THE VOICE*

by Rafael M. Arteaga
of the book: LINES OF FIRE

– Who are you? -, you ask me,
what are you doing here?
I answer:


I go from the darkness to the dawn,
from the seed through the flower to the fruit,
everything begins in me and everything ends in me,
I do not depend on your hands for the bistouries,
nor on the precision of the machines.
The silence is my weapon. What are your weapons?


I was before your glass buildings and steel,
I can exist without you and I speak through your mouth,
however, you are not able to speak through mine,
I know the blinding shine of the desert
moreover, the old man who comes every morning in his barge
to take the dead people to the abyss.


How can you measure my words
with the senile grammar of your language?
moreover, do you believe that I need it?


The dream is a break; he who cuts off
this flower returns to the tree of life
to tell me what he made with the earth.



*The pictures are from Intag, a nice place two hours from Ibarra: here is the last paradise.I was there, without nothing to do, just feeling and enjoying the view.

WATER SUPPLIERS

In Jaipur, the “Pink city” is the Maharadschabuilding, called Chandra Mahal; where still reside the maharascha family in 5 sq km palace. But outside of this place, where poverty is more evident for the traveller, I discovered something that I paid attention: on the alleys toward the temples, there are certain towers beside the road, and up of that people with large jars full with water. By seeing that, no one con imagine what they are doing there. I believed, according to our mercantile vision that they are selling the water in order to calm the thirst; but I never thought that it is simply to give it to the pedestrians, so that they can wash their hands and rinse their mouths before entering into the temples.



This water is, without requesting anything in exchange, to those who are thirsty or to who are looking for becoming purified before going to their meet with the gods. What do they win with it? They sit over those small towers the whole day, and if the visits time to the temples extends until night, same: they wait there ready to help with any question as trains schedules, buses, they give some recommendations to come closer to the gods, as incenses, prayers; as a information point. And so as well as they appear, they disappear. At next day they will be on the tower of another passage.



I asked them (to the two men of this picture) if they receive some money in exchange for their jop from any particular or state institution, they replied that such an insinuation was an offence to their vocation, because they made it for love to people, as an obligatory step on the way to spiritual perfection; that certainly it surprised me. We need to know, understand and accept the way how persons of other cultures assume the world and feel it, far away of our consumption vision and of trade, or of our notes in the bank.




I would like that in the world there were hundreds, thousands men, who instead of being dedicated to the weapons dealer, to buy and to sell anything, thinking always about our pockets, we are ready to offer water to purify our mouths and our spirits.

With such ideas in my head, going back to the hotel, I met on the street the tamer of vipers and I told to myself: thanks for that, because it was not a west fantasy: such people stay alive in Jaipur streets; maybe more real than my self! They are a part of an east story, but not of that, which Discovery Channel shows us on TV. I saw them and they allowed me to shut a picture for my friends.

LONG LIFE THE KING

By Rafael Marcelo Arteaga




Thailand’s king, Bhumibol Adulyadej, has just left the hospital, where he was almost three weeks suffering by a terrible gastric imbalance. During these days, the population has not stopped to demonstrate their affection: the aviation companies have painted the king's portraits on their airplanes that cross the continents. The shops in the country are full with pictures that reveal the old man's life, from birth until his days in the hospital. The big buildings in the city have at their walls and glass the king's portraits, so that all can read long live the king from kilometres of distance.














Thai People with yellow T'shits: the king's favorite color.













People express this way their love, the gratitude to those who were their rulers and today are their spiritual guides: that luminosity which lights through the centuries, without extinguishing, and same as the illumination of the stars whose masses disappeared millions years ago, but we still receive that light which in silence of nights helps the sailors, so they don't loose the route and better they reinforce the enthusiasm for the trip.




























View of the Boyoke Tower, Pratunam, the biggest building from Thailand.

These pictures are also dedicated to those that governed Ecuador during the last thirty years and instead of bringing progress, a modern country, with a wide net of first level highways, with stable companies which offer a worthy work to the people, with an educated population, and not alone it, but also prepared to face up to the new millennium challenges; but they were looking just for their small interests, dedicated to build their kinglets crowns in a poor country, whose people are humiliated in their human essence, degraded until they believe that misery, lack of dreams is a divine punishment that we must load in our back.

















They should undertake the suicide by seeing the country that they inherited us. Work, security, investment are hardly words that can be real with a wise and firm, less burlesque behavior and jester of who today is in govern house. Such photos should motivate us also to believe and to build the country that 12 millions of Ecuadorian and three millions abroad are looking for during our daily work.

NOT LANGUAGE VALID

By Rafael Marcelo Arteaga


On the way to Guangzhou I met a Brazilian friend Flavio. We were lost in a bus station from a "small" Yiwo, a two million people city. He does not speak English well but that was not the problem, the real problem was that nobody here (outside of the five stars hotel reception or some chic or wholesale shops), speaks a foreign language! Inside China many dialects are spoken: in Beijing, Shanghai, close the borders of Tibet, for example. Everywhere is another language. The authorities make effort to have united the country with a same language: the mandarin. The education centres, the official matters, the army; but it is impossible. Here there are more than 155 local of then, each province or -in this case-: each state has an own language. The country is too big to have just one. Somebody must be born and live here to understand the language variation from the official Mandarin!

I've learned some useful Shanghais phrases but outside of this province I couldn’t understand or speak, because nobody understood those words. Perhaps my pronunciation was terrible. And that made me sad. Once I was sick in the hotel. Two days inside of my room and nobody at the reception understood by telephone that I needed: water and some food. As I was better ordered again with a universal phrase in any hotel: room service, please! Ten minutes after a nice lady was at my door: Hi, darling! -she told me, did you order room service?

A girl friend from Spain ordered in the restaurant a coca-cola light. How difficult was to explain that, but the waiter sent her to the lavatory! Of course in expensive hotels and restaurants for west business people is not problem, then they pay for a guide and translator, who are anytime with then and help step by step during their trip in China.

Foreign governments arrive anytime here. All want to do businesses, all want to sell or to buy something; China is a warehouse of the world. It purchases raw materials, invests, causes the rise of many key products, and shakes the market. China buys and sells all. The big companies have their seats here, the great and famous marks.

The Chinese president Hu Xiantao receives to anybody in his office. As soon as a third world president arrives in Beijing, a second line authorities pick up him at the airport and bring him to the main house, where if he has a lucky day and something good to offer to China, can have a twenty minutes conversations, with a hand shaking and pictures for the world press. And that is a successful step for him! The red carpet, the army review , more ceremonies and diplomats protocols are just for the most important world governments. The main news papers here don't take care or inform if a Nicaragua or Angola president is here. Most of the people ignores that or is interesting in this matter.

Important business, global strategic and political dialogs are just with rich or big countries: USA, Russian, Germany; oil price, the war in Iraq, etc.

This nation is too great as to depend on others. Two thousand years was locked up behind a wall. Centuries before west, they have already invented the press. The medicine was outpost. And today is more. And when they opened again their doors was for giving us new lessons of optimism by the work. It was for contributing with their knowledge with the world.

Flavio told me: they don't speak English and I don't speak Chinese either. That is good for me! It is the first country where I feel cool. It is as at the beginning of the world or as if I were lost in Babel. A friend from Pakistan said: why should they learn English? We need them, not they us. How he is right: China is the fabric of the world! Most of all that you have in your home was made here. Don't you believe it? Look around your house and confirm it.

GUANGZHOU'S SMALL STREETS

As I was a child I asked always to my mother where did she go every morning. "I am going away to work", replied she and although I did not understand it I was alone again until night. I spent my childhood in small streets, surrounded by old women and a lot a children. So as I arrive in Guangzhou those narrow streets inside of the big city remembered me those glad and sad days -sometimes. Travel is looking for something lost long time ago but perhaps even within us, that our skin, our blood have not forgotten and someday jumps with the first step into the bus.

Maybe the new country or town is the place where life is waiting for us. Modern times, for what? And the soul, the spirit born of fire, water and distances? Enjoy these pictures, go to those days, where the world was hard and perhaps even Ok: the world our genes don't ignore.

All big cities are the same in the rich side: ample and great streets with trees at the flanks, beautiful buildings. The north of Quito and from there towards Guapulo, the valleys zone, near the San Francisco University, where our president was teacher, are similar to the rich parts of other cities around the world. Rich people are similar everywhere. Just poverty is different. When I arrive in a new place I always want to discover inside of that, where real life of a country is on.

OUTSIDE SHANGAI

by rafael marcelo arteaga


First view love to a big city: this is the typical postcard that some of our old friends send us. Certainly nice, we are happy and dream about these pictures. But behind the glamour and shine of all big cities, there is also a face that all try to
hide: the real life in poor and small streets, where are people who support another city, the rich city. I can not say if life there is better or more peaceful, just different. Here some pictures of the another Shanghai:






The night is here. I'm hungry after a long walking. These streets offer a lot of easy and good meals. Let's try noodle soup with sea food . Or select what you like it:


put it in boiling water


or on the fire


Ready for dinner. On the floor? Nothing matter. I don't have home or family waiting for me here. That is a take away restaurant in the corner of some street outside the city. Just enjoy it

UNCOMPLICATE PEOPLE ON THE WAY

Take your luggage and go out. Don't think too much about that. Simply travel. All that you'll find during the trip will be a reason for your life.

Here some pictures from Khaosarnroad, in Bangkok.

KURZER BRIEF AN HORST KACH

Irgenwann, irgenwo ein Mann findet den Weg und weiss genau was er machen muss. Horst hat seinen gefunden und wie! Die Welt der Natur. Es ist gewoenlich in unserem Land, dass frende Augen fuer uns andere Seiten des Lebens entdecken und dann, nur dann wir wissen es was wir eigentilich haben und bald -fuer inmmer- verlieren koennten. Und beginnen wir es zu bewundern. Ich wuensche mir, dass es nicht zu spaet ist.

Danke Horst fuer deine Bilder, Fruechte von unendlichen Arbeitstage.

TRADUCCION
Carta para Horst:

Un dia, un hombre halla su camino y sabe -entonces- lo que debe hacer. Horst ha encontrado el suyo y de que manera! Como es usual en nuestro pais, son personas con diferente vision quienes descubren -para nosotros los otros lados de la vida, entonces sabemos lo que tenemos y empezamos a admirar. Me alegraria tanto que aun no es demasiado tarde.

Gracias Horst por tus fotografias, fruto de infatigables horas de trabajo.

*Para apreciar mejor los trabajos he cambiado el color de fondo del blog.

LET'S GO TO THAI BOXING

By Rafael Marcelo Arteaga


El domingo llame a Moon para ver a donde vamos. Era una tarde de lluvia, asi que no habia mucho para elegir. Nos habria gustado visitar de nuevo los gogo bars, donde ingenuas muchachitas con pocos trapos, o nada, bailan sobre el ring hasta el amanecer esperando que un turista las saque de las cuerdas a cambio de una cerveza. Luego sera su trabajo hacer que el consuma: un juego permitido de manos por todo su cuerpo sera la mejor invitacion. Por cada botella vendida ella guarda bajo su brasier un ticket, que al final de la jornada, lo canjea por dinero en efectivo; si antes otro cliente mas entusiasta y con muchos deseos de ser infiel (los cuernos no se ven sino en ciertos animales)y de probar los frutos de estas tierras exoticas no paga al duenio del bar el equivalente a una semana de trabajo de la joven -a cambio de llevarsela de alli. El precio a arreglar por horas extras,entonces, es asunto de dos. A la siguiente noche, ella debe estar de vuelta al bar.

Impensable ir alla a esa hora, pues el ritmo de la ciudad se enciende recien al anochecer. Sonreimos con tales pensamientos y algunas bromas sobre ladies y ladies boy. Un massage? Estabamos molidos con la sesion de aerobicos del dia anterior.
-I don't mind sex massage! Aclaro de inmediato Moon.
-Never mind-, respondi yo. Da lo mismo: foot, head, hand, sweedish, thai, body, sex massage, al final del trabajo siempre pagas.
-You're right-. Aniadio mi amigo. The rest is just a moral matter.
-Eso creo-, conclui yo.
Las peliculas en red lucian poco interesantes. Las paredes de casa, a veces, se vuelven una prision para delincuentes de alta peligrosidad, con sus puertas llenas de aldabas, ojos de buey, ventanas con rejas de hierro. En instantes de aburrimiento, hasta los delicados alfileres pueden ser armas letales que nos invitan al suicidio. Cuantos de ellos estan regados por la casa? Cuantas cuerdas ocultas en un pequenio bahul podrian acariciar nuestros delicados y esbeltos cuellos, apretarnos dulcemente hasta que la sangre deje de subir al cerebro y el corazon, desorientado y sin ordenes, deje de trabajar?

-We want out!-, gritamos juntos. Cual es el precio de la modernidad?
-Just that, we don't know what can we do in a rainig sunday afternoon! Salgamos de una vez.
-What about thai boxing?- Irrumpio de pronto Moon, mientras mirabamos a un gato huyendo de la tormenta por los tejados. No me parecio mala idea. Tome mi pasaporte, nos pusimos las sandalias y abandonamos al fin la prision.
-To the boxing palace, please! Ordenamos al chofer del taxi, libres al fin nuestros cuerpos de las paredes y los objetos que amamos (a veces).

Hasta hoy tal actividad yo la habia visto por television apenas, mientras los habitantes de aqui asisten -como una religion- cada fin de semana al coliseo, mas que al futbol u otro deporte, desde donde se trasmite a traves de cadenas nacionales memorables jornadas de esta actividad que significa la esencia, el espiritu tailandes; algo que sucede hoy regularmente tambien en Ecuador, solo que para disturbar nuestro franciscano aburrimiento con otra actividad no menos turbulenta -como es la politica.


Antes de entrar al recinto deportivo, yo tuve que alquilar una camisa y un pantalon, pues no podia hacerlo con camiseta y bermuda. La sola idea me provoco nausea; pero de pronto me acorde de piscinas y balnearios ecuatorianos, como el Tingo, o Atacames, donde si no tienes un bikini o pantaloneta, siempre puedes alquilar una. Hasta hoy nadie ha muerto a causa de ello, que yo sepa, asi que respire hondo -no tenia mas alternativa- y me puse encima los trapos, con hongos y todo. El personal de seguridad encontro mi camara de fotos escondida en el bolso; mas por mi torpeza con el idioma pronto se dio cuenta de mi condicion de extranjero, asi que me permitieron llevarla conmigo a cambio de no fotografiar durante el espectaculo. Debe ser por eso del flash que molesta a la mirada de los combatientes, y ello puede restarles concentracion sobre las tablas. Nunca cierres los ojos mientras estes en el ring, recuerdo aun los gritos de mi entrenador durante las sesiones de boxeo en la Vicentina, cuando joven.

Entramos. Las presentes imagenes fueron tomadas con una camara de fotos que incluye video para principiantes.
Respire a los tiempos ese ambiente de apuestas, de gritos por dinero facil. Los primeros boxeadores saltaron las cuerdas. Con sus cuerpos atleticos, hermosos en su juventud y en sus punios, con la piel untada de aceite, sus rostros con grasa para que resbalen los golpes, y en ellos sus miradas que desafiaban al mundo, cuando apenas eran dos gladiadores que debian moler sus cuerpos a golpes para complacer a un publico cada vez mas exigente de accion. El orgullo mismo del deporte estaba representado en los brazos de quienes, desde su origen humilde, intentan conseguir un nombre, mas que dinero mismo, que les permita salir del anonimato y luego, quiza de la miseria a que fueron condenados antes de nacer y cuyo karma lo heredaran a sus hijos, si antes no brilla su estrella esta noche. El show del calentamiento habia comenzado. Mientras observabamos a los atletas, yo pense si aqui tambien se entregara a los mas debiles las migajas que caen de la mesa de los ricos a traves de bonos y microcreditos que son una cachetada -con los billetes- al alma.

Pero el rey aqui no se burla de los pobres, no va de pueblo en pueblo ostentando su corona con soberbia e intimidaciones a los mas debiles. El rey aqui es un honorable anciano que trabaja en silencio y deja hablar al tiempo. Varias veces ha renunciado al trono para no interferir en los destinos del reino con su figura, pero ha sido su pueblo, sin importar su condicion social, el que le ha permitido seguir alli, el pueblo agradecido con sus ensenianzas, con su conducta de vida. Cada dia ellos deben escuchar sus palabras para saber que empieza el dia o acaba la noche. Hoy esta postrado en un hospital a causa de su avanzada edad, mientras la ciudad vive un ambiente de preocupacion, porque el rey con su figura nunca dividio al pais.

Sereno, con tono firme y a la vez dulce, invita a su gente a levantarse cada dia con optimismo, a estar juntos y arrimar los hombros para sostener los grandes proyectos de la nacion. Los habitantes, en cambio, agradecidos se ponen las camisetas con el amarillo oro, el emarillo sol, y salen a sus trabajos. Cuando llegue aqui hace un mes, me sorprendi ver a la poblacion vestida con dicho color. Y mucho mas el lunes. Moon me explico que ese era el dia del rey y que al llevar tal prenda en sus cuerpos significaba respeto, veneracion al mismo. Aqui hay fabricas -no estatales, ni partidarias de partido politico alguno- que se dedican a fabricar esa tela en algodon 100%. Se cose en cantidades y no hay almacen que no las exiba. Pero no es solo el lunes, cada dia se ve a la gente con tales camisetas. Los rascacielos cuelgan de sus paredes gigantografias, para que todos lo puedan leer a kilometros de distancia: Long life the King. El pueblo y el tiempo son los jueces mas temibles e implacables de las clases politicas; y hay algunos que, deslumbrados aun por el brillo meteorico de sus carreras, vanidosos ante las luces y las camaras, envanecidos con sus pequenias victorias temporales, no se han dado cuenta de ello.

El rey aqui es casi un dios, aunque sin influencia en las grandes decisiones del pais. Tailandia en la actualidad carece de carta magna y es regido por un primer ministro nombrado desde el ejercito, tras el ultimo golpe de estado del 16 de septiembre del 2006: otro deporte nacional en estas tierras tropicales. Pese a este capitulo, el pais no se detiene: el reino del Siam es una potencia economica dentro de Asia. En sus calles se respira trabajo, ganas de avanzar a algun lado, de salir de la miseria en la que esta sumergida mas del 60% de la poblacion.

Es verdad, uno de los miembros del denominado tigres asiaticos (por el crecimiento vertiginoso de su produccion y mercado) tiene garras de goma: la riqueza que genera su aparato productivo no ha mejorado el standart de vida de la mayoria de habitantes: ha ido a pocas manos y a una clase media que nacio y permanece fuerte a la sombra de las empresas estatales, anciosa por comprar lo que asoma en las vitrinas y que mantiene por cierto a flote la economia interna; junto a los nuevos ricos, frutos de la industria tecnologica en comunicaciones, automotriz, maquinaria pesada, textiles, joyeria en oro y plata, la rama agricola... La produccion genera trabajo y este bienestar en la gente; el resto son discursos de tarima. En las calles nuevas de Bangkok esta el bullicio, el entusiasmo por el trabajo digno y honrado. Main pe lai, es la frase usual aqui. No Problem! Si no hay algo en la construccion, entonces salen a vender en las inmensas avenidas. O compran un tuk-tuk, un taxi de tres ruedas y cruzan la ciudad con pasajeros y mercaderias.

Siempre hay algo que hacer en vez de recibir o dar limosnas, cada dia hay un amanecer diferente; yo lo he visto aqui, en mi segunda patria. Pero dejemos los lirismos -que raya en lo patetico = de lado y vamos al ring. Los jovenes, cada cual en su esquina hace su respectiva ceremonia. Entonces al combate. Van directo a lo que vinieron. No hay rounds de estudio, como la seleccion ecuatoriana desde el anio anterior, porque hasta ello ya pierden el combate. A los golpes, muchachos! Que la victoria se va con uno apenas (lastima!)... o con los jueces, en caso de empate.


Uff! Ese golpe si que duele! Otro jab a la zona hepatica! Mas que el combate, observad las instrucciones del manager desde la esquina. Hagan sus apuestas! Voy al rojo, doble al azul! Tres uno al azul! Se miran a los ojos, cierran en medio del bullicio las apuestas y a sufrir con los boxeadores. La pregunta es: como pagan luego del combate? Aqui, como en America, se respeta la palabra de gallero. Gane o pierda, al final paga o cobra.

A break, terrible break! Entonces vino lo que me hizo volver a tierra. Lo que esta bien para la mayoria no puede estar bien para todos: ninios en el ring! Supuse que seria un numero de gimnasia, de esos que vemos a menudo en el colegio, pero cuanto me equivoque: no pasaban de 14 anios, estaban en esa categoria y subieron al tablado para un duelo a muerte a cambio de gloria! Que gloria! Cuando vi el combate de los 16 mismo ya perdi el entusiasmo, peor con estas imagenes. Entonces pense en mis hijos. Sere cursi o vulgar, lo que sea, pero no pude seguir viendo...se acabo la memoria de la camara! Mientras que el combate recien empezaba.

Al final gano el de pantaloneta roja. Aun lo recuerdo, con su rostro sangrante, sus piernas y cuerpo lleno de moretones, alzando los brazos victoriosos ante el delirio del publico. El padre, boxeador en el pasado, que alumbro una noche y luego desaparecio, igual que muchas estrellas se extinguen con su propio brillo, anonimo y casi borracho ordeno a su pequenio arrodillarse ante los jueces, ubicados a los dos costados del ring. El mas que nadie sabia que de ellos depende en mucho el brillo de un cometa. Su nariz achatada por los golpes y sus brazos tatuados debieron recordarle aquello. Y asi instruyo a su hijo.

A star is born! Dijo Moon. Ha nacido una nueva estrella. Sonreimos. Esa estupida reaccion cuando no podemos solucionar nada! Al final, si no puedes con el mundo, viva el barcelona, mas claro! Grite en medio de la multitud que empezo a abandonar el coliseo. What? Replico de inmediato Moon. El no entendio esta frase, y tampoco le interesaba. La luvia nos esperaba de nuevo afuera.