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!
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Oregon Trail Moment
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.
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
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.
[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.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Hampi Miscellany
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.
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.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Hampi: Stream of Semi-Consciousness
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!
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!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
This May Be Significant To A Few Of You Lurkers AKA Nicole, Les, Lyle, Et Al:
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.
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.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Reversal
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?
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?
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
A Day In The Life Of A Goan Village
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Movin' On Up
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.
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 street
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.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Insert Obligatory Goa Pun Here
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.
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.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Salaam Bombay
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).
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!
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.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Au Revoir Les Bloggeurs
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.
Monday, January 7, 2008
How to get in touch with me
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!"
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!"
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Things I'm Excited About / Things I'm Nervous About
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.
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.
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