One summer during law school, I went to Cambodia to work for an organization doing poverty reduction and women's rights work. I fell in love with Phnom Penh, the French colonial architecture, the rubble strewn streets, and view from the F.C.C. looking out over the steamy Mekong River. Phnom Penh is an eclectic mix of the old and the new, with pockets of modernity catering to the expat community at phenomenally low prices, with exquisite attention to detail. Coffee and tea served in blue and white china, a flower petal decorating a lunch plate, the lazy hum of ceiling fans stirring the hot, humid air, and sunlight streaming through bamboo shades.
After spending 2 months in Cambodia, I traveled to other parts of South East Asia with my friend Wood for about a month. We went to Siem Riep and saw the ancient majesty of Angkor Wat - massive temple complexes rising up out of the jungle, covered with intricately carved dancing girls that make the Mayan ruins in Central America look like nothing more than melted sandcastles. From Angkor Wat, we went to Hanoi and shopped among its crooked, curving streets, and then went to see the tomb of Ho Chi Minh. Over Ho Chi Minh's tomb gleamed the red symbols of communism, but out on the streets North Vietnam was humming with Capitalism. Hawkers selling trinkets on the street, shop's bursting with goods for sale, gellato parlors, books, handmade silk dresses, leather goods, metal work, fine jewelry, and delicately beaded bags. Hanoi was completely different than anything I had ever heard about Vietnam. It's a shopping Mecca.
From Hanoi, Wood and I traveled to Southern China, where we spent two weeks exploring the picturesque mountain towns of Dali and Lijang, and some larger cities in the Yunnan Province. I had no idea that China was so vast. At one point, I took a 12-hour bus from one point to the next and for hours saw only fields and grass; it was like Kansas, but in China. In Dali, a city smack in the middle of the backpacker's route, we had chocolate banana pancake and peach lassies, almost every morning.
Lijang was my favorite. It was a fairyland set up in the mountains, ringed with fields of giant sunflowers, its buildings fashioned in the traditional Chinese style, its streets dotted with red lanterns in the evening. Wood and I stayed in a guest house run by a family who lived on the premises. Our room was simple and white - white walls, white sheets, and white frosty air in the mornings before the sun's warmth penetrated the stones. Between our two beds was a small table upon which stood a large metal thermos painted with pale pink flowers. Each morning and evening, the guest house refilled the thermos with tea. It was wonderful. So soothing, relaxing, and comforting, and such a hospitable touch. To the Chinese, it was normal, but to me it was special.
Today, at the office, instead of filling up my french press with coffee, I filled it with hot water and dropped in two tea bags of green and black tea with an essence of peach. Sipping the tea and refilling my mug, in between working on my document this morning, I found myself smiling, remembering sipping tea up in the mountains of China with Wood.
Showing posts with label Traveling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Traveling. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Monday, April 07, 2008
Maya Tulum, Maybe Not
For anyone out there considering a "mind, body, spirit" vacation at Maya Tulum, down in Tulum, Mexico, I would advise you to reconsider. Having just come back from Maya Tulum, I can report that the beach and facilities were great, but the mind, body, spirit program left a lot to be desired - mainly because, with the exception of two mediocre yoga classes a day that left me more annoyed than relaxed, there was no "program" of which to speak. It was more like a regular old resort than a wellness program.
In addition, the place was managed very poorly. The general manager told us he had just fired a large group of his staff, so it's possible Maya Tulum was just having a bad week. That might explain the waiters that could not understand our orders, the long delays in getting served at meals, and the general lack of organization. It does not, however, explain the lack of seamless-ness that characterized my experience there. For example - this is a small but telling detail - breakfast was not served until 8 am each morning, the same time as the morning yoga class began. That meant that each morning you had to think about when you were going to eat, because it hadn't been organized sensibly beforehand.
When you go on vacation - particularly one you intend to be a wellness vacation - you don't want to worry about anything. You want to lay back, do you your yoga, and revel in positive energy. When things run seamlessly, you don't have to think about anything other than how beautiful the water is, and whether you want to attempt a head stand in yoga class.
Although I still had a wonderful time despite some of the sub par elements, I would not recommend Maya Tulum. It pales in comparison to last year's Bikini Boot Camp at Amansala, a place I would unequivocally endorse which left me feeling mental, physically, and spiritually rejuvenated (and totally blissed out). I do have to give props to one thing at Maya Tulum, which rocked over Amansala: the spa services. Fabian, Leo, and Sergio rocked my world in terms of providing fantastic drool-worthy massages and body treatments. I've been missing them big time since returning to my hunched-over office quarters.
I would suggest staying at Amansala and then walking down the beach for a few body treatments at Maya Tulum during your vacation. Also, stick with the male masseuses. Sorry lovelies, but unless you know the woman you're getting can channel some serious strength, and assuming you like a firm, hard rub-down (and who doesn't), I would say the male masseuses are a safer bet than the women.
In addition, the place was managed very poorly. The general manager told us he had just fired a large group of his staff, so it's possible Maya Tulum was just having a bad week. That might explain the waiters that could not understand our orders, the long delays in getting served at meals, and the general lack of organization. It does not, however, explain the lack of seamless-ness that characterized my experience there. For example - this is a small but telling detail - breakfast was not served until 8 am each morning, the same time as the morning yoga class began. That meant that each morning you had to think about when you were going to eat, because it hadn't been organized sensibly beforehand.
When you go on vacation - particularly one you intend to be a wellness vacation - you don't want to worry about anything. You want to lay back, do you your yoga, and revel in positive energy. When things run seamlessly, you don't have to think about anything other than how beautiful the water is, and whether you want to attempt a head stand in yoga class.
Although I still had a wonderful time despite some of the sub par elements, I would not recommend Maya Tulum. It pales in comparison to last year's Bikini Boot Camp at Amansala, a place I would unequivocally endorse which left me feeling mental, physically, and spiritually rejuvenated (and totally blissed out). I do have to give props to one thing at Maya Tulum, which rocked over Amansala: the spa services. Fabian, Leo, and Sergio rocked my world in terms of providing fantastic drool-worthy massages and body treatments. I've been missing them big time since returning to my hunched-over office quarters.
I would suggest staying at Amansala and then walking down the beach for a few body treatments at Maya Tulum during your vacation. Also, stick with the male masseuses. Sorry lovelies, but unless you know the woman you're getting can channel some serious strength, and assuming you like a firm, hard rub-down (and who doesn't), I would say the male masseuses are a safer bet than the women.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Near Miss
I almost made a colossal error. I've had in my mind this entire time that I'm leaving Mumbai (Bombay) on the 17th, so after staying tonight at the luxury hotel in Goa (which by the way is freakin' ridiculous it's so posh) I was planning to stay tomorrow night (the night of the 16th) in Mumbai. I had looked into hotels in Mumbai for tomorrow night, had planned out my last minute shopping route through the city, and had set up drinks with friends I had met a few days ago in the Delhi Airport.
Twenty minutes ago, something told me to double check my ticket to New York. It turns out that I am in fact flying out on the 17th, but importantly I'm flying out at 12:20 am on the 17th. It took several minutes of serious concentration and my most sophisticated mathematical abilities, along with a consultation with the nearest member of the hotel staff, to figure out that a flight at 12:20 am on the 17th meant that my flight really leaves on the night of the 16th! My flight's leaving tomorrow night, not the night after.
I almost missed my flight! Who knows when I would have been able to get another flight to New York (probably the next day). It could have taken a week, possibly even a month... I could have delayed starting my job indefinitely (the job that I had an anxiety nightmare about last night). What am I thinking, that mistake would not have been colossal, it would have been Perfect!
Damn my responsible nature. Curses!
It's like I've lost two days of my vacation and am going home early despite the fact that I'm still leaving on the 17th. Omg, I'm so depressed I just might have to go get an over-priced ayurvedic spa treatment from this ridiculously fancy hotel. Maybe the full body scrub and clay body wrap? Or a massage? Last night I had a pedicure and manicure. The beautician scrubbed my heels until they sparkled - all the rough skin and traveling gunk miraculously gone.
Yes, a massage is definitely in order. And a stiff cocktail. Maybe two. For some reason, no one in India has ever heard of a Rum Runner. Hello, People, what else are you supposed to drink while lounging about a super posh resort under the palm trees with a pool at your back and the ocean in front of you? Rum and fruit juice are the perfect thing to drink in the Islands... er, India.
* * *
Update: After I got over the initial shock of the close call - or close save depending upon how you look at it - I resolved to have a brilliant second to last day. This entailed living it up at the resort and trying to ignore how much money I was spending. Things are so outrageously expensive that I might as well be tossing money about like flower petals just walking round the grounds. For example, while everywhere else in India using the internet costs about 20 rupees for a half hour (50 cents), at the hotel it costs 245 rupees ($6). Granted, still not an exorbitant sum but once you add meals, drinks, luxury and entertainment tax, and spa treatments to the cost of the internet, you can imagine how things add up.
But as I was saying, for today I attempted to ignore all of that. If I do say so myself, I did an admirable job. I discovered, when I met an American (from New Jersey!) reclining at the pool who chivalrously bought me a drink, that though there were no Rum Runners to be found, the hotel makes a decent Pina Colada. I also had a fantastically delicious lunch that included the most delicious coconut gelato I think I've ever had in my life. I'm serious, it was that good. Most of the day I spent lounging around the pool. In the hazy heat of the afternoon I managed to rouse myself long enough to walk down to the beach and then proceeded to lounge around down there. There were no more spa treatments, but I'm still thinking about them. That option may have been foreclosed by the fact that I think I seriously burned my tushie. On my second to last day!
I also managed to rearrange my Mumbai plans. The guy I met in the Delhi Airport offered to let me leave my bags at his hotel while I shop around Mumbai for a few hours. Then we're going to meet up for drinks. He's from Toronto, rather dashing looking, and, apparently, quite the hospitable gentleman. Ooh la la.
Twenty minutes ago, something told me to double check my ticket to New York. It turns out that I am in fact flying out on the 17th, but importantly I'm flying out at 12:20 am on the 17th. It took several minutes of serious concentration and my most sophisticated mathematical abilities, along with a consultation with the nearest member of the hotel staff, to figure out that a flight at 12:20 am on the 17th meant that my flight really leaves on the night of the 16th! My flight's leaving tomorrow night, not the night after.
I almost missed my flight! Who knows when I would have been able to get another flight to New York (probably the next day). It could have taken a week, possibly even a month... I could have delayed starting my job indefinitely (the job that I had an anxiety nightmare about last night). What am I thinking, that mistake would not have been colossal, it would have been Perfect!
Damn my responsible nature. Curses!
It's like I've lost two days of my vacation and am going home early despite the fact that I'm still leaving on the 17th. Omg, I'm so depressed I just might have to go get an over-priced ayurvedic spa treatment from this ridiculously fancy hotel. Maybe the full body scrub and clay body wrap? Or a massage? Last night I had a pedicure and manicure. The beautician scrubbed my heels until they sparkled - all the rough skin and traveling gunk miraculously gone.
Yes, a massage is definitely in order. And a stiff cocktail. Maybe two. For some reason, no one in India has ever heard of a Rum Runner. Hello, People, what else are you supposed to drink while lounging about a super posh resort under the palm trees with a pool at your back and the ocean in front of you? Rum and fruit juice are the perfect thing to drink in the Islands... er, India.
* * *
Update: After I got over the initial shock of the close call - or close save depending upon how you look at it - I resolved to have a brilliant second to last day. This entailed living it up at the resort and trying to ignore how much money I was spending. Things are so outrageously expensive that I might as well be tossing money about like flower petals just walking round the grounds. For example, while everywhere else in India using the internet costs about 20 rupees for a half hour (50 cents), at the hotel it costs 245 rupees ($6). Granted, still not an exorbitant sum but once you add meals, drinks, luxury and entertainment tax, and spa treatments to the cost of the internet, you can imagine how things add up.
But as I was saying, for today I attempted to ignore all of that. If I do say so myself, I did an admirable job. I discovered, when I met an American (from New Jersey!) reclining at the pool who chivalrously bought me a drink, that though there were no Rum Runners to be found, the hotel makes a decent Pina Colada. I also had a fantastically delicious lunch that included the most delicious coconut gelato I think I've ever had in my life. I'm serious, it was that good. Most of the day I spent lounging around the pool. In the hazy heat of the afternoon I managed to rouse myself long enough to walk down to the beach and then proceeded to lounge around down there. There were no more spa treatments, but I'm still thinking about them. That option may have been foreclosed by the fact that I think I seriously burned my tushie. On my second to last day!
I also managed to rearrange my Mumbai plans. The guy I met in the Delhi Airport offered to let me leave my bags at his hotel while I shop around Mumbai for a few hours. Then we're going to meet up for drinks. He's from Toronto, rather dashing looking, and, apparently, quite the hospitable gentleman. Ooh la la.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Creature Comforts in Goa
In the spirit of my blog, I've decided (At Once!) to dramatically class it up for the last remaining days of my Indian vacation. It's only money after all and you can't take it with you. Plus, I'm going to need something decadent and beautiful to get me through the transition back into Law Firm Life. Egads! Is it possible that I have to start work in just 7 days? (A brief vision of myself in a strait jacket rocking back and forth in a padded cell mumbling to myself flashes before my eyes, but I fight it off by looking out the window at the palm trees - Sigh).
The reason I need to class things up, in addition to those listed above, is that I spent last night in a plywood shack. That's right, a shack made of plywood with a woven palm frond roof. Apparently plywood shacks are the residence of choice for visitors to Palolem Beach in Goa - the most idyllic beach in Goa and the site of the opening scene in the Bourne Supremacy (totally cool). There are perks to living in plywood. It cost only 200 rupees (about $4), and it was right on the beach. The sound of the waves was so strong last night that it sounded as if my bed were floating just on top of the ocean.
Despite the perks, I decided one night of bumming around on the beach was plenty. If I were traveling for a year and I had all the time in the world, living for a time in a beach shack would be the perfect way to while away the time. However, I'm down to 4 days before I must fly home to New York. I'm on a tight schedule! I have only 96 hours left! I can't spend them all hot and sweaty in a hut made of plywood! I'm 32 and I'm a lawyer for god's sake! A big time New York lawyer! I searched the beach high and low and found the nicest bungalows at Ciarin's Camp. The bungalows at Ciarin's Camp are also made of plywood but they have attached bathrooms, surround a beautifully manicured courtyard, and have on site a terrific restaurant that specializes in fresh, healthy-ish, veggie fair.
After transporting my belongings - which get heavier and heavier with each spree of shopping I do in each city - down the beach to Ciarin's Camp, I spent the rest of the day lounging around, had breakfast, and had a swim in the ocean. The water here is nice, though brownish in color from all the silt that's been stirred up by the changing weather. Apparently the monsoon strikes these parts around June, and the water has started to get churned up in anticipation of the coming rains. After a few hours of enjoying Ciarin's Camp I decided I needed to class things up a notch further. Apparently the luxury I experienced in Bombay rubbed off a little too much on me
So, after a bit of research and a few calls, I booked myself a room for tomorrow night and the next at the Park Hyatt Goa Resort and Spa. It's a luxury hotel right on the beach that has a pool and a spa!! I actually feel like quite an adult making such a reservation. Other than the time I stayed with my brother in a super posh hotel in Bangkok, or two nights ago in Mumbai, I can't recall another time I've stayed at a fancy hotel on vacation. Granted, on family trips when I was younger of course, but never as an adult paying for it by myself. Usually I'm partial to the cute guesthouse option (not just because they're more affordable, but mainly because they're charming). In India, however, the cute guesthouse option is hard to find.
I think this is just what I need. To finish this vacation off in style and in a setting that optimizes relaxation, rejuvenation, pampering, and some quiet introspection. I anticipate feeling deliriously happy the minute I check into my room. It has a kind sized bed too! It's going to cost a pretty penny, but honestly I'm going to make it back in no time starting next week, and it's worth it because it's going to make me happy.
And that's what I'm about these days, making myself happy now. At once.
The reason I need to class things up, in addition to those listed above, is that I spent last night in a plywood shack. That's right, a shack made of plywood with a woven palm frond roof. Apparently plywood shacks are the residence of choice for visitors to Palolem Beach in Goa - the most idyllic beach in Goa and the site of the opening scene in the Bourne Supremacy (totally cool). There are perks to living in plywood. It cost only 200 rupees (about $4), and it was right on the beach. The sound of the waves was so strong last night that it sounded as if my bed were floating just on top of the ocean.
Despite the perks, I decided one night of bumming around on the beach was plenty. If I were traveling for a year and I had all the time in the world, living for a time in a beach shack would be the perfect way to while away the time. However, I'm down to 4 days before I must fly home to New York. I'm on a tight schedule! I have only 96 hours left! I can't spend them all hot and sweaty in a hut made of plywood! I'm 32 and I'm a lawyer for god's sake! A big time New York lawyer! I searched the beach high and low and found the nicest bungalows at Ciarin's Camp. The bungalows at Ciarin's Camp are also made of plywood but they have attached bathrooms, surround a beautifully manicured courtyard, and have on site a terrific restaurant that specializes in fresh, healthy-ish, veggie fair.
After transporting my belongings - which get heavier and heavier with each spree of shopping I do in each city - down the beach to Ciarin's Camp, I spent the rest of the day lounging around, had breakfast, and had a swim in the ocean. The water here is nice, though brownish in color from all the silt that's been stirred up by the changing weather. Apparently the monsoon strikes these parts around June, and the water has started to get churned up in anticipation of the coming rains. After a few hours of enjoying Ciarin's Camp I decided I needed to class things up a notch further. Apparently the luxury I experienced in Bombay rubbed off a little too much on me
So, after a bit of research and a few calls, I booked myself a room for tomorrow night and the next at the Park Hyatt Goa Resort and Spa. It's a luxury hotel right on the beach that has a pool and a spa!! I actually feel like quite an adult making such a reservation. Other than the time I stayed with my brother in a super posh hotel in Bangkok, or two nights ago in Mumbai, I can't recall another time I've stayed at a fancy hotel on vacation. Granted, on family trips when I was younger of course, but never as an adult paying for it by myself. Usually I'm partial to the cute guesthouse option (not just because they're more affordable, but mainly because they're charming). In India, however, the cute guesthouse option is hard to find.
I think this is just what I need. To finish this vacation off in style and in a setting that optimizes relaxation, rejuvenation, pampering, and some quiet introspection. I anticipate feeling deliriously happy the minute I check into my room. It has a kind sized bed too! It's going to cost a pretty penny, but honestly I'm going to make it back in no time starting next week, and it's worth it because it's going to make me happy.
And that's what I'm about these days, making myself happy now. At once.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Luxurious Bombay
I just had the most marvelous time staying at the Marriott at Juhu Beach in Bombay. It was awesome. I came in off the road - after traveling from Jodhpur to Udaipur, exploring Udaipur (a wonderful city), and then flying to Bombay - a bedraggled, hot, sweaty, and slightly smelly mess, and found refuge with Pirate who was staying at the Marriott on business. If there's anything better than crashing with a friend staying at a luxury hotel on business, I don't know what it is.
The bed was like a thick, wondrous cloud of acres and acres of soft, white linens. The white drapes covered floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto the beach, and were so thick that they blocked out almost all the sun in the morning. But the most fantastic part of Pirate's room was the bathroom. Oh my god, the bliss of a gigantic tub filled with hot, steaming bubbles. I arrived at the Marriott while Pirate was out to dinner and after entering the room, waited about 30 seconds before running a bath and raiding all the complimentary toiletries. I scrubbed and scrubbed, delighted in submerging myself in glorious, sweetly scented water, and then wrapped myself up in a thick fluffy white towel. God, I love hotels. I kind of love Pirate to for making all of that happen.
After Pirate got back from dinner we went and had drinks at a club on the beach that did an excellent peach mojito, and then went clubbing at Enigma, the club in the Marriott. The music was a mixture of Euro, Indian techno-pop with flashes of Western pop. Justin's sexy back made an appearance. It was so much fun.
Now I'm off for a 4 day beach holiday to Goa. Beach bungalows, here I come!
The bed was like a thick, wondrous cloud of acres and acres of soft, white linens. The white drapes covered floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto the beach, and were so thick that they blocked out almost all the sun in the morning. But the most fantastic part of Pirate's room was the bathroom. Oh my god, the bliss of a gigantic tub filled with hot, steaming bubbles. I arrived at the Marriott while Pirate was out to dinner and after entering the room, waited about 30 seconds before running a bath and raiding all the complimentary toiletries. I scrubbed and scrubbed, delighted in submerging myself in glorious, sweetly scented water, and then wrapped myself up in a thick fluffy white towel. God, I love hotels. I kind of love Pirate to for making all of that happen.
After Pirate got back from dinner we went and had drinks at a club on the beach that did an excellent peach mojito, and then went clubbing at Enigma, the club in the Marriott. The music was a mixture of Euro, Indian techno-pop with flashes of Western pop. Justin's sexy back made an appearance. It was so much fun.
Now I'm off for a 4 day beach holiday to Goa. Beach bungalows, here I come!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Hot, Hazy, Majestic and Blue
Compared to the 24 hours immediately preceding my arrival in Jodhpur, my time in the city has been very relaxing. I'm staying at Pal Haveli, a traditional Rajasthani home still owned by a family who has lived here for years. My room is spacious, breezy and gorgeously decorated. One wall is lined with french doors that look out onto a peaceful courtyard. The windows are covered by pale orange drapes from floor to ceiling, and when the sun filters through them the room is shrouded in a soft, hazy light. The ceilings are about 15 feet high and there are 6 ceiling fans in addition to an air conditioning system to keep the room cool.
I can now understand why Rajasthan has a reputation as a "romantic" destination. In addition to the beautiful, traditional rooms, it's so hot here that for good portions of the day you want to retire to your room and laze away the late morning to late afternoon. With nothing to do but lay around under the fans in bed, I could see why it wouldn't be a bad place to come with a lover.
I've been spending my days differently, though no less enjoyably. Yesterday, I toured the large fort set atop the hill that overlooks the city. Here, the buildings - one to three story box-like structures built on top of one another dotted by roof decks and courtyards - are painted in shades of blue, cream, and tan. The most popular and striking color is a bright indigo blue color, the color that was traditionally reserved for the high caste Brahmans. The color is believed to have a cooling affect and to repel insects. Looking down at the city from the ramparts of the fort, it looked like a labyrinth of blue boxes set off against the rust-red sands of the distant desert.
In addition to visiting the fort, I visited the residence of the current Maharajah of Jodhpur. It's an impressive domed structure, similar in shape to the Taj Mahal though less elegant, that took over 3,000 people 15 years to build. The work was begun as a famine relief effort, and when it was completed it housed the reigning family of Jodhpur rulers. Now, most of the palace has been turned into a luxury hotel. There's a small section that is a museum, and then there's a separate section that continues to house the Maharajah. I made a brief stop at the museum and then headed directly to the restaurant of the luxury hotel. I had an absolutely delightful time in the air conditioned restaurant - so cold that I was blissfully chilly for my time there - having coffee, a slice of chocolate walnut cake, and a scoop of mango ice cream while the temperatures climbed to sweltering heights outside. It cost me almost as much as my room at Pal Haveli but it was totally worth it.
Today, I had breakfast on a roof top of a nearby guesthouse, the Haveli Guesthouse (also a good option with friendly staff and a bit cheaper than Pal Haveli). The coffee was good, but my chocolate-banana pancake came out looking shiny, waxy, and bright yellow. Perhaps it had been made with saffron? It tasted all right, though a bit oily. For the remainder of the morning I'm going to wander the streets, do a little shopping and try to take some pictures. My A.C. car picks me up at my guest house at around noon to take me to Udaipur, a city in Southern Rajasthan that is about six hours away from Jodhpur. I expect that it will be slightly cooler as it's nearer to the coast and situated around a lake. I'm feeling very self-congratulatory for my excellent decision of arranging to be in an A.C. car during the hottest hours of the day.
I still haven't made my tickets to Goa, but I'm hopeful it will all work out.
I can now understand why Rajasthan has a reputation as a "romantic" destination. In addition to the beautiful, traditional rooms, it's so hot here that for good portions of the day you want to retire to your room and laze away the late morning to late afternoon. With nothing to do but lay around under the fans in bed, I could see why it wouldn't be a bad place to come with a lover.
I've been spending my days differently, though no less enjoyably. Yesterday, I toured the large fort set atop the hill that overlooks the city. Here, the buildings - one to three story box-like structures built on top of one another dotted by roof decks and courtyards - are painted in shades of blue, cream, and tan. The most popular and striking color is a bright indigo blue color, the color that was traditionally reserved for the high caste Brahmans. The color is believed to have a cooling affect and to repel insects. Looking down at the city from the ramparts of the fort, it looked like a labyrinth of blue boxes set off against the rust-red sands of the distant desert.
In addition to visiting the fort, I visited the residence of the current Maharajah of Jodhpur. It's an impressive domed structure, similar in shape to the Taj Mahal though less elegant, that took over 3,000 people 15 years to build. The work was begun as a famine relief effort, and when it was completed it housed the reigning family of Jodhpur rulers. Now, most of the palace has been turned into a luxury hotel. There's a small section that is a museum, and then there's a separate section that continues to house the Maharajah. I made a brief stop at the museum and then headed directly to the restaurant of the luxury hotel. I had an absolutely delightful time in the air conditioned restaurant - so cold that I was blissfully chilly for my time there - having coffee, a slice of chocolate walnut cake, and a scoop of mango ice cream while the temperatures climbed to sweltering heights outside. It cost me almost as much as my room at Pal Haveli but it was totally worth it.
Today, I had breakfast on a roof top of a nearby guesthouse, the Haveli Guesthouse (also a good option with friendly staff and a bit cheaper than Pal Haveli). The coffee was good, but my chocolate-banana pancake came out looking shiny, waxy, and bright yellow. Perhaps it had been made with saffron? It tasted all right, though a bit oily. For the remainder of the morning I'm going to wander the streets, do a little shopping and try to take some pictures. My A.C. car picks me up at my guest house at around noon to take me to Udaipur, a city in Southern Rajasthan that is about six hours away from Jodhpur. I expect that it will be slightly cooler as it's nearer to the coast and situated around a lake. I'm feeling very self-congratulatory for my excellent decision of arranging to be in an A.C. car during the hottest hours of the day.
I still haven't made my tickets to Goa, but I'm hopeful it will all work out.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Near Calamitous Journey to Jodhpur
My journey from McLeod Ganj to Jodhpur, Rajasthan proved a bit harrowing. Almost an entire day has passed since I arrived here, in Jodhpur, and I'm still thanking my lucky stars that I actually arrived and did not wind up about six hours west of here in the middle of the desert. Instead of a lukewarm internet cafe, I could be lying passed out from the heat in a tent in Jaisalmer surrounded by nothing but sand and camels. I know what you're thinking. It does sound kind of interesting. And, if I had more time I probably would have gone on a camel trip through the desert. However, I'm down to 8 days and my sites are now fixed firmly on Goa. I'm going to spend my last few days of freedom on the beach in a bungalow with nothing to do but drink rum punches and stare at the sea.
That's the plan anyway. I still have to get from Jodhpur to Udaipur, to Mumbai, to Goa, and as I was reminded of this morning, traveling in India can be a bit dicey at times. Which brings me back to the somewhat harrowing tale of my journey from McLeod Ganj. It started off quite nicely with a relaxing 3 hour trip via air conditioned car from up in the mountains to the airport at Pathankot. The flight from Pathankot to Delhi also proved uneventful. I met a woman from Croatia and enjoyed a pleasant conversation during the flight.
The problems started in Delhi after I purchased a pre paid taxi ride for 250 rupees from the Delhi airport to the Old Delhi train station. Usually the pre paid taxis are the way to go. They are supposed to eliminate the hassle of bargaining and ensure that travelers pay a fair price for their rides. In my case, I had gotten into the taxi (which was an old beat up black mini van) after showing the driver my pre paid form and confirming with him - to the extent possible since he did not or feigned not to know English - that I wished to go to the Old Delhi train station. This is to be distinguished from the New Delhi train station which is across town.
As we were pulling away from the airport my driver, a short, skinny Indian boy, glanced back at me and said, "Train station 200 rupees." (Which is almost 100% of the price I had already paid for the ride). At the same time another short, skinny boy jumped into the front passenger seat. This happens throughout India and in most cases the taxi driver tells you the other person is his brother. This is a lie and should not be trusted. Usually I demand that the other person gets out, but in this case we were already pulling away from the airport and I was distracted by the demand for more money.
I was immediately pissed because I knew as well as he did that I had already paid my fare in full and his attempt to get more money was pure extortion. I told him no and that I had already paid, and waved my receipt towards him. He again demanded 200 rupees. He did this several times while I continued to say no and to remind him that I had already paid, getting more heated each time. Finally, I slid the door of the mini van open, as we were driving on the highway, and said firmly and rather angrily, "Old Delhi train station. Already paid. Right?" I did not close the door until he nodded his head and said, "Right." He seemed somewhat shocked that I had opened the door and for the next 20 minutes didn't make any further demands for additional money. As we drove, I had my Lonely Planet opened to the map of Delhi and was tracing our progress through the city, making sure that he and his friend weren't going to try another way of taking money from me.
When we were 2/3rds of the way there my taxi driver tried another tact. Pretending to not know where he was going he asked, "Address?" Now I was really getting pissed. I pointed at the words "Old Delhi train station" on my receipt and said "You know?" and he shook his head and feigned ignorance. He again asked for the address and then I started raising my voice, repeating "Old Delhi train station." At one point we stopped at a traffic light and I got the attention of a man on a motorcycle and confirmed with him that we were headed in the right direction. Then I told motorcycle man that the taxi driver was trying to cheat me, that he was pretending to not know where I was going, and that he was demanding more money even though I had already paid the fare in full. The motorcycle man talked briefly with the taxi driver and confirmed that the driver knew where the train station was. Ah, to know Hindi... Then the motorcycle man told me to go to the tourist police if I had a problem. This might have been helpful except that I was having a problem, I was far away from the tourist police, and I was rushing to make my train - a 12-hour night train to Johdpur.
Luckily, after the traffic light I started seeing signs for the train station. At each sign I pointed them out to my driver and ordered him to go in the direction that they said. He then started to demand "50 rupee driver tip," and threatening not to go to the train station. I just kept insisting, rather loudly, that he needed to take me to the train station, complete with sharp hand gestures and admonishments to cut it out. I think I convinced him that I meant business because after another 10 minutes or so, which seemed to go on for ever, we pulled into the train station. I opened the van door while it was still rolling and started taking out my belongings. When he came around to my side of the van he held out his hand and asked for the paper. I gave him the paper, glared at him, and then stalked off. He didn't ask for money - I suspect because he realized how angry I was that he had tried to rip me off, and had threatened me. All of the other taxi and auto-rickshaw drivers just stared at us.
I was shaking because I was angry, but also because I had been scared. Almost everywhere in India it's been a hassle dealing with the taxi drivers. This was the only ride during which I felt a little frightened - because the driver was clearly intent upon getting more money from me - and it was the only time (so far) that I had to yell at the driver to make him take me to my destination. I basically had to show him that I was going to put up a fight if he tried anything sketchy, and if I had not been so vigilant with the map, and if I had not been up in his face demanding that he cut out the b.s. and take me to the train station I think there's a risk he would have taken me somewhere else and probably tried something stupid.
At the Old Delhi train station, I was greeted by the same masses of people lying about on the floor, begger children, unintelligible signs, and lack of any helpful official person that I had experienced in the Kolkata and New Delhi train stations. India, seriously, you have to do something about your train stations. They are nightmares. I picked my way over the bodies of people sprawled out on the pavement and tried to find my train number on the board. No luck. Then I wandered to the platforms looking for any signs or railway official. No luck. A man selling juice pointed me towards platform 17 and I crossed over the hanging walkway to that platform. There another man - this one dressed in army fatigues - told me the same thing, that the train to Johdpur was going to leave from platform 17.
It was 4:30 pm and I had over an hour before my train was to leave at 5:45 pm. Looking down the length of platform 17, most of it was deserted except for a small, beat-up, blue train way down at the other end. The train did not look like it would have any 2nd class A.C. sleeper compartments on it, which is what I had booked. Thinking there was no way that train was my train, I walked down and checked just to be on the safe side. Again, there were no officials to be found so I asked another man selling juice whether the train was going to Jodhpur. He shook his head and I walked off to sit on a bench to await my train. I waited for about 20 minutes. All around me the men on the platform stared at me, and I carefully refrained from making eye contact and pretended to ignore them. A few beggar children approached me and asked for money. As the minutes ticked by, I kept staring at the beat-up old blue train. Something told me to investigate a little further.
On the bench next to mine was a nicely dressed Indian man reading the paper whom I decided was a safe bet to ask for directions. I've become classist since arriving in India. The Indian man asked a few people nearby, and when they didn't know, he told me to wait a minute and went off down the platform, leaving me to watch his belongings. I decided then that he definitely was a good bet to ask for directions - anyone that trusting was definitely trustworthy. A few minutes later he returned and told me that my train, the one I needed to take to get to Jodhpur, was in fact the beat-up old blue train, which was bound for Jailsamer, a town on the edge of the desert several hours west of Jodhpur. It would have been nice if there had been signs to that effect.
After identifying the train, I had to locate my car, and then my berth. All of that proved slightly nerve-wracking as well. Initially, I wasn't allowed to get on the car because, I think, someone was straitening up the car. At one point, the train started rolling down the platform and I ran up to the car and started slamming on the door. A man poked out this head and told me to wait 5 more minutes as the train slowed to a stop. When I was finally allowed on I found to my great dismay that I had been given a top bunk in an area of the train that had basically no privacy whatsoever except for a small blue curtain. Worse yet, there was a fluorescent lamp on the ceiling of the train right next to my bunk, which was to stay on for the whole night.
I did the best I could to organize myself, piling my backpacks up on one end of my bunk and chaining them to the bed rail, and then using them as a rest to recline against. In that position, it was impossible to stretch out my legs unless I propped them up diagonally against the ceiling, which I did at various points of the night. I had my money belt clipped around my waist and my camera wedged between my body and the wall in a bag that I had looped over my shoulder. Needless to say, the journey was not the most comfortable train ride. I couldn't get to sleep for several hours. When I finally slept, I dozed fitfully, waking up every hour or so, each time checking my travel clock to see what time it was. The conductor who had come by to get my ticket - the first official person I had seen since arriving at the train station - had told me that the train would arrive in Jodhpur at 6 am.
At around 4 am, I fell into a deep sleep. I remember dreaming about finding a hidden bar in New York, a place that you couldn't see from the street. In the dream, you had to push a large red lever to make a bay window swing open and reveal a seat - a seat like you would find on a carnival ride, complete with a metal rod that snapped in place to keep you safely in your seat. I jumped into the seat and ended up talking to a couple who told me that they come to the bar all the time. The place had a speak easy feel to it and I was by turns impressed with myself for finding it and chagrined for not having discovered it earlier. Mostly I was happy to be there though.
Suddenly I woke up and looked around my bunk in confusion. My back hurt from where my bags had been digging in to it and my legs were stiff and cramping. There was no cool New York bar. Only the tiny little space, the itchy wool blanket, and the blue curtain lit up by the florescent light. It took me a minute to realize that the train wasn't moving, and I rummaged through my bag to get out my travel clock. It was 8 o'clock!
I whipped open the curtain, my gaze fastening on an Indian girl passing below my bunk. Urgently I asked her where we where. My heart was in my throat, and I was already mentally preparing myself to hear the worst - that we had passed Jodhpur and were somewhere out in the desert. How could I have missed Jodhpur?? She said, "Jodhpur," and I was so stunned that I had to ask her again just to make sure. She must have sensed the near panic I was in because she asked if I was getting off at Jodhpur and when I nodded affirmatively she said, "Only stop 15 minutes. Have already stopped 10 minutes." Holy crap!
I moved like I was on fire. I unlocked the chain around my bags, threw my books into one of them, checked my money belt and my bag for my camera, swiftly felt through the blankets and sheets for any of my belongings that might have become misplaced during the night, and then tossed everything down to the bunk below. I grabbed my hiking shoes which I had taken off during the night, felt through my blankets one last time, and then ran down the length of the train in bare feet, my bags flung across my back. I leapt off the train, landing ungracefully on the train platform, breathing heavily at the near miss, and dumped everything onto the ground next to a metal post. People stared but I ignored them. I must have looked like a disaster. My clothes were a wrinkled mass, my feet were bare and dirty, and my hair was a mess. I sat down on the ground next to my things and tried to calm down. I had some crackers, and slowly put myself together piece by piece.
Ten minutes later, I had my shoes and socks on and the train was still there. I was feeling a little silly after leaping out of the train, and I was also thinking that I should probably double check my bunk area. I picked up my backpacks and boarded the train a second time to check my bunk. On the way to my bunk I saw the Indian girl who had helped me earlier and thanked her profusely for her help. I checked through the blankets again and couldn't find anything, so I left the train. Somehow I had lost a wool sock, but it was nowhere to be found. To my knowledge, I got everything else. Then, for the second time this morning I stepped out onto the platform in Jodhpur. The second time I was far more graceful.
Exciting as last night's journey was, I've decided not to take any more trains for the remainder of my time in India. I'll be traveling to Udaipur via air conditioned car, and if all goes well, I will be travelling to and from Goa via plane.
I've been tagged by Artemis for a poetry meme, the rules of which are that the poem of your creation must start with "Roses are red." So here goes ("Blue" refers to the houses in Jodhpur which are painted an indigo blue color believed to have a cooling effect and to repel insects):
Roses are Red,
Jodhpur is Blue,
Goa is Paradise,
I'll be there soon.
By the way, according to two French tourists that I met while touring around the fort at Jodhpur, it was 45 degrees Celsius in the shade today in Jodhpur and over 50 degrees Celsius in the sun. For those of you Celsius-challenged like myself, that's 113 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade and 122 in the sun. It is freakin' HOT in Rajasthan.
That's the plan anyway. I still have to get from Jodhpur to Udaipur, to Mumbai, to Goa, and as I was reminded of this morning, traveling in India can be a bit dicey at times. Which brings me back to the somewhat harrowing tale of my journey from McLeod Ganj. It started off quite nicely with a relaxing 3 hour trip via air conditioned car from up in the mountains to the airport at Pathankot. The flight from Pathankot to Delhi also proved uneventful. I met a woman from Croatia and enjoyed a pleasant conversation during the flight.
The problems started in Delhi after I purchased a pre paid taxi ride for 250 rupees from the Delhi airport to the Old Delhi train station. Usually the pre paid taxis are the way to go. They are supposed to eliminate the hassle of bargaining and ensure that travelers pay a fair price for their rides. In my case, I had gotten into the taxi (which was an old beat up black mini van) after showing the driver my pre paid form and confirming with him - to the extent possible since he did not or feigned not to know English - that I wished to go to the Old Delhi train station. This is to be distinguished from the New Delhi train station which is across town.
As we were pulling away from the airport my driver, a short, skinny Indian boy, glanced back at me and said, "Train station 200 rupees." (Which is almost 100% of the price I had already paid for the ride). At the same time another short, skinny boy jumped into the front passenger seat. This happens throughout India and in most cases the taxi driver tells you the other person is his brother. This is a lie and should not be trusted. Usually I demand that the other person gets out, but in this case we were already pulling away from the airport and I was distracted by the demand for more money.
I was immediately pissed because I knew as well as he did that I had already paid my fare in full and his attempt to get more money was pure extortion. I told him no and that I had already paid, and waved my receipt towards him. He again demanded 200 rupees. He did this several times while I continued to say no and to remind him that I had already paid, getting more heated each time. Finally, I slid the door of the mini van open, as we were driving on the highway, and said firmly and rather angrily, "Old Delhi train station. Already paid. Right?" I did not close the door until he nodded his head and said, "Right." He seemed somewhat shocked that I had opened the door and for the next 20 minutes didn't make any further demands for additional money. As we drove, I had my Lonely Planet opened to the map of Delhi and was tracing our progress through the city, making sure that he and his friend weren't going to try another way of taking money from me.
When we were 2/3rds of the way there my taxi driver tried another tact. Pretending to not know where he was going he asked, "Address?" Now I was really getting pissed. I pointed at the words "Old Delhi train station" on my receipt and said "You know?" and he shook his head and feigned ignorance. He again asked for the address and then I started raising my voice, repeating "Old Delhi train station." At one point we stopped at a traffic light and I got the attention of a man on a motorcycle and confirmed with him that we were headed in the right direction. Then I told motorcycle man that the taxi driver was trying to cheat me, that he was pretending to not know where I was going, and that he was demanding more money even though I had already paid the fare in full. The motorcycle man talked briefly with the taxi driver and confirmed that the driver knew where the train station was. Ah, to know Hindi... Then the motorcycle man told me to go to the tourist police if I had a problem. This might have been helpful except that I was having a problem, I was far away from the tourist police, and I was rushing to make my train - a 12-hour night train to Johdpur.
Luckily, after the traffic light I started seeing signs for the train station. At each sign I pointed them out to my driver and ordered him to go in the direction that they said. He then started to demand "50 rupee driver tip," and threatening not to go to the train station. I just kept insisting, rather loudly, that he needed to take me to the train station, complete with sharp hand gestures and admonishments to cut it out. I think I convinced him that I meant business because after another 10 minutes or so, which seemed to go on for ever, we pulled into the train station. I opened the van door while it was still rolling and started taking out my belongings. When he came around to my side of the van he held out his hand and asked for the paper. I gave him the paper, glared at him, and then stalked off. He didn't ask for money - I suspect because he realized how angry I was that he had tried to rip me off, and had threatened me. All of the other taxi and auto-rickshaw drivers just stared at us.
I was shaking because I was angry, but also because I had been scared. Almost everywhere in India it's been a hassle dealing with the taxi drivers. This was the only ride during which I felt a little frightened - because the driver was clearly intent upon getting more money from me - and it was the only time (so far) that I had to yell at the driver to make him take me to my destination. I basically had to show him that I was going to put up a fight if he tried anything sketchy, and if I had not been so vigilant with the map, and if I had not been up in his face demanding that he cut out the b.s. and take me to the train station I think there's a risk he would have taken me somewhere else and probably tried something stupid.
At the Old Delhi train station, I was greeted by the same masses of people lying about on the floor, begger children, unintelligible signs, and lack of any helpful official person that I had experienced in the Kolkata and New Delhi train stations. India, seriously, you have to do something about your train stations. They are nightmares. I picked my way over the bodies of people sprawled out on the pavement and tried to find my train number on the board. No luck. Then I wandered to the platforms looking for any signs or railway official. No luck. A man selling juice pointed me towards platform 17 and I crossed over the hanging walkway to that platform. There another man - this one dressed in army fatigues - told me the same thing, that the train to Johdpur was going to leave from platform 17.
It was 4:30 pm and I had over an hour before my train was to leave at 5:45 pm. Looking down the length of platform 17, most of it was deserted except for a small, beat-up, blue train way down at the other end. The train did not look like it would have any 2nd class A.C. sleeper compartments on it, which is what I had booked. Thinking there was no way that train was my train, I walked down and checked just to be on the safe side. Again, there were no officials to be found so I asked another man selling juice whether the train was going to Jodhpur. He shook his head and I walked off to sit on a bench to await my train. I waited for about 20 minutes. All around me the men on the platform stared at me, and I carefully refrained from making eye contact and pretended to ignore them. A few beggar children approached me and asked for money. As the minutes ticked by, I kept staring at the beat-up old blue train. Something told me to investigate a little further.
On the bench next to mine was a nicely dressed Indian man reading the paper whom I decided was a safe bet to ask for directions. I've become classist since arriving in India. The Indian man asked a few people nearby, and when they didn't know, he told me to wait a minute and went off down the platform, leaving me to watch his belongings. I decided then that he definitely was a good bet to ask for directions - anyone that trusting was definitely trustworthy. A few minutes later he returned and told me that my train, the one I needed to take to get to Jodhpur, was in fact the beat-up old blue train, which was bound for Jailsamer, a town on the edge of the desert several hours west of Jodhpur. It would have been nice if there had been signs to that effect.
After identifying the train, I had to locate my car, and then my berth. All of that proved slightly nerve-wracking as well. Initially, I wasn't allowed to get on the car because, I think, someone was straitening up the car. At one point, the train started rolling down the platform and I ran up to the car and started slamming on the door. A man poked out this head and told me to wait 5 more minutes as the train slowed to a stop. When I was finally allowed on I found to my great dismay that I had been given a top bunk in an area of the train that had basically no privacy whatsoever except for a small blue curtain. Worse yet, there was a fluorescent lamp on the ceiling of the train right next to my bunk, which was to stay on for the whole night.
I did the best I could to organize myself, piling my backpacks up on one end of my bunk and chaining them to the bed rail, and then using them as a rest to recline against. In that position, it was impossible to stretch out my legs unless I propped them up diagonally against the ceiling, which I did at various points of the night. I had my money belt clipped around my waist and my camera wedged between my body and the wall in a bag that I had looped over my shoulder. Needless to say, the journey was not the most comfortable train ride. I couldn't get to sleep for several hours. When I finally slept, I dozed fitfully, waking up every hour or so, each time checking my travel clock to see what time it was. The conductor who had come by to get my ticket - the first official person I had seen since arriving at the train station - had told me that the train would arrive in Jodhpur at 6 am.
At around 4 am, I fell into a deep sleep. I remember dreaming about finding a hidden bar in New York, a place that you couldn't see from the street. In the dream, you had to push a large red lever to make a bay window swing open and reveal a seat - a seat like you would find on a carnival ride, complete with a metal rod that snapped in place to keep you safely in your seat. I jumped into the seat and ended up talking to a couple who told me that they come to the bar all the time. The place had a speak easy feel to it and I was by turns impressed with myself for finding it and chagrined for not having discovered it earlier. Mostly I was happy to be there though.
Suddenly I woke up and looked around my bunk in confusion. My back hurt from where my bags had been digging in to it and my legs were stiff and cramping. There was no cool New York bar. Only the tiny little space, the itchy wool blanket, and the blue curtain lit up by the florescent light. It took me a minute to realize that the train wasn't moving, and I rummaged through my bag to get out my travel clock. It was 8 o'clock!
I whipped open the curtain, my gaze fastening on an Indian girl passing below my bunk. Urgently I asked her where we where. My heart was in my throat, and I was already mentally preparing myself to hear the worst - that we had passed Jodhpur and were somewhere out in the desert. How could I have missed Jodhpur?? She said, "Jodhpur," and I was so stunned that I had to ask her again just to make sure. She must have sensed the near panic I was in because she asked if I was getting off at Jodhpur and when I nodded affirmatively she said, "Only stop 15 minutes. Have already stopped 10 minutes." Holy crap!
I moved like I was on fire. I unlocked the chain around my bags, threw my books into one of them, checked my money belt and my bag for my camera, swiftly felt through the blankets and sheets for any of my belongings that might have become misplaced during the night, and then tossed everything down to the bunk below. I grabbed my hiking shoes which I had taken off during the night, felt through my blankets one last time, and then ran down the length of the train in bare feet, my bags flung across my back. I leapt off the train, landing ungracefully on the train platform, breathing heavily at the near miss, and dumped everything onto the ground next to a metal post. People stared but I ignored them. I must have looked like a disaster. My clothes were a wrinkled mass, my feet were bare and dirty, and my hair was a mess. I sat down on the ground next to my things and tried to calm down. I had some crackers, and slowly put myself together piece by piece.
Ten minutes later, I had my shoes and socks on and the train was still there. I was feeling a little silly after leaping out of the train, and I was also thinking that I should probably double check my bunk area. I picked up my backpacks and boarded the train a second time to check my bunk. On the way to my bunk I saw the Indian girl who had helped me earlier and thanked her profusely for her help. I checked through the blankets again and couldn't find anything, so I left the train. Somehow I had lost a wool sock, but it was nowhere to be found. To my knowledge, I got everything else. Then, for the second time this morning I stepped out onto the platform in Jodhpur. The second time I was far more graceful.
Exciting as last night's journey was, I've decided not to take any more trains for the remainder of my time in India. I'll be traveling to Udaipur via air conditioned car, and if all goes well, I will be travelling to and from Goa via plane.
I've been tagged by Artemis for a poetry meme, the rules of which are that the poem of your creation must start with "Roses are red." So here goes ("Blue" refers to the houses in Jodhpur which are painted an indigo blue color believed to have a cooling effect and to repel insects):
Roses are Red,
Jodhpur is Blue,
Goa is Paradise,
I'll be there soon.
By the way, according to two French tourists that I met while touring around the fort at Jodhpur, it was 45 degrees Celsius in the shade today in Jodhpur and over 50 degrees Celsius in the sun. For those of you Celsius-challenged like myself, that's 113 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade and 122 in the sun. It is freakin' HOT in Rajasthan.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Nothing To Fear Except Fear Itself
Pirate left this morning and I was sad to see him go. He left at 9 am in an air conditioned car bound for the airport in Pathankot, a small town about three hours away from McLeod Ganj, where he was going to catch a flight to Delhi. He was an excellent traveling companion and I had so much fun with him. It's funny, when I imagined this trip I hadn't pictured travelling around with boys but it just seems to be working out that way. First, I met P.J. on the train from Kolkata to Darjeeling and had a terrific time with him exploring Darjeeling. Then I met up with Pirate in Delhi and travelled with him up to Mcleod Ganj. I must say, although males are not essential as traveling companions, and although I really appreciate the time I've had alone as a solo female traveler in India, I do appreciate having a strong, tall boy around from time to time.
Pirate and I had a number of adventures in McLeod Ganj, including an accidental 8-hour hike to the top of a nearby mountain, to a place called "Triund" which is approximately 2,300 meters above sea level. We had intended to hike up to the Mountain View Cafe, which according to the scribbly map provided by the trekking company, was midway between the town of McLeod Ganj and Triund - about three hours away. The hike on the way up was wonderful. We walked on dirt paths strewn with rocks and pebbles that scissored back and forth across the steep mountainside. Surrounding us on all sides were forests of fir trees and magnificent views of the valleys below, the snow-capped mountains above, and the towns and little houses far off in the distance. It was beautiful, peaceful, and towards the end more than a little challenging (during the last half hour I kept envisioning how luxurious it would feel to lie down on the ground and not move for a good couple of hours).
So intent were we upon persevering onwards, and so tiny was the tarp-covered lean-to referred to as the Mountain View "cafe," that we completely missed the cafe and ended up climbing all the way to Triund. You cannot imagine our surprise - and how impressed we were with ourselves - when we noticed the sign that said "Triund, 2,300 meters." We arrived at the top of the mountain at 4 pm, after climbing for about 6 hours, just in time to catch a thunder storm that forced us to huddle together under the tarp of the Triund Cafe - a tiny hut with enough room for 4 people to sit side-by-side on the floor, outfitted with a small cooking stove and a fine selection of crackers and candies, including kit-kats. Pirate and I had cheese toast, an omelet, and chai and watched the wind whip sheets of rain across the mountain top. I was dressed in only a tank top and capri pants (not the best preparation ever, I must admit) and it was chilly up there! Thankfully, Pirate graciously shared some of his body heat with me.
After an hour, the storm calmed down enough for Pirate and I to begin our hike back down the mountain. We set off at about 5 pm, which was about 2 hours later than we had planned to head back. At first the hike down was lovely, but at about 6 pm the sun went down (it was a beautiful sunset) and we found ourselves hiking down the mountain, through the middle of the forest in the dark. Pirate had a head lamp and I had a mag light that we used to illuminate the trail in front of us, so we weren't in any danger at any point.
However, I have a phobia of the dark that I had forgotten about until the sun went down and I found myself on a deserted path 2 hours away from civilization in the middle of the woods at night. Specifically, I have a phobia about dark spaces that stretch back into unknown depths - spaces that could shelter all manner of alien life form, bogeyman, or walking dead, psychotic mass-murderer ala Jason or Freddy. I haven't felt that level of anxiety in a long time. It brought me back to all of those times in high school when I was dropped off after a night out in front of my parent's house - a house that was surrounded on all sides by dark woods. As the car that had driven me home backed down the driveway, I would walk steadily up the path to the front door, using every ounce of control I had to stop myself from sprinting, feeling like at any moment some monstrous creature was going to lunge out of the darkness, pierce my back with its talons, and rip me to shreds.
In the end, other than my heart pounding rapidly in my throat for a good hour and a half, and more than a few startled jumps and strangled half-shrieks at random noises, everything turned out fine. No one resembling Jason or Freddy crossed our path, and it was a good opportunity for me to practice my deep breathing exercises as a way to cope with anxiety. (Good practice for when I start working again for Legal Corporate America on the 21st). One minute we were walking in the dark (me fearing for our lives, Pirate trying to distract me by making me tell him stories), and the next we tumbled out onto the main street of McLeod Ganj. Civilization! I had never been so happy to see a group of Indian tuk-tuk drivers in my life.
We headed straight for a bar and ordered ourselves some Thunderbolts (Indian beer) and pizza. It was the most delicious, perfect way to celebrate our great victory over the mountain, our bodies, and for me, my fear. Once we were safely out of the woods, and sipping our beers, the fear receded and all I could think about was how awesome it was that we had made it to the top. All in all, it was a fantastic day.
Pirate and I had a number of adventures in McLeod Ganj, including an accidental 8-hour hike to the top of a nearby mountain, to a place called "Triund" which is approximately 2,300 meters above sea level. We had intended to hike up to the Mountain View Cafe, which according to the scribbly map provided by the trekking company, was midway between the town of McLeod Ganj and Triund - about three hours away. The hike on the way up was wonderful. We walked on dirt paths strewn with rocks and pebbles that scissored back and forth across the steep mountainside. Surrounding us on all sides were forests of fir trees and magnificent views of the valleys below, the snow-capped mountains above, and the towns and little houses far off in the distance. It was beautiful, peaceful, and towards the end more than a little challenging (during the last half hour I kept envisioning how luxurious it would feel to lie down on the ground and not move for a good couple of hours).
So intent were we upon persevering onwards, and so tiny was the tarp-covered lean-to referred to as the Mountain View "cafe," that we completely missed the cafe and ended up climbing all the way to Triund. You cannot imagine our surprise - and how impressed we were with ourselves - when we noticed the sign that said "Triund, 2,300 meters." We arrived at the top of the mountain at 4 pm, after climbing for about 6 hours, just in time to catch a thunder storm that forced us to huddle together under the tarp of the Triund Cafe - a tiny hut with enough room for 4 people to sit side-by-side on the floor, outfitted with a small cooking stove and a fine selection of crackers and candies, including kit-kats. Pirate and I had cheese toast, an omelet, and chai and watched the wind whip sheets of rain across the mountain top. I was dressed in only a tank top and capri pants (not the best preparation ever, I must admit) and it was chilly up there! Thankfully, Pirate graciously shared some of his body heat with me.
After an hour, the storm calmed down enough for Pirate and I to begin our hike back down the mountain. We set off at about 5 pm, which was about 2 hours later than we had planned to head back. At first the hike down was lovely, but at about 6 pm the sun went down (it was a beautiful sunset) and we found ourselves hiking down the mountain, through the middle of the forest in the dark. Pirate had a head lamp and I had a mag light that we used to illuminate the trail in front of us, so we weren't in any danger at any point.
However, I have a phobia of the dark that I had forgotten about until the sun went down and I found myself on a deserted path 2 hours away from civilization in the middle of the woods at night. Specifically, I have a phobia about dark spaces that stretch back into unknown depths - spaces that could shelter all manner of alien life form, bogeyman, or walking dead, psychotic mass-murderer ala Jason or Freddy. I haven't felt that level of anxiety in a long time. It brought me back to all of those times in high school when I was dropped off after a night out in front of my parent's house - a house that was surrounded on all sides by dark woods. As the car that had driven me home backed down the driveway, I would walk steadily up the path to the front door, using every ounce of control I had to stop myself from sprinting, feeling like at any moment some monstrous creature was going to lunge out of the darkness, pierce my back with its talons, and rip me to shreds.
In the end, other than my heart pounding rapidly in my throat for a good hour and a half, and more than a few startled jumps and strangled half-shrieks at random noises, everything turned out fine. No one resembling Jason or Freddy crossed our path, and it was a good opportunity for me to practice my deep breathing exercises as a way to cope with anxiety. (Good practice for when I start working again for Legal Corporate America on the 21st). One minute we were walking in the dark (me fearing for our lives, Pirate trying to distract me by making me tell him stories), and the next we tumbled out onto the main street of McLeod Ganj. Civilization! I had never been so happy to see a group of Indian tuk-tuk drivers in my life.
We headed straight for a bar and ordered ourselves some Thunderbolts (Indian beer) and pizza. It was the most delicious, perfect way to celebrate our great victory over the mountain, our bodies, and for me, my fear. Once we were safely out of the woods, and sipping our beers, the fear receded and all I could think about was how awesome it was that we had made it to the top. All in all, it was a fantastic day.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Tragic Tibet
I saw the Dalai Lama's residence! I walked the halls he walks when he's in McLeod Ganj, meditated in the temple where he and his monks meditate, looked out onto the mountain views that he sees each morning. It was so cool.
In a courtyard in the center of the monastery/temple complex groups of maroon and gold robed monks sat and stood gathered together. Some of them were debating in the traditional style which includes large hand slaps as emphasis for a particularly powerful point. The monks actually wind up their arms as if they were going to deliver a pitch and then smack their hands together in front of their adversary's faces. For all my friend (I'm going to call him Pirate) and I know they could have been debating the latest cricket matches. However, we chose to believe that they were debating the finer points of Buddhist philosophy. We've been using the hand slaps ever since observing the monks in action to emphasis our own points. It's pretty much never going to get old. We also created a new action hero, Buddhist Monk Lawyer (Ok, Pirate did but I helped with embellishment). She fights the good fight using her special hand slapping power. She's pretty much invincible.
Yesterday we also visited a monastery that had originally been built in Lhasa. When the Chinese invaded Tibet they destroyed the monastery and killed and imprisoned all but 4 monks who escaped. Later, those monks fled to Dharamsala and created a replica of that monastery. Of course most of the ancient texts, statues, and other art was lost.
I've been thinking a lot about the Chinese invasion of Tibet and that fact that the Western World, as far as I know, did absolutely NOTHING in response. I came across a book that tells the story of the CIA training Tibetans to fight against the Chinese, but that endeavor ultimately failed. The Chinese invasion of Tibet and the lack of response by the Western World is an immense tragedy. The Chinese destroyed over 6000 monasteries, bull dozing them into the ground, and killing and torturing thousands of monks and the world did nothing. The Chinese continue to persecute Tibetan monks in Tibet to this day. I know because I've represented several asylum seekers from Tibet, all of whom were imprisoned and tortured by the Chinese for such crimes as distributing pictures of the Dalai Lama, Panchen Lama, or the Tibetan national flag. And still the Western World does nothing.
Tibet should be free.
In a courtyard in the center of the monastery/temple complex groups of maroon and gold robed monks sat and stood gathered together. Some of them were debating in the traditional style which includes large hand slaps as emphasis for a particularly powerful point. The monks actually wind up their arms as if they were going to deliver a pitch and then smack their hands together in front of their adversary's faces. For all my friend (I'm going to call him Pirate) and I know they could have been debating the latest cricket matches. However, we chose to believe that they were debating the finer points of Buddhist philosophy. We've been using the hand slaps ever since observing the monks in action to emphasis our own points. It's pretty much never going to get old. We also created a new action hero, Buddhist Monk Lawyer (Ok, Pirate did but I helped with embellishment). She fights the good fight using her special hand slapping power. She's pretty much invincible.
Yesterday we also visited a monastery that had originally been built in Lhasa. When the Chinese invaded Tibet they destroyed the monastery and killed and imprisoned all but 4 monks who escaped. Later, those monks fled to Dharamsala and created a replica of that monastery. Of course most of the ancient texts, statues, and other art was lost.
I've been thinking a lot about the Chinese invasion of Tibet and that fact that the Western World, as far as I know, did absolutely NOTHING in response. I came across a book that tells the story of the CIA training Tibetans to fight against the Chinese, but that endeavor ultimately failed. The Chinese invasion of Tibet and the lack of response by the Western World is an immense tragedy. The Chinese destroyed over 6000 monasteries, bull dozing them into the ground, and killing and torturing thousands of monks and the world did nothing. The Chinese continue to persecute Tibetan monks in Tibet to this day. I know because I've represented several asylum seekers from Tibet, all of whom were imprisoned and tortured by the Chinese for such crimes as distributing pictures of the Dalai Lama, Panchen Lama, or the Tibetan national flag. And still the Western World does nothing.
Tibet should be free.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Little Tibet
I've reached a wonderful place high up in the Himalayas where Buddhist monks amble down the streets and ride on the backs of motorcycles and where healthy, vegetarian food - with real fresh vegetables and fruit juice - abounds! I love McLeod Ganj!
It was a long journey to get here, about 12 hours by car from Delhi, but it wasn't too bad. I left my crappy hotel room in Delhi and met my friend from the U.S. (a guy who grew up in my town in Connecticut but now lives in London) at the Dehli Airport. He had arranged for a car with A.C. (!) to drive us all the way from Delhi to McLeod Ganj. We chatted, napped a little, and watched as Indian life in the countryside passed by. We saw a lot of enormous cows with single bumps on their back, herds of goats, and many people living in very poor conditions. Any idealized notion I may have had about the simple beauty of living in the countryside has been effectively smashed into smithereens.
In McLeod Ganj, my friend and I are staying in, of all places, the Best Western! It wouldn't have been my first pick, however it's actually the nicest and cheapest place I've stayed in so far during my travels in India. It has hot water, clean linens, and best of all it's right next to an awesomely chill healthy, veggie restaurant that caters to travelers. This morning I had my first chocolate-banana pancake (a food that had been a staple when Wood and I traveled around Southern China) and a delicious cup of strong, slightly burned coffee. I think I'm a little high from the caffeine kick, that and the gorgeous views up here. McLeod Ganj is set against the backdrop of the Himalayan mountains rising up around the town. It's breathtaking and magnificent.
On the agenda for today is exploring McLeod Gang and Dharamsala (4 km down the mountain from McLeod Ganj), visiting the Dalai Lama's official residence, the Tibetan Refugee Center, shopping, shopping, and shopping, a monastery, and a Tibetan massage. After the 12 hour car trip my friend and I totally deserve a massage. In other news, I heard from Eduardo, the Chilean guy who came to my rescue at the train station in Delhi. He's going to be in Dharamsala tomorrow and we're all going to meet up. How fun is that? I'm so happy to be back up in the mountains!
It was a long journey to get here, about 12 hours by car from Delhi, but it wasn't too bad. I left my crappy hotel room in Delhi and met my friend from the U.S. (a guy who grew up in my town in Connecticut but now lives in London) at the Dehli Airport. He had arranged for a car with A.C. (!) to drive us all the way from Delhi to McLeod Ganj. We chatted, napped a little, and watched as Indian life in the countryside passed by. We saw a lot of enormous cows with single bumps on their back, herds of goats, and many people living in very poor conditions. Any idealized notion I may have had about the simple beauty of living in the countryside has been effectively smashed into smithereens.
In McLeod Ganj, my friend and I are staying in, of all places, the Best Western! It wouldn't have been my first pick, however it's actually the nicest and cheapest place I've stayed in so far during my travels in India. It has hot water, clean linens, and best of all it's right next to an awesomely chill healthy, veggie restaurant that caters to travelers. This morning I had my first chocolate-banana pancake (a food that had been a staple when Wood and I traveled around Southern China) and a delicious cup of strong, slightly burned coffee. I think I'm a little high from the caffeine kick, that and the gorgeous views up here. McLeod Ganj is set against the backdrop of the Himalayan mountains rising up around the town. It's breathtaking and magnificent.
On the agenda for today is exploring McLeod Gang and Dharamsala (4 km down the mountain from McLeod Ganj), visiting the Dalai Lama's official residence, the Tibetan Refugee Center, shopping, shopping, and shopping, a monastery, and a Tibetan massage. After the 12 hour car trip my friend and I totally deserve a massage. In other news, I heard from Eduardo, the Chilean guy who came to my rescue at the train station in Delhi. He's going to be in Dharamsala tomorrow and we're all going to meet up. How fun is that? I'm so happy to be back up in the mountains!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Kindess of Strangers: Part I
For the second night in a row I feel too spent to write much of anything, but don't worry everything is going well and I'm actually feeling quite happy and balanced. Yippee! That's amazing because today, like many days in India, have been a mixed bag of highs and lows.
However, just when I was starting to doubt my wisdom in traveling around India instead of zenning out on some beach or mountain somewhere, preparing myself for my impending plunge back into Corporate America, I found myself feeling inspired, awed, hopeful, strong, and invigorated. I owe those feelings mainly to a number of wonderful fellow travelers that I met today, the tranquil alone time I had on the train to and from Agra listening to my music, feeling like a bad-ass for starting to get the hang of this country, and my experiences at the utterly breathtaking Taj Mahal and Red Fort today. More on that later when I can actually do it justice.
To Edwardo from Chile, who was traveling today to a place that I forgot and will be in Dharamsala in a few days, Thank You! for saving me at the train station this morning!! Ok, so he didn't really save me, and I'm sure I would have been just fine if I hadn't bumped into him. But, he did help me find the right counter, helped me to fend off the aggressive drivers who deliberately steer travelers in the wrong direction (I honestly have no idea what they hope to accomplish by that behavior but it's super frustrating), flagged down a man behind the glass to assist me, identified my train number, and then spotted me 200 rupees to buy my train ticket. Guardian angel anyone?
The internet keeper is now motioning for me to get off the computer. Drat. Writing was actually energizing me. No matter. I'm off to Dharmasala tomorrow. Hope you are all well!
However, just when I was starting to doubt my wisdom in traveling around India instead of zenning out on some beach or mountain somewhere, preparing myself for my impending plunge back into Corporate America, I found myself feeling inspired, awed, hopeful, strong, and invigorated. I owe those feelings mainly to a number of wonderful fellow travelers that I met today, the tranquil alone time I had on the train to and from Agra listening to my music, feeling like a bad-ass for starting to get the hang of this country, and my experiences at the utterly breathtaking Taj Mahal and Red Fort today. More on that later when I can actually do it justice.
To Edwardo from Chile, who was traveling today to a place that I forgot and will be in Dharamsala in a few days, Thank You! for saving me at the train station this morning!! Ok, so he didn't really save me, and I'm sure I would have been just fine if I hadn't bumped into him. But, he did help me find the right counter, helped me to fend off the aggressive drivers who deliberately steer travelers in the wrong direction (I honestly have no idea what they hope to accomplish by that behavior but it's super frustrating), flagged down a man behind the glass to assist me, identified my train number, and then spotted me 200 rupees to buy my train ticket. Guardian angel anyone?
The internet keeper is now motioning for me to get off the computer. Drat. Writing was actually energizing me. No matter. I'm off to Dharmasala tomorrow. Hope you are all well!
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Holy India!
I've just arrived in Delhi after a long journey - including a three hour car trip, a three hour flight, a taxi ride from the airport to the back packer strip, and a walk on foot to the hotel - from Darjeeling. I'm weary, achy, hot, tired, and slightly overwhelmed to be back in India proper after the calm of the mountains. Oh India, you are nothing if not intense.
This time around I was less fazed by the tent cities and countless numbers of people milling about, driving, and cycling through the narrow streets. However, my head did whip around when I realized the large shape passing to the left of the cab was a giant black cow. A huge cow walking right next to the taxi in the middle of what is basically Delhi's version of Bangkok's Kao Sang Road! Right next to street vendors making snacks and peddling all manner of bejeweled bags, belly dancing belts, and sparkling saris. And just behind that cow was another cow! Incredible. Needless to say, the streets - at least in the back packer strip - smell strongly of manure. I'm picking my steps carefully.
The hotel is decent though not charming (I also found a little 'friend' of the roach variety in my shower). India is quite a wake up call in comparison to the traveling I've done around Southeast Asia. In SE Asia there are charming guest houses galore. In India you have basically two options, super basic and if you're lucky clean rooms lacking any semblance of character, going for about $5 to $10, OR super luxurious rooms in 5 star hotels that will run you $150 at a minimum. On the plane ride today I was sorely tempted by the idea of checking into the Hyatt. Sauna, gym, clean sheets, a bed as soft and fluffy as a cloud, and water so hot it would steam up the shower and all of my pores. Ah, bliss.
But, not ready to wuss out just yet, and wanting to travel to Agra and the Taj Mahal tomorrow morning (something more easily done from the back packer area than the Hyatt), I decided to rough it amongst my fellow back packers at least for tonight and probably for tomorrow. I still have a little more than 2 weeks in India and I decided to save my nights of luxury for the end of the trip. I've been thinking that I've got to make sure that I relax on this second leg of the journey. Traveling is exciting and exhilarating, but it's also tiring, and as the days get nearer to the day when I've got to start working again I find myself thinking that I need to make sure that I prepare myself. I need to get back into that place that I was after coming home from Mexico. So zen, calm, peaceful, and healthy feeling. To accomplish that I'm thinking possibly a brief stay in an ashram, some yoga somewhere, and a rejuvenating hotel stay to cap of my trip. Complete with a massage somewhere along the way...
For now though I'm going to try to stop planning and get back to absorbing the NOW. Not hard here in Delhi because it basically smacks you in the face and forces you to Be Present. I'm back to that litany in my head saying, "You can do this, you can do this," as I'm walking down the street dodging the piles of rubble and garbage, ignoring the calls of the vendors and annoying drivers, and trying to keep my face composed - exerting an air of, if not belonging, at least laid back confidence.
Cross your fingers that my excursion to Agra and the Taj Mahal works out tomorrow!
This time around I was less fazed by the tent cities and countless numbers of people milling about, driving, and cycling through the narrow streets. However, my head did whip around when I realized the large shape passing to the left of the cab was a giant black cow. A huge cow walking right next to the taxi in the middle of what is basically Delhi's version of Bangkok's Kao Sang Road! Right next to street vendors making snacks and peddling all manner of bejeweled bags, belly dancing belts, and sparkling saris. And just behind that cow was another cow! Incredible. Needless to say, the streets - at least in the back packer strip - smell strongly of manure. I'm picking my steps carefully.
The hotel is decent though not charming (I also found a little 'friend' of the roach variety in my shower). India is quite a wake up call in comparison to the traveling I've done around Southeast Asia. In SE Asia there are charming guest houses galore. In India you have basically two options, super basic and if you're lucky clean rooms lacking any semblance of character, going for about $5 to $10, OR super luxurious rooms in 5 star hotels that will run you $150 at a minimum. On the plane ride today I was sorely tempted by the idea of checking into the Hyatt. Sauna, gym, clean sheets, a bed as soft and fluffy as a cloud, and water so hot it would steam up the shower and all of my pores. Ah, bliss.
But, not ready to wuss out just yet, and wanting to travel to Agra and the Taj Mahal tomorrow morning (something more easily done from the back packer area than the Hyatt), I decided to rough it amongst my fellow back packers at least for tonight and probably for tomorrow. I still have a little more than 2 weeks in India and I decided to save my nights of luxury for the end of the trip. I've been thinking that I've got to make sure that I relax on this second leg of the journey. Traveling is exciting and exhilarating, but it's also tiring, and as the days get nearer to the day when I've got to start working again I find myself thinking that I need to make sure that I prepare myself. I need to get back into that place that I was after coming home from Mexico. So zen, calm, peaceful, and healthy feeling. To accomplish that I'm thinking possibly a brief stay in an ashram, some yoga somewhere, and a rejuvenating hotel stay to cap of my trip. Complete with a massage somewhere along the way...
For now though I'm going to try to stop planning and get back to absorbing the NOW. Not hard here in Delhi because it basically smacks you in the face and forces you to Be Present. I'm back to that litany in my head saying, "You can do this, you can do this," as I'm walking down the street dodging the piles of rubble and garbage, ignoring the calls of the vendors and annoying drivers, and trying to keep my face composed - exerting an air of, if not belonging, at least laid back confidence.
Cross your fingers that my excursion to Agra and the Taj Mahal works out tomorrow!
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Gompas, Tea, and Almost Tibet
Since arriving in Darjeeling three days ago, I have had a wonderful time. With my friend from Belgium, P.J., that I met on the train from Kolkata to Darjeeling, I hiked around the town, visited a gorgeous Buddhist monastery, toured the Happy Valley Tea Plantation, saw Snow Leopards and a Siberian Tiger in the zoo, sampled delicious Tibetan steamed momos and tea, and took in the peaceful beauty of this hill station. P.J. left yesterday to return to Kolkata where he will be working for an additional month. He was so sad to have to leave the cool weather an laid back vibe of Darjeeling for the heat, stench and filth of Kolkata.
After P.J. left, I wandered around town and discovered a beautiful old English hotel called the Windemere. It has been preserved down to the bedding and furnishings to what it was in the early 1900s at the height of the British presence in India. Stepping in to the hotel I felt as if I was stepping into another age. I had "high tea," complete with tea, cucumber sandwiches, ginger cookies, and lemon cake in a room of dark wood furnishings, rich red brocaded curtains, and luxurious hand woven Tibetan carpets on the floor with a fire crackling in front of me. On the walls were black and white pictures of British visitors from the 1900s dressed in high-collared white lace dresses and hunting jackets and trousers tucked into knee high black leather boots. Everyone in the pictures, men, women, and children are wearing hats that make them look like they're on safari, though it was probably just to protect them from the sun. Also on the walls are black and white photos of Tibetans in traditional dress and sherpas, many of whom befriended the British visitors. Along with the photos are framed hand written letters from all over the world dating back over 100 years ago from visitors to the hotel.
After high tea I walked up Observatory Hill and checked out an ancient Buddhist and Hindu shrine on top of a small hill. The hill was bedecked with thousands of prayer flags, so much so that from a distance the hilltop appeared a riotous mass of red, blue, yellow, and green. It was like Buddhist monks had TP-ed the trees, but not with toilet paper, and not with the intent of making an mischief, but instead with a thousand brightly colored prayers. Walking through the paths underneath the canopy of prayer flag covered trees, it felt like you were walking in another world somewhat reminiscent of Disney Land but with a beauty and serenity not found in the typical amusement park.
To cap off my day I decided to eat at a Tibetan restaurant and try the local food. Not to be swayed from my mission, I insisted on ordering Tibetan tea despite the fact that the hostess told me I wouldn't like it. Tibetan tea is basically heated butter with salt. I got the steaming cup, tried one sip, and promptly decided that the hostess was correct. Luckily it was only 25 cents for a cup. I also tried their steamed momos, which are basically dumplings (like dim sum), and a Tibetan vegetable soup. The momos were good but not as good as the momos that P.J. and I had at the "Hot Stimulating Cafe" on the way to the zoo, and the soup was tasty. Unfortunately, towards the end of my meal I saw a cock roach on the table which soured the dining experience somewhat.
A half hour later things got worse because I started to feel ill. I had been in India for almost 2 weeks without any stomach issues so it was bound to happen. I don't think it was the Tibetan food. Instead, I think it was the soup that the nice woman just outside of the Happy Valley Tea Estate made for P.J. and me. The woman was very sweet, but she wasn't living under the most hygienic conditions, and fairly certain she didn't use pure drinking water to make our soup. But she was so hospitable and sweet and she boiled the water so P.J. and I had decided to risk it. Bad move. I won't be accepting any soup from women in little huts in the future. Luckily the bout of illness lasted only about 2 hours. It meant I had to stay in my room - mercifully close to the toilet - and had to forego meeting up with some other friends at the local bar, The Buzz. However, it was good because it gave me some time to read (in between trips to the loo) and resulted in me going to bed early. I just picked up "The Power of Now," another book in the vein of "The Alchemist," and "The Four Agreements," aimed at discovering the inner peace that resides in all of us. It's pretty cool so far, and keeping me on track in terms of my inner journey.
This morning, I had breakfast at a cute little cafe called "Sonam's Kitchen." The cafe seats about 8 and is run by an adorable, hip Tibetan woman. She makes terrific coffee (nice and dark) and a sublime porridge, otherwise known as oatmeal, with bananas and nuts. I haven't yet discovered exactly how she makes the porridge but I know for sure that she flavors it with cloves and cardamom. It's absolutely delicious.
For my last day in Darjeeling I'm planning to hike around the area visiting all of the major Buddhist gompas (temples) and monasteries. It's very funny to me that after months of trying to decide whether I should visit India or Tibet I decided on Indian only to find myself drawn to the "little Tibets" (such as parts of Darjeeling) in India. So as not to miss India, I'm going to make sure to visit the Taj Mahal in Agra, and may go through Rajasthan (I keep going back and forth on that because it's so freakin' hot) on my way to Mumbai (and my flight home). But, what I'm really excited about is my time in Darjeeling and my upcoming trip to Dharamsala, the official "Little Tibet."
On another note, I've met several travelers who quit their jobs to travel around indefinitely. Many are hippies, but some are quite normal, fascinating people such as the couple from Oklahoma that I met yesterday. They quit their jobs in 2004 and travelled for two years, then went back to the States to work for 9 months in order to earn enough money to travel again. They've been travelling for a few months and plan to travel until their money runs out. Listening to their story I was pretty much green with envy. I want to do that. I want to spend a year of my life travelling and being absolutely free! What I'm doing right now, travelling for a month, is wonderful, but can you imagine traveling indefinitely??? I just think that would be unbelievably awesome. To be free, to see the world, to meet people from all over... how awesome would that be?
After P.J. left, I wandered around town and discovered a beautiful old English hotel called the Windemere. It has been preserved down to the bedding and furnishings to what it was in the early 1900s at the height of the British presence in India. Stepping in to the hotel I felt as if I was stepping into another age. I had "high tea," complete with tea, cucumber sandwiches, ginger cookies, and lemon cake in a room of dark wood furnishings, rich red brocaded curtains, and luxurious hand woven Tibetan carpets on the floor with a fire crackling in front of me. On the walls were black and white pictures of British visitors from the 1900s dressed in high-collared white lace dresses and hunting jackets and trousers tucked into knee high black leather boots. Everyone in the pictures, men, women, and children are wearing hats that make them look like they're on safari, though it was probably just to protect them from the sun. Also on the walls are black and white photos of Tibetans in traditional dress and sherpas, many of whom befriended the British visitors. Along with the photos are framed hand written letters from all over the world dating back over 100 years ago from visitors to the hotel.
After high tea I walked up Observatory Hill and checked out an ancient Buddhist and Hindu shrine on top of a small hill. The hill was bedecked with thousands of prayer flags, so much so that from a distance the hilltop appeared a riotous mass of red, blue, yellow, and green. It was like Buddhist monks had TP-ed the trees, but not with toilet paper, and not with the intent of making an mischief, but instead with a thousand brightly colored prayers. Walking through the paths underneath the canopy of prayer flag covered trees, it felt like you were walking in another world somewhat reminiscent of Disney Land but with a beauty and serenity not found in the typical amusement park.
To cap off my day I decided to eat at a Tibetan restaurant and try the local food. Not to be swayed from my mission, I insisted on ordering Tibetan tea despite the fact that the hostess told me I wouldn't like it. Tibetan tea is basically heated butter with salt. I got the steaming cup, tried one sip, and promptly decided that the hostess was correct. Luckily it was only 25 cents for a cup. I also tried their steamed momos, which are basically dumplings (like dim sum), and a Tibetan vegetable soup. The momos were good but not as good as the momos that P.J. and I had at the "Hot Stimulating Cafe" on the way to the zoo, and the soup was tasty. Unfortunately, towards the end of my meal I saw a cock roach on the table which soured the dining experience somewhat.
A half hour later things got worse because I started to feel ill. I had been in India for almost 2 weeks without any stomach issues so it was bound to happen. I don't think it was the Tibetan food. Instead, I think it was the soup that the nice woman just outside of the Happy Valley Tea Estate made for P.J. and me. The woman was very sweet, but she wasn't living under the most hygienic conditions, and fairly certain she didn't use pure drinking water to make our soup. But she was so hospitable and sweet and she boiled the water so P.J. and I had decided to risk it. Bad move. I won't be accepting any soup from women in little huts in the future. Luckily the bout of illness lasted only about 2 hours. It meant I had to stay in my room - mercifully close to the toilet - and had to forego meeting up with some other friends at the local bar, The Buzz. However, it was good because it gave me some time to read (in between trips to the loo) and resulted in me going to bed early. I just picked up "The Power of Now," another book in the vein of "The Alchemist," and "The Four Agreements," aimed at discovering the inner peace that resides in all of us. It's pretty cool so far, and keeping me on track in terms of my inner journey.
This morning, I had breakfast at a cute little cafe called "Sonam's Kitchen." The cafe seats about 8 and is run by an adorable, hip Tibetan woman. She makes terrific coffee (nice and dark) and a sublime porridge, otherwise known as oatmeal, with bananas and nuts. I haven't yet discovered exactly how she makes the porridge but I know for sure that she flavors it with cloves and cardamom. It's absolutely delicious.
For my last day in Darjeeling I'm planning to hike around the area visiting all of the major Buddhist gompas (temples) and monasteries. It's very funny to me that after months of trying to decide whether I should visit India or Tibet I decided on Indian only to find myself drawn to the "little Tibets" (such as parts of Darjeeling) in India. So as not to miss India, I'm going to make sure to visit the Taj Mahal in Agra, and may go through Rajasthan (I keep going back and forth on that because it's so freakin' hot) on my way to Mumbai (and my flight home). But, what I'm really excited about is my time in Darjeeling and my upcoming trip to Dharamsala, the official "Little Tibet."
On another note, I've met several travelers who quit their jobs to travel around indefinitely. Many are hippies, but some are quite normal, fascinating people such as the couple from Oklahoma that I met yesterday. They quit their jobs in 2004 and travelled for two years, then went back to the States to work for 9 months in order to earn enough money to travel again. They've been travelling for a few months and plan to travel until their money runs out. Listening to their story I was pretty much green with envy. I want to do that. I want to spend a year of my life travelling and being absolutely free! What I'm doing right now, travelling for a month, is wonderful, but can you imagine traveling indefinitely??? I just think that would be unbelievably awesome. To be free, to see the world, to meet people from all over... how awesome would that be?
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Tea Time
Darjeeling is awesome. I am so happy to be out of Kolkata, and so elated to be in this adorable town, I can hardly contain my excitement. Getting out of Kolkata was quite the feat. Like the rest of Kolkata, the railway station was an overwhelming, chaotic, swollen mass of people, beggars, and filth. Luckily, the driver from the organization that I was volunteering with drove me to the station and walked me to the precise spot on the tracks that I needed to be at. A group of young beggar children surrounded me and one kept aggressively tapping my hand and looking up mournfully at me, asking for money and food as his friends watched, edging in closer and closer. They were all dressed in ragged clothing, and had streaks of dirt covering their dusty bodies. Finally, when I continued to say no, they moved on from me and started begging from an Indian tourist who also said no.
The train arrived and the Indian family nearby confirmed for me that I was in the right spot, in front of the right coach. I had purchased a ticket for a sleeper bunk and got on the train expecting to see a roomy coach with a door that I could shut behind me. Ha, ha, ha. Getting on the train I was greeted with a narrow walkway, about a foot and half wide, with blue-curtained, double-decker bunks lining each side of the train. I found my bunk number, number 19, and opened the curtain to find 4 bunks facing one another in an extremely small space. No. 19 was the ground level bunk and I sat down on it, clutching my bags to me, to get my bearings. Not a foot away from me was the next bunk over, with a family of four sitting there staring at me. If I had held out my arm I could have touched the their little daughter's face.
I observed the family closely and did everything they did, including chaining up my bags underneath my bunk, and locating the sheets and blanket and making my bed. The little children kept saying "good morning" to me and smiling. It was 10:15 pm. A few minutes before the train was to take off, another Westerner appeared in the space, toting a back pack and a guitar, and took the bunk above me. His name is PJ and he's from Belgium, and it was also his first experience on a train in India. We became fast friends in about 2 seconds, both of us sharing a mutual delight to be getting the heck out of Kolkata. (Since leaving Kolkata and meeting several more travelers in Darjeeling, it seems to be the unquestioned sentiment that Kolkata is the worst city in India, if not worst city ever. I no longer feel the slightest bit guilty for getting fed up with it, and I actually feel quite proud that I made it 10 days - 10 relatively good days. The consensus is that if you can do Kolkata, you can do anywhere).
Eight hours later, after a fitful sleep punctuated by strange noises coming from the bunks around me and the sound of the train running along the tracks, we arrived at our destination - a large city 3 hours away from Darjeeling. A family friend of one of PJ's colleagues was going to pick him up, and after meeting me, arranged for another friend of his to help transport PJ and I to another city where we could arrange for a jeep to Darjeeling. Get this, in order to get from the train station to the other town PJ and I had to ride on the back of two motorcycles while carrying all of our stuff. I had my big backpack on my back, my little back pack clutched in my left hand, and my right hand holding on to the back of the motor cycle for dear life. I was clenching my stomach and thigh muscles so hard in an effort to stay balanced that I could hardly walk for a few minutes after we arrived at our destination. On the way we passed speed bumps, dump trucks, tuk-tucks, men carrying enormous loads of stuff on their heads, cows, sheep, children, and people on bicycles. I tried really hard to stay perfectly still and not to think about the fact that I don't have health insurance at the moment. (I know, I know, it's awful but relax. I just prayed to Tara, tried to meditate myself into calmness and trusted in the Universe that I would be ok. It worked!).
After that, there was an hour and a half long wait for our jeep to get ready to go, and then a 3 hour trip up the mountains to Darjeeling. The trip into the mountains was fantastic. The terraced hillsides are filled with tea and houses perched precariously over the valleys below. Darjeeling itself is awesome, as a I mentioned. It's an adorable maze of tiny shops, cute places to eat, and lovely people. There's hardly any Westerners, PJ and I weren't accosted by anyone trying to convince us to go to their hotel when we arrived, and I've only seen about two beggars. It's paradise! Within 20 minutes we had found another Westerner, a girl by the name of Polly who's from the U.K. who was in the midst of buying shoelaces from a street vendor when I asked if she knew of any good coffee places. Turns out she did, and she offered to walk us up the mountain to the perfect place. We ambled up the mountain passing row upon row of little stores selling almost anything you could imagine including guitars, bags, clothes, jewelry, statues, etc. PJ bought a guitar string.
Sipping my coffee a few minutes ago I was thinking about my plan for Darjeeling. There's a lot to do and I have until May 2nd when I have to fly to Delhi. Rather than planning, I think I'm just going to go with the flow here and chill out. I realized on the drive up here that I love mountain towns. They're usually laid back and filled with cool people, and so far Darjeeling is turning out to be exactly that. Oh, I didn't even mention the temperature. It's a glorious 12 degrees Celsius here, I think about 55 degrees Fahrenheit. That's almost twenty eight degrees Celsius lower than in Kolkata! It's marvelous. I'm wearing a long sleeved top over my yoga pants. Also, I just realized the people at the other side of the cyber cafe are speaking Swedish! I love it when I hear Swedish. Ooooh, should I try my Swedish out on them? We'll see if I can work up my courage.
I'm headed back to the cafe. I can hear PJ strumming his guitar across the street. His Belgium accent is so cute. Later this evening a bunch of us are meeting up for drinks at a local bar. I'm totally loving this place.
The train arrived and the Indian family nearby confirmed for me that I was in the right spot, in front of the right coach. I had purchased a ticket for a sleeper bunk and got on the train expecting to see a roomy coach with a door that I could shut behind me. Ha, ha, ha. Getting on the train I was greeted with a narrow walkway, about a foot and half wide, with blue-curtained, double-decker bunks lining each side of the train. I found my bunk number, number 19, and opened the curtain to find 4 bunks facing one another in an extremely small space. No. 19 was the ground level bunk and I sat down on it, clutching my bags to me, to get my bearings. Not a foot away from me was the next bunk over, with a family of four sitting there staring at me. If I had held out my arm I could have touched the their little daughter's face.
I observed the family closely and did everything they did, including chaining up my bags underneath my bunk, and locating the sheets and blanket and making my bed. The little children kept saying "good morning" to me and smiling. It was 10:15 pm. A few minutes before the train was to take off, another Westerner appeared in the space, toting a back pack and a guitar, and took the bunk above me. His name is PJ and he's from Belgium, and it was also his first experience on a train in India. We became fast friends in about 2 seconds, both of us sharing a mutual delight to be getting the heck out of Kolkata. (Since leaving Kolkata and meeting several more travelers in Darjeeling, it seems to be the unquestioned sentiment that Kolkata is the worst city in India, if not worst city ever. I no longer feel the slightest bit guilty for getting fed up with it, and I actually feel quite proud that I made it 10 days - 10 relatively good days. The consensus is that if you can do Kolkata, you can do anywhere).
Eight hours later, after a fitful sleep punctuated by strange noises coming from the bunks around me and the sound of the train running along the tracks, we arrived at our destination - a large city 3 hours away from Darjeeling. A family friend of one of PJ's colleagues was going to pick him up, and after meeting me, arranged for another friend of his to help transport PJ and I to another city where we could arrange for a jeep to Darjeeling. Get this, in order to get from the train station to the other town PJ and I had to ride on the back of two motorcycles while carrying all of our stuff. I had my big backpack on my back, my little back pack clutched in my left hand, and my right hand holding on to the back of the motor cycle for dear life. I was clenching my stomach and thigh muscles so hard in an effort to stay balanced that I could hardly walk for a few minutes after we arrived at our destination. On the way we passed speed bumps, dump trucks, tuk-tucks, men carrying enormous loads of stuff on their heads, cows, sheep, children, and people on bicycles. I tried really hard to stay perfectly still and not to think about the fact that I don't have health insurance at the moment. (I know, I know, it's awful but relax. I just prayed to Tara, tried to meditate myself into calmness and trusted in the Universe that I would be ok. It worked!).
After that, there was an hour and a half long wait for our jeep to get ready to go, and then a 3 hour trip up the mountains to Darjeeling. The trip into the mountains was fantastic. The terraced hillsides are filled with tea and houses perched precariously over the valleys below. Darjeeling itself is awesome, as a I mentioned. It's an adorable maze of tiny shops, cute places to eat, and lovely people. There's hardly any Westerners, PJ and I weren't accosted by anyone trying to convince us to go to their hotel when we arrived, and I've only seen about two beggars. It's paradise! Within 20 minutes we had found another Westerner, a girl by the name of Polly who's from the U.K. who was in the midst of buying shoelaces from a street vendor when I asked if she knew of any good coffee places. Turns out she did, and she offered to walk us up the mountain to the perfect place. We ambled up the mountain passing row upon row of little stores selling almost anything you could imagine including guitars, bags, clothes, jewelry, statues, etc. PJ bought a guitar string.
Sipping my coffee a few minutes ago I was thinking about my plan for Darjeeling. There's a lot to do and I have until May 2nd when I have to fly to Delhi. Rather than planning, I think I'm just going to go with the flow here and chill out. I realized on the drive up here that I love mountain towns. They're usually laid back and filled with cool people, and so far Darjeeling is turning out to be exactly that. Oh, I didn't even mention the temperature. It's a glorious 12 degrees Celsius here, I think about 55 degrees Fahrenheit. That's almost twenty eight degrees Celsius lower than in Kolkata! It's marvelous. I'm wearing a long sleeved top over my yoga pants. Also, I just realized the people at the other side of the cyber cafe are speaking Swedish! I love it when I hear Swedish. Ooooh, should I try my Swedish out on them? We'll see if I can work up my courage.
I'm headed back to the cafe. I can hear PJ strumming his guitar across the street. His Belgium accent is so cute. Later this evening a bunch of us are meeting up for drinks at a local bar. I'm totally loving this place.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Kolkata To Darjeeling
Street Talk: Walking with my friend, Subi, we passed to Indian girls who were chatting in Bengali.
Subi: Did you see those two girls?
Buttercup: Yes.
Subi: They were saying, “Look at the crazy foreigner who’s come here in this heat. Why would anyone visit Kolkata at this time of year?”
Buttercup: Ummm…that’s interesting. Let me know if anyone else says anything.
Well ok then, apparently I'm a crazy foreigner. So be it.
A Word On Travel Annoyances: Thinking about my TT post from yesterday, I'm afraid I might have steered you all wrong with respect to Kolkata and the time I'm having here. Overall, I have really had a very positive time. My volunteer work, the young girls that I've worked with, and the people in my organization have been absolutely wonderful and I've thoroughly enjoyed my time with them. I've also been inspired to see the great work that they're doing on anti-trafficking. In terms of the city, it's a city like any other. It has it's positives and negatives, and sometimes those negatives can totally grate on one's nerves. But the annoyances that come with experiencing something new and stepping out of one's comfort zone are part of traveling, they're the lows that balance out all the incredible highs and they're part of what makes traveling so interesting and also challenging. They're also the things that will probably make me laugh and smile when thinking back on them from the comfort of my home three weeks from now. So please, when I share my annoyances, know that they are not what's defining my experience. They're just a part of the whole experience.
Happy Cabbie Incident: I was standing on the corner last night trying to hail a cab, having no luck whatsoever. It was raining, there was a lot of traffic, and I was starting to think that I would have to walk back to my hotel in the rain. Suddenly, a woman got my attention and ushered me over to a taxi, saying “Taxi, you need?” She had hailed down a taxi for me! I bent down to tell the taxi where I needed to go. He didn’t immediately understand me, and suddenly there was a shout and the taxi driver sped off. A cop who had been perched a few feet away from me had yelled at the driver for slowing down traffic and had apparently told him to drive off. Thanks Mr. Policeman.
I walked up the street, past the cop (and restrained myself from glaring at him or thinking too negative thoughts), and tried once again to flag down a cab. Finally, after a few more minutes a taxi stopped in front of me! Hallelujah! Miracles of miracles, the driver also understood on the first try exactly where I wanted to go. I hopped into the car with delight and waited for the light to change. Looking out my window, I saw the woman who had tried to help me passing by and told her again, Thank you (Shukriyah). She smiled and said, “not problem,” and then asked if I would mind giving her a lift on the way to wherever I was going. I agreed and she hopped into the front seat.
Her name is Erica and she’s been working for the last two years for a couple – an American woman and her Bengali husband – as their maid. She was so warm and good natured. We dropped her off a little ways up the street and before Erica got out she made sure that the driver knew exactly where I needed to go. How sweet is that?
Next Stop, Darjeeling: I finish up my last day of volunteer work today and then will be catching a night train to Darjeeling, a hill station up in the mountains on the border of Nepal and India, surrounded by 5 of the tallest peaks in India (and maybe the world?). I'm getting star bursts of excitement in my chest thinking about finally getting out onto the road and being free. Volunteering has been GREAT, but it will be thrilling to be 100%, absolutely free. I'm craving that right now. I'm also craving natural beauty, fresh clean air, hikes, and Buddhist temples. I think it will be awesome.
I'll be in Darjeeling for a few days and then will be heading to Delhi around the 3rd of May. The Taj Mahal is just a few days away. But first, the serene mountains, and hopefully the purchase of a hand made Tibetan rug. Wish me luck.
Subi: Did you see those two girls?
Buttercup: Yes.
Subi: They were saying, “Look at the crazy foreigner who’s come here in this heat. Why would anyone visit Kolkata at this time of year?”
Buttercup: Ummm…that’s interesting. Let me know if anyone else says anything.
Well ok then, apparently I'm a crazy foreigner. So be it.
A Word On Travel Annoyances: Thinking about my TT post from yesterday, I'm afraid I might have steered you all wrong with respect to Kolkata and the time I'm having here. Overall, I have really had a very positive time. My volunteer work, the young girls that I've worked with, and the people in my organization have been absolutely wonderful and I've thoroughly enjoyed my time with them. I've also been inspired to see the great work that they're doing on anti-trafficking. In terms of the city, it's a city like any other. It has it's positives and negatives, and sometimes those negatives can totally grate on one's nerves. But the annoyances that come with experiencing something new and stepping out of one's comfort zone are part of traveling, they're the lows that balance out all the incredible highs and they're part of what makes traveling so interesting and also challenging. They're also the things that will probably make me laugh and smile when thinking back on them from the comfort of my home three weeks from now. So please, when I share my annoyances, know that they are not what's defining my experience. They're just a part of the whole experience.
Happy Cabbie Incident: I was standing on the corner last night trying to hail a cab, having no luck whatsoever. It was raining, there was a lot of traffic, and I was starting to think that I would have to walk back to my hotel in the rain. Suddenly, a woman got my attention and ushered me over to a taxi, saying “Taxi, you need?” She had hailed down a taxi for me! I bent down to tell the taxi where I needed to go. He didn’t immediately understand me, and suddenly there was a shout and the taxi driver sped off. A cop who had been perched a few feet away from me had yelled at the driver for slowing down traffic and had apparently told him to drive off. Thanks Mr. Policeman.
I walked up the street, past the cop (and restrained myself from glaring at him or thinking too negative thoughts), and tried once again to flag down a cab. Finally, after a few more minutes a taxi stopped in front of me! Hallelujah! Miracles of miracles, the driver also understood on the first try exactly where I wanted to go. I hopped into the car with delight and waited for the light to change. Looking out my window, I saw the woman who had tried to help me passing by and told her again, Thank you (Shukriyah). She smiled and said, “not problem,” and then asked if I would mind giving her a lift on the way to wherever I was going. I agreed and she hopped into the front seat.
Her name is Erica and she’s been working for the last two years for a couple – an American woman and her Bengali husband – as their maid. She was so warm and good natured. We dropped her off a little ways up the street and before Erica got out she made sure that the driver knew exactly where I needed to go. How sweet is that?
Next Stop, Darjeeling: I finish up my last day of volunteer work today and then will be catching a night train to Darjeeling, a hill station up in the mountains on the border of Nepal and India, surrounded by 5 of the tallest peaks in India (and maybe the world?). I'm getting star bursts of excitement in my chest thinking about finally getting out onto the road and being free. Volunteering has been GREAT, but it will be thrilling to be 100%, absolutely free. I'm craving that right now. I'm also craving natural beauty, fresh clean air, hikes, and Buddhist temples. I think it will be awesome.
I'll be in Darjeeling for a few days and then will be heading to Delhi around the 3rd of May. The Taj Mahal is just a few days away. But first, the serene mountains, and hopefully the purchase of a hand made Tibetan rug. Wish me luck.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Thursday Thirteen # 31
Thirteen Reasons Kolkata Is Not My Most Favorite Place Ever (or Despite the Overall Great Time She's Having, Buttercup Bitches About Kolkata)
1) The Filth - After 9 days, I am sick of the layers of filth everywhere, sick of the heat, sick of the perma-grime on my face, my back, and dusting my clothes.
2) The Cabbies - Every time I need a cab, at least 4 times a day, it's a total crap shoot with respect to whether the cabbie will understand where I want to go, whether he'll decide to go there directly, or whether he'll decide to try to cheat me. Usually it takes multiple attempts to find a cabbie who will at least nod in understanding when I tell him the address I want to go to. At least several times a day, a cabbie tries to get me to pay four times over the actual fare. Granted, it's not a lot of money by US standards, and I could just give in, but I don't like being taken advantage of on principle, not by NY cabbies, and not by the cabbies here. It's annoying.
3) My Knees - They don't like Kolkata. I don't know what the problem is. My theory was that the heat and humidity were responsible for the constant dull and sometimes excruciating pain I've been feeling in my knees for the last 5 days. However, then my mom pointed out that nothing like that happened to me in Cambodia or the Carribean, other hot, humid places that I've visited, so now I'm at a loss. I'm hoping they'll like Darjeeling better.
4) The Incessant Sound of Horns - I swear to God, people honk more horns constantly here than I've ever heard in my life. New York sounds peaceful as a baby's nursery in comparison. The reason seems to be that instead of lines in the road, traffic signs, lights, or symbols, everyone uses their horns to dictate the rules of the road. If you have a really loud horn and if you beep it constantly, people will get out of your way. The system, though chaotic, appears to work. I have yet to see a traffic accident (knock on wood), but it makes for an incessant din that I seriously can't wait to get away from.
5) The Waiters At BBQ Trying To Serve Me - I've been to BBQ, in the Park Street area, twice because they have the best naan and an absolutely delicious paneer pasinda. However, last night I was ready to throttle the waiters because they kept trying to dish out more food onto my plate from the serving dishes on my table. They're trying to be professional but it was making me want to scream at them that ladling food onto someone's plate is Not Necessary and that they should leave their guests alone. A somewhat extreme reaction, I know, and more a result of me feeling grumpy last night then the well-meaning waiters, but still.
6) The Beggar Children - Now this one is just not fair at all (of me to mention). Coming to India I was prepared to see poverty and I was prepared to see children begging. I've actually seen far less of them than I had expected, but each time I'm approached I am overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness and also discomfort. It's so obvious that I have so much and they have so little. I could give every beggar that approached me something and it wouldn't hurt me financially. However, I also know that it's a business and that children are sold and trafficked in order to become beggars. I know that the person who bought them is usually sitting on the street somewhere nearby, watching them, encouraging them to harass any tourist/white person that walks by. If I give them money, I'm putting money into the pockets of the guy watching the children from the wings. I'm contributing to that system. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm being cruel to give nothing, to say firmly "no" and then look pointedly away, because if I don't look away they'll continue to ask thinking there's a chance. According to one of the women I work with, the Indian government does not try to get these children off the street. I don't believe they're any shelters or soup kitchens run by the government, though there are a number of NGOs who are working with street children.
7) You Can't Take Pictures In A Lot of Places - This again is a very touristy, probably Western-centric, complaint but it's really annoying because it's totally nonsensical. For example, at the Victoria Monument, you couldn't take any pictures. The Victoria Monument is a big building with exhibits of pictures in it. Photographing inside the monument would not do any harm, there's no religious reason for it, but it's just not allowed. It's also not allowed at any of the Hindu temples I've visited so far. Is there some prohibition against pictures in Hinduism that I'm unaware of? In Thailand, you could take pictures everywhere, inside of temples, outside of them, even of the Buddhas themselves. Ah... Thailand.
8) A Lack of Thinking Outside of the Box - I get it, I'm in India and they do some things differently than the West, and because I'm here I should just go with the flow and do as they do. I totally embrace that. However, in certain situations, say when an Indian coffeeshop is trying to be Western but it refuses to think outside of the box, it's sort of frustrating. Example: Yesterday I was in a coffee shop for breakfast and all I wanted was a banana. They had a fruit plate but it would not be ready for 25 minutes and I needed to eat quicker than that. The banana was not on the menu but the restaurant had thousands of bananas. I ordered a coffee and a croissant and then asked if pretty please I could also purchase a banana. There was a big commotion but after checking with management my waiter informed me that it was simply not possible for me to purchase a banana. That is not the way you're going to succeed people!
9) The Woman at the Multiplex Cinema Who Told Me That I Had To Take My Battery Out of My Camera And Give It To Her - After purchasing our tickets for the movie "The Namesake" we climbed up a 2 flights of stairs and then had to pass through a metal detector. At that point, one guard told my friend (a Canadian) that she had couldn't bring in her water. Remember, it's about 40 degrees Celsius here (that's ALOT in Fahrenheit). My friend refused and they let her pass. Then the guard told me to remove my camera battery. I told her I wasn't going to do that - hello, I would have never gotten it back and what they hell did she think I was going to do? take a series of pictures of the movie? - and that I would not take any pictures, and she let me pass. Why have inane rules in the first place, and why have inane rules if you're not going to enforce them. Totally absurd.
10) Restaurants Who Don't Have Lassies - One of the things I had counted on in India was the opportunity to have delicious mango lassies with every meal. Every Indian restaurant in America has them, and they are authentically Indian, so naturally I thought I'd be swimming in lassies over here. About half the restaurants I've gone to don't have lassies. It's disappointing, especially since it would be nice to have some yogurt and mango with my daily staple of naan. I'm sure there are thousands of restaurants in Kolkata that are cute and do offer things like lassies, but I haven't found a ton of them, and frankly it's too freakin' hot to go off exploring during most of the daylight hours (and the night time hours are dangerous)... you get the picture.
11) The Heat - Ok, fine, I said it. I'm freakin' tired of the heat. Everyone who told me I was crazy to go to India and that it would be too hot to travel during this time, pat yourselves on the back for telling me so. You win, it's hot. You're so smart. However, despite the heat I would still have come. It's not unbearable, it just wears on you and makes you feel semi-comatose by mid-afternoon. Up in the hill stations it should be a little bit cooler. I can't wait for Darjeeling!
12) My Hotel - I'm staying at this place called Akash Deep in the Park Circle area that my organization (kindly) arranged for me because it's relatively near their office. It's costing me about $30 a night, which is about $20 more than I wanted to pay anywhere in India. The hotel itself is bare bones, though I have greatly appreciated the AC and the TV (especially when jet leg wouldn't let me sleep). It has no character, it's in a part of town that has nothing around it - no cute restaurants, no cute shops, no other travelers or locals hanging out (except for the people sleeping in the street). Honestly, it's kind of lame, and in the 9 days that I've been there no one has cleaned my room once. Good because I don't have to worry about my stuff, but for $30 bucks one would think I could depend on a steady supply of toilet paper. Also, the "white" sheet, that I'm not using, was stained grey, and because I don't trust the red carpet, I haven't even braved one sit-up or push-up. I suppose I could do that if I put the sheet down...
13) The General Chaos and Uncleanliness - I know this is kind of repetitive of a few above, but this basically sums up the worst of Kolkata in my mind. It's been jarring and fairly exhausting to be here. I think I talked in an earlier post about the energy of this place draining you instead of pumping you up. I've found it very difficult to sit still here, both physically and mentally. Part of that has been that I've been running around town with my volunteer work. But when I haven't been volunteering, there's just not a lot of peaceful places to go. For example, this morning, waiting an hour for the train station ticket counter to open, there was literally no place to sit to pass the time except for out on the sidewalk in the midst of all the early morning commotion.
Bonus #1 - The sound of Bengali, during animated discussions, often sounds like the people are angrily shouting at one another. Maybe this is how English sounds to Bengali ears?
Bonus #2 - The computer rage I experience at the super slow cyber cafes. For all of the talk about India's IT capacity, I must say that the internet cafes in Kolkata pale in comparison to those in Thailand. Can you tell I've been thinking fondly of Thailand. It's truly a marvelous place, something I've come to appreciate more during the past week.
Next time I'll do a list of all the things I love about Kolkata, but for now I just needed to get those off of my chest. I'm just done with the city for now and ready for some trees, mountain views, and some time for contemplation and relaxation. Tomorrow I take a night train to Darjeeling, the "quintessential hill station." Tibetan crafts, Buddhist temples, and the Himalayas, here I come!!
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It's easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Wilting, But Happy, Flower
As you may have noticed, I've been having some trouble posting on a daily basis. It's a combination of being really busy each day with my volunteer work, a paucity of internet stations near my hotel, a malfunctioning internet connection at my organization's office, and the fact that I'm super exhausted each day by about 8:00 pm because of this infernal heat. It is freakin' hot in Kolkata people. H-O-T and H-U-M-I-D. By 2:00 pm I feel like a wilted flower. By 4:00 pm, I'm ready to fall down. I've noticed that if I take an afternoon rest and wait to go back outside until about 5:00 pm, then I feel much better. The evenings are nice.
We interrupt our regularly scheduled program for a public service announcement: HOLY CRAP, the fattest, most disgusting looking rat I've ever seen just waddled past the glass wall of this internet cafe, just four feet from my unprotected toes. I feel like vomiting! I looked at it in horror and then caught the eye of the guy monitoring the computers. He grimaced back at me in understanding. That rat could have seriously taken most of the rats that I've seen in the NY city subways. Dang.
In the last few days I've largely overcome my initial culture shock an I've gotten somewhat used to the stares of the people on the street. I love my volunteer position. The people at my organization could not be more welcoming, warm, or hospitable. They have been generous with their time and knowledge and already I have learned so much from them. My favorite part of this week has been working with the adolescent girls over in one of the red light districts. Some of the girls have mothers whom are prostitutes, and others just come from very poor socio-economic backgrounds. One of the girls, Neine, was rescued recently from a brothel.
The girls are so wonderful!! They're warm, full of energy, and so much fun to spend time with. The other day, I lead a discussion with them about international human rights norms and the reality of their lives. They were so smart, introspective, and insightful. When the issue of prostitution was raised, they talked of the stigma that makes it difficult for women to leave the red light areas and find other work. They talked of disliking the profession but not the women who are in it. Some of them felt that women had a choice as to whether or not to enter prostitution, but others - those with mothers working as prostitutes - felt that they did not. One after another they recounted stories of girl children not getting enough food, not getting an education, of mothers being beaten, of police doing nothing. In between talking, they showed me Bollywood dances, begged m to sing them songs, and tried to teach me snippets of Hindi and Bengali. They quiz me each time they see me. They're amazing. They're yet another example of how just a small amount of attention and care can go so far with a child.
In between the volunteer work, I've seen many sides of Kolkata. I've been to a Bollywood movie, "Namaste London," saw "The Namesake" at a fancy mulitplex cinema in the middle of a typical Western-style glass-encased mall (that gave me reverse culture shock), gone to dinners at some fantastic restaurants, bought some beautiful cloth at a market, and gone to one of my new friend's tailors to have some Indian-style tops made. When in Rome...
A word about the food: It was funny because before leaving for India, my mother, in a moment of worry started telling me about some friends of hers who had gone to India and lost 25 lbs. Apparently the food did not agree with them. I was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen to me because I like Indian food and eat it regularly back home. Since being here, I've been really careful in terms of not eating off the street (except with my Kolkatan friends who know the good vendors), have been avoiding fruits and veggies that might possibly have been washed in bad water, and have been having a ton of absolutely delicious Bengali food. It is so good!! The result of all of this is that I've eaten a lot of paneer butter masala and naan - which I've been enjoying thoroughly - and hardly any healthy things. I have yet (knock on wood) to get any "Delhi Belly" and I think I've gained at least 5 lbs!! And, I've only been here 8 days! I'm going to have to hit the gym hard core when I get back to NYC. The point of all of this (Mom, if you're reading), is that my mom had nothing to worry about with respect to me potentially wasting away. I'm getting downright curvascious.
I'm planning to be in Kolkata through Friday, and am trying to arrange to take a night train (AC 2nd Class) to Darjleeng. After Darjleeng, my rough route is: Dehli, Dharmsala, McLeod Ganj, Shimla... I was planning to pop by Rajasthan but I've heard that it's 50 degree Celsius. As I'm basically wilting here in Kolkata in the 40 degree Celsius temperatures, I'm rethinking that leg of the journey. At some point I hope to wind up in an Ashram but haven't planned that out yet, again because I've been so busy.
I've been reading "Eat, Pray, Love," and so far I love it! I highly recommend it.
* * *
We interrupt our regularly scheduled program for a public service announcement: HOLY CRAP, the fattest, most disgusting looking rat I've ever seen just waddled past the glass wall of this internet cafe, just four feet from my unprotected toes. I feel like vomiting! I looked at it in horror and then caught the eye of the guy monitoring the computers. He grimaced back at me in understanding. That rat could have seriously taken most of the rats that I've seen in the NY city subways. Dang.
* * *
In the last few days I've largely overcome my initial culture shock an I've gotten somewhat used to the stares of the people on the street. I love my volunteer position. The people at my organization could not be more welcoming, warm, or hospitable. They have been generous with their time and knowledge and already I have learned so much from them. My favorite part of this week has been working with the adolescent girls over in one of the red light districts. Some of the girls have mothers whom are prostitutes, and others just come from very poor socio-economic backgrounds. One of the girls, Neine, was rescued recently from a brothel.
The girls are so wonderful!! They're warm, full of energy, and so much fun to spend time with. The other day, I lead a discussion with them about international human rights norms and the reality of their lives. They were so smart, introspective, and insightful. When the issue of prostitution was raised, they talked of the stigma that makes it difficult for women to leave the red light areas and find other work. They talked of disliking the profession but not the women who are in it. Some of them felt that women had a choice as to whether or not to enter prostitution, but others - those with mothers working as prostitutes - felt that they did not. One after another they recounted stories of girl children not getting enough food, not getting an education, of mothers being beaten, of police doing nothing. In between talking, they showed me Bollywood dances, begged m to sing them songs, and tried to teach me snippets of Hindi and Bengali. They quiz me each time they see me. They're amazing. They're yet another example of how just a small amount of attention and care can go so far with a child.
In between the volunteer work, I've seen many sides of Kolkata. I've been to a Bollywood movie, "Namaste London," saw "The Namesake" at a fancy mulitplex cinema in the middle of a typical Western-style glass-encased mall (that gave me reverse culture shock), gone to dinners at some fantastic restaurants, bought some beautiful cloth at a market, and gone to one of my new friend's tailors to have some Indian-style tops made. When in Rome...
A word about the food: It was funny because before leaving for India, my mother, in a moment of worry started telling me about some friends of hers who had gone to India and lost 25 lbs. Apparently the food did not agree with them. I was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen to me because I like Indian food and eat it regularly back home. Since being here, I've been really careful in terms of not eating off the street (except with my Kolkatan friends who know the good vendors), have been avoiding fruits and veggies that might possibly have been washed in bad water, and have been having a ton of absolutely delicious Bengali food. It is so good!! The result of all of this is that I've eaten a lot of paneer butter masala and naan - which I've been enjoying thoroughly - and hardly any healthy things. I have yet (knock on wood) to get any "Delhi Belly" and I think I've gained at least 5 lbs!! And, I've only been here 8 days! I'm going to have to hit the gym hard core when I get back to NYC. The point of all of this (Mom, if you're reading), is that my mom had nothing to worry about with respect to me potentially wasting away. I'm getting downright curvascious.
I'm planning to be in Kolkata through Friday, and am trying to arrange to take a night train (AC 2nd Class) to Darjleeng. After Darjleeng, my rough route is: Dehli, Dharmsala, McLeod Ganj, Shimla... I was planning to pop by Rajasthan but I've heard that it's 50 degree Celsius. As I'm basically wilting here in Kolkata in the 40 degree Celsius temperatures, I'm rethinking that leg of the journey. At some point I hope to wind up in an Ashram but haven't planned that out yet, again because I've been so busy.
I've been reading "Eat, Pray, Love," and so far I love it! I highly recommend it.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Impressions of Kolkata
I'm sitting in a tiny booth with four computers and a small fan, just 20 feet away from Park Road in Kolkata, India. I'm so relieved to be off of the street, away from the incessant honking, smells, dust, putrefying piles of garbage, constant stares, and the frequent heart-wrenching begging. Kolkata is nothing if not intense. I've been here for 2 1/2 days and it's been a constant assault on all of my senses. Frequently, I find myself walking down the street, silently thinking to myself, "Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap..." It's not fear, it's that it doesn't stop. All the time, every where I look, there's something I've never seen before, and it's overwhelming. Neither good nor bad, just overwhelming.
Then there's also the squalor. The buildings are scared by black stains, many of them covered by layers of dirt, dust and grime that look like they've been building up for the last 1,000 years. The streets are lined with gutters, filled with brown, toxic-looking liquid (much of it probably pee) and choked with debris, garbage, and human feces. I've been wearing flip flops, but I'm very careful where I step. There's no where to sit except amidst the dust and the crowds of people. In comparison, New York is a pristine oasis of neatly organized calm. After wandering around the streets of Kolkata, I have a new found appreciating for the glass-covered, urban jungle, and I think I might just have to go kiss the ground in Central Park - in desparate gratitude for its existence - upon my return.
I arrived in Kolkata after a 14 hour flight from JFK to Mumbai (Bombay), a six hour layover (from 12:00 to 6:00 am Mumbai time) in Mumbai Airport, and a two hour flight to Kolkata. From Kolkata airport I took a taxi to the organization for whom I will be volunteering through the end of next week. The cabs here are kind of awesome. They're bright yellow cars in the style of 1920s Rolls Royce's and they're everywhere. There are also tuk-tuks, but I've stuck to the more reliable, quicker, cabs so far.
The people I'll be volunteering with are amazing. From the moment I met them, they greeted me with warmth, excitement, and genuine pleasure to have me here. The organization itself is focused upon stopping another generation of young girls from entering prostitution. To that end, they have reached out to adolescent girls living in the red light districts of Kolkata and in a few other areas in India, and have provided them alternative housing in shelters, education, health care, and skills training - all aimed to give them a viable alternative, other than prostitution, for supporting themselves. Because their mothers are prostitutes, and because they themselves have grown up in the red light districts, they are a high risk group in terms of the likelihood that they will be pressured into prostitution.
A word on the red light districts. Never have I seen such intense poverty. People are living on top of each other, crowded into decaying stone buildings or under lean-tos, with only ragged cloth as a roof covering or door. There's garbage everywhere, as there is in most of the places I've seen so far in Kolkata. Some houses seem to literally rise up out of the garbage, almost as if they are part of the garbage heap upon which they are situated. The girls who live in the red light districts are stigmatized and treated with disdain. Some go to school, but other girls who are not from the red light district are told not to speak with them because they are "bad girls." I'm talking not about the prostitutes, but their children.
I learned a little about some of the children's lives when I met 5 teenage girls yesterday at a shelter, ranging in age from 13-16. They were amazing! Smart, funny, open, and bubbling with questions for me. The girls reside in a shelter run by the organization I'm volunteering with. All of the girls said their mothers support them living outside of the red light district; they don't want their daughters forced into prostitution, they want them to have a different life. During our conversation (in Bengali and Hindi but translated into English for my benefit), the subject turned to violence against women. When I asked whether they had seen violence in their community they described in vivid detail the death of a woman who had been burned a live by her John just a few days earlier. The girls said "husband," because in the red light district that is how the Johns are referred to. It's less shameful then admitting that your mom is a prostitute.
Apparently, her John became angry with her and, after dousing her with alcohol, set her and her sari on fire. Just before dying, she lunged at her attacker, saying that if she died he would go on to do this to other women and that he should die to. She hugged her John and they both ended up being burned alive. The five girls had seen the whole altercation happen inside the cramped quarters where their mothers live. I can't imagine growing up in that reality. I was stunned and inspired by their resilience. They've grown up with abuse and unspeakable horror, such as seeing people burned alive before them, yet they could animatedly discuss their love of dancing, talking to new people, carpentry, and their hopes for their future. One girl wants to be a math teacher, another wants to be a doctor. It's overwhelming to me how many girls there are just like them who deserve so much better than the reality that they were born into.
Speaking of injustice and clashes between worlds, out of necessity, I walk past mothers with children, children alone, the elderly, and the crippled, staring fixedly ahead, ignoring their pleas for money or food. A fellow traveler that I met my first night here, Sarah from Scotland, told me how guilty she feels when she does the same thing and refuses the pleas for help. Having just arrived, I waxed philosophical, and said I didn't feel guilty because supporting begging runs the risk of supporting the trafficking of persons for begging, and suggested that a better route would be donating to a local organization. Ha! That was after only 3 hours in the city.
Two days and many, many poor souls later, of course I feel guilty. I'm sickened by the poverty, not by the people who are poor, and not by their way of life, but by the fact that they have so little. In comparison, I have so much. I come from a world so different, and so filled with privileges it's incomprehensible. Walking on the garbage covered side walk, navigating between skeletal bodies huddled against the sides of the path, many of them without even a piece of cloth to cover them, I feel sick to my stomach at the injustice. But, what can I do? Giving out rupees would accomplish two things: First, it would get me mobbed, and second, it would in fact support the trafficking of people for begging - a practice which results in, among other things, the forced maiming of children for sympathy points. As I don't want either, I'm holding on to my rupees, but, yes, I feel guilty, but mostly I just feel sad. I feel sad that I have so much where they have so little, and guilty for giving them nothing. It feels cruel to walk past them without even a glance. I try to be firm and gentle, and to treat each person I encounter with dignity and respect. But, it's not enough. People should not be living like this. It's horribly sad.
Then there's also the squalor. The buildings are scared by black stains, many of them covered by layers of dirt, dust and grime that look like they've been building up for the last 1,000 years. The streets are lined with gutters, filled with brown, toxic-looking liquid (much of it probably pee) and choked with debris, garbage, and human feces. I've been wearing flip flops, but I'm very careful where I step. There's no where to sit except amidst the dust and the crowds of people. In comparison, New York is a pristine oasis of neatly organized calm. After wandering around the streets of Kolkata, I have a new found appreciating for the glass-covered, urban jungle, and I think I might just have to go kiss the ground in Central Park - in desparate gratitude for its existence - upon my return.
I arrived in Kolkata after a 14 hour flight from JFK to Mumbai (Bombay), a six hour layover (from 12:00 to 6:00 am Mumbai time) in Mumbai Airport, and a two hour flight to Kolkata. From Kolkata airport I took a taxi to the organization for whom I will be volunteering through the end of next week. The cabs here are kind of awesome. They're bright yellow cars in the style of 1920s Rolls Royce's and they're everywhere. There are also tuk-tuks, but I've stuck to the more reliable, quicker, cabs so far.
The people I'll be volunteering with are amazing. From the moment I met them, they greeted me with warmth, excitement, and genuine pleasure to have me here. The organization itself is focused upon stopping another generation of young girls from entering prostitution. To that end, they have reached out to adolescent girls living in the red light districts of Kolkata and in a few other areas in India, and have provided them alternative housing in shelters, education, health care, and skills training - all aimed to give them a viable alternative, other than prostitution, for supporting themselves. Because their mothers are prostitutes, and because they themselves have grown up in the red light districts, they are a high risk group in terms of the likelihood that they will be pressured into prostitution.
A word on the red light districts. Never have I seen such intense poverty. People are living on top of each other, crowded into decaying stone buildings or under lean-tos, with only ragged cloth as a roof covering or door. There's garbage everywhere, as there is in most of the places I've seen so far in Kolkata. Some houses seem to literally rise up out of the garbage, almost as if they are part of the garbage heap upon which they are situated. The girls who live in the red light districts are stigmatized and treated with disdain. Some go to school, but other girls who are not from the red light district are told not to speak with them because they are "bad girls." I'm talking not about the prostitutes, but their children.
I learned a little about some of the children's lives when I met 5 teenage girls yesterday at a shelter, ranging in age from 13-16. They were amazing! Smart, funny, open, and bubbling with questions for me. The girls reside in a shelter run by the organization I'm volunteering with. All of the girls said their mothers support them living outside of the red light district; they don't want their daughters forced into prostitution, they want them to have a different life. During our conversation (in Bengali and Hindi but translated into English for my benefit), the subject turned to violence against women. When I asked whether they had seen violence in their community they described in vivid detail the death of a woman who had been burned a live by her John just a few days earlier. The girls said "husband," because in the red light district that is how the Johns are referred to. It's less shameful then admitting that your mom is a prostitute.
Apparently, her John became angry with her and, after dousing her with alcohol, set her and her sari on fire. Just before dying, she lunged at her attacker, saying that if she died he would go on to do this to other women and that he should die to. She hugged her John and they both ended up being burned alive. The five girls had seen the whole altercation happen inside the cramped quarters where their mothers live. I can't imagine growing up in that reality. I was stunned and inspired by their resilience. They've grown up with abuse and unspeakable horror, such as seeing people burned alive before them, yet they could animatedly discuss their love of dancing, talking to new people, carpentry, and their hopes for their future. One girl wants to be a math teacher, another wants to be a doctor. It's overwhelming to me how many girls there are just like them who deserve so much better than the reality that they were born into.
Speaking of injustice and clashes between worlds, out of necessity, I walk past mothers with children, children alone, the elderly, and the crippled, staring fixedly ahead, ignoring their pleas for money or food. A fellow traveler that I met my first night here, Sarah from Scotland, told me how guilty she feels when she does the same thing and refuses the pleas for help. Having just arrived, I waxed philosophical, and said I didn't feel guilty because supporting begging runs the risk of supporting the trafficking of persons for begging, and suggested that a better route would be donating to a local organization. Ha! That was after only 3 hours in the city.
Two days and many, many poor souls later, of course I feel guilty. I'm sickened by the poverty, not by the people who are poor, and not by their way of life, but by the fact that they have so little. In comparison, I have so much. I come from a world so different, and so filled with privileges it's incomprehensible. Walking on the garbage covered side walk, navigating between skeletal bodies huddled against the sides of the path, many of them without even a piece of cloth to cover them, I feel sick to my stomach at the injustice. But, what can I do? Giving out rupees would accomplish two things: First, it would get me mobbed, and second, it would in fact support the trafficking of people for begging - a practice which results in, among other things, the forced maiming of children for sympathy points. As I don't want either, I'm holding on to my rupees, but, yes, I feel guilty, but mostly I just feel sad. I feel sad that I have so much where they have so little, and guilty for giving them nothing. It feels cruel to walk past them without even a glance. I try to be firm and gentle, and to treat each person I encounter with dignity and respect. But, it's not enough. People should not be living like this. It's horribly sad.
Monday, April 16, 2007
What I Packed For A Month In India
Essentials: Passport, Visa.8 Tops:
1 long sleeve: Black long sleeved zip-up.
3 short sleeve: White, black, sea-green, grey.
5 sleeveless: White, black, black tube, pink, BBC tank.
3 Pants: Brown linen capri, black capri, lulemon black long yoga/travel pants.
Underclothes:
5 prs socks: 3 pr lightweight wool socks, 2 cotton socks.
1 cotton boxer.
3 bras: black bandeau bra, taupe bra, black sports bra.
Yoga Clothes: Black top, black 3/4 yoga pants, black yoga skort.
Outerwear: Waterproof wind breaker, waterproof pants, micro fleece, floppy hat.
Shoes: Black flip-flops, hiking shoes.
Beachwear: 2 bathing suits, Juicy Couture Terry Tube Dress in Aqua, black beach cover-up skirt, sarong.
Electronics: Ipod, Ipod charger, digital camera, camera charger, camera usb cord for uploading pics, 1 international adapter.
Gear: Gregory Deva Backpack, Mini mag light, pocket knife, compass, waterproof backpack cover, Sigg .6 L water bottle, silk sleeping bag liner, sunglasses.
Toiletries. Too many.
Food: 10 assorted balance/cliff/luna bars.
Medicine: Malaria medicine, Ambien, 30 water purification tablets, basic first aid, etc.
Reading/Writing Material: Journal, Eat, Pray, Love, Lonely Planet India,
Finances: Waist belt, ATM card, Credit Card, Starwood Card.
...and some more stuff but I have to run to the airport! I plan to write at least every few days about my travels so stay tuned! Have a great month!
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