Greetings from "Incredible India!"
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| Because this is a required shot when in India... |
I started writing this from my hotel in Bangalore on MG Road finished writing it in Bangkok and again in Chiang Mai, Thailand. I am nearing my 5th month traveling in Asia, with 3 of those months having been in India. I imagined blogging more than this, however I have only been "alone" for about 6 weeks at this point. Even much of that has been spent with friends which I picked up along the way… It seemed reasonable to postpone the blogging until I had a period of time alone. When thinking of leaving to travel in Asia for 12 months I certainly did not dream that the first 3 months would plan themselves without my having to so much as lift a finger.
Nepal was a once in a lifetime experience. I still remember receiving the email invitation from Bill Harrison outlining the proposal for the trip which serendipitously arrived one week after I had already informed my boss I would be leaving work in the fall for Asia. I remember the rush of adrenaline I felt from my desk chair at Boeing in the fluorescent submarine as I read that I would join in on a trek to see "Mt Everest." *I* would be seeing Mt. Everest.
A month or so later, the Nepal crew had a rendezvous at the Park Pub in Phinney Ridge (Seattle) to discuss the abyss of uncertainties and preparations for the treks. I finally met the infamous Jim Rothwell in person--he was mysteriously friends with a ridiculous amount of my unrelated friends on Facebook… So much so that we made jokes about not having met for living in parallel universes. He had plans to stop in India for 4 weeks after Nepal. Loose plans were made that night to travel to India together for 4 weeks… A bonus 2.5 hour "India coaching session" at the Barking Dog Alehouse from Jim's friend, a fantastic girl named Jo, was included free of charge a few weeks later, sealing the deal.
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| Here's to Jim Rothwell, a top-notch travel buddy who (thankfully!) shared my love for beer and coffee. We had many a Kingfisher and Nescafe together. |
As October approached, a dear friend from high school started talking about spending the holidays somewhere more exciting than Germany (where she lives and works). She had traveled extensively in Asia but never to India. My Facebook bragging sucked her in and plans were born to spend the holidays together from Mumbai to Varkala, India.
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| Pia @ Worli Sea Face in Mumbai. I have known her since our junior year in highschool when she was a German exchange student at Fox High School in Missouri and we rode together at Sugar Creek Barn in Fenton, MO. We have since met up in Los Angeles during college, Europe just after college, and now Asia just after working for 4 years... |
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| This is how we do. Christmas Eve dinner with Pia at Thalassa Greek Restaurant at Little Vagator Beach in Goa, India. |
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| Sunset on Christmas Eve. Merry Christmas everyone. |
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| Pia and I on the porch of our "beach hut" where we opened our Christmas presents... We had a white (sand) Christmas ;) This is the "skinny" function on my new camera. |
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| Pia and I in the streets of Mumbai where we found a cute little girl... |
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| Leaving Nathan's in Mumbai for our hotel before going to Goa. |
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| Pia and I with Nathan from Seattle at Worli Sea Face in Mumbai near where he spent his past year working for Dale Carnegie in India. Not too shabby! |
So, you are still telling me that I have no excuse to be so lazy in updating my blog!! I wait until I feel inspired to write something which flowed. If Nepal was a non-stop sexy action thriller, then India is the spectrum of the Encyclopedia Britannica with all the pages ripped out of all of the volumes and in a heap on the floor. There is just so much going on in this country. I suppose I was subconsciously waiting for a story line to appear. Now that I have a ticket booked to Bangkok next week I am realizing that THAT is India. There is incredible beauty and incredible poverty. The government uses the phrase "Incredible India" to promote tourism for a reason. I can't believe it all exists in one set of borders.
WHY I AM DOING THIS
Have you ever felt absolutely certain about something in life only to not really be able to explain the source of your certainty? Anyone that knows me would say that I am painfully indecisive. So, if my intuition is telling me to do something, I listen. This has only happened three times in my life so far.
The Only 3 Things I "Just Knew" in Life:
1. I would relocate to a new and interesting city after college.
2. I love driving manual cars (I knew this before I even knew how to drive a manual…)
3. I NEED to go on a long-term backpacking trip alone and will not be able to make any serious life commitments until this has happened (career, love, etc).
My early 20's were about believing anything is possible and going for it--all of it. There were no limits outside of time, money, and my energy (I didn't squander a second, dollar, or an hour of sleep for the first years in Seattle). Mountaineering, rock climbing, sea kayaking, road bike racing, SCUBA diving, relocating from the midwest to the west coast, snowboarding, hosting couch surfers… I don't regret for a second the things I pursued. I chased adrenaline and experience of all kinds with vigor.
After a few years of this I was left wanting something more, surprised when my pursuits didn't provide me ultimate fulfillment... Until then I suppose I felt that energy input should equal satisfaction output. Some people like to call this a quarter-life crisis. That term implies something has gone wrong. The late 20's are a natural adjustment time; the formal training of life is over (school) and then begins the time in life where my guidelines are made by ME. The world is a big place. Self-awareness is a life-long process. Finding a meaningful fit the first time around was what I initially expected to happen without effort. Knowing what I know now about life, that is a lofty expectation reserved for a (lucky?) small percent of the population.
My late twenties are about confronting my mortality and staking my claim on a meaningful existence, an intentional life. My life up to this point has felt like I have been square dancing and have never fully let go of someone's hand--I had been led into every "next move" by some invisible current in life. Realizing this I became insanely curious about the rest of the world and what "could be" if I jumped out of my square dance to a better vantage point with some different music. I also felt the need to put my self-sufficiency to the test, everything for me has been easy, planned, and careful, and therefore somewhat boring. This trip was to be kind of a spiritual bungee-jumping. I am listening to my heart in places far away from the familiar influences to see if it is still telling me the same things. I have felt inspired to know what I feel like in the most difficult environment I can picture--the most different culture from my own, alone, and with no consistency (a job, set of friends, etc) to provide comforts which allow me a distraction to escape to should things become uncomfortable. I had a desire to feel what it feels like to have everything I possess in a backpack and all of the freedom that provides. Where would I go? What would I do? For how long? It was important for me to not have any plans. Part of listening to myself was to allow me to travel wherever my heart wanted to take me, to meet whatever people I would meet, for however long felt meaningful to me. After I feel that I have had enough excitement and life-pondering time, I will return with a stronger, more emboldened sense of self and plug back into life with renewed dedication.
Some of my favorite quotes which put some shape to my feelings:
> "Talent develops in tranquility, character in the full current of human life." Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
> "Sometimes we do a thing in order to find out the reason for it. Sometimes our actions are questions, not answers." --John Le Carre
> "Vagabonding--1. The act of leaving behind the orderly world to travel independently for an extended period of time. 2. A privately meaningful manner of travel that emphasizes creativity, adventure, awareness, simplicity, discovery, independence, realism, self-reliance, and the growth of the spirit. 3. A deliberate way of living that makes freedom to travel possible." --Rolf Potts, "Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term World Travel."
> "Nobody else can do it for you. – Keep doing what you know in your heart is right for YOU. Let your dreams be bigger than your fears and your actions louder than your words. Live by choice, not by chance. Make changes, not excuses. Be motivated, not manipulated. Work to excel, not compete. Choose to listen to your inner voice, not the jumbled opinions of everyone else. It’s your road, and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you." --from the "Marc and Angel Hack Life" Blog (www.marcandangel.com)
5 Top Memories of India:
1. Women riding on the back of motorbikes, glittering saris blowing in the wind
2. The smell of the street food combined with the exhaust of the auto rickshaws and the burning of garbage to make a sweet, smoky scent which will forever remind me only of India
3. The line of burning ghat workers in their short cloth wraps on benches in the alley ways enjoying chai on their breaks in Varanasi
4. The soft, metallic clank of the train and its gentle rock lulling me to sleep on my overnight journeys
5. The giddy, giggling, and expertly-uniformed school girls rushing my rickshaw shouting, "Which country?!" "What is your good name, Madam?!" as if I were Britney Spears.
These are the types of things I am traveling to know about. Alone, these instances may seem insignificant. But consummately they provide me with a knowledge of what exists outside of the 29 years I spent in the western world…
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| Amma's Ashram in Amritapuri, India. This is a view of the main temple, a towering dormitory to the left, and the Arabian Sea in the background... Lovely. |
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| A view of the men's only (not a joke, women are still not allowed!) bar in the old British High Range Club. The British relaxed in the cooler weather of the Western Ghat Mountains during their time they occupied India, when Winston Churchill was in town. It is now a hotel--and it has not really been remodeled so you can see what it was like decades ago. |
Westerners in India
I feel it is safe to say that this is my first real experience as a minority. I grew up in an all Caucasian neighborhood. I attended college with a larger percentage of African Americans/Asians at Mizzou. This is the first time for me to walk on the street and be one of maybe 1 or 2%. That is just skin color. Of that 1-2% maybe 0.002% are Americans! For the record, the first white lady I encountered in the most ramshackle town was an American (that scores the US some big points in my mind). Walking down the street several times people would speak to me in French, German, and sometimes Russian. It was slightly strange to not be obviously American for once--most of my travels thus far have been in Europe where they can smell it on you. Here, other westerners approach me saying, "English?" as they are not even sure that I can speak English. The largest question asked in passing from Asians is, "Which country, madame?" to which I reply simply,"US." Their response to this always "AMERICA!" I don't know what they are thinking when they exclaim it this way, a wondrous tone suggestive of a dreamland. Regardless, to me it sounds joyous and each time it just reminds me of how wonderful our living conditions can be in comparison to many Indians.
When I say this is my first experience as a minority, I doubt I need to mention it is complete reverse-discrimination. Oftentimes leaving me to feel embarrassed and sheepish. In the face of a huge pile of Indians waiting in line for a train ticket, I will be ushered to the front by the ticket man. This morning for breakfast at a fast food joint one of the workers just stands next to me (11 in away) asking what he can get me for the duration of my meal running off for more chutney and curry or coffee--everyone else was just eating their meal around me. Imagine having a personal assistant at McDonalds--that is what it felt like. I must admit I do use my "whiteness" to wear backpacker clothes to the fancy mall…
One of the strangest phenomenon linked to being a minority here is the photographs people want to have of you. I still don't understand this. I have often felt I was interfering with someone attempting to photograph a monument. Politely stepping aside or around, I would only realize their camera followed me rather than remaining on the monument behind me… Initially it is surreal and can be even amusing--it is the closest to feeling famous I will likely ever come. On a trip to Eravikulam National Park in Munnar, Kerala the goal was to spot the Nilgiri Tahr (a goat once endangered for being hunted by the British). On spotting one very close in the bushes I leaned over to take a photograph. At the same moment, a group of Indian teenage boys spotted ME and my white tour pals. I might as well have been Britney Spears. They were shouting and laughing and crowding around us. My cries to let me photograph the goat went unheard. I was 5 feet away from the goat, which went entirely unnoticed by the Indian boys--they were literally between me and the goat with no clue that the animal they had paid to see was in the next bush… I would be willing to bet they would not have cared in any case. It brings to mind an idea for unemployed backpackers to earn travel money… A park where we can charge Rs 100 entrance to photograph white tourists!
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| Indians spotting westerners instead of Nilgiri Tahr Goats in Eravikulam National Park--Peter, Ellie, and I are ambushed by rambunctious Indian teenage boys. |
Just the other day, after having lunch with a friend at Bangalore's high end mall--UB City--we walked out the front doors only to be rushed by a crowd of young teenage school girls. They were laughing and screaming and wearing pleated skirts with pigtail, looped, braided hair in bows. They were so happy and friendly it just made me laugh. I asked for a photo with them and they joyously piled in. They ran after us to our rickshaw laughing and asking which country, each sticking out their hand to shake mine. Bangalore has a higher concentration of foreigners and Swathi and I concluded they must have come from a village and not see tourists very often.
Other times it is a man just quietly aiming his camera at you in the mall or on the train without asking. Or an endless stream of people asking for "just one more photo." To which I eventually decline. At the Taj, some men were literally chased away from me by a stick-wielding security lady.
Regardless I wonder what they say to their friends and family when they return home from vacation about the photo with the white stranger…
Transportation
Since my October flight to Kathmandu and the 30 minute return flight from Lukla, Nepal back to Kathmandu, my transportation within India has been entirely of the overland variety. Rickshaws, busses (public and private, local and interstate), trains, taxis, jeeps and camels. It is the infamous experience everyone talks about when going abroad. The more I travel, the more I believe that North America is this oasis of peaceful and organized (albeit distracted) road transport (minus the road rage of course). And funny enough, the more I travel the more I realize there is a method to the chaos in Asia that I can actually appreciate. There are no illusions of anyone looking out for you on the road. Therefor you pay attention if you want to live. End of logic. Therein lies the answer to why there aren't more accidents. There are no false illusions of safety encouraging the application of makeup on freeways, etc.
Bus Ride in to India
Arriving on Mars… I mean... Sonauli, India--
Our Nepalese mountain guides took care of arranging the bus tickets for Jim and I from Kathmandu, Nepal to Sonauli, India. They even picked us up at our Thamel hotel and dropped us off at the "bus station" in Kathmandu. We were happy for the favor, completely unaware of what I realize later as something we would have like been unable to accomplish on our own… I remember the excitement of the taxi ride to the bus playing snazzy Nepali tunes, whizzing by monks in robes walking down the sidewalks. All of a sudden the taxi pulled over at an entirely nondescript location and out we went onto the sidewalk. Chhiring and Kale waited with us. Someone chattered to them in the typical loud and staccatoed Nepali language. Back into the cab. Off a few blocks in another direction. This time we found a van the size of the average American deep freeze. They motioned us inside. There were already 4 people sitting in the back. I was beginning to think I was in over my head if this was the "bus" to India. Further more the bus system logic was completely undetectable to me at this point. Jim and I were relieved to find out the deep freeze on wheels was only a connection to the actual bus. Reason for the actual bus not coming to where we were remains a mystery. Kale and Chhiring accompanied us to the bus which turned out to be a nice, 14 passenger, Toyota van. Jim and I were to occupy the 2 seats up front with the driver. The fancy white people go in the front. That is what it felt like. I teared up as I hugged Kale and Chhiring goodbye. They pulled out the traditional white scarves from their pockets and draped them around our necks. A lovely and comforting token of the familiar for our venture into the unknown.
This is where the travel umbilical cord was severed. Jim and I were on our own. No one really spoke English. We didn't know when we would stop to eat or drink or use the toilet for the next 8 hours.
The ride to India was a beautiful and terrifying mountain road running along a river. We passed on many a blind corner. Once I literally and involuntarily yelled out, "NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" as we pulled into the oncoming lane to pass a car only to find a huge truck headed straight for us. I knew that was the end of my life. I am a person who prides herself on being a calm passenger… Then the car we were passing slowed and we were let back over what seemed inches from death. The stereo was on full blast to match the adrenaline surging through my veins. I had in earplugs and Jim was reading Backcountry magazine next to me. At one point we passed a truck which had the phrase "Drive is no game" painted on its bumper. I began to realize that the men driving these roads take this all to be some type of macho chicken game. Forget the consequence is DEATH. The older woman in the back was knitting through all of this.
The road gradually flattened out near the border to a peaceful and uneventful (thank goodness) stretch. It ended abruptly in a huge traffic jam of giant, crazily decorated and incredibly loud Tata trucks, rickshaws and assorted other wheeled objects. The drivers "assistant" leaned out of the van screaming like a crazed primate to scare cycle rickshaws and vegetable carts out of our way. This earned us a place in line maybe 30 feet further up than we would have otherwise occupied. Not to mention it was entertaining. Once we realized we weren't going any further the driver ordered us out and the helper chucked our packs from the roof and sent us on our way.
I remember feeling like a giant, white alien. There was no other white person in sight. This was my first time alone in an area this poor and dirty. My American senses couldn't process any meaning from my surroundings so I was just feeling like I was on high alert. I remember wanting to take a photo of the giant, green "Welcome to India" sign arching over the roadway. I was absolutely not going to hold my camera out in these surroundings at that point. It felt like putting a sign on my head that said rob me, please. Jim and I walked for some short distance before being pointed towards something resembling a house. I remember the flood of relief upon seeing an older, white lady. This was my first information telling me I hadn't just fed myself to the sharks. If she was fine here, so were we. Jim's visa was a day or so overdue and they played some strange game of shuffling us back and forth between the 3 people working within 5 feet of each other. We were finally cleared with a minor fee and then it was off to find the Indian customs… Wherever they were. It turns out Indian customs in Sonauli consists of 3 men beyond retirement age sitting in dusty plastic lawn furniture on the side of the road. Again, poor Jim was given grief. He had a layover in Delhi and multiple entry was not allowed unless documented. Which he had. But the men seemed to enjoy having something to hold over his head and kept repeating, "This is problem for you…" We patronized them acknowledging that we needed to next time get approval in Delhi at some office and moved along to find our transportation to the nearest town to sleep in that night. We found the older white woman from the Nepali customs getting in a taxi. While we were waiting some barefoot Indian in a creepy, drugged stupor walked up and just started weakly grabbing at Jim's backpack. He was entirely creepy to me then if not completely harmless. The taxi driver noticed and came over literally to throw him into the ditch. Rs 150 per person for a 3 hour ride was not bad. We hopped in the back where two American rear ends fit bowing our heads to clear the ceiling while sitting. The driver kept saying 6 people here… 6 people. We concluded, incorrectly that they wouldn't attempt it if there wasn't physical space. 5 minutes later he showed up with 6 more people and I bolted out of clausterphobia.
Jim and I found the bus stand. The busses to Gorakpur looked to me like death on wheels. Thankfully the quantity of rust and dirt has nothing to do with safety. We got on the bus. I was still completely overwhelmed on the inside and refused to let my giant pack out of my sight and grip. The ticket man barked at me that I had to pay for the seat which my pack took up. As an Indian newbie I was grateful to pay the extra Rs 71 to cling to my belongings for dear life. I was waiting for the infamous and creepy staring to start and as the sun was going down I was convinced I would easily be out of my league and end up in some awful situation. I put my dust mask on just to hide my face. For the first time in my life I was hoping that I appeared to be a male to them. I buried my face in my backpack and I remember tearing up out of acute homesickness at that point. I have no idea where I would have been without Jim there. The sun was going down and the bus drove by random fires burning in fields. Parkview Court (the street I grew up on in Missouri) was planets and lifetimes away from here. After about an hour of low-horse power, rather calm driving I calmed down a bit and began to look around. I realized I was fine and I was IN INDIA! Traveling like no one else I knew. I looked around at the children and the men. There was a woman with a burka on upfront. All of the people and their dress were so foreign to me. I had never been so consumed with the present moment in my entire life before or since then.
No amount of courage or Jo-coaching or book knowledge can prepare my senses for the entry to India and the difference in appearance of every single thing I saw from what I knew in the west. Other experiences which were scary were embarrassing to me. And yet with this one, I don't feel embarrassed about how I felt, it is a part of the adventure and experiencing the unknown. I learned that I am not always fearless and brave. I am not better than the other person when it comes to fearless traveling. I am a midwest girl, born and raised, who has only traveled to Europe and briefly to Honduras in the safety of an organized group (until now ;).
Government / Non-AC Busses
One of my absolute favorite things about India is the non-AC busses. They provide unrivaled sense of adventure and freedom. And accomplishment... if you are in North India. If you can outsmart all of the lying rickshaw drivers and their friends by finding the actual bus/bus station, you win. They are relentless and have no ethics while trying to make money off of the clueless white tourist by telling you that bus doesn't run/exist/etc. You ask around (the snack stand workers and teenage boys are the most reliable as they have nothing to gain by lying) about where to board a bus to City X and you wait until a bus comes by and you yell out for verification before bounding aboard and clinging to the railings while the bus swerves, brakes and accelerates. The non-ac busses have big, open windows with a few bars at the bottom… Likely to keep people from getting arms ripped off--the busses drive so close that if you are resting an elbow on the window a little too far out… I have had the best scenery of my life on the Western Ghat mountain roads from Munnar to Coimbatore, Kerala, India for 5 hours and Rs 50. Forget that the seat I was sitting in was so close to the seat in front of me it squeezed my knee caps and any sudden braking might result in me busting my skull on the bar that was 15 or so in from my face on the seat back in front of me. In engineering we always said "measure twice, cut once." I don't think the design of this bus involved measuring at all--my British friend at one point exclaimed, "Whose femurs are this short?!" The winding mountain road was beautifully dizzying. Thank goodness I don't get car sick. I watched an Indian in front of me vomit out the window several times. One tight corner at high speed revealed to the Indians crammed in the stair and aisle-ways that the door wasn't fully latched--a man was flung out of the bus while clinging (successfully) to the door. He was caught and pulled back in while the bus never slowed.
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| On one of my favorite public busses in India--the 30 min ride from Munnar to the Rose Garden Homestay where I did a cooking lesson... |
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| Posing with Rajee--she taught me how to do chapatis--a type of Indian bread at her homestay near Munnar. |
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| The beautiful tea plantations in the Western Ghat Mountains of India |
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| More tea plantations! Notice the fleece jacket. The weather is much cooler in Munnar (I had been sweating daily just to the west on the coast). |
Trains
Oh, the trains in India. They were my favorite part about the country. A complete meditative experience for a traveler who likes to be in transit. A few bumps in the road in learning the system for Jim and I, but all in all pretty wonderful.
Jim and I came into India via bus. We needed to buy a ticket from Gorakhpur to Varanasi. We were maybe overly mentally prepared for the touts and the lies to get us into someone's cousins travel agency. It took us the better part of an hour to get directions from at least 10 people before we really believed that you can't buy a ticket in the actual train station. It is usually in a building down the street, and who knows why this is. This was also our first attempt at dealing with the lack of queuing in India. It is a pile of people and if you are not physically up against the people in front of you you just continue to lose your place in line. Fortunately both Jim and I were wearing usually wearing backpacks on the front and back of our bodies and these could be used to kind of box people out without having to put our bodies on other people. By the time we figured out we needed to fill out a paper form, how to fill out the form, and all the other little details I think the better part of 2 hours had passed. After having successfully purchased tickets, Jim and I happily took a photograph with our hard-earned ticket to Varanasi. I was grateful for having Jim as my travel buddy in situations like these.
For our first train ride, we had 2AC class tickets and had no idea where the car was on the train. I thought it was in the front but I was wrong. Walking the length of the train while it is stopped for a few minutes isn't possible. We walked quickly all the way to the front and then panicked and started running all the way to the back before we found our car. Just a minute after boarding covered in sweat, the train began to move. Success by a narrow margin.
The next train ride we decided again to arrive a little over an hour early… It turns out we arrived SO early that between our arrival time and train departure time they changed the platform at which our train would arrive. We only realized this when we boarded and found people in what we thought was our berth. Then we found out it was going to MUMBAI and not to DELHI. We apologized to the very kind people whom we awoke and took off running. We could barely make out that they were calling our train number to another platform. Again, we boarded covered in sweat and narrowly victorious. Good enough. Delhi bound we were. Why were we having such troubles getting on the right train?!
Apart from this, train riding is wonderful. You just board your car and toss down your stuff. For long rides you make yourself comfortable with the sheets and blankets and pillows they provide and tuck yourself away behind the curtains dividing the berths. You can kick your feet up and rest while the voices of the "chai-wallahs" (men who sell chai), float up and down the aisles. They yell something like, "CHAI! CHAI! CHAI, garam, CHAI!!" over and over. Or "VEG CUTLET" (the greasiest veggie burger patty of your LIFE). There few others I could never understand. One night I was just about to get cozy and catch some z's when I heard, "CHICKEN LOLLYPOP!" I LOVED the Rs 5 chai and on one ride I must have had 4 chais (they are thimble sized, Dixie-type cups)… I chuckled when I realized the chai wallah started coming to my berth and standing at there staring at me until I said, "no thank you."
With most 2AC cars there is even an outlet on which I was able to charge my laptop. This came in handy when our overnight train to Delhi was delayed by 11 hours. A 12 hour train ride delayed by 11 hours makes it a 23 hour train ride! I love Indian trains so much I didn't even mind. I just kicked my feet up and made most of my Nepal video on iMovie. LOVELY. I must admit when Jim and I thought we were supposed to get ready to get off it was a bit of a shock when the Indian couple informed us it would be another 5 HOURS ATLEAST… Note to future India travelers: leave a day of space at least if you have to catch a flight after a train ride. Numerous people I encountered talked of missing flights this way.
Everyone has some kind of awful tale if you travel long enough about some mishap. Mine happened at a train station. One day Jim and I were taking a day train… It left in the morning before we had time to get breakfast. We found our seats and had extra time and I thought I would hunt around for a snack. I saw other Indians hopping down and walking across the tracks, so I thought I would cheat and do the same to save time. Finding nothing good to eat, I turned to head back to our train. Somehow I thought I saw it starting to move without me. I hopped down and went to jog across the tracks. Anyone riding Indian trains knows why they hose off the tracks around the station. I never saw the small "sewage river" before I was knee deep in it… How it was almost 2 feet deep I have no idea… It must have been just out of sight behind the rail. I didn't quite fall, but I did scuff my knee and have my entire right leg and Teva'd foot covered in black slime. The nice AC chair class passengers and Jim looked at me as I boarded the train breathless, smelly, leaving a half-track of brown water. As fortune would have it, my soap, hand sanitizer, first aid kit, change of flip flops were handy in my pack. And I might be the first person wearing Mountain Hardware zip-off pants to be thankful for the zip-off function just to remove all of a sewage-covered pant leg by simply zipping it off at the knee.
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| My absolute favorite train ride was the "toy train" or "steam train" from Coimbatore to Ooty. Here I am standing in front of the steam engine. |
NOISE, GARBAGE, CHAOS, AND TOUTS OH MY!
One of the reasons I chose Asia. It is a thriving, hustling and bustling, sometimes well ordered, sometimes not-so-much community. If travel to different cultures and their way of manifesting themselves deepens your self-knowledge Asia will give me the most bang for my buck. I know I like order and cleanliness; as an American I believe I am bred to expect peace and quiet. This has come to feel boring to me. If vibrance and noise equal life, then Asia is the most alive continent in the world. And, well, hey, that is what I want!
My first morning waking up in India proved to be the quintessential example of this:
1. the chortling honk of huge Tata trucks,
2. monkeys fighting directly outside my hotel window
3. a phone on the desk directly outside my hotel door ringing mysteriously nearly continuously for the better part of the morning from 6:30 am onward… I wondered who would be calling at that hour. Was it the same person over and over? If not, why was a phone line getting so many calls being ignored...
I woke up that morning and laughed, India was delivering quickly on her promise. Back in America I would have felt irritated at any of the above because I would expected quiet. It felt good to wake up laughing at something that would have otherwise been irritating…
The festivals and street bands which I encountered all made me smile. One in particular in Delhi contained several marching bands. There was no detectable physical order, melody, and not everyone was even playing their instruments. Half of the band members were eating popsicles and grabbing street food while half played.
Music in cars and busses are either off/broken or on ear-splitting full volume. There is no worry about people talking over the music. No one even bothers to talk. The funny thing is that you pay MORE for the private busses playing Bollywood movies which leave you with less hearing at your destination. I prefer the non-AC busses. There seems to be some type of attitude that the loudest speakers somehow elevates one in the eyes of society.
More recently, in my hotel in Munnar (a small mountain town), to my surprise, what sounded like marching band practice began in the nearby field at 9 pm. It continued on loud speakers late into the night. When I awoke at 6:30 am it was STILL going! It was Republic Day (January 26) and my hotel was on the same block as the local temple. Religious celebrations of this volume, magnitude, and length are completely foreign to Americans (interspersed in the suburban community at least...).
GARBAGE
The initial sights of garbage felt shocking and evoked some strange emotion in me. I felt some mild combination of disgust and sadness. I think I felt sad because I realized how powerless it made me feel. What could I do about this? Nothing. I was just born into a clean country by pure luck. This type of sight in the US is wholly non-existent. I have never before been faced with reasons to so completely appreciate the pace our infrastructure has kept with our growth (at least to keep garbage and residences/businesses separate). Often giant piles of garbage would just sit in the streets of Kathmandu and cities in India. People and animals pick through it to find food and useful items. I believe the cows survive wholly on this type of nourishment--you will often see a cow standing right in the middle of a garbage mountain feasting. When touring out during the day or riding a bus you will not find garbage cans anywhere in the north. It is just standard to throw anything and everything onto the ground. If someone cares to have a clean store front, it is just part of life that they sweep it multiple times a day. These piles of garbage may or may not be lit on fire. For me, I would carry my trash around with me as I am genetically pre-dispositioned to feel emotional pain when throwing garbage onto the ground. Being around the garbage long enough to see past it more to the beautiful sights was another piece of "travel-fulfillment" provided by India. I don't require clean and fancy resorts to find adventure.
TOUTS
There are three basic types of cities in India.
1. One where Westerners are still so foreign and rare that the Indians don't have any plan to try to make money off of you. The site of you may just catch everyone by surprise. You can wander the streets in peace (albeit being stared at like a mother). This is usually where the biggest experience you might have is being a foreigner alone.
2. A city with sights, most income from tourism. Beware the tour guides and souvenir sellers are professionally trained to try to drive you crazy all hours of the day or night. I don't know why they think being annoying will earn them profits. Read: Varanasi. The most desirable form of income seemed to be giving foreigners boat rides on the Ganges. Every Indian there, upon seeing a Westerner will greet you with, "Hello, booaatt?" Over and over and over, following you up and down the sidewalk. Every day. More than once a day. To the point it becomes a joke. Finally Jim and I got in one of the damn boats. It was no surprise when the guide asked for Rs 100 additional to see what we thought we had paid to see in the first place. We all reluctantly agreed. He promptly got lost in the fog 50 yards from shore. Possibly more challenging was the fact that in certain cities the MAJORITY of people you approach for directions to a train station, landmark, etc will lie to you. Mostly we were prepared for this and didn't really trust the average adult male for much. We did get pegged a few times and the tenacity in their lies is just incomprehensible to me. Jim and I went to find the government tourist office in Delhi and were well aware that there were 100 fakes and people all but try to physically push you into them. Somehow we still ended up in one and they tried to sell us a nice package. We took the information and left only to walk by the real office later and realize our blunder. We were physically unable to get directions to a ticket office for a train station because a guy was just following us trying to direct us to his travel agent. Rickshaw drivers try to take you to their friends crappy shops to by crappy souvenirs. North India has amazing crafts and I bought presents for my family for Christmas there. Letting out the secret that you WANT to buy things and are looking for certain items is like chumming sharkey ocean waters. At one point I was slumped over the back seat in the rickshaw with my hand covering my face when my driver stopped at a friends crappy shop. I finally wailed,"NO! I am looking for a NICE… These are not NICE, they are awful!" I had lost my desire to pretend to like stuff I just didn't just to be polite. The government is apparently trying to do cut back on this commission-based rickshaw torture to encourage more tourism (by using meters, licenses to report incidences, etc). I can say now I just ignore the drivers pleas to shop and calmly say that I will get out without paying if they don't follow through to my destination. That works pretty well and I don't get all worked up.
3. A big city with more tourism and yet other forms of income (Mumbai, Cochin, Bangalore). The Indians here are rich and don't care about you and there are enough other forms of non-tourism income that the touts are more half-hearted.
"Mastering" cities like Varanasi may be difficult for Americans. We are socialized to feel rude if we don't answer everyone that addresses us. We are excited to make new friends and unprepared to deal when the friendship pretense turns into a business proposition. I went through a whole range of feelings surrounding these… Initially overwhelmed attempting to speak to each one politely. Then I felt bad when I would snap at someone out of frustration and not being able to be alone with my thoughts for 3 minutes at a time. I felt guilty about this because they all live with poverty I will never understand. This is a conflict difficult for most westerners--we feel bad when we get angry when our social norms (personal space, lying is a cardinal sin, etc) are broken but it is because someone is trying to feed their children. Then I no longer felt bad for ignoring and no longer snapped. I simply ignored or applied assertion if necessary (rerouting rickshaw drivers bent on a commission). It was, as a result, more enjoyable tipping the kind, hard-working, and honest Indians for their goods and services.
I do not believe there is anyway to shortcut to the "ignore" stage for most because it feels so unnatural and it is just a behavior which is against everything we have learned. A conversation starter (turned drug offer later) used by thousands (shocking amounts!) of Indians was to compliment Jim on his beard... Always his beard. Who knows why this is. The touts may be well why India doesn't get a chance for 2 and 3 week vacationers from America. That is how long it took me to master this. Then I could relax and enjoy more of India. Leaving the hotel in the morning sometimes felt like preparing for battle. Coming home in the evening I often just wanted a beer to compensate for the mental energy required in engaging and disengaging from these types of activities. Leaving India, I am taking with me the skill of calm and cool negotiation and assertiveness I had never before had. A souvenir far cooler than a t-shirt! (Note: the south is much easier than the north of India along these lines... for reasons I do not know, the people are just more easy going).
The People I Visited and Met While in India
The touts and things that the tourists endure in no way represent the kindness of Indians. I am not sure how the same country can have such extremes even in the way people interact, once again India floors me. While there are relentless efforts to sell things in most cities to tourists (more in the north than in the south) the kindness of the Indians you befriend is unlike anything we have in the west (and I come from the midwest!). Kunal, a guy roughly my age which Jim and I befriended in Delhi offered for me to stay with his family out in the non-touristy area of India for 2 WEEKS after we had only known him for a few hours. He told me he was sure his mother would love to teach me how to cook Indian food. This is not unusual. Another Indian woman I met on a train extended me an invite to the wedding she was on her way to. She didn't know me at all!
Families stay together (physically in the same location) much longer than most western families. In Bangalore, India (the IT hub city of the south) I visited two people who I know from back home. Swathika went to school at my university in Missouri (Mizzou) and she is good friends with my best friend Amy Wiggins from Mizzou. Upon hearing I was coming to town she showed me around tirelessly and met when she could despite having to work. In our discussions on life, she has a new baby and was describing how wonderful it was while she was pregnant. Unlike back home who work until they are no longer physically able to do so, Indian women take off and go home to be taken care of by their parents. Swathi described how wonderful this was to be home again and being taken care of by her family, cooking her meals, doing her laundry, etc. Her parents and her in-laws take turns living with Swathi and Vijay (her husband) every two months to help with their son, Rishi. Venkata is a friend from my years at Boeing. I was delighted to see him again as he taught me everything I knew at Boeing and was one of the most kind and patient souls I have ever known. He spent many years working in the United States and has returned to India to be with his family. He invited me to stay for as long as I like in his apartment in Bangalore. I stayed for a few nights and had a wonderful and relaxing time. We went to see a movie at the local theater and enjoyed lounging around at his house watching the Simpsons movie. His parents live with him and his wife and help take care of the children. His mother cooked 3 meals a day tirelessly and offered coffee and treats. Venkata doesn't do any cooking! The grandparents have an adorable relationship with Venkata's children. Venkata's oldest is best friends with his grandpa, who gives him rides around the block on his scooter before heading off to work for the day. In general I was just struck by the degree that Indians all take care of each other and that the women do not bear the full burden of being pregnant and taking care of children and working 40 hours a week--an all-too-common source of stress and heartache in the west.
In addition to the Indians I visited, I also visited Nathan Czubaj, someone I had known from Seattle when taking a Dale Carnegie class. It was by accident that I learned he was in Mumbai during the time that I would also be there. He very kindly invited me to stay at his apartment, a lovely place in a very nice neighborhood which overlooks the Arabian Sea and its beautiful sunsets. When Nathan wasn't working we enjoyed a few brews and meals out on the town in the city and with Pia when she arrived. I was so grateful for the familiar companionship and people to share crazy Indian stories with! A true pleasure to be out of the hotel shuffle!
My First Illness Abroad
It had to happen sooner or later. And the funny thing is that it sounds so much worse than it actually felt. I suppose if my vacation was only 2 weeks long I would have been a bit more annoyed, but without a time crunch I was content to ride it out.
All throughout Nepal, extra precautions were taken to not get sick. Every meal began with a communal wiping down of eating utensils by all. During the few baths we had we were all careful to avoid splashing water near our eyes. And so on.
I was pretty sketched out by the appearance of the street food vendors initially in India. Jim and I ate our first meals feeling like we were doing some type of little culinary bungee jump. I liked eating the same thing so that if we got sick at least we wouldn't be alone. Like where would we go in Varanasi if we took ill… Who knows. We could barely find our hotel in the maze of buildings without a compass, how would we find a place to be treated? We were picky and I didn't eat uncooked fruits or vegetables for the first month in India, asking for vitamins and supplements from my parents for Christmas. Gradually this had to come to a stop because on the lack of fiber Jim and I were just filling up with… well you know.
On the camel safari, upon offering to help with the dishes I realized my immune system is stronger than I gave it credit for; they washed the dishes with water from a well and dried them in the sand. This discovery helped me to relax a lot with my eating habits and preferences. I felt like a real pro traveller when I started brushing my teeth with the tap water.
On day 2 of the camel safari I started to feel a little iffy after eating a smelly egg at breakfast. The super swayey walk of my camel started to feel like a bit much. Then for whatever reason, the good ole girl picked that time to start belching every few seconds. I could hear a gurgle under the saddle and a few seconds later an awful (I MEAN AWFUL) smell would waft back. This repeated for a few hours. Then I knew I had to ask Dadia (our guide) to have her sit so I could leap off and vomit. Turning around I saw everyone facing the other way. The desert was silent, so I knew everyone heard every last bit. Back on the camel. I ate lunch kind of laying down and felt okay.
I made it back on the Jeep ride into town. Then I felt a bit queasy and had to run off to go behind a bunch of rickshaws and there went my lunch. The good thing about having open sewers and garbage everywhere is that there are lots of places to barf in public without feeling too awful about someone having to clean it up. Even the din of the street noise meant that likely the driver napping in the rickshaw which I used for cover probably didn't hear me.
I went with Jim to the train station to bid him farewell that evening as he was returning to Delhi from Jaisalmer to catch his flight back to the US. As I was wishing him a happy journey and telling him to enjoy all of the comforts of the western world for me (coffee, wifi, washing machines, clean streets), I literally had to cut my goodbye short and run off to lose my cookies in the train station ditch. I heard snickering behind me from some Indians ("Why is EVERYTHING SO DAMN FUNNY to you people?!?!" I remember thinking) and then Jim's voice. He had looked out the window of the train after boarding to see me hunched over the ditch and knew I was not doing so well… I assured him I was fine and we parted ways.
I headed back to the hotel and just rested that night. I slept for the better part of 3 days straight, 2 of them with a fever. I was MAD tired. The hotel room had no windows and the electricity in Jaisalmer is cut daily from 8 am - 12 pm. Usually we would leave the room and be out doing things; we couldn't see in the room. I just laid there sleeping and didn't care. I was happy to use the thermometer I bought to monitor my fever. I would head to the doctor if it persisted, but it didn't.
Feeling better I went to the train station to get tickets to ensure I would arrive in time to meet Pia in Mumbai for the holidays. Learning there were no foreign tourist tickets available in that city, I would have to get to Ahmedabad ASAP to purchase a train ticket to Mumbai. So I bought an overnight bus ticket for that night and took off in a hurry. I was careful what I ate and was fine on the bus. I took one of the first hotel rooms in Ahmedabad feeling too weak to walk around looking with my pack and crashed. Bus rides aren't conducive to sleeping and I was tired.
I woke up to my right side itchy and burning. My whole right leg was covered in a splotchy red rash! I am allergic to NOTHING and this was pretty incredible. I had to google it to learn it was hives. It disappeared and reappeared all over my body for a day along with some new troubles at the "other end." The next day I started getting gut cramps that would wrench up every few minutes. Talking to my parents I thought it might be best to get a checkup as it had been 5 days since this all started. The pains kept getting stronger and stronger. I started to get nervous and decided to head for the doctor. The first rickshaw driver to not speak a word of English was the one I tried to flag down to go to the hospital. I was bent over with one hand on my stomach and something was obviously not right and he just shook his head and drove off. I really felt alone and sad in that moment. I found another driver and he did not speak English either, but I phoned the doctor that my dad had found online for me. The doctor gave the rickshaw driver directions in Hindi. Off we went. After a bunch of stopping and mysterious u-turning I had my friend Swathi speak to the driver (this was the point I was thanking my lucky stars for my cell phone). She told me he was attempting to take me to an infertility clinic! She found the best hospital in the city and told the driver how to get there. A life saver as being doubled over in that obnoxious and honking traffic in a rickshaw was not fun. Thank you, Swathi!! The kind driver walked me into the hospital and was making a serious effort to ensure I would be okay. I really appreciated that.
I made a serious effort to ask for itemized bills and a note for my health insurance before the visit. The man informed me I would have to bill my own insurance as they did not do this. Bummed by the realization of impending paperwork on top of illness, I was taken to the emergency room for an examination. This was the top-notch hospital in that area. A general dinginess non-existent to US hospitals, leftover blood on the neighboring bedsheets, and the non-usage of gloves by both nurse, doctor, and thermometer were clues that I was not in Kansas. This lack of familiar hygiene made me feel a bit homesick. The doctor's English was below the level of most rickshaw drivers and he left me with a prescription diagram of O's and -'s for what pills to take at morning, noon, and night. Nonetheless he was kind and was able to communicate that whatever I had could not be identified as a virus, bacteria, or parasite at this point. The pharmacy was next to the hospital in what would have been a garden shack in the US. They dispensed my 5 prescriptions and informed me my total for the emergency room visit and medicine combined was 350 Rupees. That is $7 USD! I laughed and felt better about not having to file for a reimbursement after all… Things were looking up. I would have spent Rs 350 driving around looking for a fax machine to send the paperwork to the insurance company! It was really starting to hit home how inexpensive medicine is elsewhere (thoughts of my Aussie friend complaining about the expense of medicine in the US entered my head).
Everything ended well, I felt better the next day and made it to Mumbai where I spent 3 straight glorious days on my friend Nathan's couch recuperating and watching the first GOOD American tv since I left home (Dexter and Scrubs), tinkering with a washing machine which had a "sari" setting, and going nuts on having access to a grocery store (as opposed to street-side shops) and a kitchen... Stir fry and french toast are very therapeutic!
Wildlife
Part of the joy of travel is noticing the local "wildlife" and how it differs from what we have at home in the United States. The animals which are familiar and just part of the landscape to the locals are new to me. (Again, an experience is called to mind where my Aussie friend stopped me dead in my tracks on a walk back to my house in Seattle by saying, "WHOA, THAT IS AMAZING!! I was startled and laughed when I realized he was pointing to a squirrel running along an electric line... There are no squirrels in Australia! Who knew...) The biggest difference I am still getting used to is that the animals are mixed into the cities. Can you imagine if a horse were wandering the streets in the Midwest? The cows in India SLEEP in the roundabouts, enter and sleep in the train stations, give birth in the middle of the city on the pavement… I recall even hearing a few Brits talking about how a cow was on a train platform, which means he went up and over the pedestrian bridge on the stairs.
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| Look what I found next door to my hotel in Varkala... |
Yeah, the stray dogs are everywhere. I was really not a fan of it. It was similar in Nepal, only the Indian dogs have shorter hair. Some were completely mangy and missing lots of hair. Half of them had giant mammory glands from having had puppies. These types of dogs are unrecognizable to me, coming from the US. Skyping in the lobby of my Delhi hotel, one of the hotel men looked over my shoulder at my sister's fluffy white American Eskimo puppy and pointed at her saying, "Oh, das good one, das good one." Sometimes the dogs on the beach in Varkala were trying to procreate right in between everyone's beach towels… Varanasi made me a bit nervous as the cows sometimes charged the dogs in narrow alleys--4 and 5 feet wide in places.
Everyone hears about the cows in India and how they are everywhere. Most of the cattle have horns. I somehow have this idea that horned cattle will charge me, but they are probably just as peaceful as non-horned cattle. One evening Jim and I arrived back to our guest house after dark to find maybe 10 giant horned cattle sleeping in front of the door to our hotel. The Indian teenager who had befriended Jim was walking with us and when he realized why we stopped suddenly he said in his cute accent, "Whoa. Lots cows." He took on a dutiful air as he pushed them out of the way and pushed the face of one of them away so we wouldn't have to be so near the horns when passing. Everytime we saw a lot of cows Jim and I would say, "Whoa. Lots cows."
Needless to say all the animals equals lots of poo. Another secondary function of our outdoor gear. Headlamps help you avoid animal dung after dark in Varanasi because it is EVERYWHERE.
A kind of funny thing about the stray dogs is occasionally you will happen on what Jim and I referred to as a "puppy gang." A bunch of roly-poly puppies in a street or sidewalk somewhere. Unlike the adult dogs, the puppies look no different than our pets and so it is a bit weird to see puppies in such desolate and precarious places.
Cats are, for whatever reason fairly non-existent, and the size of monkey populations vary by city, but in all are very common just about everywhere. Sitting on rooftop restaurants is a good place to watch the local monkey population and their antics--fighting, mating, and generally looking like they are trying to disassemble anything possible.
Curiously in Varanasi, Jim and I had heard some strange noises--similar to the loud ca-caw of a bird. Jim told me to look up, there was a pigeon tamer on a roof next to us. Sure enough a man was making screeching noises and a flock of pigeons would fly in circles and land/take off on command. Just another RANDOM thing you can find in India.
Down in the south, while floating on my back in the ocean and looking up at the sky I realized the birds I was watching were DOZENS of bald eagles. I didn't hear about India having eagles and so I was quite surprised. They are really everywhere in the south.
Elephants are less numerous, but I will never forget the night Jim and I were in a rickshaw heading to our hotel. It was about 11 pm and all of a sudden I looked up and we were passing a HUGE elephant in the shadows walking along the narrow road. Just like that and gone. Magic.
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| The elephant parade in Varkala the day Pia left. |
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| I caught some upper class Indian domesticated wildlife in Mumbai when I checked out a Junior National Jumper Equestrian Championship Show... Nice to hear hooves pounding the arena footing again if only from the sidelines. |
Smaller animal wonders included the lizards that lived in the open air computer labs on the rooftop in Varanasi. They would just sit next to your mouse and peer out from under the monitor waiting to eat the bugs that came in. For the holidays, my friend Pia and I spent Christmas in a "beach hut" (a nicely decorated house made out of nice stained bamboo). Mysteriously 1 out of 2 times we opened the toilet there was a red frog in it. We were sure if he was poisonous or not. Sometimes he would hop out and Pia would scream.
Food and Drink
Food and drink in India. Where to start. The premise of my review is biased by the fact that I love coffee and beer and chocolate. As incomprehensible as it is to my little "Seattle-fied" brain, the rest of the world doesn't revolve around these food items. Mostly they are just not even a part of life at all in India. Jim's and my day could not progress without an honest attempt at a decent breakfast with coffee. We would go in search of where we anticipated the best chance at a good coffee… We are addicts, we know that, and that is fine with us. This put an unavoidable schedule constraint on our activities for the day--each meal in a restaurant requires about 2 hours. There are warnings on the front of menus about time required to prepare food. And I would be suspicious if it came out any faster. And for the most part the Nescafe did the trick. I did my best to say, "dark," or, "black," or "VERY strong." Sometimes that worked and sometimes it didn't. Sometimes I found myself asking to purchase additional Nescafe packets. A few times in India I had DELICIOUS Americanos, thanks to the presence of Lavazza in Delhi and, shockingly, an ashram in the south. During the informational tour of the ashram the tour guide mentioned they have Lavazza coffee. I actually involuntarily jumped up in the air with excitement at this, attracting some attention. A few times I found myself craving hot chocolate. After few attempts at this, too, and I stopped trying. I remember Jim laughing as I watched him drinking a hot cocoa and asked him, "does yours taste like chocolate?"
Beer, however, was really not an issue. A few states and cities outlaw alcohol all together. Most do not. The "dry" areas sell beer without a license. This resulted in a few funny things happening. Once in Delhi, Jim ordered a beer. A few minutes later the funny man from our hotel came to the door and insisted on coming in and closing it behind him. He then took the beers out of the front of his PANTS. This was nothing unusual to him. This happened again in the alleyway--Jim had purchased beer for a train ride and suddenly someone came right up next to Jim and handed him beers out of his pants again…
Kingfisher was 80% of the beer sold in India. It comes in 3 or 4 different varieties based on strength. I didn't bother reading the label on alcohol content and drew an (incorrect) correlation from the strength of their coffee to that of their beer. Coffees are weak and sold in thimble-sized cups. Beers are mostly giant 660 mL and one Kingfisher Strong can put me under the table. For the most part I could find cold beers, but sometimes not. Indians don't seem to mind warm beer. The best word for asking for cold beer at a liquor shop is "cooling" and not "cold" for whatever reason.
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| Tom and Nick from England eating the Tandoori platter from Kebab Korner in Ooty. Absolutely incredible. |
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| Me behind my Indian Thali at Hotel Dasaprakash in Mysore, India. 55 Rupees for this and it is refillable... That is $1.10 USD. |
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| A sunset in Varkala, India from the beach near Micky Huts. |
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| Stuffing Pia in an Ambassador cab to head back to Germany... :( Bye, Pia! See you in 5 years somewhere crazy!!! :) |
