quester/questing/QUESTED

New York State Of Mind

2008-03-10T07:58:00.000-07:00

OK, so I'm back to slackerdom, apparently.

I am going to make an excuse for procrastinating and say that I'm just trying to enjoy some good old fashioned laziness before I start back at work next week. This is probably bullshit -- anytime is a good time for laziness!

Anyway, in order to stave off anybody's anger at not hearing most of the exciting adventures of my final days in India, I have started to upload some pictures to my flickr account.

The most convenient way to look at them is to click right here.

Please note that since I took SO FREAKING MANY pictures, I am starting to add them very slowly. At this point, I have only added photos that I don't want to tweak in photoshop. Which means this is some of the less exciting stuff, aesthetically. Mostly just plain old snapshots. But it will hopefully whet your appetites for the pretty ones to come. I hope you appreciate this more 'curatorial' approach rather than me just plonking into flickr every damn picture I took and letting all of you wander aimlessly through my 50 practically-identical photos of some Nawab's tomb in Lucknow.

As for why I have given you the silly ones and not the artsy ones, it's because I deleted CS3 off my computer before I left. Why did I do that? Dude, I was so stupid back then...

That Is All I Have To Say About That

2008-03-07T16:52:00.001-08:00

Proof
Originally uploaded by the opoponax

This is not photoshop. I really went to the Taj Mahal.

You can tell I'm not making this up because I look like crap.

Would I have photoshopped a picture of myself looking this bedraggled into the Taj Mahal?

I'm Home!

2008-03-06T12:19:00.000-08:00

OK, yet another quick note just to let yall know I'm back home in Brooklyn, safe and sound. More later.

Serious catching up, and wrapping up, etc etc etc is in store, so don't think this blog is over yet!

For instance, in the next few days I'm hoping to either make some photo recap posts or post a link to some kind of flickr slideshow or something. So stay tuned, because OMG I took literally a thousand photos and now you all have to look at them.

Homeward Bound

2008-03-04T06:45:00.000-08:00

I'm sittin' in a railway station, got a ticket for my destination...

Or, really, I'm sitting in the internet cafe around the corner from the seedy Mumbai guesthouse that is storing most of my luggage, trying to mentally prepare myself to come back to America.

But I do, in fact, have a ticket for my destination. One outta two ain't bad, right?

Anyway, folks, it's been fun. I'm not entirely finished with this blog, because I know I haven't written about the Taj Mahal (which was like a week ago, what is WRONG with me?), or about my upstairs-downstairs train trip back to Mumbai, or about the several days I have now spent between Mumbai and Pune. I will fill you all in on all of this from the comfort of my couch in Brooklyn, in a couple of days.

From here on out, I pretty much just have to go reclaim my stuff, get a taxi to the airport (I'm really hoping for one of the especially cool ones with the velour interior, blue strobe light, huge shrine to Ganesh on the dash, etc. But honestly any cab will do.), and bon voyage!

A Bumpy Ride

2008-02-29T00:40:00.000-08:00

On the way into town from the train station, my rickshaw driver, in the interest of getting himself another fare, talked on and on about this place called Mehtab Bagh, which is a park across the Yamuna with great views of the Taj Mahal. I had absolutely zero intention of hiring him to take me there, but it was good to know about.

Of course, once I got settled in and really did want to go out to Mehtab Bagh, I now had to find a way to get there. As all of you have probably learned from this blog, the getting there is at least 70% of any experience in India. Wandering a few blocks from my hotel I found a cycle-rickshaw. [As I said yesterday in my post about my perfect day in Delhi, cycle rickshaws are my favorite way to get around an Indian city.]

"How much to Mehtab Bagh?"

"100 rupees there and back," according to the driver, Lalu. Rickshaw wallahs are always keen to take you somewhere they know you'll be a long time, and then charge you more than double so they can sit around smoking bidis and be guaranteed another fare after that nice break.

After a long lecture about how there are no rickshaws over at Methab Bagh to bring me back (riiiiight...), it will get dark soon, it's not safe, blah blah blah, I agreed. I seldom have the energy to get into all-out bidding wars with rickshaw dudes, because it tends to not actually save you much money. You'll eventually arrive at a fare 10 or 20 rupees shy of what they wanted in the first place, saving you a grand total of like 50 cents, max. If you have any chance of a much lower fare, he'll agree right away.

So I climbed up and we were off. On a map, Mehtab Bagh looks very close to my guesthouse just a few blocks from the Taj. I figured it would be 2 seconds away and I was an idiot for paying so much and agreeing to the "there and back" scheme.

We left the backpacker hotels and souvenir shops of Taj Ganj and coasted through the winding streets of the old city, past madrasas, bazaars, and crumbling havelis. Men lounge on charpoys, alternately spitting tobacco and sipping tea fro disposable-yet-eco-friendly terra cotta cups. Women draw water from street corner hand pumps which pour into stainless steel amphorae the women somehow manage to cart home on their heads. The call to evening prayer comes from a thousand directions -- there are as many mosques in this part of Agra as there are churches in small-town Mississippi.

We passed a tractor. Then a bullock cart. Then a convoy of camels. This is India at its most scenic, the stuff that makes you want to come here in the first place. OK, so it seemed Mehtab Bagh isn't as close as I thought. Well, that's fine, makes me feel like less of a newb. I'm along for the ride and loving it.

And then we came to the bridge. From afar it looked just like any bridge over any river. Then we actually got on it. It's studded with potholes -- for the first time, I wished rickshaws had seatbelts. I stupidly looked down and notice that some of the potholes were so serious that I could see the river through them. I white-knuckled the arm rests, thanking god that this rickshaw had armrests. It's as scary as my annual spin on the Cyclone roller coaster at Coney Island, except scarier beacause it's not on purpose. Visions of travel insurance danced through my head. It occurs to me that I'm going to have to do this again coming back. I curse my agreement to ride back with Lalu. Maybe I can just pay him and then hitch a ride in someone's taxi.

Finally crossing the bridge, we headed through a slightly newer part of the city, which gradually transitioned into the slums that line the flood plain of the Yamuna. Jubilantly grimy kids gave chase, calling, "Hello! You give one rupee! Hello! You give one school pen! Hello! You give one chocolate!" I would happily hand over an entire Office Depot worth of Bics if I thought it would help them. I want to smuggle them back to the US in my luggage and give them a real roof, three meals a day, and an education.

The kids fell back as we approached the park. Lalu parked the rickshaw and stalked off in search of paan. I took a right down a wooded path and there it is. The Taj Mahal. It's so beautiful I decided it was definitely worth it, and not only that, I'd be fine riding back over the bridge in Lalu's rickshaw.

Time Warp

2008-02-29T00:33:00.000-08:00

OK, so the next two posts are from things I wrote in Agra, a few days ago.

Agra is yet another city with a tough reputation, but which I don't find to be that bad. Yes, the constant flow of "come in my shop!", "Buy my marble doohickey!", and "You want rickshaw madam?" is midly annoying. But there's an easy antidote: ignore them. I don't live here. I don't know these people, and I don't owe them anything. If they think I'm stuck up or rude, who cares? I think they're annoying, and yet that doesn't appear to affect their behavior.

The bottom line - I got off the train without a word from anybody. There's a prepaid auto-rickshaw booth which charges sensible fares to key parts of town. My guesthouse is pretty much everything I could ask for, and dirt cheap. I didn't even face an unusual level of hassle at any of the very, very famous tourist sites I visited. I just don't get what the fuss is about.

...Drank Sangria In The Park...

2008-02-28T09:24:00.001-08:00

Today I had probably my all time most ideal day, ever. Seriously, if you asked me to list exactly what I'd do if I could do anything in the world, today would be pretty much it. Not even counting the India aspect.

Got up about 8:30 without an alarm or anything. There was hot water. Put on clothes which were clean, matched, and which I actually wanted to wear. (this wouldn't usually be a specific stipulation for my perfect day, but in India it needs to be said after two months with only two or three changes of clothes.)

I jetted off to the cafe across the street and had my favorite Indian breakfast - aloo parantha (basically flat bread stuffed with spicy mashed potatoes) and some of the best yogurt I've had in India so far, washed down with a big ol' cup of chai. While doing this, I read the paper. The sudoko was just hard enough to be interesting, but just easy enough to make me feel smart.

I got into a cycle rickshaw (favorite mode of non-train transportation in India, hands down) and headed into Old Delhi without incident. Old Delhi is all of my favorite aspects of New York, distilled into everclear. My rickshaw happened to take me up an entire street of stationery markets, and I managed to make a mental note of how to get back there later, because at the moment I was headed for one of my all time favorite ways to spend a day: historical nerditude.

The Red Fort (AKA Lal Qila in Hindi) was the seat of Mughal power in India - it's basically the Tower of London and Versailles rolled into one, except with way cooler architecture. It's also, hands down, the best preserved, maintained, and organized historical site I've visited here. Everything is clearly labeled. There are clean bathrooms, orderly paths, and kiosks selling drinks and simple snacks so if you get thirsty or realize you forgot to eat lunch, you can grab some bottled water and chips or cookies or something to tide you over and don't have to rush through the place in order to get out and find something. The museum is skillfully curated and has actual important artifacts on display. Even the silly little tourist guidebook the hawkers sell out front is full of genuinely useful and interesting background information (Aurangzeb staged a coup and murdered his two older brothers right here in the Diwan-i-Khas, for instance). So I had a fascinating morning learning all about the various Mughal emperors and the history of Delhi while also admiring incredibly beautiful architecture.

After I finished up there, I decided to have a wander down Chandni Chowk, the fabled main thoroughfare of Old Delhi. Chandni Chowk translates to something like "Crossroads of the Moon". Apparently it was the Champs Elysees or Fifth Avenue of 15th century Delhi, which at that time was basically the capital of the civilized world. This was the India that European royalty sent scores of explorers to find. This was where you could get all the jewels, spices, gold, silks, and perfumes craved by the back asswards folks in crappy third world countries like France and Spain. I think it's important to remember that at this time, India was such a world super power that the elite of Europe didn't even fricking know how to GET THERE. Literally.

In the intervening centuries, Chandni Chowk has been transformed into something that bears a striking resemblence to Canal Street in New York. Cut-rate clothing stores. Fast food restaurants and snack stalls. Teensy stalls selling luggage or cheesy souvenirs or a collection of random items you can't live without (buckets, padlocks, plastic sheeting). There are even designer knockoffs, which in India tend to be so crappy they in no way resemble the real thing (for instance a t-shirt with the Nike swish logo, except it's spelled "Nixe").

After an amazing lassi and a jalebi or two I decide that it's time to set off for the Jama Masjid. The Jama Masjid is just as major as the Red Fort - it's one of the largest mosques in the world and was the Mughal equivalent to Canterbury or Chartres or St. Peter's.

The weird thing about mosques is that the inside part, what I guess you'd consider the main sanctuary, is kinda dull. It's basically a big empty room. Sometimes it's a real pretty empty room, but it's not like a church or a synagogue or a temple, where there's a holy-of-holies or some sort of focal point.

What's interesting about the Jama Masjid is the outer courtyard. There's a huge tank, meant for ritual ablutions but also working aesthetically along the lines of a fountain. For some reason one corner is paved with birdseed, which means there are pigeons swooping around everywhere, little kids chasing them, mothers and big sisters trying to herd the little kids, etc. etc. It feels like a park or a public square. I could easily sit there all day.

What's even cooler is the fact that for a small fee you can climb up to the very top of one of the minarets and get a view over all of Old Delhi. Unaccompanied women aren't allowed to do this (I mean, this is Islam - we can't have people feeling all happy and inclusive and all...), so I teamed up with the first white guy I saw, this German convert to Islam named Imtiaz (who proved to be really interesting, but this blog is getting long and it's only like 2pm at this point). Climbing a minaret is actually not that fun. It's one big spiral staircase, and for a minute I was too winded and dizzy to remember why I'd gone up there in the first place. I really thought I was going to fall out -- which is funny considering that someone at Christmas warned me to be careful not to fall off the side of a temple. What about a mosque? Would that be OK?

But then I caught my breath and my balance and spent forever looking out over the city, or more correctly one small segment of a city that is twice as big as L.A.

After getting down, which was thankfully a lot easier than getting up, I sort of stupidly decided to get another rickshaw back to Connaught Place, which is the main drag of tourist-centered New Delhi. It's where all the good state-run craft emporia are, as well as the big Fabindia flagship (Fabindia is like Banana Republic with an Indian twist), and lots of other good shopping. Which was half the reason I came to Delhi in the first place. I say "sort of stupidly" because traffic was outrageous, and because Delhi has a metro with a stop right on Chandni Chowk which goes directly to Connaught Place in like 3 stops. Luckily the outrageous traffic made for really good exploring, because while my rickshaw-wallah played bumper-cars I got to scope out all the weird little stalls and beautiful old mansions from back before Partition when this area was still the creme de la creme of Muslim culture in India.

Inching along, we came upon a woman who'd been looking for an empty rickshaw for ages, and between the Hindi-speaking driver, English-speaking yours truly, and bilingual her, we agreed she could ride along. We spent the rest of the traffic jam talking about her mother in law, Hawaii, and all sorts of other interesting things. This is the BEST thing about India - people actually talk to each other, and not just small talk but anything and everything. Which was about to be repeated to brilliant results just a few minutes later.

After finally reaching Connaught Place, I had what I'd usually call retail therapy except there was nothing to be healed. It was like Christmas shopping, except better because everything is both beautiful and cheap. I even got to console myself that 90% of it was for other people, AND was at shops that sell "village industries" crafts and clothing, therefore not all evil and consumerist. In one of these shops I jumped into a casual conversation about the movie Lagaan, which is the only movie I've ever seen which is about cricket and taxes and yet still manages to be really, really fascinating. This developed into a longer conversation between me and this Brazilian girl named Raquel who is making a documentary about Bollywood. We finished our shopping together and decided to go for chai.

On the way to the chai stall, we passed a big group of mehendi-wallahs. You know, what in the US is called "henna tattoo". Raquel has lived in India for several months and thus knows good mehendi when she sees it. I'd been wanting to do this, but seeing a lot of ugly work on other tourists. We started up a conversation with two of the mehendi-wallahs, Anjali and Rajkumari, who agreed to get their kids to bring us chai so we could do both at the same time. It's a lot like getting your nails done back home. You sit back, relax, have girl talk, and basically have an excuse to do nothing for a long time. And even better, when you leave a nail salon you look ordinary and presentable -- when you get mehendi, you walk out decorated.

The sun went down, and calls to prayer came from every direction, from all the mosques, the Shiva temple, the Hanuman temple. Because Raquel speaks pretty good Hindi, we were able to converse more deeply with the mehendi-wallahs than I usually get to with nail ladies in New York, so lots more idle-yet-intense conversation ensued while they worked, and then in the hour or so that we had to wait for the henna to dry enough for us to use our hands. Another mehendi-wallah came back from the Hanuman temple with prasad for everyone. Prasad is sort of like communion, except way more casual and it actually tastes good. Hanuman temple prasad is a golden sphere of sweetness called a laddu. Since my hands were still way too muddy to touch anything, someone just popped my share right into my mouth.

This is another one of those amazing India moments. Nothing like it can exist anywhere else on the planet. I'm sitting in the middle of a public square, getting my hands painted with mud, and someone comes along and hand-feeds me holy candy.

When our hands finally dried, Raquel asked if I wanted to get dinner. It seemed she had a coupon for Domino's pizza (how surreal is this?). For a second I was mentally rebelling against eating pizza, Domino's no less, in India. Especially to crown my perfect day, and that ridiculously intense moment with the laddu. But then I gave in - I came to India to experience all of it, not just the quaint parts. And for better or for worse, Domino's pizza is India. Luckily Indians have all their own seperate pizza conventions, and we ended up getting chilli paneer on ours (chilli paneer being one of the more popular dishes in the Indian take on Chinese). We went back to Raquel's guesthouse to order pizza and hopefully scrape the dried henna mud off our hands before it arrived.

This whole thing had developed the same way you make friends as a kid - you see some other kids who look interesting for whatever reason and start playing along with them, without the need to join a club or take a class or be formally introduced. This is possible in India in a way that it's just not possible in the west. Raquel and I exchanged info and I bundled into an auto-rickshaw back to Pahar Ganj.

Why can't every day be this awesome? Even in New York - it doesn't have to involve crazy India stuff like randomly making friends in a shop, or having people pop sacred sweets in your mouth.

P.S. I haven't forgotten to blog about Agra, the Taj Mahal, and all that -- I just keep having so much to say about Delhi... It's coming, I promise.

Belly Of The Beast

2008-02-27T08:27:00.000-08:00

I've arrived in New Delhi, the last official stop on my itinerary. I'm staying in the part of town called Pahar Ganj, which is sort of the backpackers' mecca of all India. Since most travelers fly into Delhi and spend most of their time in a few other cities which are relatively near here (Agra, Varanasi, Jaipur and a few other cities in Rajasthan), this is the first taste of India for the vast majority of Westerners. It's basically Bourbon Street, lined with little shops selling hippie clothes and Indian trinkets instead of strip joints and dive bars.

Pahar Ganj has a bit of a reputation. If you've heard some traveler's tale of woe in India, it probably takes place within a couple blocks of where I'm sitting right now. Basically take my post about my arrival in Hampi and change the word "Hampi" for "Pahar Ganj", and you have most people's opinion of the place.

And yet, like many other supposedly intimidating parts of India I've visited, I find it to be completely fine. I got from the train to a hotel without drama. The hotel is cheap, clean, and aside from the lack of a window it's one of the better deals I've found. The trinkets on offer are actually surprisingly cheap and nicer than most similar stuff I've found in other parts of India.

This pretty much sums up my experience in India. Shop owners are trolling for customers. Fresh-Off-The-Plane India newbs are having chavvy little panic attacks. OCD tourists (why did you pick India??) are sitting in sidewalk cafes wiping every drop of tap water off their empty glasses, Because You Can Never Be Too Safe. Rickshaw drivers are wiping the dust and pollution off their windshields. Cows and dogs are munching on leaf bowls (have I talked about those? best invention EVER) in the gutters. And I'm just kicking back eating a jalebi, watching it all unfurl.

I can't believe I have to come home next week.

Behind the Sign

2008-02-23T23:28:00.000-08:00

Quick blog from Amritsar, in the state of Punjab.

I'm staying at the Golden Temple, which is the holiest place in the Sikh religion. It's another one of those situations where you can just FEEL the holiness of the place. It's funny, though. When I wrote about Varanasi, I talked about the difference between what this felt like at St. Peter's Basilica, versus what it felt like there. The Golden Temple is kind of a hybrid of the two. It's incredibly serene and peaceful, and yet people are sort of free to be themselves and act like actual humans.

You see two very fierce looking Khalsa dudes in stark black turbans with huge daggers tucked into them taking their ceremonial dip in the holy pool, and then they call out to their friend on the side, "Hey, don't forget to use the flash!" as he snaps their picture. A very pious and upright family with parents showing their kids the right way to genuflect on the way into the temple, and then the kids skip off, bickering about who gets shotgun on the way home or whatever it is Punjabi kids bicker about, and nobody shushes them or calls out for them to Stop Horsing Around Right This Minute, You Two.

It made me think a lot about the role religion has played in my life, especially growing up. That sense of their being Proper Behavior in a church, and having to sit ramrod straight and silent for upwards of an hour even when I was 4 or 5 years old, listening to a service I couldn't possibly understand. And while I know my parents are reading this, and I don't want to bring up stupid drama, there was this very real sense that if we didn't behave ourselves, we'd get "Taken Behind The Sign", AKA spanked. Basically for being normal kids. It's one of the things that has really put me off the idea of raising my kids in Christianity.

There's no behind the sign at the Golden Temple.

Of course, I've heard plenty of stories about the more brutal aspects of being a Sikh kid from Ranbir. And I certainly don't think being Christian makes your parents assholes, while Sikh parents are shining examples of restraint and positive reinforcement. But people here seem normal and not straight-jacketed into some fakely pious posture, and I think that's very cool. That you're actually allowed to enjoy yourself and be human in a holy place is really refreshing.

~~~

Totally unrelated note, but it was so awesome I have to share: passing through Punjab on the way here yesterday, an all-female cricket team got on my train. They had the compartments adjoining mine, and some of them were ballsy and spoke English and decided to befriend me. I spent the whole rest of the journey crammed into their compartment drinking tea and comparing notes on everything from Bollywood to the position of women in India. The coolest slumber party I've ever attended, by far.

~~~

OK, so this is the real instance of me not knowing when I'll have time to blog again. I'm heading into the home stretch of the trip, where I'll spend a day or two in Agra to see the Taj Mahal and a few other Mughal historical sites, then another day or two in Delhi doing the same and also some last minute shopping and the like, before jetting back down to Bombay to come home. I think I should definitely get to blog in Delhi, but the whole thing is running at such a breakneck pace that I have no idea.

Playing Hooky

2008-02-21T03:57:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting in a mall food court, clutching a plastic bag from a big box store, waiting for my fast food order to be ready. I've just finished watching a movie in a megaplex with stadium seating, cupholders in the armrests, capuccino at the snack bar, the whole package.

What country am I in, again?

Aunt Flo's in town, and my tampon supply is dwindling. Anywhere else this wouldn't necessitate a trip to the mall, but bear with me here. You see, northern India is a man's world. There are very few women even out on the streets here in Lucknow, let alone staffing the counters at corner shops and pharmacies. India in general is not really a self-serve culture - every shop is based on the idea that you walk into the store and ask for what you want, compare several options, and basically develop a relationship with a sales clerk. Who, as I've just said, is invariably male, and the sort of male you find in extremely, ummmm, male dominated sorts of cultures. Crotch grabbing. Leering. Men's men in the worst way. Not the sort of person I want to have an intimate discussion with about my flow, wings or no wings, the merits of the phonebook vs. a slim pantyliner option (thank god tampons are generally unavailable in India...).

Making the whole thing worse, as the only white person in a two mile radius, I'm treated as a minor celebrity anywhere I go. Not only am I going to have to talk girltalk with some tobacco-spitting patriarch, he's going to want to know everything about me, ask me if I know his cousin in Ohio, trade email addresses, and invite me to his daughter's wedding. And forty people on the street are going to crowd around to watch the white girl buy pads. And they're all going to want personal interviews, too, possibly regarding intimate details of my girly bits, because NOTHING is off limits in Indian conversation.

I was feeling a little stressed about this.

And then I noticed the huge billboard for Big Bazaar, which is sort of the Indian answer to Target. Conveniently located a mere two blocks from my hotel. They were sure to have a toiletry section, and I was confident that there would be shelves of options I could access myself, an impersonal checkout lane, and all the things I hate about shopping in America. So I walked over and confronted India's third-largest shopping mall, Sahara Ganj. Named after a desert. How apt.

Big Bazaar was everything I'd hoped for. I grabbed some pads, more mosquito repellent, and headed for the checkout, where I managed to pay and get out with minimal fuss. No intimate chats with strange men who seem to think my face is located between my breasts, and only about 30 entire families gaped in my general direction.

On the way out I realized the mall's movie theater was showing the epic costume drama about the Mughal emperor Akbar that I'd wanted to see. It was starting in 20 minutes, which gave me just enough time to get through security, buy a ticket and a coke, and find my seat.

That's right, I said "get through security." Movies are THE mainstream form of media here in India, which makes them great political targets. And just like America, Indian filmmakers tend to be slightly liberal. This all adds up to mean that anytime some conservative political party gets a bee in its bonnet about the latest blockbuster (too positive towards Muslims! too sexy! X movie star supposedly made Y comment about Z ethnic group!) they send goons to bust up the cinema. Flashy western-style megaplexes are expensive to keep repairing all the time, and the middle class families that patronize them frown upon unsightly displays of terrorism. Thus it's harder to get into a fancy movie theater in India than it is to get into some American airports.

Anyway, after 4 hours of Braveheart meets Sholay meets Pride And Prejudice meets West Side Story (I know!!!), I had worked up an appetite. So I went up to the top floor food court and ordered an Idli and Sambar combo meal at a South Indian stall run by North Indian Sikhs, complete with a huge picture of Guru Nanak on the wall between the soda fountain and the fry-o-lator.

Ah, India!

Memsahib?

2008-02-19T21:56:00.000-08:00

Ummm, so I think I might have just accidentally bribed someone.

Here's the thing. I'm staying in this nice sort of business class hotel, kind of an Indian equivalent of a Holiday Inn (except still mega-cheap, of course). The morning desk manager is a very nice guy, and we got to talking yesterday about his kids, who apparently collect foreign coins. He wanted to know if I happened to have any small change. I gave him the last of my pennies and dimes, which made him happy. Then he asked, "hey, you know, if you have a dollar or something, I'd buy it from you."

It's important to note that India is NOT one of those countries where you can accomplish anything by flashing around some greenbacks. The exchange rate ain't what it used to be, and the rupee is heavily controlled, which makes it somewhat complicated to exchange money (especially if you're just some random Indian who probably doesn't even have a passport). Indians generally don't want your dollars. So I didn't think much of his request for some USD, though I reminded him of the crap exchange rates these days. He still seemed interested - "Oh, it's just for my kids," he said.

I happened to have a couple of one dollar bills stashed away in the bottom of my bag. Too little to bother exchanging, and not really enough to worry about saving for when I get home. So this morning I shoved them in my pocket and brought them down to Mr. Desk Manager. I didn't ask for the 75 or so rupees in return, mainly because I wanted to pay forward that schoolgirl's gift from the other day, and I really believed this was for his kids.

At the same time, I was going down to take care of a minor issue -- I'd wanted to stay in Lucknow for 4 nights, but I was told when I arrived that my room would only be available for 2 nights. My 2 nights were up, and I wanted to find a way to stay on, either by making a deal on a different room, or maybe just getting a recommendation for another hotel with a room available in my price range (Due to the lack of backpackers, Lucknow hotels aren't cheap). I really meant to settle this issue honestly.

But after handing off my $2, suddenly the manager insisted that there was no problem, I could keep my room at the agreed rate, I was an honored guest in his country, it was his dharma to make sure my stay was as comfortable as possible, and did I need a newspaper or perhaps a rickshaw for some sightseeing?

I went from "grubby tightwad gora" to "anything you want, madam" in about 2 seconds. And I can't figure out what, aside from the money, did this. Even though, of course, it's really not that much money, even here in India. 75 rupees is enough to see a movie, take the wife and kids out for ice cream, something like that. If you even bothered to exchange it.

But all the same, I'm feeling really conflicted about it. Was it wrong to give this guy dollars? It wasn't meant as a tip or a bribe - I genuinely believed him when he said his kids collected foreign coins, and I wanted to spread some of the generosity people in India have shown me. I'm feeling especially weird about it because Lucknow is the first place where I've really had to confront the "rich whitey" stereotype head on. Since this city sees so few westerners, and most who come here are package tourists staying in 5 star hotels, people feel fine extorting me for money. I don't use that word lightly, either. What else is it when someone who doesn't speak English decides you should give him 200 for reciting an inaccurate and unintelligible shpeil in your general direction at a historical monument, after you repeatedly told him you didn't want a guide?

Especially freaky is when you deny them and they actually have the chutzpah to say "madam, you are very rich, and I am very poor..." or "you are from rich country", or similar. I mean, it's true. Even as someone who's pretty poor in the US, what I'm spending on this trip is several times what the average Indian makes in a year. 200 rupees is really not that much for me. At home it's about what I'd spend on a whim at Starbucks. If I dropped $5 on the street in New York, I wouldn't be that broken up about it.

My sense of indignation is more about the principle of the thing, and then of course there's my sense of shame at even feeling put out. It's wrong for them to harrass me about it, but it also feels wrong not to give. And then on the other hand it's wrong to give, for a whole host of reasons I won't get into here. The whole thing really annoys me, more for the mental gymnastics it induces than anything else.

2008-02-18T03:51:00.000-08:00

Leaving Banaras today, I'm feeling sentimental. Tempted to wax romantic about What India Is About. The sort of thing I hate when other people write -- before the last few days my response to this was to call bullshit; India is a country, just like any other. It has more than its share of fascinating culture, religion, history, art, wildlife, etc. but it's just a place, and the people are just people, and beyond that you can't make generalizations. There's no particular magic, or spirit, or flavor, or grand theory of all India.

After Banaras I'm not so sure anymore. The last few days I've been charmed, then stripped of my defenses, then blessed, then cut raw, then witnessed minor miracles, the literally gored by a bull (I survived intact except for a really great bruise - I guess milk really does a body good after all), then grinning ear to ear, then cursing this whole damn country and the billion people in it, then awed by generosity and hospitality.

The bad stuff: Spending an entire day lost and at the mercy of ruthless brutes, the possibility of severe financial emergency, a scary situation that involved me wandering the dark and deserted streets of the old city after midnight, the incident with the bull, getting chased by feral dogs, almost being late for my train due to some idiot "sadhu" trying to sell me the prayer beads off his own wrist for 500 rupees (only about $12 US, but a fortune here), constantly feeling betrayed and lost in translation even when doing simple things like trying to buy a goddamn coke on a hot afternoon, and to top it all off aborted calls home in the world's dirtiest and most confusing train station.

The good stuff: Getting rescued by about 30 good samaritans, the financial emergencies turning out to be pretty minor, surviving the bull experience, stumbling on the very shop selling the pretty wooden toy I'd admired in my friend Kiran's bedroom in Kolkata, having the ends of my kurta nibbled by baby goats, running into an old friend from Flux Factory on the way to breakfast, staying up till all hours shooting the shit on the roof while substances holy to various religions made the rounds, and at the end of it all, bonding with a girl named Anjali over the insane weight of my pack, and actually being given a gift by her (a tiny glittering sculpture of Radha and Krishna) when I had nothing but a laugh to give in return.

Going from being threatened and swindled by a so-called holy man to being handed a goodbye present by a schoolgirl in the space of an hour is enough to bring about an existential awakening in anyone, right?

I had written a whole passage this morning on the train about a lost little girl in the train station. In hindsight, I think it's too soppy and even new agey to put up here. But the whole thing did really make me think about a few things I've needed to think about for a long time.

On a more business related note, Internet contact from me might be spotty for the next week or so. I'm in Lucknow now (now now now), which is a city that, even though it's full of amazing historical stuff and beautiful architecture, is really not set up for foreign tourism at all. So far I've discovered one internet cafe, which luckily is near my hotel, but I won't be as connected here as I have been when there's a place to check email on every corner, as there has been everywhere else in India until now. After Lucknow I'm headed for a very quick trip up to Amritsar, in Punjab, which may be so quick I might not get a chance to blog again until I get to Agra or Delhi about a week from now (Taj Mahal, squeee!). So don't worry if you don't hear from me, I'm probably fine. If I'm not, then you'll DEFINITELY hear from me.

Wow. I can't believe how fast this trip is flying by now...

Jinxed

2008-02-16T04:01:00.000-08:00

OK, so right after I finished blogging this morning, I set off to run a few very routine errands I'd been putting off. I needed to mail a couple packages (here's lookin' at you, Gillian!), hit an ATM, finalize some travel details, buy new batteries for my flashlight, and try to touch base with my friend Bharati to see if she wants to do lunch or something when I'm back in her neck of the woods before heading back to the states.

I spent the next several hours lost in the winding alleys I had just finished praising. I never even got all the way to the post office.

To be honest, most of the fault lies with my guest house. Here's a good hint for anyone thinking of going into the hospitality industry. If you put a big sign announcing that no residents of the country you operate in (lets say, for instance, Indians) need apply, you should assume that 9 out of 10 guests will be foreigners with little or no experience with navigating your city (and who likely don't speak the local language, don't know who to trust, etc). This means that places you think are really easy to find may not seem that way to your guests. This is especially true when a guest comes to you for advice about how to get somewhere or accomplish something, already accounting for the fact that she will have a certain degree of trouble.

It IS your problem when your guests spend an entire day wandering around in circles trying to find something you told them was a really easy 5 minute walk. This is especially true when you charge triple the going rate for the services you provide. This isn't the fricking Motel 6, if you get my meaning. And it is SOOOOOO not cool when, after a guest lets you know about how she spent her day, you just shrug and say "sorry, not my problem."

I know, I know, this is India, people are crude and callous, get over it. I am, pretty much. I just need to vent (and yes, mom, everything is pretty much OK with me, don't worry!). Though I have to say that so far, I've paid next to nothing for places to stay, and yet every single member of the staff at every single guest house has been nothing but fair, kind, and helpful. It doesn't really take that much. I didn't expect above and beyond service - just good advice. I'd have happily paid some exorbitant amount for them to arrange a rickshaw, or to give one of their guys the relevant info and have him take care of it.

Bleh. Of course, I still love Varanasi and still vow to come back. I'll just stay at little 200 rupee holes in the wall when I return, and never trust nobody 'bout nothin'.

I Left My Heart In Varanasi

2008-02-15T22:04:00.000-08:00

OK, so, remember that time I was in Goa and I was all like, "well, guys, I don't think I'm ever coming home..."? Well this time it's for REAL. I mean, I obviously will be coming back as planned, having as I do a flight lined up, a job to go back to (yeehaw! thank you WGA!), a limited amount of money, a visa that will eventually expire, etc.

But I really and truly have fallen in love with Banaras. As of right now, if someone walked up to me and offered to pay me a living wage and sponsor a work visa for me to stay here and do something interesting, I would jump at the chance. I do not want to leave here. A tiny part of me has even considered canceling all my further train tickets, moving to a cheaper guesthouse, and spending the rest of the trip in Banaras. Only the headache of getting refunds on my 5 or 6 remaining tickets (or losing a big chunk of change) is preventing it.

I want to write everything I think about Varanasi, but I can't put much of it into words. I can't even tell you why I'm so charmed by it. I'll admit that one aspect is spiritual. Not so much that I've decided I want to be Hindu (not that I could unless it was some offshoot designed for outsiders, like Osho or the Hare Krishnas). It's similar to the way I've felt in certain parts of Rome. I don't want to be Catholic, but there's a presence, a stillness, which tells me god is there. Except with Varanasi it's the opposite, the presence is movement, life. Which jibes much more with my own personal beliefs, which may explain why I'm so drawn to this place. It's New Orleans, if New Orleans was a few milennia older and the center of one of the world's oldest religions. This is about as close as I get to the sort of religious experience I promised I was not going to India in search of.

There's also my history buff side, which likes Banaras because it just feels so damn old. Of course, structurally, the city is younger than most other "old" cities, because it's been rebuilt so many times. It's more about the layout of the streets, the sounds, the smells, the people, the animals, etc. Walking the streets makes me wonder if this is what medieval Europe felt like, or Jerusalem at the time of Christ.

Most of the streets are narrow alleyways about the size of the hallway of a Lower East Side tenement, packed with tiny shops which mainly sell religious items, when they don't sell silk or much more mundane things like tea in disposable terracotta cups, paan, or sweets. Most streets have open sewers on each side, though it's no more disgusting than the gutters of Bourbon Street on a Saturday night, when you think about it. There's very little vehicular traffic; instead the streets are crowded with a parade of pilgrims, cows, running children, hawkers and touts, holy men, and beggars. The whole scene is lit by whatever sunlight can penetrate the tall buildings and narrow alleys during the day, and the fires under pots of boiling tea and pans of boiling jalebis at night. Wherever you are in the old city you can hear hymns being sung, conch shell horns and bells, goats bleating, cows lowing, and the chanting of a thousand mantras. In the midst of all this, little boys fly kites, mothers nurse babies, young couples grin conspiratorially, and everyone talks on cell phones. Even the gurus.

It shocks me that, in another month, I'll be back at my desk in Chelsea, staring at a computer screen all day and bickering about whether to order Thai or sushi for lunch. I have to come back here.

Life is just a bowl of palak paneer

2008-02-15T01:31:00.000-08:00

So I'm here in Varanasi, and everything's seemingly fine. I'm not in love with my guesthouse, though more because they're anal and my room is at the top of 4 flights of amazingly steep stairs than because there's actually anything wrong.

I have to say I'm starting to understand why people who come to the northern part of India have such freaked out first reactions to the country. Arriving here today (my first classically "North Indian" city on the tourist trail), I saw a lot of the things I expected to see when I got here and notably didn't. Very, very dirty, dusty, and polluted. Extremely crowded. Crazy traffic. Slums. Beggars. Really blatant touts. Of course, having been here more than a month already none of it affected me in the way it does someone who's been in India for 2 or 3 days and seen ONLY this. I've seen this stuff already, just not as intensely, and also seen a lot of beauty and kindness, too.

Varanasi is amazing. It has a similar vibe to the main village part of Hampi, but exponentially, well, MORE (good news - my guesthouse is one of the easiest to find in the whole city, so I can't really get too lost). Funny, I thought it would be way more crowded. Maybe it's the time of day -- I got in around noon and have been settling in, eating lunch, and exploring in the intervening 3 hours. It seems shockingly empty to me. Emptier even than Darjeeling was, and it's low season there right now. There are also a lot more white people around than I thought there would be.

I've already had to walk by the main burning ghat, which is right next to my hotel. Couldn't bring myself to look around too much; there are some things I just don't want to see. I could feel the heat, though.

Copacetic

2008-02-13T04:46:00.000-08:00

And, as usual, everything's going to pretty much be OK. Of course, I'm still stuck with two super-long train journeys when one would have been enough. But I have a seat on the train back down to Kolkata tomorrow morning. Which was the main bit of stress. I've also booked a room at a hotel in Varanasi which is supposed to be one of the nicer affordable ones in town, so I should have a pretty soft landing. It's not like I have to traipse through the streets trying to find a place to stay.

In other news, I'm spending the night in the railway station itself, in what's called a "retiring room", which is an extremely basic hotel-type room with a bed and my own bathroom. I'd put it about comparable to staying in a youth hostel - kind of gross, but it does the job.

Indian train stations are basically the opposite of American ones (or American transit points of any stripe). Rather than being a totally shady place where very little is actually available and what is ends up being way overpriced, Indian train stations are actually sort of a respite from the big dark scary world out there. There are good restaurants. A nice place to wait, often with a shower (especially if you are female -- there are special "Ladies' Waiting Rooms" in every station). Bedrooms to sleep in if you have an early train or you get in at like 4AM or something. Stalls selling everything from bottled water to local handicrafts. Usually a bookshop or at least a newsstand with all the big national papers (I've grown partial to the Telegraph, but I'll take the Times of India in a pinch).

Hilariously, people working for the railway and in the stations actually speak better English than most employees of the MTA in New York.

What I'm Nervous About Part 2

2008-02-11T05:36:00.000-08:00

OK, so on Wednesday and Thursday I have one of the more harrowing journeys of the trip. Most of the reason it's so complicated and annoying is that I didn't get my ass in gear and book the tickets when I was supposed to. Lesson to all of you. If you want to spend months traveling overland all over a foreign country, and you actually have things you want to see and do (as opposed to bumming around from backpacker chillout spot to backpacker chillout spot), BOOK YOUR TICKETS WELL IN ADVANCE. The other backpackers will be all laissez faire about it, "Oh, don't worry, man, it's easy to get tickets whenever..." They are full of shit (or more correctly, on their own trip that doesn't apply to you).

Anyway.

Wednesday morning bright and early, I'm taking a teensy and slow little steam train from Darjeeling down the mountains to Kurseong. This is something I inflicted on myself, but I'm really excited because I think it's going to be really beautiful. This is the train I described as a poncey heritage train the other day. Who cares, I love poncey "heritage" stuff. Who am I kidding? From Kurseong, I'll get another jeep back down to Siliguri to spend the night. Which doesn't thrill me, as Siliguri is basically just a transit point and I wish I didn't have to spend that much time there. But it's necessary, because...

Circa 7AM the following morning, if I'm lucky, I will be getting on a train back to Kolkata. I say "if I'm lucky" because this is the train I waited way too long to book and thus ended up waitlisted. Right now I'm 8th on the list, up 9 places from yesterday, and I have another day and a half to go. Chances are good I'll get a seat, but still, you know how much I love to worry about things.

The main reason I'm so worried about it and not just thinking "Oh, well, whatever, I'll get where I'm going somehow..." is that I have to get this train in order to make ANOTHER train Thursday night from Kolkata to Varanasi. Again, this is a train that (while at least I have a ticket!) I got stuck with because I didn't plan ahead. There's fully a train that goes directly between Siliguri and Varanasi -- it was just completely and totally sold out by the time I got off my ass and tried to book something. So I'm taking twice the time and 3 times the stress to get from point A to point B, all because I was stupid and listened to backpackers in Goa who were all "chill out, man, you'll totally get whatever train you want, whenever..."

And of course this is how I'm traveling to Varanasi (AKA Benares), which is definitely on the list of Top 5 Most Stressful Places In India. It has a reputation amongst travelers, at least, of being crowded, filthy, full of grifters and con artists, and incredibly intense. And this is where I want to go after 2 straight days of the most stressful traveling?

This is going to be an interesting few days... I think I'm just going to brace myself for the worst and keep repeating the folloing mantra -- I Can Leave Anytime I Want*.

~~~~

* That's "leave" as in go somewhere else, not go home. Are you crazy? Why would I cut my whole trip short because I was tired and hungry and lost and accidentally saw some half-cremated body parts in the river?

One More Thing

2008-02-11T03:12:00.000-08:00

Before I sign off and pay what is sure to be a gargantuan internet cafe bill.

Tried the butter tea. It was surprisingly good. Like a cup of half lovely milky tea, half chicken stock. Which sounds gross. But it was good, I promise. The only problem is that it's so rich I can only drink one small cup, and restaurants here only sell it by the pot. Which causes me to become completely tightfisted and decide I must finish the whole thing. Which causes digestive trauma for the next 24 hours.

Now That I Have That Out Of My System

2008-02-11T01:27:00.000-08:00

Omigod omigod OH MY GOD.

Guess what I saw today.

This is amazing, even considering that I have virtually no interest whatsoever in Tibetan Buddhism outside of idle and semi-ethnological curiosity.

Today I saw, up close and personal, individually, the Tibetan Book Of The Dead.

The One. The real, 100% bona fide original handwriten version.

Not in a museum or at a special show at the NY Public Library. Not a really amazing reproduction. Not in a line of fawning whiteys waiting to go listen to the Dalai Lama speak or take a Transcendental Meditation course. Me, the feeble old Lama who runs the monastery, our breath hanging in the air*, and le book.

OK, let's rewind.

So I was skimming the Lonely Planet's list of things to do in and around Darjeeling. Tea estates, Tibetan handicraft collectives, the godawful idea** of a 4AM drive out to Tiger Hill to watch the sun rise over Kanchenjunga. In a list of the dozen or so Tibetan gompas in surrounding villages, there was a sentence or two about the Bhutia Busty Monastery (I know, here we go again with the unfortunate names). Something about nice murals, and the place was actually within walking distance of the center of town, unlike the rest which involved daytrips. There might have been a mention of the book, but it was directly followed by "but it's off limits and nobody can see it so don't bother mmmkay?"

I headed down towards the gompa, thinking it would basically be a nice walk in the mountains, with the gompa a good stopping point in the middle, some cool Himalayan photo ops, and a stop at one of those Tibetan handicraft workshops on the way back. Good way to spend a damp and chilly Darjeeling afternoon.

The walk really was beautiful, and I managed to warm up a little and get some good pictures. I didn't even get lost (or fall off the side of the mountain) on the steep and winding footpaths. I got to the gompa, and it seemed to be pretty much what I expected. Interesting architecture and artwork, and a wonderfully atmospheric place to catch my breath before schlepping back up the mountain.

There were some monks playing badminton (Priceless!) in the yard, and after a polite "Namaste" I asked them if it was true that the original Book of the Dead was kept inside. Monosyllabic affirmative between volleys. "Do you think it's possible to see it?" Monosyllabic negative between volleys. "Oh, OK. Well namaste, then..." And I headed for another pass around the side of the monastery to make sure I'd gotten a good look at all the paintings of demons and boddhisatvas and such. On my way out, I nodded in greeting to a woman who looked to be a devotee. She looked me up and down, turned around and called out something in Tibetan***. An old man dressed in secular clothes came out and stopped me. "Wait here. I go get keys."

I had no idea what I was going to see. More Tibetan art? Just the quotidian, if neat looking, grounds of the lamasery? Even if what he wanted to show me was boring, I'd never actually been inside a Tibetan gompa before and thus it seemed silly to pass up the oppurtunity.

He came back with a set of keys and asked me to take off my shoes on the porch. When I was stockingfooted on the frigid stone, he opened an ornately carved and painted wooden door and we went into the inner sanctum of the monastery. There was a huge shrine in the center, with the requisite huge statue of Buddha, as well as piles of what looked like fancy shaped puris, white scarves, and other offerings*4. There was a big garlanded photo of the Dalai Lama, and smaller photos of some other important lamas I'm not too familiar with. Amazing gold and silver flecked murals covered the walls, and every surface was painted with auspicious charms. There were smaller shrines with other statues in different corners of the room, and the pillars in the center were covered with Thangkas*5.

This is the part where I start kicking myself for knowing approximately nothing about Buddhist art or iconography - trying to explain what I saw is like coming across the Mona Lisa in someone's attic and describing it as "a pretty nice portrait".

Along the wall on either side of the main shrine were glassed in cupboards containing dozens of identical bundles that sort of looked like bricks wrapped in fabric. I assumed they were more offerings or some symbolic item of little interest to me.

After taking me to different parts of the room and explaining all of the art as best he could in his limited English, as well as the history of the lamasery and his own family's role in its upkeep - apparently he's the direct descendent of caretaker monks who've maintained the gompa since it was built in 1760 - the man who I had by then learned was named Purva Lama (probably mispelled) and despite the civvies really is a Buddhist lama - turned to the glass cupboards.

"This is our sacred book. 100% original."

About a third of his statements about the murals, paintings, sculptures, ritual objects, etc. were followed by this clarification, which is actually important here in India where religious practitioners think nothing of replacing beautiful and ancient devotional artwork with shoddy reproductions in acrylic house paint, brass, or concrete.

"Achcha*6! I've heard about this! This is the original, then?" So much for the Lonely Planet's warning and the badminton-playing monks' denial.

He repeated his catchphrase. "Our book has been kept at this lamasery since it was brought here from Lhasa in 1682. Of course there were no cars or planes back then, so it was carried on horseback and by porters all the way from Tibet. My family have been keepers of the book since then."

He opened one of the cupboard doors with a key and took out one of the bundles, which I could now tell definitely weren't bricks but stacks of manuscript pages about the size of a postcard or 35 millimeter snapshot, carefully wrapped in the same white silk scarves that draped the main shrine. This, and its 100-odd mates, was the real "100% Original" Tibetan Book Of The Dead.

Understandably, Purva Lama couldn't open the bundles to show me the individual pages. Maybe if I were a fellow monk, or if I had demonstrated a huge level of knowledge and interest in Buddhism, I could have convinced him. But if they unwrapped a hunk of sacred manuscript for every silly gora who happened by on her way to look at shawls, there soon wouldn't be any 100% Original book left, because sunlight and damp air and the oils in our hands would erase the whole thing, or break down the paper, or whatever it is that happens to incredibly ancient manuscripts when they're out in the open for anybody to paw at.

After talking a little more about the book, he replaced the bundle in its niche and closed the glass doors of the cupboard. He showed me some other rooms containing more shrines and art, and after a little idle chatter I put my shoes back on and headed uphill and on my way. And that's how I came to see the "100% Original" Tibetan Book Of The Dead.

~~~~

* It's COLD here! Have I mentioned that yet?

** Maybe if every single morning I've been north of Kolkata hadn't been completely opaque with mist - I'm lucky if I can see my breakfast, let alone a faroff mountain range, and if I'm getting up at 3:30 AM I want guaranteed payoff.

*** I think? I'm back in a part of India where I'm never sure what language people are speaking.

*4 Even including packets of cookies still in their flashy plastic wrappers, which is a refreshing approach coming from a religion where our offerings aren't commercially available at the corner bodega.

*5 Incredibly ornate devotional paintings which are done on paper and mounted on silk hangings.

*6 Hindi for "good", which is a garden variety way of saying "OK", "Thanks", "That's fine", "Oh, really?" and the like in most parts of India.

Is there anybody out there?

2008-02-11T01:16:00.000-08:00

Ummm, so I've noticed a distinct lack of comments over the last several weeks. Is anybody still reading this? I know I didn't write for a while, but reallyit was, what, a week? Cmon, people.

You don't all have to leave a comment for every entry or anything, but I'd like to know someone other than the occasional ad bot is seeing this...

I'm not sure whether I'd keep this thing up if I knew absolutely nobody other than myself was reading it. On the one hand, I mainly had the idea because I wanted to keep the many worried folks out there apprised of what's going on with me -- if I post glowing praise of Bengali sweets and/or Kashmiri shawls once in a while, you won't worry that I've contracted cholera or fallen off the side of a temple. On the other hand, it's a nice way of documenting my trip and really holding myself to writing down the things I've seen, done, eaten, learned, and felt. It'll be really cool to go back in a year and read all this.

Darjeeling, Unlimited

2008-02-10T00:32:00.000-08:00

I'd like to preface this post by saying that, in case anybody was wondering, there is not only no such train as the Darjeeling Limited, but A) trains in India are only ever known as Local, Express or Mail, and B) the only train that runs to Darjeeling is a poncey "heritage" line that only passes through a few villages in northern West Bengal (thus avoiding Rajasthan entirely). There is, however, a Darjeeling Mail (which was sold out so I took the Kamrup Express) Take that, Wes Anderson.

OK, now on to the real entry. This is gonna be a long one, so hang on to your hats. This one's for Ranbir, who keeps emailing me and telling me to write.

~~~~

It was one of those hot, muggy urban afternoons from Heck. My overpriced Kolkata taxi dropped me not at the entrance to Howrah station (to banal, I guess), but in some side alley choked with beggars and hawkers, forcing me to extend the Backpacker Walk Of Shame (i.e. anytime I'm encumbered with my backpack in a public place, thus attracting all the wrong sorts of attention) all the way from said alley to the Howrah Ladies' Waiting Room. Which, of course, the attendants were ruling with an iron fist. Five rupees to the ladies-room wallah for the pleasure of peeing in a half-flooded, reeking, and shit-spattered hole in the ground; a humiliating rebuke from the Waiting Rooms Nazi for trying to sneak into the air conditioned Upper Class Waiting Room (off limits to second-class-traveling riffraff like yours truly). On top of all this, I had a blinding sinus headache after 4 days breathing in almost pure car exhaust. Which serves me right for admiring the picturesquely septugenarian Ambassador taxis that dominate Kolkata traffic.

Thankfully my train arrived on time, and before I had a chance to piss a hissy fit I was ensconced in my upper berth drinking chai and reading Anna Karenina. I set the alarm for 6 (NOBODY on an Indian train is going to wake you when your stop is coming up) drifted off to sleep at a respectable hour.

My alarm goes off, and I wake up. I'm thankful every time this happens, not because it ever doesn't, but because the last thing I want is to wake up in Shillong, facing a huge fine for railway ticket fraud, not to mention the wrath of the military for going into Meghalaya without the proper Inner Line Permit. I get my stuff together, brush my teeth, and look out the window. Fog so thick I can't see the edges of the track. We arrive at Siliguri a few minutes later, and I have to ask directions to get out of the station because the fog is so bad I can't read the signs. Thankfully my bike rickshaw driver is used to it and manages to pedal me safely to the other end of town where the land rovers headed for Darjeeling congregate. After a quick breakfast of puri and subzi (that's fried chappati and more vegetable curry/stew/stuff, a north Indian counterpart to the bhaji pao I had in Goa) and the ubiquitous chai, we're off into the mountains.

By "we" I mean me and my 15-odd fellow land rover passengers. Seriously. 4 in the front, for in the back seat, an indeterminantly huge family on jump seats in the trunk, and (I fricken Kid You Not) one brave soul clinging to the luggage rack on the roof. This makes the 3-person nuclear family that typically cruises around in comparably sized SUV's in the US seem obscene.

With a couple kilometers behind us (note: I refuse to become one of those assholes who says "klicks". ew. kilometers they will remain), the fog is replaced with a view so amazing I can't come up with a flippant way to describe it here. It's the Amalfi coast, with many of the same tropes from my Goa arrival entry (livestock, general stores, kids playing cricket), and a dash of suicidal tendencies. We drive past tea plantations and elite boarding schools with names out of a Bronte novel. The road is bound by a mossy stone wall on one side and a sheer drop halfway down the Himalayas on the other. "Road"is a much too fancy word for the ridged and pitted surface we're driving on. Hence the SUV as mandatory mode of transportation.

The six year old girl in the back starts puking out the window. We stop for a rest at a roadside chai stand (have I mentioned that in India, it's always time for chai?). Moments later a convoy of jeeps bearing Gorkha separatists joins us. They brandish the Gorkha flag and shout slogans like "Gorkhaland Zindabad!" (which is, ironically enough, a mix of English and Hindustani, and thus the language of the evil oppressor, but whatever gets the message across, right?) I feel like an extra in the movie version of The Inheritance of Loss. They're not armed or even particularly mean looking, so I don't feel the urge to bail on Darjeeling.

Back in the car, we ascend another thousand feet or so and break through the clouds, revealing my first taste of the five-peaked mountain called Kanchenjunga, the third highest mountain in the world. Yes, Lyle, THAT Kanchenjunga, and it looks a zillion times better in person than on your toothpaste label.

Arriving in Darjeeling, things got a little hairy when the land rover dropped everyone across town from my hotel (this trip is full of these annoying realizations, which somehow the Lonely Planet always fails to mention). Darjeeling is a pretty big place, composed of knotted uphill alleyways which aren't labeled and seem to generally act as wormholes (Oh, hm, how on earth did I get here?). There was no way I was going to find my guesthouse on foot carrying this pack uphill on these streets. The only option was to pay a van an exhorbitant amount of money to get me two minutes up the road to the Maple Tourist Lodge.

What I found when I arrived more than made up for the highway robbery. I'd called ahead from Kolkata to reserve a place, and was told the room would be 170 rupees a night. Way too good to be true. I thought I must have misunderstood (always a possibility here where Indians say "fifteen" and "fifty" identically), or that maybe he meant $170, which would be absolutely out of the question. But it turned out that not only was 170 correct, the place was gorgeous and clean and everything you'd want in a hill station guesthouse, except of course for central heat.

And it gets better. Not only was I paying only $4.25 a night to stay in this lovely old mansion smack-dab on the side of the Himalayas, but due to some minor administrative mixup they were upgrading me to a nicer room and still charging me only 170.

After a hot shower in my palatial Himalayan suite (ok, minor hyperbole but seriously this room is half the size of my whole apartment in New York...), I headed out into town for my first taste of the local specialty, Tibetan cuisine. Northern West Bengal is a huge center for Tibetan Buddhist refugees, and regardless of what the local cuisine used to be like pre-exile, it's now been completely taken over, much in the way that bland Anglo pioneer grub (anyone for salt pork?) was replaced by Mexican in Texas. There are a few Tibetan restaurants in New York, so I'm familiar with the basics. But the real thing, only a few hundred miles from its natural habitat, cooked by and for Tibetans, is KILLER. Especially in this cold damp weather.

The main concept is warm hearty comfort food. Momos are the Tibetan take on Chinese dumplings, except not as pork-centric. Then there's thugkpa, which is a garlicky soup full of huge thick noodles and piles of greens. You can get chicken thugkpa as well, but there's a Bird Flu scare going on here in West Bengal, so no thanks. And of course you can't walk two steps in Darjeeling without drinking tea. Chai isn't as popular here, because the locally grown tea here is just way, way too good to drown in spices. It would be like making sangria with Chateauneuf du Pape. With my first few Tibetan meals I've been having just plain straightforward Darjeeling, because I'm a little afraid to try the tea the locals are famous for: salted butter tea. No, that's not a euphemism for anything - it's really tea with butter and salt. I will take the plunge and report back, I promise. Another thing I want to try, which is never on the menu at the New York places because it's a little weird for American tastes, is tsampa, which I think is supposed to be either a sort of porridge or gruel (Like I said, never on menus in the US, so I'm not sure). Luckily there are dozens of Tibetan restaurants here in Darjeeling, and I still have 3 more days here. I'm sure I'll get a chance to try everything and still have room for all the momos in the world.

Another thing Darjeeling is famous for is its status as a British hill station. For the uninitiated, hill stations are the result of the British colonialists' absolute abhorrence (to a superstitious level) of hot weather. Rather than, you know, actually adapt (would they be colonialists if they had?), they went all over the subcontinent finding places that were vaguely reminiscent of Britain in climate and landscape, and setting up resorts they called hill stations. Darjeeling fit the bill beautifully, and even better proved to be a great place to grow tea and a strategic base for military and espionage due to being right on the border of Tibet, Bhutan, Nepal, and dozens of other little Himalayan kingdoms the British wanted to colonize. So there's this serious Raj nostalgia vibe, even now that the whole town has become a popular vacation spot for middle class Indians.

I've tended to avoid this sort of thing in India - reading the Lonely Planet and other backpacker/tourist literature, I get the sense that Brits and other Europeans really get off on the Raj-esque aspects of India, especially the sahib/memsahib game. Want to rent a moped but don't have a license? That's what bribes are for, silly! Kolkata wouldn't be Kolkata without the foot-powered rickshaws! I simply won't eat "curry" for breakfast; why can't These People eat toast and jam like everyone else? So I've resisted anything that seemed too colonial.

And then I got to Kolkata, where I was dragged by my very middle class hosts to their country club to drink G&T's, eat steak, and take in some Oscar Wilde. I got over the whole OMG That's So Colonial attitude very quickly. The bottom line is that all the starchiest institutions of British India have been completely co-opted by ordinary everyday Indians. 21st century India is the only place in the world where a traumatic family story about Partition will be followed in the next breath by "Do have more marmalade, darling."

So here in Darjeeling, while I don't think I'll be taking high tea at The Planters' Club, I've stopped being hung up about having shortbread and regular "black" tea sometimes instead of jalebis and chai, or using toilet paper when the mood strikes, or staying in a beautiful gingerbread house of a hotel. I think I'm becoming more comfortable as a gora in India.

Jackpot

2008-02-09T01:34:00.000-08:00

I'll write more about Darjeeling tomorrow or the next day when I actually have something meaningful to say, but I just wanted to brag about one thing.

My hotel.

OMIGOD.

200 year old mansion with wood floors, fireplaces, cool old furniture, himalayan views, etc. outside the hustle and bustle of the main commercial center. (not to mention things like hot water and piles of wooly blankets and thick duvets).

The price? Rs 170, AKA $4.25, per night.

God I love India...

Complacency

2008-02-06T22:32:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting here in an internet cafe in the middle of Kolkata. For the first time in a long while, the internet seems to be working well and I have plenty of free time to type my hands off.

And I find myself with nothing to say. I have now been in India for almost exactly a month. Most of the picturesque stuff is sort of business as usual to me at this point. Yes yes, goats on a city street, ancient Ambassador taxis, chai wallahs, beautiful temples and history and art. All that is very nice. But I've talked about it.

Nothing terribly exciting on the culinary front, though I have had some lovely home cooking (including eating rather more meat than I should be considering I've been "vegetarian" going on 6 months now). Friends are showing me a very good time. I'm learning a lot more about Indian art, politics, culture, and general outlook than I'm ever able to in remote spots where "George Bush very bad man!" is a high point of conversation.

Kolkata and Pune are interesting Indian cities to me, because both are similarly sort of un-Indian. In Pune I hung out in bars that could easily pass for any Tigerland hangout in Baton Rouge, down to Superbowl coverage on the TV. Tonight in Kolkata I'm seeing a play by Oscar Wilde. This is the "New India". It's much easier for me to move through than Hampi or Agonda were. Streets and addresses are clearly labeled, taxi and rickshaw rides involve metered fares. Everyone wears jeans and converse sneakers. I could easily live in either city. But adventures have been few and far between, and thus there isn't really much to say.

Veni vidi vici?

--

I was about to hit the "publish post" button, when the guy out on the sidewalk selling cheapo bamboo flutes just busted out with the theme song from Dhoom. Which is only going to be funny for people who know Bollywood (Dhoom is an Indian equivalent of The Fast And The Furious, complete with rockin' techno/hiphop soundtrack). But it kind of sums up my last week or so.

I'm Still Alive, I Promise

2008-02-05T04:59:00.001-08:00

Sorry it's been a while. Something great is in the works, I promise. There are two major reasons I haven't been blogging this past week or so. Reason #1 is that I've been staying with friends in Pune and here in Kolkata, and this makes it harder to find the time to stop into an internet cafe (or worse, commandeer their computer) and blog my heart out. It also makes for a slightly less eventful trip, because I don't have my standard fare of dirty guesthouses to fall back on. I've had luxuries like indoor plumbing for the last week, and I've been seriously schooled about how to deal with taxi and/or rickshaw drivers. Which eliminates a lot of my standard material...

Reason #2 is one of those "just my luck" things -- several major fiberoptic lines have been cut in the Arabian sea (I think?), making the internet really, really slow across the subcontinent. Which makes even checking my email a huge headache, let alone blogging, facebook, keeping up with the news, etc. This is OK, though, because again, I've been with friends who are wonderful and protective and really know their stuff, meaning that if anything were to happen, I would be well taken care of (cutting down on the urgency of being in online contact with you guys).

Anyway, Pune was super fun, and I'm having a blast in Kolkata. I've got my fingers crossed for Obama today...

On The Road Again

2008-01-29T01:16:00.000-08:00

With Hampi closing to tourists as of tomorrow, I find myself on the move. This morning I woke up still feeling really woozy, and thus nervous about my upcoming 4 hour "chicken bus" ride to Hubli, a transit hub in northern Karnataka from which I'll get an overnight train to my next stop, Pune.

The bus went OK, aside from the fact that there was no luggage storage and I had to hug my backpack the entire time. But we made pretty good time and nothing dysentery related happened (although, again, if this is dysentery I either have the biggest tolerance for pain ever or a Guinness Book level immune system; I'm just being silly when I say 'dysentery'). In fact, I actually felt BETTER after 4 hours bouncing around trying to keep hold of my backpack. Weird.

Hubli is the closest to "real" India I've come so far. I put it in quotes because personally I think all of India is "real", and find it demeaning (towards Indians) when travelers say that such-and-such place isn't "really" India. I mean, nobody in America says "Oh, New York isn't REALLY America..." Some of the places I've been have been easier to deal with, downright touristy, or culturally different from the elephants-and-monkeys INDIA (tm) we all know from movies and storybooks.

Anyway, Hubli is about the closest to the Real Thing you can get, in terms of what archetypal backpackers term "real India". Nobody speaks English (in fact the local language is something I can't make heads or tails of at all, which made finding the bathroom at the bus station interesting; my sympathy for immigrants in the USA has grown by leaps and bounds this morning). No white people. No restaurants with huge menus full of omelets, pasta, and the like. Signs are written in Kannada only, with no latin-alphabet transliteration. The people at the Hampi bus station kept thinking I was getting on the wrong bus, because no white people ever come this way. I'm actually getting stared at by everyone because, here, I'm as freakish as a woman in a sari with a huge nose ring and armfulls of bangles would be in a greasy spoon diner in the middle of Kansas.

A lot of backpackers complain about being stared at when they head off the beaten track; I think it's cool because that way I can stare back!

Oregon Trail Moment

2008-01-27T22:18:00.000-08:00

I just want everyone reading this to know that if you travel to a 'developing' country, and your guidebook warns you not to eat raw produce unless either you have peeled it or watched some clean and reputable person peel it in front of you, you should definitely believe it.

About a tablespoon of diced tomato just laid me low for an entire day. I'm fine now, and I'm now armed with some lovely antibiotics just in case it comes back or happens again (though I've obviously learned my lesson).

It feels very Oregon Trail -- Sara has dysentery. Would you like to rest for one day? Y/N?

Though I'm aware that the extremely short duration and relative mildness of the illness implies it's not actual dysentery. But the possibility sounds so much cooler.

Official Interrogation

2008-01-27T21:52:00.000-08:00

Carried out by Sachin, Durga, and Akash, on behalf of all Indian school children everywhere, because Enquiring Minds Demand To Know.

[NOTE: in the interests of national security and impressionable young minds, some answers have been altered and/or redacted)

What is your name?
Sara

What is your country?
USA

Do you drink whiskey?
[REDACTED]

Are you married?
[REDACTED]

What do you do for a living?
Artist

Who do you love better, your mother or your father? We promise not to tell.
I love them both equally.

How old are you?
26

Why are you so pale?
I was born this way. Also, it gets very cold in New York so I have to stay indoors a lot.

What do you think of India?
I love it!

Do you like cricket?
I don't understand it. We don't have cricket in America.

How many are in your family?
I have 4 brothers and 2 sisters, and parents.

How many languages do you speak?
Pretty much just English, and a little French and Spanish.

Do you speak Kannada?
No.

Please be aware that all or part of the above interview may have been taped via totally sweet camera phone to be shared at random with various and sundry school chums, cousins, aunties, household help, etc. throughout the coming months or perhaps even years.

Interrogation took place in the stairwell of the Renuka Guest House in Hampi, Bellary District, Karnataka, India on the evening of 25 January, 2008. Official approval of hairstyle, eye color, photography skills, and new Salwar Kameez outfit duly noted.

Hampi Miscellany

2008-01-26T03:30:00.000-08:00

The ruins at Hampi make me think of the future of the US. This was once the capital city of the Vijayanagar empire, and in its heyday it was bigger and more impressive than Paris or Rome. The ruins here aren't very old -- the oldest structures were build about 700 years ago, and the city didn't go into decline until the end of the 16th century.

I was sitting at the edge of what was once the queen's private swimming pool. It's easy to project 500 years in the future and imagine myself a tourist from some future culture, bumbling around what's left of New York. Sitting on the edge of the Rockefeller Center ice rink or something (honestly besides the difference in quality of decor, it doesn't feel too different from visiting modern day McCarren Pool). I felt similarly at the big temple I visited yesterday. This could be St. John the Devine in another 300 years.

How much longer can our American empire last? Will the last New Yorkers make a living as tour guides based out of Staten Island, a minor outpost in the far reaches of southern Canada?

On a lighter note, guys, don't worry about me. The previous post was meant to share the insanity of the first few hours in a new place, not necessarily to indicate that I'm not happy or that things are going badly. I woke up this morning to discover that I'm in love with this little town.

Oh, and for Ranbir. Hampi is a HUGE backpacker destination, especially for those obnoxious Australians and Israelis who ironically enough have zero interest in the history, religion, or culture of India (if I see one more kid with dreadlocks order spaghetti at a famous thali joint, I might scream). As a result, the local touts and vendors really hassle anyone who happens to be white, under 40, and wearing a big pack. I think it's worse if you have dreadlocks, and REALLY bad if you look culturally clueless (girls wearing tube tops, for instance). Since I found a guesthouse and thus was able to shed the pack, I haven't attracted nearly the attention that the dreadlocked Israelis do.

Hampi is actually an even bigger domestic tourist attraction. It's a holiday weekend right now (Republic Day?), and the town is PACKED with both religious pilgrims headed for the major Hanuman temple in the center of town and middle class IT types bringing the wife and kids to look at the ruins. The whole rest of my guesthouse is occupied by a big extended family from Hyderabad who seem to be here to kill both of those birds with one stone. They have a bunch of adorable kids, about whom I'll probably post tomorrow.

Oh, and more about the monkey fight -- No idea why, but both evenings I've been here I noticed some aggressive monkey activity right around 5:30 or 6:00. Though India is notorious for aggressive monkey activity, anyway. It's hilarious, because the monkeys are extremely cute, but they're also really scary when they put their minds to it.

Hampi: Stream of Semi-Consciousness

2008-01-25T05:03:00.000-08:00

For this post, I'm going to transcribe pretty literally some of what I wrote in my journal over the last day or so, regarding Hampi.

Thursday, 5pm:

Holy fucken shit. The India quest hits its first rough patch. Exhibit A -- OK, so here I am in that crazy sensory overloa beggars-and-touts India I've heard so much about. Exhibit B -- I've now "moved on down" to a dirty room full of mosquitos for roughly the same price as my sweet-smelling bug free beachfront hut back in Goa.

Oh, and not only the usual OMG India is crazy! issues, but apparently I've arrived 3 days before the whole town is due to shut down in order to accommodate a presidential visit to the ruins (apparently this maze-like rat's nest is a huge security hazard, what with all the Kashmiri trinket hawkers and their possible terrorist connections), making a mockery of my plans to stay for 5 days. What am I going to do between here and Pune for 2 days?

Oh, and to top it all off, the moment I set foot out of my guesthouse I got lost in the maze of identical alleys that is Hampi Bazaar. And also forgot the name of the place. I had to wander around, confused, until I happened to run into it again.

Deep breath... I'm going to take a wander, find something to eat, let the mosquito coils work their magic, and try to find someone who actually speaks English and is in the know about this whole 'Hampi Is Closing In 3 Days' debacle.

~~~~~

Thursday, 10pm:

And yet again, as it happens, everything's going to be OK. Hampi is not shutting down until the 29th, which is the day I was planning on leaving anyway.

Also, it's been another dose of the big lesson I've been gradually learning in my two weeks traveling around a third world country on the cheap. Everything seems a thousand times more dire when you're tired, hungry, dirty, hot, stressed out, etc and in a new place. It's good to remind yourself of this often and try to keep it together until you can get at least a few of the above sorted. Fresh from the train [as you will recall from above] I was ready to turn tail and run back to Goa or into the arms of friends in Bombay or Calcutta ASAP. Hampi was a dirty town full of cow shit, scary monkeys, irritating children begging for the hell of it, mosquitos, venal schemers who'd scam you out of your last rupee, piles of garbage, guesthouses that all look identical and even have virtually the same name (was mine next to the Sita, the Sneha, the Sweta, the Swati, the Sandhu, or the Shamshu?), oh, and also outstanding temples and ruins and ruins of temples but that's besides the point OK because the place sucks, take my word for it, and I have to get out of here.

Then I took an evening walk out to this really good restaurant I'd heard about, met some new friends along the way, had a lovely biryani and sweet lime soda, watched the moon rise over the river, looked at the stars, etc etc and realized everything was going to be OK. It also helped to find out that every reasonably priced room is crappy in one way or another, and that once the mosquito coiles got to work my room turned out not to be that bad. Spartan in the extreme, but lacking in the bells and whistles that hide a true shit hole. And I came here to rough it, after all. Ooh, boo hoo. Squat toilet, power cuts, dirty floor, hard bed. I have my own bathroom, multiple windows (cross breeze!), working ceiling fan, and honestly the candles are a romantic touch.

~~~~~

Thursday/Friday, Midnight:

Some new India "firsts" -- first monkeys! first squat toilet in my hotel room (surprisingly clean and easy to deal with). first jaw-droppingly amazing temple. first rangoli (intricate designs made with rice powder or chalk on the ground at the entrances to buildings). first meaningful (i.e. annoying) power cut. first emergency trip to the corner shop for candles.

~~~~~

Friday, 2pm:

Hampi is the sacred center of Star Wars' desert planet, Tattooine. Deserted sandstone temples echo a landscape of mountains that look like piles of rocks. There is dust everywhere. Pilgrims of every conceivable type mingle in the dusty bazaar -- Israeli hippies in bikini tops next to saffron-clad sadhus, stodgy middle aged brits in floppy hats and khaki, women ni their best saris and jasmine in their hair, troops of school kids chasing troops of monkeys. A dozen languages are heard, from Telugu to Finnish.

I get my first taste of celebrity at the Vittala temple -- scores of kids (most on school field trips) descend upon me, chatting me up in newly minted English and wanting to shake my hand. Some even want autographs! This is weird, to me, but I go for it. Miraculously, none of them ask for "one pen!" or "one rupee!", probably because they are under adult supervision, or maybe because they're simply polite human beings.

~~~~~

Friday, now:

I spent the rest of the afternoon running some errands. Trading in some books at the secondhand book stall (official opinion: 90% of English-reading tourists to Hampi have really bad taste in literature). Buying a warm woolly shawl because so far exactly one guesthouse has actually provided a real blanket, and I'll need it anyway in Darjeeling. Looking at T-shirts, but not knowing if wearing Ghandi's face across my chest is completely insensitive or what. Trying to do a little shopping for non-sarong presents for you people, but not finding anything worth hauling across continents. Picking up my laundry, which to my surprise has been hung to dry over a grungy fence on the busiest and dustiest street in the village (thank GOD I've been doing my own underwear!). Getting kulfi all down the arm of my shirt and even on my pants.

Onward and upward, folks!

This May Be Significant To A Few Of You Lurkers AKA Nicole, Les, Lyle, Et Al:

2008-01-24T07:53:00.000-08:00

The ringleader of the Nepali hippies is named Harry.

In other news, I'm in Hampi now, which is too crazy intense to even begin describing. Hopefully I will have more to say tomorrow. One preview: upon arriving and walking the streets of the crazy mazelike village where all the guesthouses are, I witnessed my very first monkey rumble, a la West Side Story. Not sure if the Shark-monkeys or the Jet-monkeys won, though.

Reversal

2008-01-19T23:05:00.000-08:00

Last time on Quester/Questing/Quested: I had 2 main problems - dodging beach hawkers and finding good local food - and one minor issue - slight loneliness.

Well in the few days since I last wrote, the landscape has changed completely. In fact, I have to say I'm starting to understand why so many of the people who gave me advice about this trip suggested I spend longer in a few areas rather than spend a few days here, a few days there. It takes more than a couple of days to figure out how to deal with a new place. And it's hard to get a real impression without having the time to really figure things out.

On the food front - after a little chatting with Ashu, the hut owner, and his cousins visiting from Panjim for a long weekend, I found my real Goan breakfast. You can only get bhaji pao from a few little shops in the village, corner stores that look like they'd never in a million years serve hot meals. Bhaji pao is a cousin of the Mumbai street snack Pav Bhaji. Bhaji is vegetables, here in Agonda it's dal and spicy potatoes. Pao/Pav is a very European dinner roll (the word comes from whatever the Portuguese equivalent of 'pan', 'pain', etc is). Also, the cousins, who have sort of adopted me (more on that later) commandeered Ashu's kitchen to make me a big Goan lunch - fish curry, brown rice, and vegetables (in this case something that looked and tasted a lot like swiss chard though it got lost in translation and I could never figure out whether it really was or not). They even taught me how to de-bone the little fish which are common here, and I got to practice eating with my hands. I also had my first straight-up coconut. They just hack a hole in them so you can drink the water, then chop them in half with a machete so you can get at the meat. Sitting there munching on the coconut meat, chin dripping with juice, I had one of those "Oh, wow, I'm really in India!" moments.

On the sarong-wallah front - I found a solution so obvious I can't believe I ever had this problem in the first place. The way the beach is shaped, you have visibility of about a quarter-mile in each direction. You can see the sellers coming from a long way off, and they're always stopping to hook more customers, so they move slowly. When I see someone coming, I just head into the water. They're not going to follow me into the sea (and, yes, Ranbir, this time it really is a sea, so you can say that). Once I can't see them anymore, I can come back. It takes them hours to make their way all the way up and back, so this is pretty much foolproof.

On the companionship front - as I said above, Ashu's cousins have pretty much adopted me. This is nice, but I have to be careful, because they're all guys and it's obvious that they all have huge crushes on me and don't see me as a little sister or anything like that. I'm a little afraid one of them will get the wrong idea (they were SHOCKED when I said I preferred to stay in and read rather than go out partying; I think there are lots of stereotypes here about white girls being crazy drunken shagfests). They're really nice, though, and have been very sweet. I just have to keep reminding myself that they're from a culture where men and women are very rarely "just friends". They go back to Panjim, tomorrow, though, so as long as I can keep it very casual for the next day or so I'm not really worried.

I've also started to make friends a little with some of the other backpackers. Through trying practically every restaurant in town, I've zeroed in on where the fun people hang out. There's one place, run by Nepalese hippies (yeah, seriously!), where people go to while away the hot part of the afternoon, and I've met a bunch of people there. It's a good place to escape to when Ashu's boys start getting intense, though to be honest the backpacker dudes are almost as bad.

One more thing -- After almost two weeks without talking to another American, I think I'm starting to lose my accent. I don't know what I sound like, but some guy thought I was Scandinavian yesterday... Weird. I wonder what I'm going to come home sounding like?

A Day In The Life Of A Goan Village

2008-01-16T22:19:00.000-08:00

This is for you, mom - you wanted to know what I'm doing aside from dodging the sarong salesmen (or failing to dodge them and having to buy another sarong!).

8-ish AM - I wake up to the sound of roosters and the smell of the neighbors' cooking fires. Yeah, seriously, I'm pretty sure people here still cook over an open fire, or at least they sure do like to light fires at mealtimes about 20 minutes before you start smelling food cooking. Unfortunately, 8 is an ungodly hour to try and get anything done because it's when all the locals are having breakfast and doing chores. So I stay in bed and read or putter around my hut. I keep intending to go for an early morning swim, but I'm too lazy.

9:30 or so - breakfast. I've finally discovered a restaurant down the road a piece that serves Indian breakfast (well, North Indian, but hey, paratha with chutney and yogurt is better than a velveeta omelet, right?). So I take a nice morning walk down the beach and have that with a cup of chai. Weirdest thing about my Indian breakfast spot - it's called Little Italy. Well, OK, then. Most meals take a long time, probably because either A) they're cooking my paratha over an open fire, or B) India cricket test matches are on TV and the waiters would way rather watch cricket than bring me anything (honestly, so would I if I was a waiter and understood cricket). This is all OK, though, because I have a stack of good books and I'm in no hurry.

10:30 - I usually take a walk in the village and run any errands I have, like getting more bottled water, buying postcards, checking email. This is also a good time for exploring and people watching. Hilarious thing about Goan village life - even though there are 3 internet cafes, a dozen international phone booths, and everyone who's anyone has a cell phone, you still have to go 10 miles into town to mail a postcard.

11 or noon - swim, because now it's hot and I've worked up a sweat from walking around.

12:30 - the inevitable sarong-wallah ambush. I'm getting better at this.

2-ish - lunch, usually something really simple and light because it's so hot. Sometimes I'm not hungry and just have a sweet lime soda (seltzer with a lime squeezed in) or a lassi. I try to eat a lot of yogurt because rumor has it that it's good for your immune system and helps you acclimate to Indian bacteria. Also, it's one of the few things that's really appetizing in the heat.

3 or 3:30 - reading in the shade and/or more swimming.

5-ish - the sun starts to go down, and the beach fills with people. Tourists doing sunset yoga, fishermen hauling in the day's catch, school kids playing soccer or just goofing off. God help you if you're a cow or a lady in a sari carrying a big bundle, because then the paparazzi will follow you around, trying to get that perfect sunset photo. Usually this is not me, because I would hate it if tourists followed me around in New York or Louisiana trying to capture "authentic" scenes of American life.

7-ish - as it gets dark, I go back to my hut and frantically set up the mosquito net and put on bug spray before the mosquitos get bad. I hate having to do this, and I'm hoping there are less mosquitos when I get up north. It's the most boring chore, ever. Boo, malaria.

7:30 - dinner.

8:30 - walk back along the beach in the dark, silently grumbling about forgetting my flashlight and hoping I don't step in a cow pie.

9:30 or 10 - fall asleep to the sounds of the family next door watching Bollywood movies on TV.

Movin' On Up

2008-01-15T21:01:00.000-08:00

The first rule of backpacking with the Lonely Planet is that you don't talk about backpacking with the Lonely Planet.

No, wait.

The first rule of backpacking with the Lonely Planet is that you always assume that whatever guest house is listed in the LP will charge at least double the listed price, not by any means be your only choice, and if the LP folk rave about the place you can rest assured that it will really be thoroughly mediocre.

I knew this, going in. Especially for Goa, where the whitey tourists and out-of-state hired hands probably outnumber locals at this time of year. Because I was tired and didn't feel like pacing the streets of Agonda looking for a place to stay, I went with the LP recommended Dersy's. It turned out the bed was awful, the mosquito net was full of holes, the bathrooms sucked and there weren't enough of them, a floodlight "flooded" my hut with "light" all night, etc. etc. No dealbreakers, but just enough mediocrity to make me think I probably wasn't getting my money's worth (at the exorbitant price $13 a night, no less!).

So yesterday morning I took a stroll down the unpaved footpath that is Agonda's one and only street to see what I could see. And I found a much better place, improbably called Harmony Hives (no, I have not broken out in them yet), which was charging 350 for a nicer hut with an intact mosquito net, comfy bed, toilets actually separated from the shower (important when toilet = hole in ground), and no night-time illumination which is fine because that's why I packed a flashlight. My new hut even has electricity, including a functional ceiling fan!

Let this be a lesson to all you backpacking hopefuls. The Lonely Planet hotel section sucks, and you should not rely on it.

Also, I hope all of you like sarongs, because the sarong wallahs around here are PERSISTENT.

Insert Obligatory Goa Pun Here

2008-01-13T19:41:00.000-08:00

Well, guys, it's been great knowing all of you, but I think I've found my new home. Seriously, Goa is amazing. I arrived in Margao so late yesterday that I was just in time for the poky little local train down to Canacona, the small town closest to my chosen beach village of Agonda. Thus I didn't get a chance to go into town and blog while waiting for a bus. But the poky local train was worth it. I was piled in, pack on my lap, between an elderly couple on their way to Gokarna and a young woman nursing a newborn.

Goa is the platonic ideal of a tropical paradise. Seriously, this is what all the cheesy water parks and mini-golf courses in Florida are modeled on. Rolling hills covered in jungle. Gurgling streams. Coconut palms. Rice paddies. Water buffalo. Little thatched huts. So that was pretty much my view coming down from Margao.

Arriving in Canacona, I met my first tout. All the guidebooks go on and on about touts. They're basically seemingly idle guys who wait around at train stations, on street corners, in front of tourist sites, etc. and offer various services. They will guide you through ruins, find you a hotel room, carry your bags, and most of them also drive rickshaws. The archetypal western attitude towards this, if Lonely Planet is any indication, is pure horror. Why that is, I don't know, because they seem sort of handy to me. I got off the train. I needed a rickshaw. Dude walked up to me and asked if I needed a rickshaw. I said yeah. We dickered over the price a little, agreed, and then drove off. Could I have found a cheaper rickshaw trolling around on my own for a while? Probably, but it's pennies of difference, and at this point I'd been traveling for going on 24 hours, it was the hottest part of the day, my pack was stuffed with extra books and water, and I really felt it was time to move on. So I picked the tout.

We headed down a narrow no-lane road, and like 2 seconds out of Canacona we picked up a few more passengers -- 2 aunties who were either fisherwomen or straight from the fish market, I wasn't sure. But they got in with their baskets of fish and we headed down an even narrower road out of town. We passed gangs of kids playing cricket with hand-carved bats under palm trees, roaside shacks selling everything from laundry soap to beer, coconut orchards, more rice paddies, and dropped off the aunties just outside the tourist mecca of Palolem. We got stuck in a traffic jam. A traffic jam of cows. Then we finally arrived in Agonda, where I scored a beachfront hut for the only slightly inflated price of 500 rupees per night.

I had just enough time to eat something and get cleaned up before the sunset, and I was crashed out by 8pm. Then I got to wake up to (I freaking kid you not) the sounds of roosters crowing and waves.

There's internet here, so I'll be in touch pretty consistently for the next week or so. However, since my plan is pretty much to chill on the beach, read in the hammock, sleep a lot, and eat fish, I'm not sure there will be much to blog about.

Salaam Bombay

2008-01-11T21:32:00.000-08:00

OK. So. Let's start with all the cliches. "The first thing you notice about India is the smell." "India is chaos, for all five senses." All that crap.

Come on, people.

Maybe it's the 21st century talking. You can book hotels and train tickets online, get rupees from the ATM at the airport, listen to your iPod in the immigration line.

Maybe it's because I'm a New Yorker. I see crazy stuff all day, and always have to assume that someone is taking me for a ride.

Maybe I over-compensated after hearing all the horror stories.

But my arrival in Mumbai has been completely 100% uneventful. OK, it's been eventful. Eventful in a good way. Eventful in only the way that everything being completely fine and normal and under control can ever be.

Airport -- slightly confusing, but nothing too frustrating. To be honest I was more out of sorts during my layover in Zurich.

Taxi -- the operative word here would be "pleasant", or maybe even "fun". My driver decided that if I was going to have any fun at all in his city, I was going to have to know some Hindi. And then he remedied the situation. Even though I was so jetlagged and exhausted and overwhelmed that I've already forgotten most of it. Aap ka naam kya hai? (What's your name?)

Hotel -- not the Taj, but definitely better than I feared. Clean sheets, ceiling fan in good working order, complimentary bottled water and newspaper. Minimal wildlife.

Breakfast, day 1 -- wandered around scoping out the early morning scene till I found this old Parsi bakery I'd read about. Proprietor an absolute sweetheart. Yummy cakes and chai. Actually, this was my first (and one of the only) disappointments so far, because I was really hoping to start my day with a dosa but didn't see anywhere exciting to get one. I think Parsi bakery man wanted to give me the most "proper" thing on the menu (I seriously just walked in and asked for "a really good breakfast"). Some kind of pound cake type thing. It was still good, and the chai made up for it. Which reminds me I haven't had any yet today...

Oh, did I say this was NOT going to be No Reservations, Starring Sara C? Well. Hm.

Mumbai School Children -- 100% adorable, I think I might steal one.

Indian TV -- heck yeah. Too bad as of tomorrow I'll be staying in some little shack in a village somewhere and won't get a chance to enjoy it for a while.

My First Thali -- HECK yeah. A thali is basically a set meal, somewhere between the classic French five course dinner and a the best all-you-can-eat buffet on the planet. Oh, except you don't even have to burn calories getting up and refilling your plate, because the restaurant has a staff of like 20 dudes wandering around the place just handing out refills. I got 5 different main dishes (weird Rajasthani sort of pasta-style thing, saag paneer, 'brinjal' aka eggplant, and 2 different kinds of daal), 2 different breads in addition to this weird Rajasthani bread called Bati which I swear was the inspiration for those magical cakes they carry around in Lord of the Rings (I started to feel full after one tiny bite), AND a big plate of spiced yogurt, some pakoras, and last but not least, a gulab jamun. I am NOT going to lose weight in this country.

That's pretty much the lowdown on my first day. Today is more bumming around Bombay, then tonight I take a train down to Goa. I'll try to blog again when I get to Margao, the big town where I'll catch a bus to wherever it is I decide to call home for the week (lots of little beach towns to choose from).

I'm here!

2008-01-11T21:05:00.000-08:00

Just want to quickly let everyone know I'm here and safe and all is well. I got in very late Thursday night and spent most of the day yesterday just chilling out, exploring a little, and sleeping off the insane journey. I thought I'd run into an internet cafe, but I never did, and then I was all jetlagged and didn't have a chance to go find one. I'm working on a longer post about my arrival and first day in India right now, but in the meantime just know that all is well and INDIA ROCKS.

Au Revoir Les Bloggeurs

2008-01-09T08:17:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm finally off.

I can't really think of anything to say besides that. The bags are packed (except the camera cables I had to pull out to post these photos). Teeth are brushed, hair is combed (OK, no it's not, who am I kidding). Immediately relevant guidebook pages are xeroxed and pocketed, because it's just not cool to whip out the Lonely Planet in the back of the taxi while trying to insist that, no, I've been to Bombay like a million times, yaar*, so you better not try to screw me over.

*Everybody in Bombay (OK, everyone I have met from Bombay, and also all the cool guys in Bollywood movies) says "yaar" all the time. It's the Hindi equivalent of "dude".

Also, I take no responsibility for this picture being all sideways and stuff.

How to get in touch with me

2008-01-07T07:01:00.000-08:00

Now that I'm getting closer and closer to leaving, I just want to let all you worriers out there how to get in touch with me, just in case.

Well the first idea is to leave a comment here at the blog. I usually skim for comments every time I update, so there's a good bet that if I'm still writing in this blog, I'll see your comment. In fact, people, please feel free to comment! Though I understand how boring this is so far.

You could also email me. I'll check my email pretty frequently in India.

You could leave me a message through Facebook, or through other websites you know that I use (for instance India Mike). MySpace probably isn't worth it; I pretty much never check my MySpace anymore.

I'll be logged in to google chat, so if you use that, you'll see me online.

I have a skype account. Email me or leave me a Facebook message for details. This is easier for me to use in order to get in touch with yall (mom, it would ROCK if you got skype), but maybe you can leave me a message? BTW, friends with skype, it would be super cool if you could tell me who you are.

DO NOT call or text me. I won't have my phone. It will be turned off, on top of my dresser in my bedroom in Brooklyn. I guess you could leave me a voice mail, but I won't get it till March. I will be confined to landlines as I travel around India, from which I will call certain people if anything goes wrong or I need help. Don't worry about this.

If I go out of contact for a long time and you're incredibly worried, the folks at IndiaMike can be a help. I've seen the parents, siblings, spouses, etc. of distressed travelers post to their site for advice before, to great effect. It's also a good place to learn all about travel in India, how safe it is, genuine dangers, etc. Please don't bother them unless you know I've come to a bad end, or it's been longer than a couple weeks since you've heard from me. My username there is Opoponax, by the way - I post frequently enough that they'll know me. But again, don't use this lightly - they get annoyed when people post things like "Emergency! My boyfriend has a cold!"

Things I'm Excited About / Things I'm Nervous About

2008-01-03T20:08:00.000-08:00

Excited

Waking up in Bombay and getting to eat real Indian food, really in real life India! I don't know why I've gone so food crazy lately. It's probably because I'm trying to do my research and come up with good restaurant recommendations via the web (did this for my Montreal trip last year to TOTAL success), so I'm reading a lot about Bombay's cuisine. Especially my favorite genre of cuisine, street food. Which Bombay is famous for. There's bhel puri of course, and pav bhaji, and vada pav, and chaat, and pani puri, and... See, this is why I'm like 99% sure I'm not going to lose weight in India.

Indian train travel in general, my overnight trip from the famous Victoria Station (Bombay's answer to Grand Central or what Penn Station used to be) to rural southern Goa. I'm especially excited about getting on a train at midnight in a city of 16 million, and waking up the next morning to the Maharashtrian/Goan countryside. And then getting out in a medium-sized town, taking what my dad would call "The Chicken Bus" out to an even smaller town, from where I'll get to take a motorbike taxi (or maybe some species of rickshaw) to the beachside village I'll be staying in.

Weirdly enough, long hours on the plane enjoying everything my new iPod has to offer. I cannot explain this. Probably because the new iPod has this really addictive game on it which is sort of a combination between Tetris and Jezzball (I know, really!!). I also have some cool new audiobooks, including Jane Eyre and Bob Dylan's "Chronicles Volume I". I also want to use my iTunes credits to buy some movies and TV shows.. Very annoyed that iTunes is not yet offering any Buffy past season 2, though.

Being in Switzerland just long enough to use the restroom.

Flying by the seat of my pants. I love the fact that I don't know where I'm staying after the first few nights, can't figure out exactly where to go or what to do once I hit Kolkata halfway into the trip, and aside from the obvious at Hampi (huge city of ancient ruins, gee, wonder what I'm gonna do there?) don't even have any sightseeing plans.

Going from temperatures in the twenties to temperatures in the eighties within about 24 hours.

The stereotypical menagerie of camels and elephants, holy cows, and crazed monkeys you hear about so much anytime anyone talks about India.

Nervous

What's safe to eat, and what isn't. I mean, I've done my reading, and I know to avoid tap water, salads, and raw fruit that can't be peeled. But then there are all the really yummy things that seem to fall into grey areas. Like nimbu pani (basically limeade, made fresh on the spot) and bhel puri (a Mumbaikar snack food kind of like Chex Mix on crack, unfortunately topped with raw tomatoes and red onion). Reading my guidebook and the writing of other travelers, these things seem to be essential parts of the Indian food experience (OK, remember how I said this was not going to be a culinary thing? Well, um.). So I can I eat that, or not?

My hotel. I'm actually less nervous about this by the day, because I've gotten numerous emails from them, and they seem to be on the up and up. However, typing that makes me think I'm jinxing myself. I guess I'll just have to cross this bridge when I come to it.

Technical difficulties. Especially regarding using my iPod to store photos and video I take along the way. I've been unearthing all kinds of potential problems with hooking my iPod up to computers in Indian internet cafes.

Missing my very tight connection in Zurich.

Not planning right, or enough. Not being able to get a train ticket, or a hotel room. Getting horribly lost. Picking the wrong places to go, or not giving myself enough time in the right places.

Looking forward to the heat so much I underplay it and end up really miserably hot all the time.

The stereotypical menagerie of vermin that totally freak me out, like roaches, disease-carrying mosquitoes, and bacteria/viruses that could ruin my trip.

All The Stuff I'm Bringing With Me

2007-12-29T13:34:00.000-08:00

What you've all been waiting for, I'm sure: The Packing List

Clothes

1 pair of linen pants

2 calf-length skirts

1 pair of yoga pants or some kind of stretchy sweats which will work as pajamas but be presentable to wear in public if needed (especially on long sleeper trains).

2 t-shirts

3 tank tops (mostly as pajamas/underwear)

1 3/4 sleeve shirt

1 long sleeve shirt

4 pairs of underwear

1 scarf/sarong type thing - these things are so useful, I can use it as a towel, beach cover-up sarong type thing, use it to cover my hair in a temple, or even wear it as a skirt if I have to.

1 zip-up hoodie (yes, folks, it's my "QUEENS" one)

1 down vest - this is mainly to get me to the airport, but will also be good if I end up going to Darjeeling or something (which I still haven't decided about), AND can be used as a pillow on overnight trains.

1 bikini (Goa, baby!) - yes, I've read all the stuff about conservative dress for women in India. Screw that. People are going to stare at white girls on the beach in Goa, even if we show up in one of those victorian 'bathing costumes'. And either way, even here at home I usually have a t-shirt and sarong over it outside the water.

1 pair flip-flops

1 pair light slip-on sneakers - it'll still be the end of winter in North India when I get there

Toiletries

shampoo

cetaphil - this stuff is great because I can use it as a face wash, and also soap. The best part is that it doesn't need to be rinsed with water, which makes it perfect for trains.

deodorant

toothbrush & toothpaste

sunscreen - though I do hope to get a bit of a tan.

bug spray - 30% DEET. Toxic enough for ya?

hand sanitizer

wet wipes

pocket sized kleenex

tampons - sorry, boys

nail clippers

First Aid Kit

neosporin

hydrocortisone - for the inevitable bug bites

immodium - for the inevitable, ummm...

cipro - still on the fence about whether i really want this, about which more later.

malarone - actually, I've pretty much already decided not to do an antimalarial. Just thought I'd throw that out there.

most basic medical stuff can be found easily in Indian pharmacies.

Gadgets

80 Gig iPod Classic - right now I have about 8 gigs of music, and I hope to add a few gigs of audiobooks, videos, etc. for the plane and long stretches of traveling (or waiting, or really anything boring). Which will leave at least 50 gigs for backing up photos and videos. Which is still way more than I'll ever need considering I've never so much as filled up my 1-gig camera memory card before.

iPod headphones, cables, charger, etc.

Olympus Stylus 710 digital point and shoot camera

camera charger, cables, etc. (obviously including battery and memory card)

Indian plug adapters

small maglite flashlight

Media

Slowly Down the Ganges, by Eric Newby - a memoir about a boat trip down the Ganges, from the source at Gangotri all the way down the Hooghly to Calcutta, back in the 60's.

A big thick book of 300 sudoku. God, I'm so addicted to those things. Who would think I'd suck at oh-so-wordy crosswords, but rock at number and logic puzzles?

Lonely Planet India - I know. How cliche can you get? I've gone around and around about whether I like Rough Guide or Lonely Planet best, and since I have both, I've considered bringing both. The nice thing about Lonely Planet is that they provide really good info about logistical stuff like getting from point A to point B, more maps with better detail, etc. The Lonely Planet is also a much newer edition. I'm also going to xerox some key pages from Rough Guide to bring along (they're especially good for background information about historical sites).

Moleskine 2008 diary - mainly for writing down where the heck I'm supposed to be and how I'm supposed to get there. I'll pick up another notebook for journaling upon arrival.

A good pen - something I can't live without, anywhere

A sharpie

Practical Stuff

passport and visa

debit card

emergency cash

money belt - for storage of the above (though some of the cash might go into a sock or something)

copies of the above documents (except the cash of course), as well as printouts of my plane confirmation number and itinerary, hotel confirmation, as well as copies of all my train ticket confirmations.

driver's license - not so much because I want to drive, but because this is the form of ID I specified for my train tickets.

Odds And Ends

Sunglasses

one of those nifty little luggage padlocks

a combination bike lock with attached cable - for locking my pack to stuff.

~~~

I have to say I'm really shocked that all this stuff is going to fit in my pack. But I tried it out, and I'm sure it will.

OK, I'm back!

2007-12-29T11:01:00.000-08:00

Sorry about the gap in posting. I went home to Louisiana for Christmas and very little in the way of India prep got done. I did have a very nice Christmas, though, and happened to get a few presents which will be really helpful (especially the new iPod, which is incredibly cool!!).

I also took the pack for a test drive -- definitely going to work out. Actually, I think I'm a backpack convert, even when not traveling off the beaten path. It was easier to schlep around and easier to deal with in the airport than any other luggage I've ever used, hands down. Seriously folks, if your back is in good shape, trade in your rolly thing for a pack.

I was planning on blogging about my new India haircut and the visa getting process, but I basically never got around to it because of Christmas, and I had a hard time taking pictures of myself with the new haircut, and then I wanted to scan my visa and haven't done that yet, etc. etc. etc. Basically I'm lazy, which doesn't bode well for this whole blogging idea, but oh well.

Have I mentioned lately that I leave for India in 10 days??!!?? Well, that's pretty much what's going on here. Lots of really boring things I won't bother to discuss at length have been taken care of (stuff like suspending my cell phone service as of the 10th of next month, for example). I'm putting the finishing touches on my packing list, which I will share very soon.

New Look, Part The First

2007-12-14T10:04:00.000-08:00

As you probably notice, I've changed the overall look of this blog. I figured I would use my mad graphic skillz and like 2 seconds of my now-plentiful time to make something that doesn't look exactly like the cookie cutter blogger template. Though if you'll notice, there's definitely still some standard issue blogger template stuff going on. Remember I said "like 2 seconds of my now-plentiful time", right? Maybe if I have a little more time before I leave, I'll make some bigger changes.

Just FYI, no, I obviously didn't take the photo. Nicked from flickr, as is my wont. I'll try to track down the photographer in order to give her or him a little credit.

Coming soon: New Look, Part The Second; or, Somebody Got A Haircut!

School's Out

2007-12-11T08:12:00.000-08:00

Well, really, work's out, I guess.

Yesterday was my last day at Criminal Intent. Which is really, really weird. I don't know why it should be; probably because due to the strike, everything's messed up. And I don't know if I'll be back there. Or what's in store for anybody.

It could also be the realization that I will not be working again for 3 months, on purpose. That I'm not headed for a job search, or a couple weeks spazzing on the couch drawing unemployment and waiting to come back from a hiatus.

I'm on a mission, of sorts.

Consider me immune, then!

2007-12-10T17:40:00.000-08:00

Today was the big day for my appointment with the travel doctor. The result?

Two shots, one in each arm - Hepatitis A and a Polio booster. I would like to take this moment to thank my parents for forcing me to get all those seemingly extraneous shots as a teenager. You guys totally saved me a couple more $15 co-pays, because now I won't need to go back for an MMR booster, tetanus shot, or a whole series of Hepatitis B jabs. I know I bitched and moaned about my dread of needles back then, but now you can say "I told you so." However, you should also know that I still really hate that you made me take piano lessons and do not have any regrets about quitting.

Prescriptions for:

Oral typhoid vaccine (check!)

Cipro (not really sure about this, but if you say so, Dr. OCD)

Malarone (antimalarial; about which I feel even more conflicted than the Cipro, about which more later).

Shockingly, all of the vaccines are covered by my Health Insurance, which is getting capitalized because Health Insurance is Just That Important, OK. I'm filing it under the grammar rule that says that you have to capitalize God.

Bombay Hotels: The Ongoing Saga

2007-11-30T16:59:00.000-08:00

OK, remember that time I posted about how I totally booked a hotel in Bombay, and even though it seemed vaguely sketchy, all was well and I would have a (hopefully) lovely or at least vermin-free place to rest my head for my first two nights in India?

Well, apparently not so much. Even though I got a preliminary confirmation from the sketchville website I booked through, they didn't charge my credit card, and I never got the follow up "yes we talked to the hotel peeps and they totally have room for you!" confirmation. This is OK, because like half an hour after "booking" the hotel in question, which shall remain nameless, I found like 10 really bad reviews of it online. And not of the "room was really small, and they didn't even have room service!" variety. Like "It smelled like an outhouse, and roaches fled when I turned on the light!" That bad. So all is probably for the best.

But it still left me without a place to stay in Bombay, even one that smelled like a bathroom and had roaches.

So then I hit up Lonely Planet's website. They have their own hostel/hotel booking section, which is great because A) they feature a lot of the places from their guidebooks, and B) they are far less sketchy than some random Indian hotel booking website I found by googling "Bombay Budget Hotels". Their site is very straightforward, and best of all they only charge a 10% reservation fee, which means I don't have to worry about showing up in the middle of the night to find that they'd taken my money and given my room to somebody else.

I ended up picking a place called the Railway Hotel. The name is apt, as it's apparently right up the block from Victoria Terminus. From what I can tell, the general opinion on Railway Hotel is pretty good, or at least I have found only positive feedback (good listing in the Lonely Planet, a couple of people on a message board recommending it to some harried traveler who had a 6 AM train to catch). The photos on the website look pretty good and quite clearly feature windows (always a good sign). As for what it smells like and the wildlife content, I guess I'll just have to find out.

Passport: Check!

2007-11-30T16:58:00.001-08:00

Can you believe they're actually letting me leave the country?
Originally uploaded by the opoponax

Once I'd bought my ticket, this was the first thing that needed to be knocked off the list. Renewing my passport. $172 (I paid an extra $60 to have it expedited, because LIKE I want to be scrambling to get my visa the day before I fly out...) and 3 weeks later, here it is.

I have one question for all of you (all 2 or possibly 3 people who might be reading this) -- why is it that every time I get a passport photo taken, I manage to be having a really bad hair day? My hair is much cuter than this normally, I promise.

I'm blaming it on my hat. Yes, it was definitely the hat.

Also, I look like a corpse. What's that about?

What You See Might Not Be What You Get

2007-11-21T10:04:00.000-08:00

Just booked my hotel in Mumbai. This should not be nearly as fraught with drama as it is.

My main worry comes from the fact that the custom is apparently to pay the entire cost of the stay up front. How can I really trust that I'll show up 8 weeks from now, in the middle of the night, and everything will be as it should? How can I trust that this place isn't an absolute hovel? That they won't dump me in the worst room in the place? There are tons of horror stories out there about this sort of thing -- "They 'lost' my booking and scammed me out of $80!" "I paid for a deluxe double with air conditioning and a view but instead what I got was a windowless rat-infested closet!"

Well, here's hoping it all works out, somehow...

Rite of Passage

2007-11-19T19:47:00.001-08:00

Sleeper class to Delhi.
Originally uploaded by KipJones

My First Train Reservation!!!!!

I've just booked an overnight train from Mumbai (my point of arrival, you'll remember) to Margao, a small city in southern Goa.

Sleeper Class, exactly as you see in the photo. You have an option of a 6-berth compartment or a 2-tier aisle berth. I picked the top bunk on an aisle berth. No idea whether that's what I'm actually getting (can't decipher the seat assignment, unfortunately), but this is pretty much as good as it gets. In place of that big metal trunk, picture yours truly.

From Margao I'll move on to one of the beach towns in South Goa. Right now I'm thinking Agonda, but I'm concerned that what my Rough Guide calls a sleepy fishing village with a pristine beach will actually be more like the Jersey Shore. I won't be making any hotel reservations or anything, so I might see what the word on the street is and go with Patnem, another supposedly sleepy beach village, or just screw the "sleepy" aspect and head to Palolem. All of which are within about 20 miles of Margao by motorbike taxi (!!!!!) or local bus.

Baggage

2007-11-14T13:33:00.001-08:00

The pack has been decided on. Hear that, Dad? PLEASE don't buy me a backpack, because I have one already, ok?

It's MEI's Flying Scotsman, at least I think it is. It's one of those sorta medium sized MEI packs, sans wheels, with zip-off day pack. Navy Blue. Already broken in for me by the ever helpful Ranbir.

It's basically perfect. 45 cubic litres, so neither too big or too small. Neither too wide out from my body (HATE that) or too tall. Zips around like a suitcase. There's a flap that zips over the straps so I can check it easily. Nice normal color and fabric so it doesn't scream either "I'm a Guerilla/Terrorist/Spy -- Please Harrass Me" or "I'm a Rich Western Asshole -- Please Mug Me". OK, so the backpack aspect does kinda scream "Broke Twentysomething Backpacker", but that's fine because I guess I am one. And yes, Dad, the straps are adjustable to fit me, which means No I Don't Need A New Pack, Really.

I'll also be bringing along my Brooklyn Industries shoulder bag, the one I'm already lugging around day to day so if we know each other, you've probably seen it. This is pretty big, very sturdy, zips up nicely (but looks like it doesn't), can be locked if necessary, and has lots of different pockets and things (some of which are hidden). This will by my carry-on bag for the plane, as well as the bag I schlep around day to day.

India Itinerary - Option A

2007-11-13T13:54:00.001-08:00

India Itinerary - Option A
Originally uploaded by the opoponax

This is the most likely itinerary for my trip.

From Mumbai, I'll head down to a beach in southern Goa (about which more later). After 10 days at the beach I'll spend a few days at Hampi, a city of ruins from the 14th century. From there I'll proceed to Kolkata, then do a little wandering in West Bengal (hopefully to Darjeeling and Kalimpong, and maybe over to Sikkim if I have time), spending about 2 weeks there altogether. After that, I'll head to Varanasi and Lucknow for a few days each, then on to Delhi, which I'll use as a base to visit Agra (the Taj Mahal!) and surrounding areas. From there it's back to Mumbai for a few days, then home!

I feel kinda sorry for the state of Madhya Pradesh, which gets circled but never visited.

Let's start at the very beginning

2007-11-04T13:33:00.000-08:00

But which beginning, I wonder?

Do I go into the day, almost 8 years ago, now, that a teensy metaphorical lightbulb appeared over my head, and I realized that, no, it's really not that difficult to just fly to another country and travel around, and that in fact tons of people do it all the time?

Do I fast forward to my adventures in Bollywood?

Or maybe I should just go for a more "in medias res" approach and stick to the concrete fact of buying my ticket?

Suffice it to say this: Thursday afternoon, about 10 minutes prior to the below post, I ordered my ticket to India.

I'll be flying into Mumbai on January 9, 2008. Leaving JFK circa 6pm, with a plane change in Zurich (yay, new countries I've only visited for an hour or so!), and finally arriving in Mumbai at around 10:30 pm the following day, January 10. By the time I leave the airport, it will likely be the 11th.

In the intervening two months, I will be seeing as much of the country as is possible considering my preferred leisurely pace (soooo not one of those "if it's Tuesday, this must be Prague" sorts of people!). The cliche goes that India is an assault on the senses. I don't know about that, but I plan to enlist all of mine. I want to not only see, but smell, taste, touch, and hear everything around me.

When I was a teenager, my family went on a long road trip up the East Coast. We brought along a book called Eat Your Way Across the U.S.A. We had biscuits and sweet tea in Alabama, barbecue at roadside stands in the Carolinas, Pennsylvania Dutch chicken pot pie, lobster rolls a stone's throw from the docks of Mystic, Connecticut. We spent precious little time on I-95 (the major interstate in those parts, complete with McDonald's and Dunkin Donuts right there at the rest stop so you don't even have to bother going into a town).

While this isn't necessarily meant to be a culinary tour of India, that's the same basic approach I'm taking to this trip. I want to experience everything, not half-assedly drive by with a quick stop at the Taj Mahal, a camel and/or elephant ride, and some watered down Chicken Vindaloo, bitching all the while about how nasty the toilets are, or the chances I'll get Delhi Belly.

ZOMGZOMG

2007-11-01T13:27:00.000-07:00

I'm really going to India!

Hopefully soon I'll have something more eloquent to say about this, but I'm going to India!