Festival Of Colors: New York City

It’s the weekend of one of New York City’s Holi Festival of Colors and spring is just beginning to appear in the cloudless and bright blue sky. This particular event is being held outdoors in an elusive location in East Flatbush, Brooklyn. The address was only released a few days ago and it seems attractively random. The nearest subway train is a mile from the fenced parking lot that will set the stage for the night. I know little of what to expect because although Holi is traditionally a Hindu celebration held for the sake of spring and oneness, this isn’t an exclusively Hindu event and I suspect a lot of people will probably be on drugs, and with that in mind, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a religious event like this one before – even if only tangentially religious.

A crowded lineup of bands, rappers and DJs was announced on the event’s Facebook page this week. Since the festival is being held in a parking lot in a neighborhood relatively deep into Brooklyn, I assume that at least part of the motivation behind the location is to do with the sonic roster and sound ordinances. Each ticket comes with a bag of colored powder and the biggest ice breaker of the night is that people get to throw the powder on strangers without making any sort of prior acquaintance. This bend on common courtesy appeals to me. Attendees have been instructed to wear clothing that could be, but probably won’t be, ruined. With temperatures hovering around 50 degrees tonight, I’m not sure I have a coat I am willing to even possibly destroy so I layer up old sweatshirts and leggings instead.

%Gallery-186285%I’m in line for the security check when I realize I might run into trouble. The search is one of the most thorough I have experienced only to be compared with the Colombian airport where I was pulled aside and asked to open factory-sealed bags of coffee. I have prescription medication with me, but I don’t have the prescription itself in hand. This has never been a problem for me before – not even at the Colombian airport. But it’s a problem tonight. Security wanted to throw my medication away. I pleaded with two of the workers, explaining that since I don’t have health insurance, the medicine would be expensive to replace. One of the women working security fortunately offers to hold my medicine until I leave. I’m frustrated and trembling from the confrontation, but I understand it all the same. They don’t know that it’s not an illegal drug I have in my possession. If there’s any sort of scalability for which kinds of events are better-suited for recreational drug users than others, this kind of event would surely fall low in the rankings from a security standpoint. No one is spending the night in this parking lot tonight – everyone must find their own way home, whether they walk to the distant train, try to find a taxi, or drive themselves. It’s best to be vigilant, I suppose.

I finally make it through the security checkpoint and into the festival itself. The area is enclosed and seems small, but there’s more than enough room for the hundreds of people already present. A couple of food trucks and a bar are to my right. A handful of portable toilets crowning the head of a winding snake of a line are straight ahead. A makeshift stage hosting a dynamic punk band are to the left. I wish I didn’t have to, but I immediately head toward the harrowing bathroom line with urgency and wait.

I’m a lousy chameleon in this colorful landscape. The powders have been thrown; the colors have blended. Everyone else is a rainbow and I am a sore thumb until my husband surprises me with a hefty splash of red color to my face. My mouth is unluckily open and I spend the next 10 minutes spitting up red that looks like blood although it isn’t but maybe might as well be for the scene I’m causing. I repay him when he’s least expecting it later in the night. But that’s how the Festival of Colors is.

“I think you could use a little more purple,” says a girl within a swarm of girls behind me. She punts her purple powder my way.

“And more green!” adds her friend, wiping hers along my leg.

It’s difficult not to begin a conversation after an interaction like this. One of the girls calls me pretty and makes me blush, but luckily she can’t see the flush of my embarrassment beneath my splattered face. She asks to take a photo of me and I feel flattered and suddenly young. This is how it pans out the rest of the night. Strangers find clever ways to paint the innocent passerby and usually a smile is exchanged and sometimes a familiarity with one another is forged. I don’t normally find it easy to introduce myself to people I don’t know at events like this, so I like this. Beneath the masks of Holi powder, we are all ourselves, weighted with whatever we might be carrying. With the color unifying us all in appearance, our barriers have broken. These barriers are superficial and remarkably easy to eliminate. They are cemented into the changeable – like the logo of a brand, the smoothness of skin, or the shine of hair. We might not even notice them until they’re gone. Once our surveillance cameras have been covered, what happens next is lovely: we all just get along.

When the punk band exits the stage, a DJ begins. He throws us all back a decade or so with songs from Blackstreet and Destiny’s Child. We dance. The party is still going when I leave and attempt to find the security officer who told me she would hold my medicine. She said she would be here, but I can’t find her and I almost give up hope. She probably just threw my medicine away. But before I become too convinced, I’m pointed in her direction. She empties her pockets and gives me my medicine back, which is folded into my paper ticket for the event. I thank her and walk to my car. With the visible invisible, it’s fascinating how quickly we all become equals.

Ani, The Ghost City


Ask someone to name tourist draws in Turkey and you’ll get the obvious: Istanbul, Cappadocia, Galipoli, maybe the beaches of Antalya. Some more familiar with the country might offer up the bizarre calcium cascades of Pamukkale, or the monstrous gods’ heads sculptures on Mount Nemrut. Nobody ever mentions Ani, a city that for a brief period 1,000 years ago was one of the cultural and commercial centers of the world.

The ruins of Ani, the erstwhile capital of an ancient Armenian kingdom, stand overlooked in the far east of Turkey, weathered by the elements and neglect. In 2010 the ruins were ignominiously singled out with 11 other sites by the Global Heritage Fund as places that were in danger of disappearing due to neglect and mismanagement. This is a travesty. Greek, Incan, Roman, Siamese, Mayan, Khmer – you name the civilization, the ruins of Ani are on par with all of them. They are the most astounding ruins you have never seen.

Part of the reason is distance. At over 900 miles from tourist central, Istanbul, Ani is actually closer to Baghdad and Tehran. It’s still 30 miles away from Kars, the nearest city of any note, and there is no public transportation to the site. In 2011, Turkey welcomed 31 millions visitors. Ani saw around 23,000. As you can see in this video, they traveled a while to get there:

A friend and I arrived on a dark day in mid-November. The fields, which in the spring are green and speckled with wildflowers, had shed their color and taken on sepia tones. The grasses were gold and yellow, and fallen bricks covered in green and rust-colored lichen littered the ground. An occasional flurry of snow would burst from the slate-grey sky and then vanish before it had time to settle on the ground. We slipped by the sleeping guard at the entrance and through one of Ani’s famed “40 gates,” a feature of the city’s rapid growth that rendered redundant much of its original fortifications. We had the entire ancient city to ourselves.

Ani is set on a triangular plateau that is naturally protected by a river on one side and a steep valley on another. On the other side of the river is modern-day Armenia. We heard low-frequency sounds from tractors and drills in a quarry across the border. Armenia developed this quarry to build the Yervan cathedral, wanting to use building material as close as possible to the original Ani stone. Unfortunately, blasts from the Armenian quarry have damaged the ruins.

The wind ushered these mechanical sounds through the valley and canyon, where they wrinkled and amplified into eerie moans. Swirling over the plateau in a swooping howl, these distorted noises were punctuated by piercing cries from low-flying eagles. It was more than a little spooky.

Ani’s “1,001 churches” now number only a handful. Some, like the Cathedral of Ani shown in the lead photo, look like they could have been designed recently. That they’re over 1,000 years old and not only structurally sound but architecturally fresh is remarkable. Others, though, in their cloaks of grasses, lichens and overgrowth, seem to slip into the background. All are in a woeful state. A lightning strike in the 1950s caused half of the Church of the Redeemer to collapse. Some of the rubble was collected and pushed against the side of the building in a half-hearted effort to prevent further ruin.

Archaeologically, the site is a shambles. The Church of the Apostles suffered damage when untrained landscapers went at the overgrowth with pickaxes. In the Church of St. Gregory, we found a worker had made a fireplace against one wall to keep warm, and the fire had scorched and blackened the entire apse. The Merchant’s Palace was rebuilt in 1999 using bricks of a different color, material, size and finish than the originals. Only a small section near the doorway in the bottom left of this photo is pre-1999.

Howard Carter is rolling in his grave.

Sometimes a good balance between decay and preservation can make for a more genuine encounter with history. I prefer to see a bit of nature crawling into old, dead buildings. It’s the way of things, and when you take it away entirely you end up with Wayne Newton ruins, frozen artificially in and inorganically buttressed against time. Few people would argue that Ta Prohm, the famous tree-entangled Angkor temple should be recovered from the jungle.

The restoration of Ani has gotten it wrong in both directions. The very few sections that have been recovered have been turned into ersatz monstrosities like the example above. Meanwhile, the rest of the buildings are crumbling and falling down by the day.

In a way, Ani’s perverse treatment in death reflects the sad historical trajectory of the city. In its heyday during Armenian (Bagratid) rule, as the guidebooks like to say, it was a city on par with other world capitals: Constantinople, Cairo and Baghdad. In reality, Ani’s population, and by extension its importance, was only about a fifth of these other cities’. It was, however, highly regarded as a center of commerce and culture. The unique architectural artistry of the churches was widely renowned.

When it was made the capital of Ashot III’s Bagratid Kingdom in 971, it grew into a major hub on the Silk Road, connecting Syria and Byzantium with Persia and Central Asia. The seat of Armenian Catholicism moved there in 992, and churches and dioceses sprouted up like dandelions. At its peak, the city had 12 bishops.

Then, on a fateful day in 1064, her citizens yielded to a 25-day siege by Sedjuk Turks. They were subsequently massacred. After the sacking, the city never really recovered. It changed hands countless times, passing from the Armenians to the Turks to the Kurds to the Georgians to the Persians. Even the Mongols sacked the city. After a drawn-out twilight, the city was abandoned completely in the 1700s.

Ani’s current decline is the result of icy diplomatic relations between Ankara and Yerevan. Armenia often claims Turkey is purposefully letting their cultural touchstone descend into decrepitude. Past actions don’t help matters. After retaking Ani in post-WWI border skirmishes, the Turkish government ordered Ani’s monuments “wiped off the face of the Earth.”

Modern Turkish diktats aren’t nearly so explicit. While Turkey deflects accusations of willful destruction, other Turkish activities are at best antagonistic. In 2010, majority-Christian Armenia was enraged when a Turkish politician uttered a Muslim prayer in the Cathedral of Ani. Later that year, Elle Turkey shot a fashion spread amid the ruins, which Armenians say disrespected the site. Armenians also complain about local cowherds encouraging their cows to graze on Ani’s pastures. And not without reason: when we entered one of the 1,000-year-old churches, we found cows had taken shelter there and defecated in the building.

After walking around the ruins for almost five hours, the sky began to darken noticeably and we made our way back to the car. The sleeping guard had disappeared by the time we returned, and had locked the gate on the way out. For a brief moment, we were trapped in time in a dead city. We had to scale one of Ani’s 1,000-year-old walls to get out. A sudden snow flurry pursued us like a ghostly whisper at our back as we drove away from the city walls.

Things are changing for the ghosts of Ani, though. From 2011 to 2012, the number of visitors doubled. Turkey is gradually coming around to the view that Ani is a potential tourism gold mine and is starting to change its tune. A quick glance at The Hurriyet Daily News, Turkey’s leading English-language paper, illuminates the shift. From 2006 until late 2010, there were no mentions of Ani in the headlines. In September of 2010, the aforementioned politician came a-praying in Ani’s cathedral, an act that the paper called a response to an Armenian prayer gathering earlier that month. In 2011, a travelogue’s first mention of Ani is in reference to the greatness of Turkey. In August 2012, it was a “historic site in Kars province”; in October, “the capital of an ancient Armenian Kingdom”; and in March 2013, “the center of a powerful Armenian empire.”

More visitors potentially means more damage, but it also means that Ani finally has a shot, if only in death, at being restored to its former renown. If all goes well, Ani could be set for the pilgrimage it has been waiting for for almost 1,000 years.

[Photo credit: Flick user sly06 for the spring photos, all others Adam Hodge]

Stonehenge Site 3000 Years Older Than Previously Thought, Excavation Reveals


Archaeologists working near Stonehenge have found that habitation in the area started at least 3,000 years before the famous monument was built.

The BBC reports that a team of archaeologists working at Amesbury next to a stream a mile from Stonehenge have found evidence that hunter-gatherers were frequenting the site well before Stonehenge was started around 3000 B.C.

The site is the closest source of water to Stonehenge and therefore would have been of prime importance for the local hunter-gatherers during the Mesolithic, the period before the Neolithic farming era when Stonehenge was started. Not only would it have been important as a water source and for the plants that grew along its banks, but hunters could have bagged the animals that came to drink there. Carbon dates from butchered animal bones at the site give ages of 6250 B.C., 5400 B.C. and 4700 B.C.

The excavation is run by David Jacques, a tutor at Open Univeristy. A hundred Open University students and other members of the public volunteered for the dig, which is running on a shoestring budget. The excavation has also uncovered material from later periods, including a pair of duck figurines dating from 700 B.C. Open University has an interesting video about the dig dating from 2011, before the important radiocarbon dates came in.

[Photo courtesy Flickr user Jeffrey]

Pro Cycling Legend George Hincapie To Open Boutique Hotel In South Carolina

Former professional cyclist George Hincapie, who rode in the Tour de France an impressive 17 times, has announced plans to enter the hotel business along with his brother Rich. Their small boutique hotel, which is nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains of South Carolina, promises to mix old world charm with contemporary sophistication.

The aptly named Hotel Domestique is set to open in August and will feature 13 rooms each with their own individual style and flair. The hotel will showcase French and Mediterranean influences and the comfortable rooms will include designer furnishings, flat-screen TV’s and their own fireplaces. The intention is to provide travelers with a sophisticated and unique place to stay that is also warm and inviting.

Domestique is located near Traveler’s Rest – just 20 miles north of Greenville, SC – and is situated atop a lovely hillside that provides spectacular views of the surrounding region. The hotel includes a fantastic patio that overlooks the 29-acre grounds and vineyard, with the beautiful Blue Ride Mountains offering a dramatic backdrop.

True to his cycling roots, Hincapie hopes to make the Hotel Domestique a popular place to stay with active travelers. The winding country roads that surround the place make for fantastic cycling and running, and a fleet of road and mountain bikes will be available for guests. The hotel will also keep a bike mechanic on staff to adjust bikes to the proper fit and assist riders with all their cycling needs. Additionally, a new 25-meter swimming pool will provide a refreshing dip following an energetic ride or allow the traveling-triathlete to maintain his or her training in style.

For further information and to get a glimpse of this fantastic new hotel, visit
hoteldomestique.com.

[Photo Credits: Hotel Domestique]

Photo Of The Day: Shanghai’s Ancient River Town

Shanghai is the most populated city in the world, with buildings literally as far as the eye can see, but that’s partly because of reduced visibility from pollution. It’s hard to believe that this river oasis is located within China’s most commercial city. Qibao, one of the oldest towns still remaining within Shanghai, is photographed here by Nelson Ni, who perfectly captured the calm within the chaos of the city.

Nelson submitted his photo to us via Instagram by tagging his photo with #Gadling and mentioning us, @GadlingTravel. You can always submit your own photo to be featured as our Photo of the Day by doing the same, as well as submitting it to our Gadling Flickr Pool.

[Photo Credit: Instagram User insta_nelson]