blur

Written November 25th, halfway through the 11 week trip.

Part I is from a fiesta-colored, sweaty dreambus on the way to a town with no name. Part II is from that village destination, written in a hammock swinging over leaves the size of platters.

***

I.

Having a hard time keeping up here... Everything blurs together in time, and before I have a moment to catch my breath and hold still for a moment, we're off again. The lull in Kuala Lumpur--for those brief days of being a guest, rather than a vagabond--were beautiful. But holding still allowed me the insight of just how exhausted I am. I'm okay with being exhausted; it's a result of soaking in everything that I possibly can, which takes a lot of energy--but I only say it because I feel like it would be dishonest to not admit it: traveling has made me tired.

Our first real day of relaxation in Kuala Lumpur was going to see Twilight, stocked up with Malaysian coconut treats, a couple bottles of wine, and a whole lot of build-up that surprisingly did not disappoint. It was an epic Thanksgiving.

And now I'm in Thailand, where the world shifts once again and the newness of this space and of the scents and colors and smiles and the curly-cue language I could never hope to read...

We began with a 48-hour stint in Bangkok (planning to return in a week or two), which consisted of a heavenly spa day, meltinyourmouth fish, roasted (and deep fried) bananas--

Our bus driver just pulled over, emergency lights on, so he could go buy himself a stick (a broomstick?), and apparently I'm just as ADD as he is, and it looks like the bargaining is done, he's on his way back now, that was hilarious--

and there are so many smiling faces. The people here--kind--are also always aiming to get something out of you. Even the nicest, it's just part of the experience. White, western, money... But the few times we've been taken (only considering the times I'm aware of) have been so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. 40 baht too much? Okay, so that's a little over a dollar... To think how much I take for granted... But it starts to get to you too... 'Can I trust you?' My questioning eyes are always met with assurances of 'Yes, of course,' but when I've caught the smile disappearing as soon as it appears and then I'm at the "only ticket office for bus tickets in the whole city," refusing to pay but, Fine, yes I'll go in for a whole of two seconds so you can collect your commission for bringing a westerner to their door, and then I'm on alert with every helpful gesture, with every quoted price--now that is exhausting--and I'm thrown by the kind souls who want absolutely nothing for helping me to find the right bus to board...Ahhh it's all a game I don't know how to win (am I even playing to win?) but at least I'm getting by--

And now I'm looking out the window at the most precious little altar. Brick red, Thai temple dollhouse with yellow trim turning up at the edges, tea cups in front and flowers tucked into corners...the celebration of life, love, Buddha, humanity, color--it's everywhere. I must be dreaming. Or maybe I'm just widely, shatteringly, painfully, deliciously awake for the longest stretch I've time I've ever been and that is precisely why I am so utterly drained.
And invigorated.
And turned on and numb and everything all at once, a great bramble of contradictions, loosening threads all over the tropics--

I've been reading Rumi, The Book of Love cover to cover... I'm past "Grief" and onto "Tavern Madness" and, as is often the case when I feel drawn to a particular book at a particular time, the poems I am reading now (as well as the commentary from the insightful Coleman Barks) speak to me like my own inner-dialogue.

Pale sunlight,
pale the wall.

Love moves away.
The light changes.

I need more grace
than I thought.

I do, I do.
There is a word in Arabic, faraji, it means "ripped open," or "happiness," or "one who brings the joy of being opened," and I feel like as if it could be embossed on my heart. There is a kaleidascopal universe twisting different shades of green, blue, gold, rain, smoke, and flame before me and the air I'm breathing is just so thick with the saturation of it all, in moments of madness I shut my lips and my eyes for a visit back home. I see the same slides flicker through my vision:

California coast and the gray foaming edges of waves kissing the shore where my feet pad soft etch-a-sketch prints on evening runs; all the fixings of my own kitchen and the simplicity of salad on a ceramic plate and both made by my hands in a true organic food experience; the friends and family and social fun of familiarity; certain smiles that I miss sweetly and certain embraces that I miss fiercely and -- ah, but it's all so familiar that I can imagine it in vivid detail with the very reoccurance of these memories in reinvented, technicolored fantasy -- what about THIS? This unimagined, unremembered, all brand new. Be here now.

II.

My toes are threaded through the holes of a hammock. I'm swinging to the music of insectual buzz flowing through the air like water; birds of all instrumental persuasions--trumpets and saxaphones and flutes and windchimes--join the melody in rounds.

I feel like a blanket of dust has been peeled off me and I'm new again.

This world--this being human--is at times (most times?) confounding. One moment I'm fighting my body: scratching the bites that cover my skin like a map of conquered territories, islands set on flame; the illnesses of various origins I've tested within just a month and a half; bruises, blood--and then Bliss. I find myself in a state of ecstatic union with my earth form and I'm assuaged with aromas and flavors and serenity, thrown back into a bed of woven cotton or buoyant in a salty ocean bath.

Our last day in Langkawi, Emily and I dove under soft little waves off a sandy empty shore, when it started to rain. The drops were heavy like marbles, bubbling all over the surface of the water. We floated, soaking in a warm sea and the chilled drops rained on our faces. Beautiful boundless bliss. We left only because we had to--the constant motion of this trip, it takes my breath away.

And then today, just as I began to lose grip of my edges, I'm saved, washed ashore, this time on a hill. A cottage close to the clouds, far from the confusion of cities and the deafening dance music roaring from backpackers' bars and I'm with soulful companions and

Silence.

Who looks out with my eyes? What is

the soul? I cannot stop asking.

If I could taste one sip of an answer,

I could break out of this prison for drunks.

I didn't come here of my own accord,

And I can't leave that way.

Whoever brought my here will have to take me home.

This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.

I don't plan it.

When I'm outside the saying of it,

I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

...and then...

We have a huge barrel of wine,

                                       but no cups.

That's fine with us. Every morning

we glow and in the evening we glow again.

They say there's no future for us.

                                      They're right.

Which is fine with us.



cozy

It is our last night in Malaysia before we fly to Thailand. Our new friend, Rash, is kind enough to have welcomed us as his guests for a few days and it is amazing to be in a real home again. Right now, I'm sitting cross-legged on the guest bed, wearing my Bob Dylan go-to shirt, with a glass of wine on the nightstand. (Side note: The friendly owner at the buffet down the street let us borrow a couple of glasses for the night. "Oh, you'll bring them back tomorrow? No problem!")

Emily's glass is on the floor. She has the sewing kit between us (her new bag handle started to rip, but that is now fixed) and she just got off the phone with a pizza place that delivers gourmet pizzas, calamari, and strombino.

After dealing with some airline-sanctioned red tape, taking a 9-hour bus ride down the country's coast, and completing our final Kuala Lumpur missions in the last full day we have in Malaysia, Emily and I agreed that all we really wanted to do tonight was hang out and watch movies and drink vino. Basically, we wanted a night that felt like home.

Yesterday, Rash asked us, "What's in your survival kit?" It took me a minute to realize that what he meant was something along the lines of, "What do you need from home to feel grounded as you travel?" I don't need a lot in terms of material objects, but having a cozy night is a main part of my experiential survival kit: Watching an American movie, eating some late night food American-style, browsing life back home through Facebook and email. Wine makes the night better. Pajamas make the night perfect. We've had plenty of Asian cuisine, lugged around a camera every day, and completely submerged ourselves in the travel experience. I can't really describe what a relief it is to just screw it all and become a homebody for a night. I don't think of it as a night wasted, but as a night earned.

Of course just by expressing my sense of relief for a break, I feel compelled to reiterate how lucky I feel to be on a trip that nearly exhausts me. I'm learning things every single day, whether it is how to ride a motorbike, how to cook new foods, or how to have a conversation about foreign politics with people who have a wildly different perspective than myself. I'm out of my element in all sorts of ways and it's awesome.

The people I have met--especially locals--have changed my world. Rash is a perfect example. The cousin of one of my new friends from Birthright (you're the best, Arun!), this guy got up at 3:30 in the morning, and picked Emily and me up from the bus station. He not only saved us a decent amount of money, but also introduced us to a different perspective of Kuala Lumpur. Last night, we joined Rash and his fabulous girlfriend at his buddy's new cigar and whiskey bar, Whisky Tango Foxtrot. We relaxed in the back room with a door that looked like a wall panel, and met some generous, down-to-earth folks who shared Japanese whiskey and traveling stories of their own. It was the kind of night that would only happen with a local friend, a night that was unique to Kuala Lumpur.

And now the pendulum swings and I need the cheesiest night possible: American films that rated poorly on Rotten Tomatoes, wine out of a bottle with a screw top, and thin crust pizza. All in my pjs. It's perfect. As much as I love the surprises of traveling, sometimes having the familiarity of a cozy night is just as wonderful, my personal take on a "survival kit."

lull

I'm enjoying a lull in island adventuring right now, due to a sudden downpour of rain (although monsoon season is mild and warm despite the current waves of water). The break is welcome, since I'm also just on the other side of severe illness. Nothing like the bronchitis I experienced in Israel....this time I learned the hard way that one should NOT drink the tap water in Malaysia.

Since Emily and I are now hiding out in our dry and cozy hostel, it seems like a good time to write. Although I have a feeling this will be much shorter than the normal entry, since I'm currently typing on my iPhone...such a handy little device....and yet such a small screen.

Emily and I are on Langkawi, a beautiful little paradise. The ocean is warm, the people are laid-back, at night the stars blanket the sky, and you can eat a meal for as little as a dollar. (Although I'm pretty sure the place where we ate a $1 lunch is also the source of my water poisoning.) The island caters to a pretty big tourist population and yet still maintains the charms of personal space and community for the locals. It is a great balance.

Yesterday, Emily and I stumbled upon a local scene while we were exploring the jungle. A giant picnic under a waterfall, with kids swimming on different tiers and mothers preparing plates of food on the surrounding rocks. The smaller boys leapt off an old metal sign perched on a ledge and into the shallow pool (I had a minor, mom-like freak-out upon seeing them, but they seemed perfectly fine). The older kids were at the top level, under the biggest part of the waterfall, snacking and chatting and daring each other to jump off the higher rocks. Em and I lingered for a few minutes before we continued our little adventure, passing private beaches where more families were enjoying a relaxing Friday afternoon together. 

Our day's travel was made possible by a motorbike we rented in the morning from a tourist shop.  Best idea ever. I don't know what possessed me to say, "Yeah, I can drive that thing," but lo and behold, I am one with the bike. On our way to the northern part of the island, the ride was mildly terrifying....sharp turns, cars full of dudes pulling up alongside us for polite conversation ("Hey hey hey!! How you doing?? Where you going??"), random and frequent monkey crossings, and all this while driving on the left side of the road. By the end of the day, though, I had gotten a much better feel for how to control the thing. Despite the lurch I felt in my stomach every time I saw a sign indicating a sharp right or left, I was positive that I could handle it with ease. Accelerate and lean in to the turns...stay in the left lane. True to my Angelean roots, I even passed the slower vehicles. It was a very exciting day.

The best part of our exploration was this little clear and gentle bay hiding off the side of the road. Fine and grainy sand, mostly locals with a couple other foreigners, beautiful trees around us and no boats in view. Emily and I were giddy, turning somersaults and doing handstands, floating on our backs like sea otters, saying over and over again, "This is a perfect day. I am so happy we're here." 

We were hoping for another perfect day to follow that one, but maybe this is just a different kind of perfect. The torrential rain is beautiful and resting feels wonderful. Besides, tomorrow should be a big adventure for us if the weather allows. Em is going to show me her driving skills on a jet ski and there are baby islands so close to us that we can see the sand lines. We have much more exploring to do.

wear

Please press play.

I just discovered this 10 hour version of the song, which at first seemed absurd to me, as I'm sure it does to you. But considering how many times I played it while I was writing the following entry, it seems like the perfect accompaniment.

Yesterday, Emily and I took a bus from Kuala Lumpur to Tanah Rata in the Cameron Highlands, giving me plenty of time to catch up in my journal....

Kuala Lumpur....yep, we're in Malaysia. The plans have changed a bit.

***

Kuala Lumpur, November 9-12:

In my AC-chilled hostel room, I comfortably dressed in black spandex pants and a long, baggy T-shirt that hid my curves. Since Malaysia is a predominantly Muslim country, I didn't want to offend the locals by showing too much skin while I went for my morning run. It didn't really occur to me how difficult I was actually making it for myself, attempting my first run in almost a month in such a hot and humid climate and with so much fabric covering my skin. 

I swung my heavy hiking boots forward as I slowly climbed the ascending pavement, into the depths of a park that felt like the outskirts of a rainforest. Water dripped from the trees overhead and onto my bare forearms, mixing with the sweat that glistened on my already wet skin.

About 20 minutes in, I passed the first pair of joggers. The woman was wearing shorts. They were as long as her male companion's, but she was still going for comfort over the rules of dress that I imagined were strictly enforced. By the end of my run, I had passed countless women in high-cut shorts and tank tops running on the same path. Needless to say, I was confused about the advice I had received to dress modestly.

Like most countries in the world, the cultural "rules" in Malaysia vary based on region, and in a modern city like Kuala Lumpur, Western influence has clearly made its mark. I hadn't realized just how developed the place was, with its efficient monorail system, futuristic skyscrapers, and fairyland LED lights which illuminated streets, temples, and even the royal palace. Kuala Lumpur is an urban burst of color and glitter that seems to draw from tradition just as much as it pushes for innovation and modernization. Of course what I'm describing here are the architectural developments I was able to observe.

So what about the social developments? How does the concept of modest dress work in such a modern city? The more time I spent in KL, the more I observed a diverse mix of female clothing, from waves of burqas--the few moth-like women flowing by--to the rainbow headscarves and butterfly tunics visible in every direction. I was also surprised to see plenty of bare shoulders and legs amongst the locals.

My fascination with these varied clothing styles has led me to think about the broader concept of how we, as humans, work with the physical form to express our inner selves. In fact, the ways in which we cover--and don't cover--our bodies reflect much more than our individuality. Clothing is about the relationship between an individual and the public. When I am home, I feel empowered as a woman and as a citizen. I present my body in ways that reflect that sense of freedom, I embrace the curves of my body and I show a decent amount of skin. However, as a young woman traveling without a male companion in Malaysia, I would feel vulnerable if I dressed the same that I normally do in California. Showing skin back home is an expression of my power as a woman, while covering my skin here is a way to empower myself as a woman.

Thinking about "modest dress" in this context gives me appreciation for the particular ways in which Malaysian women empower themselves through dress, even with the restrictions of a Muslim culture. (Although, as open-minded as I try to be, burqas are admittedly strange to me.) The varieties of colors and jewels amongst the women offer opportunities for self-expression that celebrate the physical form. No matter our country, traditions, or concepts of modesty, I think we all want to exert some sense of control over our physicality as way to express our personal power. Muslim clothes can be surprisingly audacious. There is also something sexy and powerful about leaving more to the imagination. By bringing more attention to a woman's face, head scarves and tunics highlight her unique beauty.

I'd be curious to know how the women here perceive tourists' more scandalous clothing choices and how they feel about foreign dress in general. Based on my current physical appearance--wrinkled, Thai "genie" pants, American shirts and shoes, an Indian henna--I probably look like a Western hippy backpacker, which carries its own implications about my identity and personal power. In some ways I think my appearance hinders my relationship with the Malaysian locals. Covered or not, I am still vulnerable as a foreigner and as a single woman, and so I can easily be overcharged by taxi drivers and hassled by strange men. As a foreign woman, I also haven't had a great deal of interaction with the local women. However, my backpacker outfits also empower me by communicating that I need help with translations and directions. My attempts at modesty (and my henna) show that I respect the local culture. My clothing provides me with opportunities to learn more about Malaysia from friendly locals who are intrigued by my appearance and want to engage in conversation. Obviously, I look foreign regardless of my clothes, but I also believe that my particular blend of local and American garb communicates much more than the fact that I am foreign.

It is interesting to consider the power of dress in a place with such different traditions from those I know. I don't believe appearance tells the whole story about an individual or culture--I mean, how could I?--but I am learning more about the power of appearance and clothing here in Malaysia. I am also learning more about Malaysia, simply by keeping my eyes (and mind) open to the explosions of colors and flowing fabric all around me.

"cave"

"Are we going to have coffee?"

"Coffee will be your prize."

Welcome to Bootcamp Kobi. We set off for the hills surrounding Jerusalem with the only Israeli I've met who reminds me of an American boyscout. One can expect him at any moment to pull out either a little-known historical fact about his native country or a camping stove to prepare hot tea or chocolate. He had scheduled the morning like so:

First, we would travel through the caves, to the Springs of Maria.

"Leave behind anything breakable. We will be crawling."

Then we would cook ourselves a shakshuka breakfast on the roof.

"The roof?"

"Yes, you shall see."

As it turned out, the "caves" were more of an ancient sewer system, a 1500-year-old tunnel that opened up at a little fountain on the main road, where some tourists were filling their water bottles (a questionable decision). We hiked ourselves up over the small rivulet and squeezed into a hole that--I swear to you--was maybe a foot and a half squared. I can only imagine what the bystanders were thinking, especially when the last member of our group, who was easily 6'3" tall, disappeared into the darkness.

Broken glass lined the path where our knees were supposed to go (I shed blood for Jerusalem that day) and the "drinking water" ran down a narrow hollow between the bordering stones. Emily and I were forced to scoot our knees and feet along the gutter to avoid the glass.

Our fearless leader headed the stony terrain with a flashlight, but although I was right behind him, I could barely see a thing. Fortunately it was Emily behind me, lending light from her headlamp when I was truly at a loss for how to navigate my path. There was a point when I was wedged between the rocks so that the view from behind was literally just my behind, and our ensuing laughter saved me a couple extra seconds to readjust and drag my legs through.

"I wish I had gotten a picture!"

"Thank god you didn't get a picture."

By the time we were finally able to stand, we had reached the end of the tunnel, which was the bottom of an ancient well. Kobi lit some tea candles so we could see the little cave around us. This was where the Virgin Mary had supposedly stopped to take a drink after John the Baptist told her she was carrying the baby Jesus. The knee-deep pool of water wasn't exactly the spring I had envisioned, but the experience was a total surprise and the crawl was an adventure I don't believe I could ever replicate. We earned that coffee.

One at a time, we climbed up an old rusted ladder--and then we were on a flat roof above the sewer in late morning sunshine. A view of lush hills, bougainvillea, and rustic villas surrounded us. We sat in a circle around the camp stove and bags full of food, and began to prepare a meal for the five of us.

Now, my take on homemade (roofmade?) shakshuka might be a bit unique from a kitchen preparation, but from what I have seen of this Israeli staple, I believe the principles are the same. I'll explain it as a meal for four to simplify things, and I will also make slight adjustments to the rooftop recipe, based on the various shakshukas I've had during my stay in Israel:

Shakshuka
(4 servings)

1 tbsp olive oil
1 white or brown onion, peeled and diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 red or green bell pepper, chopped
6-8 tomatoes, diced into small pieces
za'tar, to taste (outside of Israel, I hear you can find this condiment at Kosher stores)
pinch of cayenne pepper (optional)
4 eggs



Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat and add both the garlic and onion, coating the mixture in oil. Sautee until the onions start to become soft and the garlic is fragrant. Then add the bell pepper. Sautee for about 5-7 minutes, until the bell pepper begins to soften. Add the tomatoes and blend well. Allow the mixture to simmer for another 5-7 minutes, until the juices start to reduce. Then add za'tar to your liking (feel free to taste!), as well as a bit of cayenne, if desired. The concoction will continue to reduce, so be careful to not add too much of either spice. Once blended, crack the eggs evenly over the sauce so that each can be poached on the surface. Cover pan with a lid (we used foil...but that was a matter of impromptu problem-solving) and allow to simmer for about 7 minutes, until the eggs are cooked and the sauce has reduced (took us 15 minutes, because of the foil scavenger hunt). If you like your eggs more on the runny side, reduce the sauce a bit before you cook the eggs so that you can cook the eggs for less time. Also, be sure to keep an eye on the pan--you don't want the sauce to reduce too much, which would burn your delicious Israeli breakfast. 

Each dish should be served with labneh as well as warm, crusty bread or pita for dipping. As far as the bread goes, if you're gluten-free or simply anti-carbs, the shakshuka is yum regardless--but the bread really makes this dish complete. You can hollow out the middle of the end of a loaf and fill it with egg and sauce, or you can spread sauce, labneh, and egg on top of a piece of bread and eat it like toast. Or you can do it my way, and gracelessly scoop all the toppings together on a piece of bread with a few napkins at the ready by your side. However you choose to enjoy shakshuka, don't forget to clean up the pan at the end, with a piece of bread. As Kobi says, "That's the best part."

oops

"You seem nervous. Is this your first time flying?"

Emily's passport is filled with stamps, so this accusation was a bit absurd. Any signs of nervousness were only her reaction to the intensity of the airport security guard. He drilled her with repetitive questions and held her passport behind his back as if she just might not get it back that day.

We hadn't eaten anything and we were running late for an international flight, and then, just as we got to the front of the security line, we were pulled aside for questioning. Airport security was concerned that we weren't leaving with the rest of our Birthright group, as well as by our relation. A straight-haired blonde and a curly brunette claiming to be sisters? Fishy. They focused in on the blonde.

Whispered Hebrew, sideways glances, and then they separated us so they could double-check her answers. When Emily had finally satisfied the guard with her consistency, he gave her an extra sticker to put on her passport. "This one's shady," it seemed to say.

Ever closer to the check-in counter, we laughed about the misfortune.

"Can you imagine what's going to happen when we try to leave Israel again, but after traveling an extra two months through India and Thailand?"

"O god. I'm going to get strip-searched."

We threw our bags onto the X-ray belt, laughing. I stopped laughing at the next obstacle.

"You." The uniform stared me down. Apparently it was my turn for extra inspection. The static group of angsty travelers in the new waiting area looked nearly as frustrated as me, all of us waiting for tediously slow baggage analysis. Forty-five minutes until boarding.

Emily hurried to the check-in counter to see if she could get both our boarding passes printed. Meanwhile, I waited. And waited. Thirty minutes before boarding, I heard a security guard call for my flight and I shouted, "HERE!" like I was snagging the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. We would not miss this flight. We would go to India.

My bag was rushed through the check point and I ran to where Emily stood, leaning on the counter in front of an apathetic woman who pretended she didn't see either of us.

"What's going on?"

"They say we need visas."

Emily and I had bought our tickets to India weeks prior, without any problems. We hadn't read up on the visa situation because, as far as we knew, we didn't need one for our brief amount of travel. Israel didn't require a visa, Thailand didn't. But India--the longest portion of our trip, the place we researched the most, the country I've obsessed over visiting for years--that was the place with the red tape.

At first, we were in disbelief. Then there were tears. But Emily and I finally womaned up and decided we could remedy the situation. We've made some blunders together in the past while traveling...nothing to this degree, but adequately screwed up enough to prepare us for disaster.

We spent the next four hours visiting the Indian embassy, then an intermediary travel agent. We filled out forms, took formal application photos, and handed over our passports to a sympathetic woman who told us, "Anywhere from a couple days to two weeks." Only then did we collapse on the bed of a dingy hostel, where we planted ourselves for the next four nights. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe we were supposed to stay in Israel a little while longer.

This would also be a good time to mention that on the day we were ready to leave for India, I hadn't yet reached the peak of what we would later determine was a bad case of bronchitis. It is just in the last day or so that I've started to get better--and much credit has to be given to my amazing traveling companion for taking my violent coughing in stride. I am so grateful for her calming presence and also that we are traveling together. Going through this madness as a pair brings a bit more humor to the situation. It also makes bronchitis a hell of a lot less miserable.

The plans are a mess, but at least we were given an opportunity to make the most of an unfortunate situation. More time in beautiful Tel Aviv is a far cry from disaster. Our crusty hostel turned out to be a happy oasis, one block away from the gorgeous, soft sandy beach and walking distance from some eclectic restaurants, the movie theatres (go see Looper!), plenty of markets, a post office, and everything else we could need in Limbo.

The past few days slowed us down and gave us a lovely little extension in Israel. A couple days ago, we decided to return to Jerusalem and--thanks to Birthright--we actually have friends up there to visit. A very generous guy who traveled with our group, Kobi, has arranged for us to stay with his girlfriend while we're there. Soon Emily and I will get to experience Shabbat dinner in a traditional, family setting. And, knowing Kobi, I'm sure we will also be experiencing at least one more impromptu hot chocolate session. (Kobi travels with a camping stove and supplies for hot beverages....he is always prepared with hospitality!)

As fun as it has been to explore Tel Aviv, I'm really looking forward to a change of scenery for the next few days....off we go to Jerusalem. The bus awaits.

A tea party from the past. (From left to right: Emily, Amanda, Yael, Kobi, Lewis)