4552 (fax)

Architecture in Areas of Conflict along the Silk Road

2009-09-26T07:58:00.000-07:00

The Wall Bethlehem, Israel

I was excited to give my presentation to Ryerson University Honor's Architecture Students later in the afternoon. My flight arrived early enough for me to be able to visit the places I had not seen for many years. Toronto had changed since I lived there in the early 80's, especially the Harbor Front area. Row after row of shiny high-rise condo's obscured Lake Ontario to a tiny blue sliver. As I wandered the bustling streets my thoughts turned to the images in my presentation and to those people who are living under oppressive conditions today and the contrast is startling. I am grateful for the opportunity to show through my photographs the real people living outside the mainstream of history, trying to provide for even the basic means of survival. The Lecture Series is part of the ongoing Peace Caravan Project's mission to "promote acceptance, tolerance and understanding in areas of turmoil and conflict along The Silk Road"

Fashion District Gallery 8 Juried Art Show

2009-09-10T09:11:00.000-07:00

Gallery 8 is a “pop-up” gallery showing a selection of artwork from artists who live or work in the Fashion District area of NYC. I was honored to have two photographs selected. On exhibit are the haunting Burkha Store Herat, Afghanistan 2005 and the colorful Candy Vendor Damascus, Syria 2005. During the opening reception several people came up to me to discuss the images and tell me of their travels to the region. It was especially meaningful to meet a wonderful woman who as a young girl traveled to Damascus in the 40's and remembered a moment walking through the ancient Souq al-Hamidiyeh a similar cart full of colorful candies.

Candy Vendor Damascus, Syria

Photographs on view at the Fashion Center Space for Public Art

2009-06-20T21:06:00.000-07:00

It was such a pleasure to be invited to display at The Fashion Center's Space for Pubic Art. The 23 photographs on show are of shopkeepers, vendors, and merchants from the ancient trade route nations of Afghanistan, Jordan, Israel, Syria, Turkey. Each photograph appeared suspended in layers of portraits and landscapes.

Honors Series Presentation

2009-04-14T17:51:00.000-07:00

CW Post University
Over 100 students participated in a lively question and answer following the visual presentation of my journey to Central Afghanistan. My goal was to inspire the students to follow their passion and to always stay curious about life. I am grateful to Dr. Joan Digby for her gracious hospitality and kindness.

United Nations and The Declaration of Human Rights

2008-11-16T15:30:00.000-08:00

Yo Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble perform at the United Nations

This year marks the 6oth anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. I had the opportunity to meet Peace Alliance Activist and UN liaison Anne Creter and Dot Maver, the founder of the Peace Partnership International, when I was invited to their informative panel discussion asking the question; Is Peace a Human Right. The following day, in stark contrast, I attended IIV Gallery's screening of war footage by the leading press journalists on assignment in Baghdad. The real situation in Iraq is tragic, with continued fighting and limited basic facilities for most citizens. My week culminated when I met UN Peace Ambassador Yo Yo Ma, and attended a private rehearsal of his Silk Road Ensemble in the General Assembly Hall of the United Nations.
The profound words of the UN peacemakers married with the exotic melodies of the musicians from the Silk Road resonated with me on a cellular level. I came away with a conviction to continue to make photographs that inform, and evoke emotions stronger than the high-energy images of hate and violence that captivates much of our media, news and popular culture.

Panelists include Culture of Peace David Adams,
PPI Dot Maver, His Excellency Ambassador Hilario G. Davide, Jr.,
UN liaison Anne Creter, & Iris Spellings

Karpeles Museum Santa Barbara, California

2008-04-17T14:07:00.000-07:00

Marla Mossman
Photographs
Peace Caravan: Journey Along the Silk Road,
Middle East

April 11-August 31, 2008

Karples Manuscript Museum
21 W Anapamu Street
Santa Barbara, California

805 962 5322

Marla Mossman's photographs are featured in this months issue of

Malibu Magazine' art icle

Finding Common Ground in an Uncommon

by Ed O'Connell and Cheryl Bernard

SYRIA BORDER CROSSING

2008-01-25T05:45:00.000-08:00

East Gate Old Souk Aleppo, Syria

Trust is the currency of the solo traveler, being a woman the exchange rate is high. From the taxi driver's obligation to deliver me to the correct address, to the expert guide knowing the correct facts, I assume that people are going to fulfill their promises. Sometimes, I may pay a premium, but when arranging a car and driver to take me to the Syrian border I did not mind the added expense. I understood that once dropped off in Kilis, I may have to wait several minutes to an hour for a border car to take me to Syria. So I had arranged with the Turkish driver to wait with me until I was placed into the other car.

We left Sanliurfa early enough in the morning to see the sun rising above the desert and I settled into the backseat for the 2 hour ride, munching my croissant, which I had grabbed, along with a tea, from the hotel's enormous breakfast buffet. Soon, I found myself gazing out the window imagining what it would be like to live in the newly developing suburbs that were sprouting everywhere on the barren chalky landscape. We were speeding farther away from Sanliurfa. Heading north- west to Kilis, the infamous Turkish/Syrian border city. I learned, while blogging the night before, Kilis was one of the contraband capitals of Middle East. I was excited to see what the place was like.

Unexpectedly, about 30 kilometers from Kilis, the taxi lurched forward. Just as I was mentally preparing for my upcoming performance with the border police the Turkish driver accelerated and nosed up alongside a car with Syrian license plates. He motioned to the bewildered driver to pull over to the side of the road. At the same time, in a convolution of Turkish and English, he explained to me that this quy in the next car would take me across the border. Startled, I asked him if he had prearranged this remarkably accurate highway meeting, but he shook his head no, gesturing to the Syrian license plates, which somehow meant it would be fine. Both cars slid on the soft shoulder, coming to a stop in the middle of nowhere surrounded by the nothingness of empty gray dirt.

The two men got out of their cars and from my perch in the back seat I watched them negotiate my transport. It was amazing to observe their body language, enacting the exchange with grand arm movements and lots of pointing. Suddenly, their body swaying slowed and they walked over to my side of the car in time for me to greet them. Having decided what my potential kidnapping would cost, I offered $50.00US and not a cent more to take me to Aleppo. Eventually the Syrian agreed and the two drivers were chatting away like old friends while reaching into the trunk for my luggage. It was then I saw the exchange of the forbidden contraband; 2 cartons of cigarettes disappeared into the Turkish taxi driver’s coat pockets. As they shook hands, joking and fluffing their feathers over their good fortune, I insisted that the round Syrian man show me his identification. His pointy face and tiny neck gave him the appearance of a big belly rooster, but his eyes were happy and kind and they matched the ones in his passport photo.

Feeling confident but suspicious, I exchanged numbers with the Turkish taxi driver and sped down the freeway with the chain-smoking rooster named Abdullah Mohamed. He made up for the choking air by playing good Arabic music and driving so fast that we were at the border in no time, or so I thought. Parking the car, he escorted me into a low-rise building. A bored looking man was slouched in his chair fiddling with his mouse and laptop. At the back, a tallish man was officiating from behind a giant table, yelling to me to hand my passport to the man at the door. Then, suddenly Abdullah dashed out the door like a chicken with his head cut off, waiving he would return in 15 minutes. I watched him get in his car, make a U turn, speeding away with my luggage still in the trunk. Never mind the clothes, he had my camera bag; with the cameras, lens and laptop and all the CD's I burned of the only images from the journey.

I began to pray to God, Allah, Buddha mixing up the Shema and Oh Mani Pani Hun and the Ana Becoach, till I slowly settled my breath and assessed my situation. The men around me looked pleasant enough; happily shushing my fears, telling me not worry. “If that wasn't a red flag,” I thought to myself. Then, I focused more clearly on the steady stream of innocent looking men and boys coming and going. I concluded that; 'if they were planning to kidnap me they would have been more discreet." There after, I turned down the handsome young man’s offers for more tea and began to shift my worry to another issue. “If I drank any more tea, I will never make it through the customs and immigrations, let alone the hour drive to Aleppo.” Now, I was praying for Abdullah to hurry back for a whole other reason. My prayers were answered, and he rushed me through the border checkpoints and immigration controls like a pro. I was processed, stamped and spit out on the Syrian side within an hour and soon enough I arrived in Aleppo. I was living my mission and feeling overjoyed; thankful for the goodness in people and knowing that along with Trust is Faith.

Peace Park Ceremony

2008-01-01T23:51:00.000-08:00

As the emissary for the International Institute for Peaceful Tourism’s Peace Park Project I had the opportunity to meet the mayor of Sanliurfa, Dr. Fakibaba, when I attended the tree planting ceremony commemorating the new park and to encourage community involvement in the environment.
It was an honor and a privilege to spend time after the ceremony in his office over Turkish coffee and delicious baklava. I spoke with the forward thinking mayor of his vision for the future for his beloved 4,000 year old city and the important role it has played throughout the centuries to Islam, Christianity and Judaism. Earlier, when entering the city from the west where there was once arid desert it now blooms with cotton fields spreading to the horizon bringing much needed resources for the Turks, Kurds and Arabs families that make up Sanliurfa’s colorful population.

Sanliurfa

2007-12-25T22:06:00.000-08:00

Women Pray in the Cave of Abraham

From father Abraham’s sons two nations were formed, their desert paths diverging.

Centuries later men die fueled by their self righteous anger toward the other.

Deep inside the earth, cradled within the stone walls of this cave where the Prophet Abraham was born I join with women who come to pray.

In this holy sanctuary mothers whisper to God their sufferings, crying for loss of the ones they loved.

With dignity and grace each woman’s private conversation resonates through their bodies; arched in agony, raised in reverence, kneeling with humility.

I am awed by their devotion and the need to reach out to God.

The closeness in this crowded womb defies the divisions of our politics.

Silently I pray that people put down their weapons and raise their conscience from hatred and separation to create a path that meets in Peace.

Hatay

2007-12-14T03:09:00.000-08:00

Courtyard of Ulu Mosque

Interior view of St. Pierre Church

I arrive in Hatay at dusk, surprisingly eager to explore, after riding on a bus that left Kushadasi seventeen hours earlier. I like long bus rides, the time passes quickly with the changing scenery, especially in Turkey where it’s similar to flying coach on an airplane; only better. A steward offers water, tea and coffee sometimes even snacks. With the frequent stops there is always more treats and good food, though it may be 1:00am in the morning. HAS bus lines provide headphones offering a variety of Turkish music and a comedy movie to watch from a small monitor. With the amount of cities I intend to visit on this journey I needed to pack light for the two months on the road. I carry two small suitcases; one stuffed with clothes for all occasions; from business attire when meeting the officials, sponsors and the press; to warm sweater and a thermal jacket for camping in the desert; a lite sleeping bag for low budget hotels and a bathing suit and wraps for the Dead Sea and Eilat. My second piece of luggage is a high quality rolling backpack that holds my laptop, external hard-drive, three camera bodies, various lens, and a tripod, along with all the necessary cables, chargers, batteries and memory cards. Because of the expensive camera gear I buy two seats and the bag stays with me at all times. The clothes bag is stowed down below with everyone’s luggage. People are often curious when they realize that I am traveling alone. The comment I hear most often is; “you are a brave girl” which leaves me feeling a little uncomfortable as if they put a hex thinking only of the worst possibilities. The truth is traveling alone comes second nature. I suppose being raised in Windsor, Canada, born in Detroit, Michigan I am use to traveling across national borders into then what was considered somewhat dangerous neighborhoods.
Immediately after checking into the Antakya Hotel I drop the bags in the room and head for the old city. The many bridges are full with people, their reflections grayed on the Asi River know in biblical times as the Oronoco when Hatay was called Antioch. Crossing into the old city I notice a scent of cinnamon in the air and discover that the delicious aroma wafting out of the incredible number of sweet shops is Künefe the local dessert of melted cheese sandwiched between shredded wheat drizzled with warm honey. It seemed everyone is addicted to it; hence my first impression of Arabic culture is sweetness in the air, the people, and the architecture. I’m in love with this peaceful place whose ancestors were a mixture of many cultures that arrived with the caravans on the western edge of the Silk Road.

It was in Hatay that I experienced the beauty and grace of traveling alone. I am somewhat intimidated to enter places of worship not wanting to disobey any observances or customs and the Ulu Mosque’s half lit entrance intrigued and frightened me at the same time. I must have photographed for 20 minutes before entering through the arches to the inner courtyard which magically opened to reveal 6 lemon trees laden with golden fruit shinning with the fading sunlight, I was immediately transformed by the sound of dozens of birds chirping causing me to let go from the hustles and bleepings outside this calm sanctuary. Men began drifting in from each gate to answer the call to evening prayers.
The Ulu is Hatay’s oldest mosque while nearby the Church of St. Pierre is where St.Peter preached and founded the Christian community, believed to be the first church in the world. Originally build in a cave, the Crusaders erected an elaborate façade with vaulted arches leading to the stone alter. Today Hatay’s tolerance is depicted in the city’s poster which commemorates Islam, Judaism and Christianity with symbols of the cross, crescent moon and the Star of David. Unfortunately the synagogue like the one in Istanbul was not open when I went to visit the first time. I was told to return the next day at 8:00am but after knocking for several minutes and wandering up several neighboring staircases it appeared locked tight.

Selcuk

2007-11-28T10:47:00.000-08:00

Virgin Mary's Resting Place View through a Window

The six hour bus ride from Bursa was taking me to the provincial capital Izmir, with a further 2 hour minibus drive to the coastal fishing village of Kusadasi. I was the guest of the gracious and hospitable Ali Acundas, staying at the Club Caravanserail Hotel an original 17th century Ottoman Caravanserail. Tonight its 8 ft thick stone walls were a refuge against the torrential downpour which seemed to be following me everywhere. The base of the 18 foot arched iron doors was pooled ankle deep in water and the steps to the second floor sleeping quarters were twice thick making it necessary to steady myself on the slippery stone. The two floor layout was typical for the caravansarail or roadside inns, since caravans had from 100-500 people tending to livestock each carrying around 300lbs of merchandise. With camels, yaks, and horses, safely stowed on the ground floor in arched stalls situated along the interior walls, the merchants climbed to the second floor and settled into massive rooms with 20 foot vaulted ceilings then heated by fireplaces, Similarly I prepared my camera’s for tomorrows visit to the best preserved Roman ruins in Eastern Mediterranean. Ephesus is important to the story because it was here that the upper class wore the silks which originated in China.

Wandering through Hadrian’s gate amongst the mausoleums, temples, baths and private homes I was virtually alone, except for the Japanese tourists clustered around their English speaking guide moving slowly down the marble walkways like a giant black beetle against the white ruins. By myself, I was free to imagine the elegant Roman men and women getting ready for the late afternoon performance held in the 25,000 seat Amphitheater. In the early days of the Silk Road the fabric was so precious only swatches were worn as decorations; ribbons sewn through hair or as embellishments on collar and cuff. A length cost as much as 300 denair or the price of one Roman soldier’s wages. Later, when the silk trade was fully developed, women wore garments made of the luxurious cloth. Creating somewhat of a scandal, the wearing of the clingy fabric revealed an almost naked body. Coincidently, this branding as decadent, coincided with the Roman Senate’s efforts to curtail society’s obsession with Silk as it was draining gold and nearly bankrupting the economy.

Perched high above all this decadence on the slopes of Mt. Koressos (Turkish: Bülbüldağı (Mountain of Nightingale) is the Virgin Mary’s last home and where she died. She was taken there by Saint John the Baptist whose basilica and tomb are nearby.
“ It is believed that after the crucifixion of Jesus, Saint John left Jerusalem and came to Ephesus, one of the biggest and safest cities of its time (capital of the Asia Minor province of the Roman Empire), and built a small hut for Virgin Mary just outside Ephesus in order to protect her from the non-Christian community of Ephesus.”

As I traveled farther away from the cosmopolitan centers of Istanbul, and jet set Aegean coast to regions with more traditional values I contemplated the notion of modesty in a pagan culture and Mary’s virginity with the rise of Christendom.
Tomorrow’s 17 hour bus ride would take me through Konya to Turkey’s southern province of Hatay or Old Antioch in biblical times. This was the Mediterranean terminus of the Silk Road and the site of the first Christian church established by Saint Peter.

Bursa

2007-11-17T11:03:00.000-08:00

Koza Han, Bursa

Visiting Bursa was more about the end of the Silk Road, where the Chinese monopoly on Sericulture was broken, than it was about the beginning of my journey. “Located at the western edge of the Silk Road the city became a serious rival in the 15th century with the production of silk cloth and thread for the thriving carpet trade” My destination this evening was the still vibrant 600 year old Koza Han (cocoon market) and Ipek Han (silk Market) known as the Silk Bazaar. Tonight it was crammed with locals Friday night shopping at the “mall”. I was to meet Muhammed Can at the “city center, last stop on the Domas before going into the Bazaar. In this torrential rain, I was not going to wait a minute longer than it took to dash from taxi to souk, knowing one would somehow find the other.

The miracle of all the water was that I had met him earlier that day when we agreed to share a taxi into town. Exhausted from carrying the heavy bags up and down the stairs of the high speed ferry and then from the dock after crossing the Sea of Marma to Yalova. I had at last boarded the bus for the hour long drive to Bursa’s autogar to catch a taxi to the hotel. And this was the short route, rather than the five hour drive around the coast, 60miles south of Istanbul.

It was intuition that guided me to Koza Han and by perambulating the interior square I was able to find him in the maze of silk shops nestled in the arches of this historic building. Over a glass of Chai I learned that Mohammad was a silk merchant from Istanbul and made the ferry crossing to Bursa once a week to collect the cash from his expanding clientele of vendors in the old bazaar. His desire was to do business in China and to visit the same cities of the Silk Road that I had visited; Kashmir, Delhi, Kabul. We delighted in our good fortune and the poetry of having the Silk Road as our common thread. I learned he was a Uigher, born in Turkey to parents who emigrated 36 years ago. I could see the ancestry in his face; broad across high cheek bones that narrowed at the chin, making him handsome, gentled by the slight Asian accents. He brightened when I mentioned I would be going to his homeland next spring, continuing my Peace Caravan to Kashgar, the important crossroads of the Silk Road situated at the western frontiers of China. He spoke of the tight knit Uigher community of 20,000 exiles living in Turkey. One of 5 races within China and much like their brethren the Tibetans, struggling to maintain long honored traditions and customs. It feels good to learn, to understand, and to share in his sadness for the loss for his people and their necessity to maintain their culture. I was struck with purpose and the importance to photograph our soon to be lost legacies. We vowed to meet again, perhaps on my return to Istanbul in two months time.

Istanbul

2007-11-13T05:18:00.000-08:00

Balat, Istanbul
Kuzguncuk, Istanbul

The muezzen’s melodies rang in harmony from Istanbul’s infamous mosques filling the air with the call to noon prayers, indicating as well that I was late. With only a short time in each city I knew that it was impossible to see everything so I decided it was best to focus on one aspect relevant to the Silk Road. As this was my fourth visit to Istanbul I wanted to explore the older cities now absorbed into the greater metropolis. Balat, is on the European side; Kuzguncuk on the Asian side of the Bosporus, each unique, yet similar, both reflecting the early multicultural communities.

The ferry to Uskador was a quick 10 minute dash across the Bosphorus and once landed, I hopped on a ”dolmas”; this one full of men and called out to everyone; “Kuzguncuk”. I was in search of the Bet Yaakov Synagogue located at Icadiye C.9 on the same street as the Greek Orthodox Church and a Mosque. After a short ride from the docks I was dropped at a quaint colorful village of narrow winding roads lined with shops and a few original Ottoman style wood houses. I was immediately taken by the warmth and spirit of this lively community. I soon gathered a crowd of women as I attempted to photograph a sleeping cat curled tightly on the seat of a parked motorcycle. It was delightful and my joy must have radiated to this tiny wrinkled women wearing white sneakers, black tights and yellow ankles socks, who rushed toward me speaking in rapid fire Turkish. She took hold of both my shoulders and proceeded to kissed me once on the left cheek, once on the right and once more on the left cheek, all the while looking me straight in the eye chanting a long soliloquy in Turkish. I could only smile and radiate some more. I had no idea why this happened I imagined she was pleased to see someone taking interest in her neighborhood. Yet, I knew it was the blessing to begin my journey and I could only wonder what tomorrow would bring on the European side of the Bosporus.

The Turkish language is confusing to me, too many R, U and Ks in one word and so I mixed up Karikoy for Kadikoy and ended up on the wrong boat. I only noticing as we sailed past Sultanahmet veering for the Asian side. Oh well, I let time fly by and amused myself watching the sun’s rays dance on the tumult from the engines wake. Eventually I boarded the correct boat and headed for the docks at Eminonu, once an old city banked on shores of the Golden Horn where it merges with the Bosphorus. This time, I loaded into a taxi shouting to the driver the address of the old Ahrida Synagogue in Balat, where the 17th century religious leader Shabbetai Zevi once preached and was later banished when he declared himself the messiah and then converting to Islam. As we entered the once Byzantine village I was struck by the stark contrast to yesterday; here the streets were dark and narrow paved with rough cobble stones artistically set to spread sprays of earthen flowers across vast promenades. Above, the sky dripped with newly washed clothes neatly hung in order of class and style; sheets, shirts and socks perfectly lined up like Buddhist prayer flags furling in the soft gentle sea breezes. The friendly but distraught taxi driver dropped me off at the oldest and tallest brick structure as he spun down the hill thrashing his arms out the window directing me to go to the left. I was standing in the unknown with only the exact address and a very detailed map in hand but unable to locate a single landmark. Luckily my sad look drew a nice man who offered to help and suddenly I noticed I was surrounded by three people peering over the map each one telling me to go in a different direction. Finally the debate erupted into laughter when a young girl took my hand and led me in the opposite direction through an endless warren of back streets that wound down the hill. The area was now a Muslim community with the majority of women covered in black chandors, gathering their children and bustling to continue their evening chores. Eventually relying on my own instincts I found my self at the cross streets and discovered the shuttered and protected synagogue and vowed to return again with permissions to enter. Wandering down the streets empty except for the occasional groups of cigarette smokers and chai drinkers I headed back to the noise and lights of Eminoue and the Grand Mosque majestic against the night sky merging again into the 21st century.

New York Preparations- Visa for Turkey and Syria

2007-10-29T20:05:00.001-07:00

Rain soaked, impossible to smile, I knew that without humor it would be difficult to survive the journey ahead. "Its a premonition of tougher days to come" I said to myself rushing breathless, hunched to the pelting bullets of rain. I traversed the girth of Manhattan island becoming weather's victim, helpless to the elements. "This is an omen, a lesson in patience", the voice said over my shoulder, I turned but no one was there. Of course, taxis are predictable in a New York downpour; you can't find one. Especially with my passport locked in an aide's desk drawer waiting for me to lay claim. Finally , I squeaked passed the Turkish Consulate's guard and handed my soggy recipt through the yellowed Lucite window, elated that I made it in time. Scanning the visa, delirious from hyperventilating I dropped the passport into the prepaid enveloped postmarked for Syrian Consulate in Michigan and reentered the drab city streets for the long dash to the post office with only minutes to spare.