michiko and i have concluded that i will forever smell of old milk.
i have a headache.
and i want my pillow.
you've now been informed of the pressing concerns for the evening.
and so welcome to the second night in kolkata.
to be honest.
we haven't done much.
we're both tired and worn through.
3 weeks was a reasonable time i think.
for india at large that is.
at the pace we have been running and to see as much as we have.
im ready to come home.
ready for home.
or at least find some peace and quiet.
as quiet as baltimore city can be anyway.
it would be a marked improvement over this.
two more days. two more days.
what to do with two more days?
when we've barely survived a half of one.
i suppose i should update.
we arrived yesterday morning to the Sealdah train station and the first odd encounter was the rickshaw.
it was not a cycle construction.
but simply poles.
and pulled by a man.
now.
up to this point we had only encountered cycle rickshaws.
and even then i've felt twinges of guilt as too-thin old men attempted to huff and puff us (and our bags at times) up even the smallest inclinations.
but still.
it is their profession.
and one must work somehow.
at the very least there are no exhaust fumes involved.
(yes in the midst of poverty the environment remains at the forefront of my mind)
rickshaws are also, generally, cheaper than tuk-tuks.
and so our plan (when traveling with more than yourself always discuss pertinent decisions prior to the event and agree on possible scenarios and max pricing or bargaining power will be lost in an instant - this applies particularly to transportation and housing selection)
was to get a hold of a rickshaw (i had already estimated the distance from my map) and make our way to Sudder st - apparently littered with hotels and guesthouses.
we found a man (or rather he found us) agreed on a price and off we went to the rickshaw.
and both froze in confusion when we encountered two poles and no bicycle.
"no bicycle?"
"no cycle madam! this rickshaw!"
and shoved us into the seat.
the entire experience is uncomfortable.
of the inner kind (my butt has long ago gotten used to the lack of suspension on these things) and ive yet to analyze it thoroughly.
and am completely open to some opinions.
but it is.
truly.
still. (again) my primary thought is one must work.
and he will get paid.
in relation to this there is that murky area regarding worth.
i don't believe i have spoken of it - not directly at least.
but it has been on my mind often these past 3 weeks-
in the midst of these men attempting to cheat us.
and even the few who are (possibly) honest about the ride.
we have taken to asking neutral individuals how much a ride will cost before actually attempting to acquire transportation.
but then.
when you're sitting atop a rickshaw as that too-thin greying man wearing too-thin greying clothing is working his joints to the grind and the sweat slicks his hands despite the firm grip on those poles-
you wonder how the hell NYC taxi drivers get paid so damn much-
and the man before me gets 75 cents.
for literally hauling two grown women and their bags 9 km.
not that i would belittle the mental power it takes to drive in New York.
but really.
come on now.
and so.
what do you do?
pay as any local would pay?
not bargain in light of the original overcharged price, just suck it up and pay it knowing you are being cheated (the principle of the matter) because in the end - its still less than 1/2 a latte and this man is working his ass off.
yet how does that affect the grand arena of tourism and the tourists to follow me?
or bargain and then just tip handsomely - in the end giving what he originally asked for but in a roundabout way depending on corresponing guilt levels.
or just because.
while still saving face (and making him aware that you are aware you are being cheated).
so.
what do you do? what do you do?
arrival.
and hunting a hotel.
too many hotels in this place and yet the first 5 we went to were full.
not cool.
lowers bargaining power.
and i could see the other tourists on the streets hunting as well.
so the first place we found that had a large window worked for me (we needed to wash clothes and hence needed a good fan and an open window) despite it's questionable cleanliness (there's something unsettling about extensive smearing of mysterious substances on all 4 walls).
by now i didnt care.
no used condoms or roaches beneath the bed, a large window, working fan, and a western toilet (albeit without a seat and dysfunctional flushing capabilities).
all for the charming price of 250 rupees or $5 a night.
that's shared.
so i'm paying $2.50 for this place.
and aim to not touch the walls.
breakfast.
im trying to remember.
ah.
yes.
breakfast.
somehow.
proved rather difficult to obtain.
by now it was nearly 9 in the morning.
not early at all really.
but too many restaurants were closed and we were starving.
and then we found Flury's.
high end.
with a doorman, waiting list, chandeliers, and manager in tailored suit.
Michiko wanted to run far far away (she doesn't have a job - this is understandable)
but i convinced her otherwise - that it was my bloody vacation, it's like buying breakfast in the states and they take credit cards! (i refuse to exchange more money)
in the end the bill came to 800 rupees (including tip).
this is approximately $14 for long-apron servers.
up to this point our most expensive meal was $4.
(though generally we only pay $1-2 which is again - shared and so i've had many a large filling meal on 50 cents).
we were now living it up in India.
a very different India i had yet to explore.
800 rupees will buy you a BLT (really rather excellent bacon they had there), 3 "American pancakes" (though thank god not American proportions as i have no idea where we would have stuffed it all) with maple syrup (they lie), a mushroom cheese omelette, brewed coffee, lime sugar water, and masala tea.
and toast.
i found the entire thing brilliant really.
the other side. the growing middle class
that up to now i had only come to see in small pieces.
in passing.
aside from my first night stay with a live-in maid present Michiko and i were running across Northern India on a very basic budget.
the thing is - this wasn't a restaurant full of Westerners (a handful at most).
no.
it was all affluent Indians.
their suits, designer bags, laptops, jewels crowding the tables for sandwiches and omelettes and American pancakes.
i had to give the pancakes a thumbs down by the way.
excellent BLT though.
oh wait i said that.
but it was really was delicious!
still.
i was tempted to go into the back kitchen and make proper pancakes.
i am american - watch me carefully!
there is an art to the pancake.
speaking of which.
(and Michiko thinks i'm an idiot.)
it is only on this trip that it occurred to me that the word "pancake"
is a union of the two words "pan" and "cake".
this revelation came to me as i noticed many a menu across India stating "pan cake"
(along with "cheze", "soop", and "french frys")
aha...
thats right.
the AHA! moment.
i am a genius.
after breakfast we walked.
possibly forever.
to the Howrah bridge.
flower market.
as all the guidebooks talk about.
and by the time i got there i didn't give a damn.
had given up actually.
but as we crossed the bridge there it was.
splayed out below us.
and we had an excellent viewpoint.
for photographs we were supposedly not supposed to be taking as we happened to be on the bridge.
even though.
they were not of the bridge!
(perhaps it was a communication glitch with the police man as we are still confused)
though. when they say flowers.
they mean marigolds.
of course.
a million of them.
loose lumpy hills or already in neat chain formation.
the ground littered with orange and yellow puffs.
im somewhat curious as to how the marigold was ever chosen actually.
perhaps ive shared this question before.
its a matter of grave importance i assure you.
another thing to look up.
a bit more wondering and eventually made our way back to the hotel.
ate somewhere unremarkable. dodged store vendors. survived taxis intent on running us over.
etc etc etc.
this is how i have come to feel.
ive reached that point.
etc etc etc.
stay with me just a wee bit longer.
anyway.
that was yesterday.
today we aimed to complete a Mother Teresa tour.
or something of the like.
Blessed Teresa of Calcutta (Kolkata).
came upon the "Mother's House" (which again reminds me - always always ask for directions from three different people and at regular intervals along your route) which
incidentally.
was her home.
and houses her tomb.
also included a somewhat robust exhibition of her life and story of the Missionaries of Charity foundation.
along with a bulletin board of "How to be a good Catholic"
(i did read this, i'm a failure i tell you - but should i admit my numerous failings, sins, etc i, of course, may be brought back into the fold in full submission as the wretched soul that i am)
and the evils of abortion.
am i being snide?
ill add that to my sins.
ahem.
my religions hang-ups aside.
she did some cool shit.
(i'm amusing myself. bear with me.)
and im intrigued by some of her more personal statements (i.e. "the darkness within")
yet another thing to add to my book list.
god.
help me please.
down the street from "Mother's House" is the orphanage.
where we came to learn the following important points:
1) you must be married
2) you must be catholic
3) there is a waiting list
4) there is currently no adoption relationship with the United States or Japan
5) should you care to adopt you must show that you are incapable of having children
because (of course) should you happen to be blessed then you ought to be having your own children (never mind the countless already existing beings that need love and homes around the world)
right then.
good to know.
and we strolled out.
Michiko and i then, after this brief stopover, passed on the idea of going to the home of the sick or "Pure Heart".
i think we were done.
and so we found food, another rickshaw, and returned to our charming temporary dwelling.
i napped.
i have no idea what she did.
but the general point was that we had no desire to do much of anything at all.
and that was perfectly fine by me.
we did eventually venture back out.
walked a wee wee bit. ate some more (we are so so good at that).
drew out our meal over tea as we would back home (to the irritation of the establishment which happened to be turning tables like there was no tomorrow- the more westerners the better!).
michiko and i are parting ways tomorrow.
overall. this has worked out well.
i thought we might kill each other.
or at least want to.
we're best friends.
what else to expect?
but i think we have already come to thoroughly know one other's irritations and quirks.
and developed ways to counter them over the years.
so same interactions.
but different scenery.
and hm - smells.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Leaving Darjeeling
i had waited four days for heaven to once again appear and it failed me.
god must be running behind.
i had full intention of getting up at the crack of dawn because that is when i was informed that should the mountains choose to reveal themselves at all in these winter months - they do so then.
in the early morning.
however.
upon waking up at 5:30 am.
i was cold. very very cold.
(my little clock stating 14 celsius though i swear it felt colder than that.)
and i had no desire to leave my bedding.
none. whatsoever.
and i felt surely.
surely.
the mountains would understand.
we were mentally linked.
and perhaps.
if today were the day.
they would delay their arrival by just a wee wee bit.
eventually we had to get out of bed.
pack up our belongings and catch the 9:15 toy train back to New Jaipalguri.
now.
lots of guidebooks recommend the toy train.
its a UNESCO world heritage thing i think.
one of the UN things anyway.
has a plaque and lots of blessings bestowed upon it.
(by orgs that like to bless anyway)
etc.
old old train. old system.
in India.
can you imagine?
the ride down was supposed to take 7 hours.
(the ride up via jeep took 4)
yet we left at 9:17am and did not arrive at the NJP station until 7:12 pm.
in the middle of it all for reasons still unclear to us
there was a strike.
who precisely was striking-
why they were striking-
and how productive said strike was-
is also unclear.
but it delayed us by 2 hours
and then there were repeated back-ups
where the trian literally needed to back up on the track and use a different one
or something of the sort
then there was the time when a bit of metal from our car got caught
some pole flew off apparently
(or some pertinent piece of metal flew off anyway) and with each hit against
something along the trail
said metal kept curling and curling up
eventually getting stuck on a particularly narrow piece of track
and hence we then had to back up just so they could hammer the piece down
with rocks!
when michiko and i had bought that train ticket two days prior
expecting to arrive at the station at 4pm
and noting that our train to Kolkata did not leave until 9 that night
we felt mildly irritated that we had to sit in that same train station (the one we spen a night in the waiting room) for another 5 hours before leaving.
however.
in light of the actual events of the day of transportation.
i must pass on another piece of advice for india travel.
should you happen to be taking one mode of transportation to catch another mode of transportation
allow yourself no less than 5 hours in between in order to insure
that you will not miss the second leg of your journey.
(and still allow time for an omelette meal)
but.
the most important note.
on the way down.
is that that solid white sky did part for some brief few minutes.
and once again the himalaya appeared as they had on our journey up four days prior.
(ill indulge and pretend they were saying goodbye)
its better than the castle in the sky idea you know.
a grander magic.
the top of the world right there
better than pictures or movies or documentaries.
theres that same sense of insignificance when facing an ocean on an empty shore.
but in such a sense you find peace.
your own niche in the rhythm of the world clearer and sharper than before.
and it was just a small piece of them
and so far off
but i could see.
i had needed to see them again as my first look had been a blur-
a sleepy daze.
but there they were
and though still faint through the mist
those peaks were solid-
cutting into the blue.
god must be running behind.
i had full intention of getting up at the crack of dawn because that is when i was informed that should the mountains choose to reveal themselves at all in these winter months - they do so then.
in the early morning.
however.
upon waking up at 5:30 am.
i was cold. very very cold.
(my little clock stating 14 celsius though i swear it felt colder than that.)
and i had no desire to leave my bedding.
none. whatsoever.
and i felt surely.
surely.
the mountains would understand.
we were mentally linked.
and perhaps.
if today were the day.
they would delay their arrival by just a wee wee bit.
eventually we had to get out of bed.
pack up our belongings and catch the 9:15 toy train back to New Jaipalguri.
now.
lots of guidebooks recommend the toy train.
its a UNESCO world heritage thing i think.
one of the UN things anyway.
has a plaque and lots of blessings bestowed upon it.
(by orgs that like to bless anyway)
etc.
old old train. old system.
in India.
can you imagine?
the ride down was supposed to take 7 hours.
(the ride up via jeep took 4)
yet we left at 9:17am and did not arrive at the NJP station until 7:12 pm.
in the middle of it all for reasons still unclear to us
there was a strike.
who precisely was striking-
why they were striking-
and how productive said strike was-
is also unclear.
but it delayed us by 2 hours
and then there were repeated back-ups
where the trian literally needed to back up on the track and use a different one
or something of the sort
then there was the time when a bit of metal from our car got caught
some pole flew off apparently
(or some pertinent piece of metal flew off anyway) and with each hit against
something along the trail
said metal kept curling and curling up
eventually getting stuck on a particularly narrow piece of track
and hence we then had to back up just so they could hammer the piece down
with rocks!
when michiko and i had bought that train ticket two days prior
expecting to arrive at the station at 4pm
and noting that our train to Kolkata did not leave until 9 that night
we felt mildly irritated that we had to sit in that same train station (the one we spen a night in the waiting room) for another 5 hours before leaving.
however.
in light of the actual events of the day of transportation.
i must pass on another piece of advice for india travel.
should you happen to be taking one mode of transportation to catch another mode of transportation
allow yourself no less than 5 hours in between in order to insure
that you will not miss the second leg of your journey.
(and still allow time for an omelette meal)
but.
the most important note.
on the way down.
is that that solid white sky did part for some brief few minutes.
and once again the himalaya appeared as they had on our journey up four days prior.
(ill indulge and pretend they were saying goodbye)
its better than the castle in the sky idea you know.
a grander magic.
the top of the world right there
better than pictures or movies or documentaries.
theres that same sense of insignificance when facing an ocean on an empty shore.
but in such a sense you find peace.
your own niche in the rhythm of the world clearer and sharper than before.
and it was just a small piece of them
and so far off
but i could see.
i had needed to see them again as my first look had been a blur-
a sleepy daze.
but there they were
and though still faint through the mist
those peaks were solid-
cutting into the blue.
Darjeeling Day 3
last full day in Darjeeling.
and we decided to make another trek upon the same road (this being the farthest yet) out to the Tibetan Refugee Self-help Center.
the name says it all.
they support themselves primarily through carpet selling which they make right there.
on the premises.
from scratch.
in lovely lovely patterns.
certainly more interesting than the rugs we were shown in agra (though they did feel lovely, they just were rather typical of the rug world)
wait.
before that.
i must note the most fantastic bun in the world.
the taifon.
at least.
that is what i think its called.
wait.
or taifo? tofu?
there is a t.
and there is a f.
the vowels are still mysterious.
michiko swears its one thing.
and im sure its another.
no matter.
we took photos.
and i will look it up!
because it fucking fantastic.
large steamed bun with cabbage, some possibly not-quite meat and whatever they use to season it!
served with a flavorful broth and pot of hot chai.
its the most excellent breakfast.
at Dawat. again.
they knew us there by now.
lovely people.
okay.
back to the Tibetans.
and our long long walk.
should you ever go to Darjeeling.
i really do recommend getting out of the city center.
get beyond the dingy and wet.
though lacking in cows (and therefore lacking cow shit - woe is me) its not precisely beautiful.
however.
taking a stroll beyond all that.
is charming.
and occasionally when the sky clears a wee wee bit you can see the hillsides (though the himalaya had yet to reveal itself again) and all that green and its beautiful.
the houses along the way in bright coloring and fresh paint and porches lined with bag after bucket after pot of flowers -
oh! i loved it really.
really really.
the refugee center was good to see.
good.
however much smaller Tibetan community than in Dharamsala and Mcleod Ganj.
600-some i think is the current number.
but we were able to speak with a woman who worked in the hospital/clinic.
i had walked up to ask some basic questions and only after saying that i'm a nurse did she relax, smile, and take michiko and myself around their small facility.
primarily based upon volunteers from abroad.
for example currently they had a doctor from Taiwan who was assisting them for three months.
she did note something interesting in that currently, the tibetan refugees were not the only patients of the clinic. the poor of the surrounding communities also came because the service is much cheaper than in the main city of Darjeeling.
but generally they were only able to provide care dependent upon who was able to work.
again - for example - they currently had no ob/gyn provider and so were unable to focus specifically on those issues including pregnancy.
two Tibetan women worked (and lived in the settlement) as "unofficial nurses" but had done so for so many years i'm quite sure they knew what the hell they were doing, nevermind credentials. (i have credentials and still dont know what the hell im doing but dont tell my manager i said that)
medications were a blend of current and expired and usually provided by donations.
again.
i felt so charmed. this particular woman walking us around and working so very hard with her english (i feel so helpless at times - seeing people attempt to communicate in my language and i not even knowing a word of their own)
but then i think im developing a Tibet-crush.
and i spent a good 20 minutes just attempting to think up who in my life could possibly need a rug just so that i could buy one from them.
we spent some time just wondering the compound which includes a home for orphans, a home for the elderly (though the way those men and women move up and down those steps...) and a nursery.
in the end i grabbed a business card as the woman from the clinic stuck in my mind.
volunteer?
again.
im so so tempted.
the sky had opened up for us a little that day.
but still the himalaya was in hiding.
and i had to laugh - the primary reason for my bothering to endure a 24 hour journey to Darjeeling was for the mountains.
the view.
but thats alright i suppose.
all things in due time.
and we decided to make another trek upon the same road (this being the farthest yet) out to the Tibetan Refugee Self-help Center.
the name says it all.
they support themselves primarily through carpet selling which they make right there.
on the premises.
from scratch.
in lovely lovely patterns.
certainly more interesting than the rugs we were shown in agra (though they did feel lovely, they just were rather typical of the rug world)
wait.
before that.
i must note the most fantastic bun in the world.
the taifon.
at least.
that is what i think its called.
wait.
or taifo? tofu?
there is a t.
and there is a f.
the vowels are still mysterious.
michiko swears its one thing.
and im sure its another.
no matter.
we took photos.
and i will look it up!
because it fucking fantastic.
large steamed bun with cabbage, some possibly not-quite meat and whatever they use to season it!
served with a flavorful broth and pot of hot chai.
its the most excellent breakfast.
at Dawat. again.
they knew us there by now.
lovely people.
okay.
back to the Tibetans.
and our long long walk.
should you ever go to Darjeeling.
i really do recommend getting out of the city center.
get beyond the dingy and wet.
though lacking in cows (and therefore lacking cow shit - woe is me) its not precisely beautiful.
however.
taking a stroll beyond all that.
is charming.
and occasionally when the sky clears a wee wee bit you can see the hillsides (though the himalaya had yet to reveal itself again) and all that green and its beautiful.
the houses along the way in bright coloring and fresh paint and porches lined with bag after bucket after pot of flowers -
oh! i loved it really.
really really.
the refugee center was good to see.
good.
however much smaller Tibetan community than in Dharamsala and Mcleod Ganj.
600-some i think is the current number.
but we were able to speak with a woman who worked in the hospital/clinic.
i had walked up to ask some basic questions and only after saying that i'm a nurse did she relax, smile, and take michiko and myself around their small facility.
primarily based upon volunteers from abroad.
for example currently they had a doctor from Taiwan who was assisting them for three months.
she did note something interesting in that currently, the tibetan refugees were not the only patients of the clinic. the poor of the surrounding communities also came because the service is much cheaper than in the main city of Darjeeling.
but generally they were only able to provide care dependent upon who was able to work.
again - for example - they currently had no ob/gyn provider and so were unable to focus specifically on those issues including pregnancy.
two Tibetan women worked (and lived in the settlement) as "unofficial nurses" but had done so for so many years i'm quite sure they knew what the hell they were doing, nevermind credentials. (i have credentials and still dont know what the hell im doing but dont tell my manager i said that)
medications were a blend of current and expired and usually provided by donations.
again.
i felt so charmed. this particular woman walking us around and working so very hard with her english (i feel so helpless at times - seeing people attempt to communicate in my language and i not even knowing a word of their own)
but then i think im developing a Tibet-crush.
and i spent a good 20 minutes just attempting to think up who in my life could possibly need a rug just so that i could buy one from them.
we spent some time just wondering the compound which includes a home for orphans, a home for the elderly (though the way those men and women move up and down those steps...) and a nursery.
in the end i grabbed a business card as the woman from the clinic stuck in my mind.
volunteer?
again.
im so so tempted.
the sky had opened up for us a little that day.
but still the himalaya was in hiding.
and i had to laugh - the primary reason for my bothering to endure a 24 hour journey to Darjeeling was for the mountains.
the view.
but thats alright i suppose.
all things in due time.
Thoughts mid-scrub
so it occurs to me - after i just uploaded a few more blog entries.
that perhaps ive been bitching a bit much lately.
have i?
our minds tend to dwell on the negative and so i hope i have not seemed horribly discontent.
im rather the opposite actually.
but there is the worry.
a misrepresentation.
its such a difficult thing.
this attempt at expression.
when for every thought i have a dozen others and truth is annoyingly relative.
concerning my scattered mind and each passing moment.
these are the things one thinks about when squatting on a dimly lit closet of a bathroom occupied by a fair number of cobwebs and feathers (Michiko and i suspect there are pigeons living in the crack of the ceiling) scrubbing away at the grime of a Kolkata day.
ive come to love my bathing via bucket.
water conservation and all that.
when at an acceptable temperature at least.
the luxury of being american.
i can save the planet when it suits me.
back to the bitching.
i only feel the need to clarify perhaps - well whatever i think in my mind might need clarifying but is not actually making itself clear to me at the moment -
that india is lovely.
in that all places are inherently lovely.
ad the onus is on the passing traveler to learn precisely how.
and i have only come to experience (i couldnt even say know - how does someone come to -know- an entire country or even city or even corner in simply three weeks? well perhaps the corner... full of red betel spittings....)
a small piece of this place.
and while i rant at moments. its one subset of emotion in the midst of many.
very very many.
and while my body may feel the need to vomit as we pass yet another pissing man (really the number of men ive seen pissing in the streets is possibly more than ive seen my entire lifetime) and walk over his hot fresh stream flowing downhill - i wonder what it would take to change this.
in an abstract sense i wonder these things.
ive read a little. only a little.
to get a general overview of the government set up. the economy. healthcare.
public health for that matter.
its all a bit of a jumble in my head really.
hard to tease out much of anything.
so dont ask me.
youll get a blank stare.
but despite that.
i get that its hard to run this country.
thats my summary. (clever. why yes i am.)
hard. difficult. challenging.
not that leading any other land is a piece of a cake.
but india is just particularly weird i think.
and so still.
even on a small scale. i wonder what programs can be (or have been) in place.
what it would take for people to stop shitting in the street. (ive also seen one too many bums lately...of the buttocks kind that is)
what it would take for a few more trashcans and for them to actually be used.
(though the "USE ME" statements really are entertaining)
michiko came up with the idea of paying people per bag of trash collected.
give the poor some work. and clean the place up.
i think its genius.
told her to write PM Singh.
if she wont. i will.
who knows how far it will get.
but even then i wonder.
where the hell will all those collected bags go then?
and this leads to the thought of US trash collection.
landfills, etc.
sure the streets are clean (well. relatively.)
but i doubt our consumption is any less.
we just put in in big piles in somewhat out of the way places and cover it up.
at least Indians are honest.
somewhat superficial thoughts.
amidst so many other concerns.
im currently reading a book on India-China relations (wild wild silly shit - love people. wheres the love?).
but then my cynicism rears its latte-addicted head and i simply feel the need to kick back and watch the world destroy itself.
though i think India would manage it in far prettier clothing.
that perhaps ive been bitching a bit much lately.
have i?
our minds tend to dwell on the negative and so i hope i have not seemed horribly discontent.
im rather the opposite actually.
but there is the worry.
a misrepresentation.
its such a difficult thing.
this attempt at expression.
when for every thought i have a dozen others and truth is annoyingly relative.
concerning my scattered mind and each passing moment.
these are the things one thinks about when squatting on a dimly lit closet of a bathroom occupied by a fair number of cobwebs and feathers (Michiko and i suspect there are pigeons living in the crack of the ceiling) scrubbing away at the grime of a Kolkata day.
ive come to love my bathing via bucket.
water conservation and all that.
when at an acceptable temperature at least.
the luxury of being american.
i can save the planet when it suits me.
back to the bitching.
i only feel the need to clarify perhaps - well whatever i think in my mind might need clarifying but is not actually making itself clear to me at the moment -
that india is lovely.
in that all places are inherently lovely.
ad the onus is on the passing traveler to learn precisely how.
and i have only come to experience (i couldnt even say know - how does someone come to -know- an entire country or even city or even corner in simply three weeks? well perhaps the corner... full of red betel spittings....)
a small piece of this place.
and while i rant at moments. its one subset of emotion in the midst of many.
very very many.
and while my body may feel the need to vomit as we pass yet another pissing man (really the number of men ive seen pissing in the streets is possibly more than ive seen my entire lifetime) and walk over his hot fresh stream flowing downhill - i wonder what it would take to change this.
in an abstract sense i wonder these things.
ive read a little. only a little.
to get a general overview of the government set up. the economy. healthcare.
public health for that matter.
its all a bit of a jumble in my head really.
hard to tease out much of anything.
so dont ask me.
youll get a blank stare.
but despite that.
i get that its hard to run this country.
thats my summary. (clever. why yes i am.)
hard. difficult. challenging.
not that leading any other land is a piece of a cake.
but india is just particularly weird i think.
and so still.
even on a small scale. i wonder what programs can be (or have been) in place.
what it would take for people to stop shitting in the street. (ive also seen one too many bums lately...of the buttocks kind that is)
what it would take for a few more trashcans and for them to actually be used.
(though the "USE ME" statements really are entertaining)
michiko came up with the idea of paying people per bag of trash collected.
give the poor some work. and clean the place up.
i think its genius.
told her to write PM Singh.
if she wont. i will.
who knows how far it will get.
but even then i wonder.
where the hell will all those collected bags go then?
and this leads to the thought of US trash collection.
landfills, etc.
sure the streets are clean (well. relatively.)
but i doubt our consumption is any less.
we just put in in big piles in somewhat out of the way places and cover it up.
at least Indians are honest.
somewhat superficial thoughts.
amidst so many other concerns.
im currently reading a book on India-China relations (wild wild silly shit - love people. wheres the love?).
but then my cynicism rears its latte-addicted head and i simply feel the need to kick back and watch the world destroy itself.
though i think India would manage it in far prettier clothing.
Darjeeling Day 2
good morning to a party outside our door.
laughing. yelling. arguing. trampling about.
by the time we finally forced ourselves out of our respective warm cocoons (and into the bathroom to pee) the crowd had dispersed.
but a 7 am wake up call when we were so bloody exhausted from the trip up to Darjeeling is just not on.
and so coupled with the lack of hot water-
we checked out.
(as in literally)
hunted down a new hotel at a higher price (yet still only 700 rupees = ~$14)
and wondered what the hell happened to the pleasant weather of the day before.
Darjeeling day 2 consisted of the fog reaching further and further into town - surely to grip us tight and into some freezing hell.
fog is really rather strange like that.
(by the way what precisely is the difference between fog and mist? i've been labeling them whatever i feel like it)
ominous. penetrating. encompassing.
some other -ing words.
and still.
only air.
how weak our little bodies must be.
so easily conquered by nature.
and how consistently chilled we felt the entire day.
no number of chais or soups would chase away the shiver.
and to soothe my unhappy head i bought a hat.
knitted of many colors. with little ear flaps and lined in flannel.
god is good.
but before that.
i must say something about singing.
everyone sings.
well. not everyone i suppose.
well i imagine they all do at some point in their lives.
but not necessarily all at the same time.
in that i heard them all at the same time.
whatever.
my point.
is.
we have heard a great deal of singing in india.
by common people.
who, at times, sound worse than me.
but still.
its all so lovely.
i have no idea what they are saying.
but they have no shame. no hesitation.
its all out singing. (and this is not even inclusive of the chanting - thats something else something entirely)
or humming.
randomly.
suddenly.
at the restaurant. in the store. monuments. rickshaw drivers. chai makers.
everyone. everyone. everyone.
and it only suddenly occured to me.
in Darjeeling.
as michiko and i awaited breakfast in Dawat Restaurant (which we recommend except for the pancake - big thumbs down - stick to the traditional foods).
two family members (they all ran the restaurant together) were crooning away.
one obviously better than the other. (the sister being superior of course - hail to the sisters!)
but no matter!
it may have been nepali. or hindi.
but the singing itself is soothing regardless.
particularly on this early morning when my body craved any little warmth.
now then.
back to the day. i wanted to see the himalaya mountain institute (HMI).
and so off we went a-walking.
the same road of the day before. away from traffic.
past tea farms and the odd church (of which exist, i feel, a disproportionately high number)
past viewpoints that on a clear day would show the hills and mountains beyond but today proved to reveal not a damned thing.
on and on until we reached what turned out to be both the zoo and the HMI.
very well then.
i suppose we will check out this zoo as well. (i was quite excited actually as its been some time since i've been to the zoo - any zoo)
and it proved to be a rather charming surprise.
between the snow leopards and some sort of orange bird (orange seems to be a popular color in india) and wolves (which for no precise reason reminded me of my dog and hence miss her - possibly because two of the 5 wolves present were in a particularly playful mood and they do seem rather dog-like then)
incidentally himalayan wolves are the oldest species of wolves.
i think thats right.
or what the little description plate told me.
anyway.
red pandas. michiko's cutest (i still vote for the wolves) animal of the day.
and mr. tiger.
i had thought originally in my plans for india to see a tiger/nature reserve (i.e. seeing a tiger in the wild) -
i dont even remember the last time i saw a tiger in the zoo.
there is no distinct memory in my brain wrinkles so the idea appealed to me.
however.
im rather glad i didnt.
because this particular zoo tiger.
MR. tiger.
was vocal. and solid (you cannot imagine he was anything but pure muscle)
and had very big teeth.
these fantastic roars which half of us watching tried to emulate even if no sound came out, there were mouth movements happenings (myself included) and he was agitated.
pacing pacing pacing.
staring at us then pacing roar pacing roar pacing roar again.
now.
if i had come across such an animal in the open with no fence between myself and all that roaring.
i would have pissed my pants.
hence.
i feel the decision to cut out the wildlife reserve from my india itinerary was an excellent choice.
in the end.
i still saw a tiger.
and he saw me.
and we parted ways amicably.
each of us in one whole piece.
the HMI institute was interesting actually.
though somewhat shabby exhibit labeling and descriptions.
still the items displayed appealed. tenzing's equipment used.
the actual flags from the various countries that once stood atop mt. everest with each successful climb.
along with relevant articles and photographs of so many different climbers over the years.
i felt so inspired i grabbed a brief summary of courses offered.
basic mountaineering is a month long course, $650 incl room and food.
im so so tempted.
and that was our main event of the day.
at some point in time we ate at
this ridiculously cute (and cheap) little spot of barely held together painted wood - more like a shed than a proper building - but cozy, tidy, and warm within.
everyone jumping over one another to switch out seats as someone else finished.
michiko and i ended up sharing a 4 seater table with two locals who were particularly useful in that we had the chance to examine up close how exactly they ate their thupka via fork and spoon
(and in turn recreate it somewhat successfully)
after a long trek back to our new hotel we were ready for a hot bucket bath.
and thank god.
for once.
there was truly hot water.
and really random (but entertaining to me anyway) indian programming on tv.
i think a soap opera can be recgonized anywhere in the world.
between the sudden close ups and large moist-but not quite crying eyes india has done its part to add to great tv programming.
laughing. yelling. arguing. trampling about.
by the time we finally forced ourselves out of our respective warm cocoons (and into the bathroom to pee) the crowd had dispersed.
but a 7 am wake up call when we were so bloody exhausted from the trip up to Darjeeling is just not on.
and so coupled with the lack of hot water-
we checked out.
(as in literally)
hunted down a new hotel at a higher price (yet still only 700 rupees = ~$14)
and wondered what the hell happened to the pleasant weather of the day before.
Darjeeling day 2 consisted of the fog reaching further and further into town - surely to grip us tight and into some freezing hell.
fog is really rather strange like that.
(by the way what precisely is the difference between fog and mist? i've been labeling them whatever i feel like it)
ominous. penetrating. encompassing.
some other -ing words.
and still.
only air.
how weak our little bodies must be.
so easily conquered by nature.
and how consistently chilled we felt the entire day.
no number of chais or soups would chase away the shiver.
and to soothe my unhappy head i bought a hat.
knitted of many colors. with little ear flaps and lined in flannel.
god is good.
but before that.
i must say something about singing.
everyone sings.
well. not everyone i suppose.
well i imagine they all do at some point in their lives.
but not necessarily all at the same time.
in that i heard them all at the same time.
whatever.
my point.
is.
we have heard a great deal of singing in india.
by common people.
who, at times, sound worse than me.
but still.
its all so lovely.
i have no idea what they are saying.
but they have no shame. no hesitation.
its all out singing. (and this is not even inclusive of the chanting - thats something else something entirely)
or humming.
randomly.
suddenly.
at the restaurant. in the store. monuments. rickshaw drivers. chai makers.
everyone. everyone. everyone.
and it only suddenly occured to me.
in Darjeeling.
as michiko and i awaited breakfast in Dawat Restaurant (which we recommend except for the pancake - big thumbs down - stick to the traditional foods).
two family members (they all ran the restaurant together) were crooning away.
one obviously better than the other. (the sister being superior of course - hail to the sisters!)
but no matter!
it may have been nepali. or hindi.
but the singing itself is soothing regardless.
particularly on this early morning when my body craved any little warmth.
now then.
back to the day. i wanted to see the himalaya mountain institute (HMI).
and so off we went a-walking.
the same road of the day before. away from traffic.
past tea farms and the odd church (of which exist, i feel, a disproportionately high number)
past viewpoints that on a clear day would show the hills and mountains beyond but today proved to reveal not a damned thing.
on and on until we reached what turned out to be both the zoo and the HMI.
very well then.
i suppose we will check out this zoo as well. (i was quite excited actually as its been some time since i've been to the zoo - any zoo)
and it proved to be a rather charming surprise.
between the snow leopards and some sort of orange bird (orange seems to be a popular color in india) and wolves (which for no precise reason reminded me of my dog and hence miss her - possibly because two of the 5 wolves present were in a particularly playful mood and they do seem rather dog-like then)
incidentally himalayan wolves are the oldest species of wolves.
i think thats right.
or what the little description plate told me.
anyway.
red pandas. michiko's cutest (i still vote for the wolves) animal of the day.
and mr. tiger.
i had thought originally in my plans for india to see a tiger/nature reserve (i.e. seeing a tiger in the wild) -
i dont even remember the last time i saw a tiger in the zoo.
there is no distinct memory in my brain wrinkles so the idea appealed to me.
however.
im rather glad i didnt.
because this particular zoo tiger.
MR. tiger.
was vocal. and solid (you cannot imagine he was anything but pure muscle)
and had very big teeth.
these fantastic roars which half of us watching tried to emulate even if no sound came out, there were mouth movements happenings (myself included) and he was agitated.
pacing pacing pacing.
staring at us then pacing roar pacing roar pacing roar again.
now.
if i had come across such an animal in the open with no fence between myself and all that roaring.
i would have pissed my pants.
hence.
i feel the decision to cut out the wildlife reserve from my india itinerary was an excellent choice.
in the end.
i still saw a tiger.
and he saw me.
and we parted ways amicably.
each of us in one whole piece.
the HMI institute was interesting actually.
though somewhat shabby exhibit labeling and descriptions.
still the items displayed appealed. tenzing's equipment used.
the actual flags from the various countries that once stood atop mt. everest with each successful climb.
along with relevant articles and photographs of so many different climbers over the years.
i felt so inspired i grabbed a brief summary of courses offered.
basic mountaineering is a month long course, $650 incl room and food.
im so so tempted.
and that was our main event of the day.
at some point in time we ate at
this ridiculously cute (and cheap) little spot of barely held together painted wood - more like a shed than a proper building - but cozy, tidy, and warm within.
everyone jumping over one another to switch out seats as someone else finished.
michiko and i ended up sharing a 4 seater table with two locals who were particularly useful in that we had the chance to examine up close how exactly they ate their thupka via fork and spoon
(and in turn recreate it somewhat successfully)
after a long trek back to our new hotel we were ready for a hot bucket bath.
and thank god.
for once.
there was truly hot water.
and really random (but entertaining to me anyway) indian programming on tv.
i think a soap opera can be recgonized anywhere in the world.
between the sudden close ups and large moist-but not quite crying eyes india has done its part to add to great tv programming.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Darjeeling Day one
the original plan was to hunt down a hotel outside of the New Jaipalguri train station and continue on to the next part of our trip to Darjeeling the following morning.
however.
that was dependent upon arrival at said train station at 10 that evening.
we took a chance and ventured out of the station past midnight to locate a hotel.
half of which were not even opening their doors and the others either full or just taken by other arrivals (and at double the normal prices).
so we gave up.
and headed back to the station.
after a delightful tour of Siliguri via rickshaw at nearly one in the morning.
a quick meal of fried egg and chai before we fell asleep, exhausted and scattered, on the waiting room chairs.
6 am and enough light in the sky to try this town out again.
getting a share taxi to Darjeeling itself proved easy enough.
and as we meandered our way back and forth up the mountain road for 4 hours, the temperature began to drop as the sun rose, the forest thickened, and little concrete houses in teals and pinks dotted the roadside.
but the kicker.
truly.
was that people had flower pots on these hills.
flower pots and new eyes.
and wild marigold and little flags of yellow, white, and green on every pole, door, wire, car, store, bike, and window we passed.
welcome to gorkaland.
(or so they call it. im not entirely sure its official.)
full of nepali-indians and those of nepali heritage.
and sprinkle in a few indians, tibetans and those of bhutan as well.
a rather different world.
and as we neared Darjeeling there was a brief glimpse of the himalaya.
entirely too brief.
and breath-taking.
do these folks ever tire of it?
do they not love it still?
could i grow and live in this land and find it commonplace?
i couldnt imagine.
and i still wonder what they feel.
and see it over and over and over again.
-------------------
we wandered. after locating a hotel and food and wondering if we really should have worried about the cold considering we both felt rather comfortable on that sunny afternoon (of course we were right to worry). just strolling along. exploring.
the chaos is different here.
still horns and terrible driving. and throngs of people.
but teenage girls and boys stroll along arm in arm.
a dozen different school uniforms fill the sidewalk - of older children and teenagers (not only the littles ones as we have normally seen)
middle aged women in more western wear or some traditional hybrid mix and nepali men in smart leather shoes and gelled hair.
take a staircase up or down from the main road and the world shushes a little.
and its green. so green. thick and misty and moist.
and take a few more staircases up or down and you realize how horribly out of shape you are.
that the old lady hobbling up ahead is moving faster and steadier than you can possibly manage despite being 40 years younger.
we liked this world.
and spent the afternoon walking about, trying the tasty thukpa soup, and admiring the hard work of countless tea ladies and their basket loads dotting the hillside.
as an extra note - it happens to be black tea preparation time.
november being the last month of leaf collection.
all was well.
the air was cool and fresh (when walking far enough outside of the main town - otherwise its all exhaust fumes - only a bit wetter than normal - dripping smoke)
until the sun set and we returned to our room.
freezing and only then did it occur to us that heating systems didn't exist around here. the water would not steam and we were shivering in our underwear, our breath visible puffs in the air.
we dove under the covers, still unclean and dreaming of hot water.
it was over. we knew.
soon to die in our bed. little dirty japanese and american icicles.
and i started actually missing the sweltering heat.
however.
that was dependent upon arrival at said train station at 10 that evening.
we took a chance and ventured out of the station past midnight to locate a hotel.
half of which were not even opening their doors and the others either full or just taken by other arrivals (and at double the normal prices).
so we gave up.
and headed back to the station.
after a delightful tour of Siliguri via rickshaw at nearly one in the morning.
a quick meal of fried egg and chai before we fell asleep, exhausted and scattered, on the waiting room chairs.
6 am and enough light in the sky to try this town out again.
getting a share taxi to Darjeeling itself proved easy enough.
and as we meandered our way back and forth up the mountain road for 4 hours, the temperature began to drop as the sun rose, the forest thickened, and little concrete houses in teals and pinks dotted the roadside.
but the kicker.
truly.
was that people had flower pots on these hills.
flower pots and new eyes.
and wild marigold and little flags of yellow, white, and green on every pole, door, wire, car, store, bike, and window we passed.
welcome to gorkaland.
(or so they call it. im not entirely sure its official.)
full of nepali-indians and those of nepali heritage.
and sprinkle in a few indians, tibetans and those of bhutan as well.
a rather different world.
and as we neared Darjeeling there was a brief glimpse of the himalaya.
entirely too brief.
and breath-taking.
do these folks ever tire of it?
do they not love it still?
could i grow and live in this land and find it commonplace?
i couldnt imagine.
and i still wonder what they feel.
and see it over and over and over again.
-------------------
we wandered. after locating a hotel and food and wondering if we really should have worried about the cold considering we both felt rather comfortable on that sunny afternoon (of course we were right to worry). just strolling along. exploring.
the chaos is different here.
still horns and terrible driving. and throngs of people.
but teenage girls and boys stroll along arm in arm.
a dozen different school uniforms fill the sidewalk - of older children and teenagers (not only the littles ones as we have normally seen)
middle aged women in more western wear or some traditional hybrid mix and nepali men in smart leather shoes and gelled hair.
take a staircase up or down from the main road and the world shushes a little.
and its green. so green. thick and misty and moist.
and take a few more staircases up or down and you realize how horribly out of shape you are.
that the old lady hobbling up ahead is moving faster and steadier than you can possibly manage despite being 40 years younger.
we liked this world.
and spent the afternoon walking about, trying the tasty thukpa soup, and admiring the hard work of countless tea ladies and their basket loads dotting the hillside.
as an extra note - it happens to be black tea preparation time.
november being the last month of leaf collection.
all was well.
the air was cool and fresh (when walking far enough outside of the main town - otherwise its all exhaust fumes - only a bit wetter than normal - dripping smoke)
until the sun set and we returned to our room.
freezing and only then did it occur to us that heating systems didn't exist around here. the water would not steam and we were shivering in our underwear, our breath visible puffs in the air.
we dove under the covers, still unclean and dreaming of hot water.
it was over. we knew.
soon to die in our bed. little dirty japanese and american icicles.
and i started actually missing the sweltering heat.
Train ride to New Jaipalguri
up before dawn to catch a train that would suck the life out of us for 17 hours.
im not kidding.
7 am until 12:30 am of the next fucking day we spent on that train.
the train from Varanasi to NJP station, on our way to Darjeeling (or rather a train station en route to our way to Darjeeling).
i knew the ride would be long (though it was 2 and half hours late) but damn.
DAMN.
trapped in an overstuffed sleeper class car.
the dingiest one yet.
(yes im complaining of the lack of cleaniless yet again. i am aware.
really. dont think too little of me i beg you)
we were not sure if they just sold too many tickets or others were hitching a ride or what the hell was going on, but there were heads, and limbs, and stinky feet everywhere. with the equivalent amount of chatter and noise.
people stuffed and hanging off every train cot.
including the ones we had actually paid for and supposedly were our own.
and everyone staring at us.
the entire way.
both in the car and from outside on the platforms of stations we stopped at.
there were times i simply held up my shawl to block the window just to sit or eat in peace.
it wasnt even possible to get up and walk the train car because that involved jumping over people blocking and sitting in the aisle.
michiko decided to just not drink anything (which she regretted the day after when she was so dehydrated she couldnt poop) to avoid having to pee.
the bathroom is another story.
i wont even go into it.
its - by now - old news.
just imagine the foul foul foul smells.
there.
thats the worst of it.
the upside.
was the view.
the passing countryside.
this area of india is greener. richer. farmland neat and tidy.
and when i wasnt swallowed up in one of the books i had purchased the day before i just loved watching the world go by in a blur of greens.
but.
be mindful of the roaches.
they come out in the evening.
and have no fear.
im not kidding.
7 am until 12:30 am of the next fucking day we spent on that train.
the train from Varanasi to NJP station, on our way to Darjeeling (or rather a train station en route to our way to Darjeeling).
i knew the ride would be long (though it was 2 and half hours late) but damn.
DAMN.
trapped in an overstuffed sleeper class car.
the dingiest one yet.
(yes im complaining of the lack of cleaniless yet again. i am aware.
really. dont think too little of me i beg you)
we were not sure if they just sold too many tickets or others were hitching a ride or what the hell was going on, but there were heads, and limbs, and stinky feet everywhere. with the equivalent amount of chatter and noise.
people stuffed and hanging off every train cot.
including the ones we had actually paid for and supposedly were our own.
and everyone staring at us.
the entire way.
both in the car and from outside on the platforms of stations we stopped at.
there were times i simply held up my shawl to block the window just to sit or eat in peace.
it wasnt even possible to get up and walk the train car because that involved jumping over people blocking and sitting in the aisle.
michiko decided to just not drink anything (which she regretted the day after when she was so dehydrated she couldnt poop) to avoid having to pee.
the bathroom is another story.
i wont even go into it.
its - by now - old news.
just imagine the foul foul foul smells.
there.
thats the worst of it.
the upside.
was the view.
the passing countryside.
this area of india is greener. richer. farmland neat and tidy.
and when i wasnt swallowed up in one of the books i had purchased the day before i just loved watching the world go by in a blur of greens.
but.
be mindful of the roaches.
they come out in the evening.
and have no fear.
Varanasi Day 2
note to self.
no sirodharas with milk.
ever ever again.
ive scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed and rinsed some more.
and the smell of expired milk still wafts from my scalp.
charming. im telling you.
days later in darjeeling and im fighting for hot water in 15 degree celsius temps just to scrub my hair just one more time.
yet no matter what i (though admittedly in a frantic rush as hot water seems, as always, a challenge and it's f-in cold) manage -
theres still the bloody smell!
though michiko does assure me its not nearly as bad as it was the first day -
i swear its lodged itself into my follicles!
i'll smell like sour milk for months!!!
-----
right then.
lets carry on.
boat ride for the morning.
easy enough to arrange. just walk by some boats and like everywhere else - people will pounce.
negotiate the charge and off you go.
ever so slowly past ghat after ghat after ghat.
and for those who like me hadn't the faintest idea as to what the hell that was -
they're steps.
thats all.
people swimming. kids playing. old men lathering up layers of off-white foam. women scrubbing pants and men beating sheets (i'm still not entirely clear as to how this works as a cleaning method but its done, just grab a decent sized log and have at it) and some other old men in orange with these shiny cups pouring out water and praying or chanting or something in between.
its interesting for the first half hour. but you can only check out so many half naked people and their bathing habits. felt a bit indecent really.
so turned my attention the other way to stare at those endless mists.
i think i prefer them anyway.
ive yet to master the art of meditation but that image would help.
clear the mind?
a filtering fog will do nicely.
its startling really.
so much activity to one half.
varanasi simply spewing out people and morning rituals, be they mundane or of the gods (i suppose taking a bath is open to interpretation) onto one bank of the ganga and to the other - a lone fisherman in his boat floating through the whites and greys of winter.
yes. i did prefer it.
along with an easy sky.
the sun had yet to rear its sweltering head and i enjoyed a sweat-free hour simply lying on my back as we mozied along.
only the clicking of michiko's camera ever breaking through.
which leads to me a note.
something that ought to be noted.
india overwhelms the senses.
all of them. in every way possible.
full out - assault-.
walk down any street and the disturbing blend of cow shit and spices that i will never be able to get the hang of but that live rather comfortably in the street foods that i will also never be able to remember the names of (except for samosas - 10 rupees!). exhaust fumes and smoke fire. old sweat and new sweat. there's piss on the corner and lemons on the stands. my nose is hard at work and with black snot thrown in for kicks.
and the noise! ten different kinds of horns! drivers cursing! women arguing! cows mooing! dogs barking! bicycle rickshaws jingling! children laughing! chai sellers hollering chai! chai! chai! long horn! musical horn! growling horn! horn! horn! horn!
all layered on top of one another. an explosion of sound.
forget volume levels at concerts.
come to india.
really blow out your ear drums.
and to see - ive mentioned the sparkle. the color.
orange. pink. blue. yellow.
and thats only the men!
its everywhere. rich or poor.
and pay attention to those roads. know what you're stepping on. and pay attention the traffic - know where you're stepping because there is a rickshaw, motorcycle, tuk-tuk, jeep, scooter or cow ready to run you down.
and the houses. all as colorful as the clothes.
albeit - too often under smears of dirt, soot, and grime.
and the tastes! i wouldnt even know what im talking about!
my culinary critique consists of me like vs me not like.
but shit people! i try a new thing every single time and there are still dishes on menus i have yet to get to!
and even touch.
my too firm bed and the aging, tearing velour of tuk-tuk seats. silk rugs and dusty dusty floors. sticky table tops and that fresh mosquito bite. cool marble and my beloved burning plastic mini-cups of chai.
how the liquid has yet to melt said plastic directly to my fingertips still boggles the mind.
yes.
its that thin and that hot.
in summary.
its all SO DAMNED MUCH.
though i certainly have my moments when im ready to hop skip and jump my way into some black hole.
its not precisely too much.
one quickly (and i mean quickly) has to adjust/make peace/find solace in something
if you are like me and find crowds, noise, and endless interaction exhausting.
an escape route must be held at the ready
or you will go mad.
i suppose venting here is my chosen release.
and so.
this morning on the ganga.
i relished a little detachment from the madness.
a spectactor only. tucked off to the side. safe.
away.
with nothing but mists and clouds above and solid wood beneath to occupy my mind.
it was unexpected.
and lovely.
---
after breakfast i finally took some time to explore Harmony Bookstore.
and walked out with more books than my already unhappy back would have liked considering my travel pack (and despite my ever present promise to self that i will actually buy no more books until i read all that i have already)
whatever.
i loved that place. compact and nearly bursting with the wonders of world in excessive written form.
i was giddy and enjoying a particularly lovely cup of chai when i made a comment to the owner -
"You're tempting me with all these books!"
"That was my intention."
the wretch.
---------
michiko and i had a 1 pm appointment for massages and my trial of "sirodharas".
it supposedly leads to clarity of mind - among other things.
ayurveda medicine.
simply lying on your back for some period of time while some liquid (take your pick of oil, milk, butter milk, or water) simply pours over your forehead and down your scalp in a fine pendulum swinging stream.
it was cooling and a bit odd and i was generally more distracted by the fact that i couldn't see anything under the little moist pads of cloth they had placed over my eyes and i was paranoid about my belongings.
i was lying naked except for a loin cloth and oiled up on a slab of wood.
voices all around me and people moving in and out of the room while some tape of man chanting "om" over and over and over again on too high of a volume chased away any possible hint of relaxation.
i wanted the oil off and my money belt back on.
and instead i was being stained by milk.
the actual choice of liquid apparently depends upon the season.
i actually went against the norm in choosing milk because its a cold liquid (as opposed to the heated oil) and not the appropriate season.
yet when i was informed of this (the previous day) and thereby encouraged to make a now educated choice according to ayurvedic principles i was standing around with sweat pouring down my back and dripping off my upper lip in the supposed winter of varanasi. i swear it was hitting 90s. or it sure as hell felt like it.
"this is cold?" i asked.
"hm, yes madam, it's winter season now you know, very cold."
right then.
"let's do milk."
what the hell was i thinking?
now. ive tried some funky stuff in my hair.
its a dry kinky curly mess. it needs a little motivation.
mayonaise. avocado goo. yogurt. honey. olive oil.
milk didn't seem like that much of a stretch.
but so help me god.
never ever again.
i just want that to be clear.
----------------
another yoga session. as enjoyable as the first and i was sorry i didn't have more time to spend at the ashram.
Michiko and i met up at Open Hand Cafe.
a remarkable little spot. with the most beautiful (and clean) bathroom i have yet to see in india.
they even had wifi. and coffee that required actual grinds (none of the nescafe powder mess i've seen elsewhere).
of course.
they catered to tourists. even sold an assortment of pillows, scarves, blankets, trinkets, etc at fixed prices (what the hell? fixed prices?)
but i was yet again retreating.
this time to known comforts.
and loving every delicious latte filled second of it.
no sirodharas with milk.
ever ever again.
ive scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed and rinsed some more.
and the smell of expired milk still wafts from my scalp.
charming. im telling you.
days later in darjeeling and im fighting for hot water in 15 degree celsius temps just to scrub my hair just one more time.
yet no matter what i (though admittedly in a frantic rush as hot water seems, as always, a challenge and it's f-in cold) manage -
theres still the bloody smell!
though michiko does assure me its not nearly as bad as it was the first day -
i swear its lodged itself into my follicles!
i'll smell like sour milk for months!!!
-----
right then.
lets carry on.
boat ride for the morning.
easy enough to arrange. just walk by some boats and like everywhere else - people will pounce.
negotiate the charge and off you go.
ever so slowly past ghat after ghat after ghat.
and for those who like me hadn't the faintest idea as to what the hell that was -
they're steps.
thats all.
people swimming. kids playing. old men lathering up layers of off-white foam. women scrubbing pants and men beating sheets (i'm still not entirely clear as to how this works as a cleaning method but its done, just grab a decent sized log and have at it) and some other old men in orange with these shiny cups pouring out water and praying or chanting or something in between.
its interesting for the first half hour. but you can only check out so many half naked people and their bathing habits. felt a bit indecent really.
so turned my attention the other way to stare at those endless mists.
i think i prefer them anyway.
ive yet to master the art of meditation but that image would help.
clear the mind?
a filtering fog will do nicely.
its startling really.
so much activity to one half.
varanasi simply spewing out people and morning rituals, be they mundane or of the gods (i suppose taking a bath is open to interpretation) onto one bank of the ganga and to the other - a lone fisherman in his boat floating through the whites and greys of winter.
yes. i did prefer it.
along with an easy sky.
the sun had yet to rear its sweltering head and i enjoyed a sweat-free hour simply lying on my back as we mozied along.
only the clicking of michiko's camera ever breaking through.
which leads to me a note.
something that ought to be noted.
india overwhelms the senses.
all of them. in every way possible.
full out - assault-.
walk down any street and the disturbing blend of cow shit and spices that i will never be able to get the hang of but that live rather comfortably in the street foods that i will also never be able to remember the names of (except for samosas - 10 rupees!). exhaust fumes and smoke fire. old sweat and new sweat. there's piss on the corner and lemons on the stands. my nose is hard at work and with black snot thrown in for kicks.
and the noise! ten different kinds of horns! drivers cursing! women arguing! cows mooing! dogs barking! bicycle rickshaws jingling! children laughing! chai sellers hollering chai! chai! chai! long horn! musical horn! growling horn! horn! horn! horn!
all layered on top of one another. an explosion of sound.
forget volume levels at concerts.
come to india.
really blow out your ear drums.
and to see - ive mentioned the sparkle. the color.
orange. pink. blue. yellow.
and thats only the men!
its everywhere. rich or poor.
and pay attention to those roads. know what you're stepping on. and pay attention the traffic - know where you're stepping because there is a rickshaw, motorcycle, tuk-tuk, jeep, scooter or cow ready to run you down.
and the houses. all as colorful as the clothes.
albeit - too often under smears of dirt, soot, and grime.
and the tastes! i wouldnt even know what im talking about!
my culinary critique consists of me like vs me not like.
but shit people! i try a new thing every single time and there are still dishes on menus i have yet to get to!
and even touch.
my too firm bed and the aging, tearing velour of tuk-tuk seats. silk rugs and dusty dusty floors. sticky table tops and that fresh mosquito bite. cool marble and my beloved burning plastic mini-cups of chai.
how the liquid has yet to melt said plastic directly to my fingertips still boggles the mind.
yes.
its that thin and that hot.
in summary.
its all SO DAMNED MUCH.
though i certainly have my moments when im ready to hop skip and jump my way into some black hole.
its not precisely too much.
one quickly (and i mean quickly) has to adjust/make peace/find solace in something
if you are like me and find crowds, noise, and endless interaction exhausting.
an escape route must be held at the ready
or you will go mad.
i suppose venting here is my chosen release.
and so.
this morning on the ganga.
i relished a little detachment from the madness.
a spectactor only. tucked off to the side. safe.
away.
with nothing but mists and clouds above and solid wood beneath to occupy my mind.
it was unexpected.
and lovely.
---
after breakfast i finally took some time to explore Harmony Bookstore.
and walked out with more books than my already unhappy back would have liked considering my travel pack (and despite my ever present promise to self that i will actually buy no more books until i read all that i have already)
whatever.
i loved that place. compact and nearly bursting with the wonders of world in excessive written form.
i was giddy and enjoying a particularly lovely cup of chai when i made a comment to the owner -
"You're tempting me with all these books!"
"That was my intention."
the wretch.
---------
michiko and i had a 1 pm appointment for massages and my trial of "sirodharas".
it supposedly leads to clarity of mind - among other things.
ayurveda medicine.
simply lying on your back for some period of time while some liquid (take your pick of oil, milk, butter milk, or water) simply pours over your forehead and down your scalp in a fine pendulum swinging stream.
it was cooling and a bit odd and i was generally more distracted by the fact that i couldn't see anything under the little moist pads of cloth they had placed over my eyes and i was paranoid about my belongings.
i was lying naked except for a loin cloth and oiled up on a slab of wood.
voices all around me and people moving in and out of the room while some tape of man chanting "om" over and over and over again on too high of a volume chased away any possible hint of relaxation.
i wanted the oil off and my money belt back on.
and instead i was being stained by milk.
the actual choice of liquid apparently depends upon the season.
i actually went against the norm in choosing milk because its a cold liquid (as opposed to the heated oil) and not the appropriate season.
yet when i was informed of this (the previous day) and thereby encouraged to make a now educated choice according to ayurvedic principles i was standing around with sweat pouring down my back and dripping off my upper lip in the supposed winter of varanasi. i swear it was hitting 90s. or it sure as hell felt like it.
"this is cold?" i asked.
"hm, yes madam, it's winter season now you know, very cold."
right then.
"let's do milk."
what the hell was i thinking?
now. ive tried some funky stuff in my hair.
its a dry kinky curly mess. it needs a little motivation.
mayonaise. avocado goo. yogurt. honey. olive oil.
milk didn't seem like that much of a stretch.
but so help me god.
never ever again.
i just want that to be clear.
----------------
another yoga session. as enjoyable as the first and i was sorry i didn't have more time to spend at the ashram.
Michiko and i met up at Open Hand Cafe.
a remarkable little spot. with the most beautiful (and clean) bathroom i have yet to see in india.
they even had wifi. and coffee that required actual grinds (none of the nescafe powder mess i've seen elsewhere).
of course.
they catered to tourists. even sold an assortment of pillows, scarves, blankets, trinkets, etc at fixed prices (what the hell? fixed prices?)
but i was yet again retreating.
this time to known comforts.
and loving every delicious latte filled second of it.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Varanasi Day one
michiko and i had plans.
we needed more train tickets, a massage, a boat ride up the ganges (or is down the ganges?)oh- forgive me.
the ganga.
she wanted to take a million photographs and i wanted to do yoga.
we managed it all.
and a few other tidbits.
we arrived early from our overnight train and enjoyed a slow rickshaw journey from the station to assi ghat - 9 km if i remember correctly.
by a kindly old skinny knobby gentleman who also was rather helpful in waking up the hotel people (lots of yelling) and getting them to open the door for us.
i dont believe they were particularly happy about that.
but hello sahi river guesthouse!
we're here!!
dumped off our bags and hunted down breakfast.
i read the paper while sipping my third chai of the morning (those damned tiny ass cups) and enjoyed the view and early morning air while michiko ran off to take photos because thats all she ever wants to do.
and then.
a walk.
a walk that leads to not really knowing where the hell you are.
but a few words of english is helpful enough to get-
well somewhere else.
that you also dont really know where the hell you are.
we did somehow (finally) end up at a temple. well. two.
the aim was for durga.
but we found some other along the way.
that i forget the name of but there were three gods (3 for the price of 1?)
and the equivalent amount of marigold necklaces.
(can i say how decadent it is to be wreathed in such tight rows of flowers? i envy these gods. when i achieve holy status i expect to be worshipped in this way.
you have been notified)
we sat on the carpet and watched the other tourists look like idiots (which made us feel better and perhaps wonder what was said the moment we turned our backs) and get swatted by the hindu equivalent of altar boys.
yes swatted.
they have these sticks with floppy feathers that they use to wack people on the head and shoulders with.
boy number two (one for each god altar) seemed to be enjoying it all too much.
i wondered what they did when all the worshippers went home.
sword fighting with the holy swatting feather sticks surely.
a bit further down the same street (you dont really expect me to remember the name do you? assuming i learned it in the first place) is durga-land.
cool chick.
i even bought a sticker of her!
its all that destruction business.
but she's apparently camera shy.
no photos.
oh!
another warning.
should random men in orange or red drapery approach you and suddenly touch your forehead expect that they will want money.
from 10-100 rupees.
(apparently not all blessings are created equally)
you will end up with a powdered red third eye and possibly some sprinkle of milk (at least i think it was milk) or water on your head.
and so you must be quick to either jump away or say hell no.
because theyre all ever so eager to bless you-
and god is not free.
fantastic lunch at...
oh shit.
vimod?
nivod?
hm.
hm...
some restaurant nearby.
but i can draw you a map! we went there twice.
delicious!
so go!
and have some cheese nan for me.
but no sitting under the tree.
the birds do shit on you.
i speak from experience.
at 4 that afternoon michiko and i parted ways.
i went in search of yoga.
and met Sanpan.
young gentleman and yoga student of 6 years.
200 rupees for 1.5 hours.
i had him all to myself at an ashram on the river
or more specifically - on the still in construction roof of an ashram on the river.
now. it being winter.
mists are apparently common this time of year.
(combined with so much talk of the dead my mind thought of avalon)
and so the opposite bank of the river went missing in all that gauzy white-
and the sun was soon to set and the wind chased away the smell of old trash
and i was shoving my body into horribly uncomfortable positions in a sacred city on the opposite side of the world with the ganga laid out before me and a private tutor who was intent on killing me.
i loved it.
and strangely enough.
for the first time (ive taken a few yoga classes here and there)
i chanted "om" without feeling ridiculous.
it was possibly the mooing cows below that put me at ease.
they were joining in.
i think we sounded rather good together actually.
later that night michiko and i rushed to get to the main ghat for a ceremony where we had no clue as to what was going on but it involved some chanting (because everything involves chanting) and men in pink outfits and lots of candles going floating down the river (or stuck in some corner by a boat that doesnt ever seem to catch on fire).
and though i was admiring the prettiness of it all, i couldnt help but frown at the buildup of trash on an already overloaded river.
to wrap up the night.
we happened upon some musical madness.
little kids. bigs kids.
teenage boys (imagine n'sync in turquoise sequins).
all gyrating on stage to hindi pop with lights, cameras, and screaming parents.
their dancing was contangious and i wanted a sequined outfit of my own as i couldnt help but shimmy a little as we stood way in the back of the crowd a couple thousand strong.
i was really rather fond of that turquoise.
we needed more train tickets, a massage, a boat ride up the ganges (or is down the ganges?)oh- forgive me.
the ganga.
she wanted to take a million photographs and i wanted to do yoga.
we managed it all.
and a few other tidbits.
we arrived early from our overnight train and enjoyed a slow rickshaw journey from the station to assi ghat - 9 km if i remember correctly.
by a kindly old skinny knobby gentleman who also was rather helpful in waking up the hotel people (lots of yelling) and getting them to open the door for us.
i dont believe they were particularly happy about that.
but hello sahi river guesthouse!
we're here!!
dumped off our bags and hunted down breakfast.
i read the paper while sipping my third chai of the morning (those damned tiny ass cups) and enjoyed the view and early morning air while michiko ran off to take photos because thats all she ever wants to do.
and then.
a walk.
a walk that leads to not really knowing where the hell you are.
but a few words of english is helpful enough to get-
well somewhere else.
that you also dont really know where the hell you are.
we did somehow (finally) end up at a temple. well. two.
the aim was for durga.
but we found some other along the way.
that i forget the name of but there were three gods (3 for the price of 1?)
and the equivalent amount of marigold necklaces.
(can i say how decadent it is to be wreathed in such tight rows of flowers? i envy these gods. when i achieve holy status i expect to be worshipped in this way.
you have been notified)
we sat on the carpet and watched the other tourists look like idiots (which made us feel better and perhaps wonder what was said the moment we turned our backs) and get swatted by the hindu equivalent of altar boys.
yes swatted.
they have these sticks with floppy feathers that they use to wack people on the head and shoulders with.
boy number two (one for each god altar) seemed to be enjoying it all too much.
i wondered what they did when all the worshippers went home.
sword fighting with the holy swatting feather sticks surely.
a bit further down the same street (you dont really expect me to remember the name do you? assuming i learned it in the first place) is durga-land.
cool chick.
i even bought a sticker of her!
its all that destruction business.
but she's apparently camera shy.
no photos.
oh!
another warning.
should random men in orange or red drapery approach you and suddenly touch your forehead expect that they will want money.
from 10-100 rupees.
(apparently not all blessings are created equally)
you will end up with a powdered red third eye and possibly some sprinkle of milk (at least i think it was milk) or water on your head.
and so you must be quick to either jump away or say hell no.
because theyre all ever so eager to bless you-
and god is not free.
fantastic lunch at...
oh shit.
vimod?
nivod?
hm.
hm...
some restaurant nearby.
but i can draw you a map! we went there twice.
delicious!
so go!
and have some cheese nan for me.
but no sitting under the tree.
the birds do shit on you.
i speak from experience.
at 4 that afternoon michiko and i parted ways.
i went in search of yoga.
and met Sanpan.
young gentleman and yoga student of 6 years.
200 rupees for 1.5 hours.
i had him all to myself at an ashram on the river
or more specifically - on the still in construction roof of an ashram on the river.
now. it being winter.
mists are apparently common this time of year.
(combined with so much talk of the dead my mind thought of avalon)
and so the opposite bank of the river went missing in all that gauzy white-
and the sun was soon to set and the wind chased away the smell of old trash
and i was shoving my body into horribly uncomfortable positions in a sacred city on the opposite side of the world with the ganga laid out before me and a private tutor who was intent on killing me.
i loved it.
and strangely enough.
for the first time (ive taken a few yoga classes here and there)
i chanted "om" without feeling ridiculous.
it was possibly the mooing cows below that put me at ease.
they were joining in.
i think we sounded rather good together actually.
later that night michiko and i rushed to get to the main ghat for a ceremony where we had no clue as to what was going on but it involved some chanting (because everything involves chanting) and men in pink outfits and lots of candles going floating down the river (or stuck in some corner by a boat that doesnt ever seem to catch on fire).
and though i was admiring the prettiness of it all, i couldnt help but frown at the buildup of trash on an already overloaded river.
to wrap up the night.
we happened upon some musical madness.
little kids. bigs kids.
teenage boys (imagine n'sync in turquoise sequins).
all gyrating on stage to hindi pop with lights, cameras, and screaming parents.
their dancing was contangious and i wanted a sequined outfit of my own as i couldnt help but shimmy a little as we stood way in the back of the crowd a couple thousand strong.
i was really rather fond of that turquoise.
Varanasi intro
varanasi.
i liked this city.
ive yet to determine why precisely.
it was hot, sticky, insanely crowded, noisy, and full of cow shit.
like most other locations we've been to actually.
but i did.
thats good enough for the moment.
they say its a city between worlds.
the gods and mankind.
held up on a trident.
a shadow city if you will.
atop the truth.
ive heard a bit about it from a friend (thank you miss) and had been looking forward to it actually.
though worried that i would dislike it.
not so.
i could see myself living there a few months (not much more - the heat would kill me and it's winter right now!)
right there in assi, by the ghat.
doing what exactly - i have no idea.
but i came across an ashram on the river, a cafe (yes it was inevitable, a coffee, a single latte i did enjoy and it was beautiful) and a book shop which i could easily come to love.
there are times.
when its charming to think of these things.
running off to soak in a bit more of one location.
it wouldnt be much to rent a small place.
and i think - well. one day.
one day.
i liked this city.
ive yet to determine why precisely.
it was hot, sticky, insanely crowded, noisy, and full of cow shit.
like most other locations we've been to actually.
but i did.
thats good enough for the moment.
they say its a city between worlds.
the gods and mankind.
held up on a trident.
a shadow city if you will.
atop the truth.
ive heard a bit about it from a friend (thank you miss) and had been looking forward to it actually.
though worried that i would dislike it.
not so.
i could see myself living there a few months (not much more - the heat would kill me and it's winter right now!)
right there in assi, by the ghat.
doing what exactly - i have no idea.
but i came across an ashram on the river, a cafe (yes it was inevitable, a coffee, a single latte i did enjoy and it was beautiful) and a book shop which i could easily come to love.
there are times.
when its charming to think of these things.
running off to soak in a bit more of one location.
it wouldnt be much to rent a small place.
and i think - well. one day.
one day.
Khajuraho
not to shortchange the rather interesting temples of khajuraho but i feel the need to summarize our one night, 1.5 day stay there.
(let's pretend im capable of being that concise)
as the overall overwhelming weight of tourism has skewed the experience.
skewed it horribly.
that, in the end, it was a relief to leave.
more so than any other stop in our trek across northern india so far.
no wait. no summary.
thats a lie.
i feel a rant coming on.
youve been warned.
leave now or forever hold your peace.
im not kidding.
-------
khajuraho.
yet another train ride and we arrive in khajuraho.
yet another wading through the throng of tuk-tuk and rickshaw drivers.
yet another argument with our chosen tuk-tuk driver and hotel hawkers that magically pop up- much like the cow shit along the streets (i recommend keeping your eyes to the ground at all times in india in order to avoid some unwanted treading).
we ended up running in the opposite direction and taking refuge in a restaurant.
it was time to simply sit and eat and on this occasion we had picked up a stray.
a lovely young woman traveling alone.
chinese.
and spoke so little english i wondered if i ought to envy or worry for her.
(though really she had managed quite well so far - my possible concern would be uncalled for).
envy in the thought that its much easier to ignore the hawkers when one doesnt understand what they are saying.
and worry.
because i know what it is to be lost in a land and communication is reliant upon gestures and repeated, but poorly pronounced, words.
but.
we did survive breakfast.
and in the process picked up a fan in a local tour guide who, like many others, began the conversation innocently. he inquired about our journey and our life and we likewise inquired about his own along with pertinent information regarding transportation to our next location (always always ask the same question of half a dozen different people in order to somehow obtain some semblance of the truth by simply choosing the lowest number given of all figures relayed).
it turned out he spoke english rather well and oddly enough, spanish.
apparently he had yet to be certified as a guide, but was working on it.
slowly.
he offered us a ride to a hotel option and hoped to "just talk" with us some more that day...he appeared in random places and wouldn't seem to go the hell away.
now.
he could very well have good intentions.
the want to practice english and spanish.
to learn a bit more about the world.
he seemed rather motivated.
yet. as (im sure somewhere) has been noted -
kindness has an ugly side too often and even taking advice can demand a price.
oh would you like to learn about my village?
i would really like to show you -
so now. we all done.
buy me this. no - no. give me more.
no no no. more.
tips demanded when you know youve already been overcharged.
commissions granted when some supposed do-gooder is just showing you the way.
restaurants with two different menus - one for the locals and another for the tourists.
ive been smacked on the forehead by a man wearing lipstick because i refused to give him money.
supposedly these cross dressers bestow blessings around here.
and people always give them money.
for what? clapping their hands and waving a finger around.
fuck that. and fuck cultural beliefs.
im a woman on the edge with this bullshit!
ive got issues with my own god-
like i have enough energy to go for yours.
or any of your few hundred.
and give me a proper drag queen any day -they'll show you how its done bitch.
ive gotten off the train here.
somewhere.
give me a moment.
some days i have a point.
ah yes.
essentially.
michiko and i had become a rather irritated pair.
the gloss of Tariq had faded and we faced new bastards in a new town.
studies ought to be done on these interactions.
not sure about the other tourists.
but they piss me off to the point that i dont even want to leave my fucking gueshouse.
the minute i hit the streets its one man after another.
after another. and another. and -
i could rant about this all day.
you dont have to read it.
but it makes me feel better.
it just boggles the fucking mind!
i can't even glance at a skirt on a rack without being assaulted.
i won't fuck shopping then! i dont want your shit!
i am.
when in a more rational mindset that is.
aware of the underlying differences.
culture clash. different modes of functioning, etc etc
blah blah blah.
and more blah.
really.
but.
im also tired.
from a journey in a strange land.
the journey alone strips you of the known comforts.
those outer layers.
and that - in itself - is why i go to the places i go to.
to get a little closer to that, at times, elusive core.
but this.
this wears you down to a sliver.
rubbed fucking raw.
and you start to hate yourself for the bitch that you have become.
for needing to shove even genuinely kind people away.
for the arrival of every defense mechanism known.
for the building and arming of the fort.
dont talk to me.
dont look at me.
dont ask me for anything.
a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g.
dont even ask for a smile.
ive got nothing left babe.
not a damned thing.
-------------
i had to take a break there.
its not about money.
though ive made the rule to not give money to anyone.
man, woman, child.
no matter what state they are in.
various reasons of which i will not go into.
i do give food however (not candy).
but again. not now.
you know.
early on.
in delhi actually.
i was looking into getting my bus ticket to dharamsala.
a man wanted me to pay in full upfront the day before.
some random little tourist agency on some random little corner.
i said i would do a portion and the rest when i was on the bus at departure.
ive been cheated before.
in terms of what was promised for the price.
from some random little agency on some random little corner in some other parts of the world.
and accomodations of transport.
and do you know -
he says -
"ma'am, you cannot be so pessimistic. its not good."
oh really?
watch me.
watch all that is negative, pessimistic, guarded, and angry within sharpen their pointy sticks and practice their roar.
but that doesn't mean i like being this way.
and he wouldn't know that would he?
none of these people would.
and every time i want to smile at a child and feel the corners of my mouth lift they come running my way with hands out asking for _______.
and every time i want to enjoy a sincere conversation about language or presidents or occupations someone wants to touch me and/or take me somewhere for ________.
and while my nature is inclined to tip handsomely (ask my family) for whatever service has been rendered forgive if i feel the need to deny any extra when im cheated from the start.
i spend too many moments refereeing between these various inclinations and wants and instincts.
its what leads to the exhaustion.
never mind the lack of toilet paper or mountains of litter or what have you.
they are so little in the grand scheme of it.
truly - so little.
but.
that i am in any way close to horrid at all -
that the warmth must grow frigid.
is the hardest thing really.
the hardest thing of all.
-------------------------
actual events.
our first foray into temple land led us to the jain and northern temples (no cost).
its possible (with shoes removed) to actually step inside each temple.
quiet shuffles into the somewhat damp, dark stone curves.
i pulled out my super-powered home depot flashlight and felt a bit like Lara Croft.
Michiko was reminded of the The Mummy and we then chatted on about our mutual adoration of Brendan Fraser while exploring each nook and cranny.
or rather i explored the cobwebs and she took photos in the dark.
the halls are not endless (rather too short) and follow a simple inside pattern really.
a path around each inner sactum, but that little tingle of adventure and exploration could not be ignored.
and deserved a slight grin.
we then got suckered into a tour of the old village by two boys which, while interesting to learn about daily functioning (such as the lines seperating each portion of the village by caste) of the people - the boys, as it concluded, demanded more than what we actually gave them out of appreciation (when we certainly never discussed anything to begin with, it was another one of those oh, where are you from? how old are you? im 12, this is where i go to school...etc etc etc)- again..
it ends the experience with a wretched taste in the mouth.
tainted memory.
we lunched twice in a small spot favored by the locals (so we were informed by a man trying to steer us away and towards some popular tourists locales instead - bastard) tucked away between an endless series of souvenir shops.
Agrawalora (hopefully that is correct).
tasty of tasties!
we did see the western temples (250 entrance and worth it i feel - reasonable and they are intriguing) famed as the "kama sutra temples" with carvings of sexual positions, fondling, and the like.
in reality - the temples show a wide variety of images from daily life, mundane to spiritual worship. yes they are some rather interesting images presented (and perhaps a position or two i'd like to try) but the attention these temples recieve for the sexual aspects alone is grossly overstated.
(and you will have the young man or two who thinks they are being just that clever by sliding some innuendo into their conversation)
however, if you do want to see some rather interesting 1,000 year old architecture (quite quite different from taj mahal/mughal reign work) i'd recommend a trip.
the detailing of this work and the carving involved is lovely and worth a day adventure.
though perhaps not much more.
(let's pretend im capable of being that concise)
as the overall overwhelming weight of tourism has skewed the experience.
skewed it horribly.
that, in the end, it was a relief to leave.
more so than any other stop in our trek across northern india so far.
no wait. no summary.
thats a lie.
i feel a rant coming on.
youve been warned.
leave now or forever hold your peace.
im not kidding.
-------
khajuraho.
yet another train ride and we arrive in khajuraho.
yet another wading through the throng of tuk-tuk and rickshaw drivers.
yet another argument with our chosen tuk-tuk driver and hotel hawkers that magically pop up- much like the cow shit along the streets (i recommend keeping your eyes to the ground at all times in india in order to avoid some unwanted treading).
we ended up running in the opposite direction and taking refuge in a restaurant.
it was time to simply sit and eat and on this occasion we had picked up a stray.
a lovely young woman traveling alone.
chinese.
and spoke so little english i wondered if i ought to envy or worry for her.
(though really she had managed quite well so far - my possible concern would be uncalled for).
envy in the thought that its much easier to ignore the hawkers when one doesnt understand what they are saying.
and worry.
because i know what it is to be lost in a land and communication is reliant upon gestures and repeated, but poorly pronounced, words.
but.
we did survive breakfast.
and in the process picked up a fan in a local tour guide who, like many others, began the conversation innocently. he inquired about our journey and our life and we likewise inquired about his own along with pertinent information regarding transportation to our next location (always always ask the same question of half a dozen different people in order to somehow obtain some semblance of the truth by simply choosing the lowest number given of all figures relayed).
it turned out he spoke english rather well and oddly enough, spanish.
apparently he had yet to be certified as a guide, but was working on it.
slowly.
he offered us a ride to a hotel option and hoped to "just talk" with us some more that day...he appeared in random places and wouldn't seem to go the hell away.
now.
he could very well have good intentions.
the want to practice english and spanish.
to learn a bit more about the world.
he seemed rather motivated.
yet. as (im sure somewhere) has been noted -
kindness has an ugly side too often and even taking advice can demand a price.
oh would you like to learn about my village?
i would really like to show you -
so now. we all done.
buy me this. no - no. give me more.
no no no. more.
tips demanded when you know youve already been overcharged.
commissions granted when some supposed do-gooder is just showing you the way.
restaurants with two different menus - one for the locals and another for the tourists.
ive been smacked on the forehead by a man wearing lipstick because i refused to give him money.
supposedly these cross dressers bestow blessings around here.
and people always give them money.
for what? clapping their hands and waving a finger around.
fuck that. and fuck cultural beliefs.
im a woman on the edge with this bullshit!
ive got issues with my own god-
like i have enough energy to go for yours.
or any of your few hundred.
and give me a proper drag queen any day -they'll show you how its done bitch.
ive gotten off the train here.
somewhere.
give me a moment.
some days i have a point.
ah yes.
essentially.
michiko and i had become a rather irritated pair.
the gloss of Tariq had faded and we faced new bastards in a new town.
studies ought to be done on these interactions.
not sure about the other tourists.
but they piss me off to the point that i dont even want to leave my fucking gueshouse.
the minute i hit the streets its one man after another.
after another. and another. and -
i could rant about this all day.
you dont have to read it.
but it makes me feel better.
it just boggles the fucking mind!
i can't even glance at a skirt on a rack without being assaulted.
i won't fuck shopping then! i dont want your shit!
i am.
when in a more rational mindset that is.
aware of the underlying differences.
culture clash. different modes of functioning, etc etc
blah blah blah.
and more blah.
really.
but.
im also tired.
from a journey in a strange land.
the journey alone strips you of the known comforts.
those outer layers.
and that - in itself - is why i go to the places i go to.
to get a little closer to that, at times, elusive core.
but this.
this wears you down to a sliver.
rubbed fucking raw.
and you start to hate yourself for the bitch that you have become.
for needing to shove even genuinely kind people away.
for the arrival of every defense mechanism known.
for the building and arming of the fort.
dont talk to me.
dont look at me.
dont ask me for anything.
a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g.
dont even ask for a smile.
ive got nothing left babe.
not a damned thing.
-------------
i had to take a break there.
its not about money.
though ive made the rule to not give money to anyone.
man, woman, child.
no matter what state they are in.
various reasons of which i will not go into.
i do give food however (not candy).
but again. not now.
you know.
early on.
in delhi actually.
i was looking into getting my bus ticket to dharamsala.
a man wanted me to pay in full upfront the day before.
some random little tourist agency on some random little corner.
i said i would do a portion and the rest when i was on the bus at departure.
ive been cheated before.
in terms of what was promised for the price.
from some random little agency on some random little corner in some other parts of the world.
and accomodations of transport.
and do you know -
he says -
"ma'am, you cannot be so pessimistic. its not good."
oh really?
watch me.
watch all that is negative, pessimistic, guarded, and angry within sharpen their pointy sticks and practice their roar.
but that doesn't mean i like being this way.
and he wouldn't know that would he?
none of these people would.
and every time i want to smile at a child and feel the corners of my mouth lift they come running my way with hands out asking for _______.
and every time i want to enjoy a sincere conversation about language or presidents or occupations someone wants to touch me and/or take me somewhere for ________.
and while my nature is inclined to tip handsomely (ask my family) for whatever service has been rendered forgive if i feel the need to deny any extra when im cheated from the start.
i spend too many moments refereeing between these various inclinations and wants and instincts.
its what leads to the exhaustion.
never mind the lack of toilet paper or mountains of litter or what have you.
they are so little in the grand scheme of it.
truly - so little.
but.
that i am in any way close to horrid at all -
that the warmth must grow frigid.
is the hardest thing really.
the hardest thing of all.
-------------------------
actual events.
our first foray into temple land led us to the jain and northern temples (no cost).
its possible (with shoes removed) to actually step inside each temple.
quiet shuffles into the somewhat damp, dark stone curves.
i pulled out my super-powered home depot flashlight and felt a bit like Lara Croft.
Michiko was reminded of the The Mummy and we then chatted on about our mutual adoration of Brendan Fraser while exploring each nook and cranny.
or rather i explored the cobwebs and she took photos in the dark.
the halls are not endless (rather too short) and follow a simple inside pattern really.
a path around each inner sactum, but that little tingle of adventure and exploration could not be ignored.
and deserved a slight grin.
we then got suckered into a tour of the old village by two boys which, while interesting to learn about daily functioning (such as the lines seperating each portion of the village by caste) of the people - the boys, as it concluded, demanded more than what we actually gave them out of appreciation (when we certainly never discussed anything to begin with, it was another one of those oh, where are you from? how old are you? im 12, this is where i go to school...etc etc etc)- again..
it ends the experience with a wretched taste in the mouth.
tainted memory.
we lunched twice in a small spot favored by the locals (so we were informed by a man trying to steer us away and towards some popular tourists locales instead - bastard) tucked away between an endless series of souvenir shops.
Agrawalora (hopefully that is correct).
tasty of tasties!
we did see the western temples (250 entrance and worth it i feel - reasonable and they are intriguing) famed as the "kama sutra temples" with carvings of sexual positions, fondling, and the like.
in reality - the temples show a wide variety of images from daily life, mundane to spiritual worship. yes they are some rather interesting images presented (and perhaps a position or two i'd like to try) but the attention these temples recieve for the sexual aspects alone is grossly overstated.
(and you will have the young man or two who thinks they are being just that clever by sliding some innuendo into their conversation)
however, if you do want to see some rather interesting 1,000 year old architecture (quite quite different from taj mahal/mughal reign work) i'd recommend a trip.
the detailing of this work and the carving involved is lovely and worth a day adventure.
though perhaps not much more.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Ode to Tariq
i felt the need to write this in light of the number of folks who have tried (and surely at times succeeded) in cheating me (and michiko) of money.
and, more importantly, peace of mind.
again - i write days later and every day is a new adventure in interacting with transportation folks, hotels, and just hawkers on the streets.
we've been hassled, harassed, and tossed about.
and i mean harassed.
males of all ages will talk you into all sorts of shit (if you let them).
i know theyre working just to make a buck.
but i feel it need not be this way.
and indeed. ive been proven correct.
and so.
here is my ode to a tuk-tuk driver named Tariq.
--------------
Tariq had won us over.
i felt good about him from that morning when he asked for the job of taking us around for the day.
i have no idea why.
my instincts are usually rather good (but i have been wrong)-
and on this occasion, i went with them.
he just lovely and got lovelier as the day went on.
quiet, calm, and clear.
never pushy.
always smiling.
and really - rather paternal.
in a gentle way.
i have his phone number and address.
should anyone be heading to agra.
TALK TO ME.
i demand you use him.
after all our wandering about the city he took us to his home.
met his wife and his three rather charming children.
two boys and a baby girl.
offered us dinner (which we declined) and two cups of chai (which i happily accepted)
spent a couple hours in the candlelit evening (electricity had shut off) sitting on the patio of his new home.
chatting and learning random bits of life in agra.
and laughing at the baby girl who seemed rather fond of her baba.
this man has been a tuk-tuk driver for 25 years.
its only in the last 3 that he has owned his own, prior to that time he was saving up all his money as he drove and rented the vehicles of others.
and now he works to send his children to private school because the government schools generally (apparently) suck (numerous sources have noted this).
he cannot read or write even in his own language.
but speaks several (his english is some of the best we have encountered so far)-
and really.
lovely.
just lovely.
all of them.
in the end we loved him so much we gave him an extra cash.
admittedly. after only a few days in india you begin suspecting that everyone is out to swindle you. that they will figure out some way to cheat you and squeeze you dry.
because (disproportionately i hope) you encounter a hell of a lot of that as a tourist-
that even with open and straightforward people you suspect the worst.
and so the cynic in me will not die.
and even if the presentation of Tariq the tuk-tuk driver is all some elaborate (and brilliantly clever) ruse to get more money out of foreigners - i have to pay the man some respect for that cleverness alone because i certainly enjoyed the ride.
and so - though you may never read this good sir -
thank you tariq for a long long day in agra.
you made it far more pleasant than it would have been otherwise.
and, more importantly, peace of mind.
again - i write days later and every day is a new adventure in interacting with transportation folks, hotels, and just hawkers on the streets.
we've been hassled, harassed, and tossed about.
and i mean harassed.
males of all ages will talk you into all sorts of shit (if you let them).
i know theyre working just to make a buck.
but i feel it need not be this way.
and indeed. ive been proven correct.
and so.
here is my ode to a tuk-tuk driver named Tariq.
--------------
Tariq had won us over.
i felt good about him from that morning when he asked for the job of taking us around for the day.
i have no idea why.
my instincts are usually rather good (but i have been wrong)-
and on this occasion, i went with them.
he just lovely and got lovelier as the day went on.
quiet, calm, and clear.
never pushy.
always smiling.
and really - rather paternal.
in a gentle way.
i have his phone number and address.
should anyone be heading to agra.
TALK TO ME.
i demand you use him.
after all our wandering about the city he took us to his home.
met his wife and his three rather charming children.
two boys and a baby girl.
offered us dinner (which we declined) and two cups of chai (which i happily accepted)
spent a couple hours in the candlelit evening (electricity had shut off) sitting on the patio of his new home.
chatting and learning random bits of life in agra.
and laughing at the baby girl who seemed rather fond of her baba.
this man has been a tuk-tuk driver for 25 years.
its only in the last 3 that he has owned his own, prior to that time he was saving up all his money as he drove and rented the vehicles of others.
and now he works to send his children to private school because the government schools generally (apparently) suck (numerous sources have noted this).
he cannot read or write even in his own language.
but speaks several (his english is some of the best we have encountered so far)-
and really.
lovely.
just lovely.
all of them.
in the end we loved him so much we gave him an extra cash.
admittedly. after only a few days in india you begin suspecting that everyone is out to swindle you. that they will figure out some way to cheat you and squeeze you dry.
because (disproportionately i hope) you encounter a hell of a lot of that as a tourist-
that even with open and straightforward people you suspect the worst.
and so the cynic in me will not die.
and even if the presentation of Tariq the tuk-tuk driver is all some elaborate (and brilliantly clever) ruse to get more money out of foreigners - i have to pay the man some respect for that cleverness alone because i certainly enjoyed the ride.
and so - though you may never read this good sir -
thank you tariq for a long long day in agra.
you made it far more pleasant than it would have been otherwise.
Agra in a day
agra.
welcome to agra.
home of the taj mahal and a few other architectural gems.
and please welcome us poor idiots (that being michiko and i) who have been traveling all night on the train with bags in hand and a plan to see as much as we could before catching yet another train the coming night.
im not sure what i was thinking of when i made these reservations, but i swear i had a good reason at the time.
wade through the usual bullshit fucking MADNESS when exiting the train station.
something like this:
"Madam! Madam! Taj? Taj mahal! 100 rupees!"
"Madam! Rickshaw? Rickshaw madam!"
"Madam! Tuk-tuk? Tuk-tuk? 200 rupees! Only 200 rupees madam!"
"Madam! Taj Mahal?"
"Hello! Agra Fort? Taj Mahal? "
"Madam! Hello! Hello! Madaaaaaaam!"
"Madam! Tuk-tuk? Tuk-tuk? 200 rupees! Only 200 rupees madam!"
"Madam! Taj Mahal?"
"Hello! Agra Fort? Taj Mahal? "
"Madam! Madam! Taj? Taj mahal! 100 rupees!"
"Madam! Rickshaw? Rickshaw madam!"
"MADAAAAM!!!!!!!!!!"
ALL - AT - ONCE.
Five million fucking madams from every direction at full volume at 8 the fuck in the morning after a bad night of sleep and still unbrushed teeth.
yes.
i was not in the best of moods.
michiko wasnt much better.
and by the grace of god.
in a land of of so many gods.
we met Tariq.
i dont know how.
but he appeared.
an angel in mismatched (but clean) clothing.
and drove us out of the gates of hell and proved to be the jewel of the day.
we ended up hiring him for 300 to take us from the train station to breakfast, then taj, then agra fort, then lunch, the city center, and finally (though it was not in the original agreement) to his own home to meet his family.
(and back to the train station)
i love Tariq.
even if its all a clever clever ruse to get money.
he's really and truly nice.
i heart Tariq.
breakfast was an overpriced affair.
but there was a relatively clean bathroom that proved useful for brushing teeth and freshening up.
the key to simple traveling is always be resourceful.
and then on to the taj mahal.
now.
ill be honest.
in my original plans for this india vacation.
visiting the taj mahal was not at the top of my list.
i was like.
so what.
i can see that shit on television.
i could check it out on youtube.
but then.
i became increasingly aware that it might be some sort of sacrilege to come all the way to india and not at least get a glimpse of the damn thing.
so i stuffed it in.
despite my wrench of pain at the admission fee (750 rupees and keep in mind ive been paying just 200-300 for a bed to sleep in and 10 for a bottle of water)
i suppose im glad i went.
im not crazy.
but i know that sounds crazy.
just stay with me a moment.
it is certainly - certainly - a lovely building.
a marvelous feat of design and engineering.
marble everywhere.
(which felt fantastically cool for my hot sweaty back - i highly recommend finding a corner and just collapsing in the shade and admiring the carved graffitti you are sure to find as less artistically inclined lovers seem to want to proclaim their love to the world as well, albeit rudely)
didnt get a chance to do that moonlight tour, but im sure it would have been brilliant then as well. they say theres is something about the color changes or whatever.
special marble?
another whatever.
the artistry in the carving and tiny tiny details of stone work are really fucking amazing. (im being serious)
but.
the man had it built for his now dead wife.
(from childbirth of their 14th child, god help her - id be dead too and i havent even had one)
right?
ok.
my thought is.
if it were really love.
i mean really really.
he would have built it himself.
its an easy thing when you are king and got loads of cash to shell out to show off your love for your woman.
people (who have money) do it all the time.
so yeah. he's king - surely some people are starving somewhere, surely a school or two needs updating, an irrigation system needs adjusting, but he wants to build this huge crazy thing.
and pays people to do it.
while he what?
sits around sipping banana lassis?
give me a break.
if you want to admire it for the artistry, the workmanship - sure.
do so.
im all for it.
those long dead artisans deserve it.
but dont give me this bullshit about it being this wonderfully romantic symbol of eternal love.
come on.
as a basis of comparison.
titanic.
jack put her on the floating door!
forgive me if im a little biased.
we americans know better.
by the way.
im in no way an expert.
im rather at the other end of that spectrum.
(like way out there)
so should i be missing some surely relevant historical fact.
by all means.
enlighten me.
but i doubt youll change my mind.
(didnt i say we americans know better?)
moving on.
agra fort.
home of the mughal kings.
which i find interesting because i think even without a tour or guide or whatever.
you can see where... eh...
shah jahan?
i thinks that the one who commissioned the taj (grandson of akbar)
also put his little touches on the fort.
the changes over generations.
anyway.
loved it.
loved it for all the little nooks and crannies.
carved gateways and arched paths and open verandas.
the little hallways and skinny stairs and room after room after mini-room.
i could get lost in that place. never wanting to be found.
and play with the monkeys.
and feel like a kid again.
and watch the chinese tour groups ooh and ahh over whatever really important things their tour guides were sharing.
im terrible i know.
but they're fucking hilarious.
they really get into it.
OOOOOOHHH!! AAAAAAAAAH!!!
lunch was lovely.
quiet spot in more green space guarded by a beautiful doberman.
yes.
theyre expensive in india as well.
"nice by day, very mean at night" - Tariq informs us.
good to know.
we then went to store after store admiring beautiful works of craftmanship that i dreamed of one day owning, but had no money or means in the meantime.
tables, plates, boxes of marble carving and stone work - like that of the taj mahal because apparently the iranian artists that came for the taj stuck around rather than go home and passed on their mad skillz (or so im told anyway).
jewelry. silk saris. pashmina scarves. thick, high quality carpets and rugs designed and made right there in front of you.
(which incidentally are made from australian and kiwi wool because indian sheep are lacking in fluff)
Tariq took us all over.
we liked him by then.
and he admitted he gets 20 rupees for us "just looking" and we had loads of time to kill (being all monument-ed out)
and i am very good at "just looking".
michiko zoned out and i went on a "just looking" spree.
photos could not do it all justice.
the marble work is what really had me tempted.
an enormous show room of white, black, and green marble.
all with carved bits of turquoise and mother of pearl and lapis lazuli and god only knows what else!
but they carve out the precise spaces from the marble base then shape the stones bits and pop them in - creating pictures of birds and elephants and flowers or just abstract designs...
i would have paid 750 just to spend the day in that showroom.
to hell with the taj.
but really.
i was just looking.
welcome to agra.
home of the taj mahal and a few other architectural gems.
and please welcome us poor idiots (that being michiko and i) who have been traveling all night on the train with bags in hand and a plan to see as much as we could before catching yet another train the coming night.
im not sure what i was thinking of when i made these reservations, but i swear i had a good reason at the time.
wade through the usual bullshit fucking MADNESS when exiting the train station.
something like this:
"Madam! Madam! Taj? Taj mahal! 100 rupees!"
"Madam! Rickshaw? Rickshaw madam!"
"Madam! Tuk-tuk? Tuk-tuk? 200 rupees! Only 200 rupees madam!"
"Madam! Taj Mahal?"
"Hello! Agra Fort? Taj Mahal? "
"Madam! Hello! Hello! Madaaaaaaam!"
"Madam! Tuk-tuk? Tuk-tuk? 200 rupees! Only 200 rupees madam!"
"Madam! Taj Mahal?"
"Hello! Agra Fort? Taj Mahal? "
"Madam! Madam! Taj? Taj mahal! 100 rupees!"
"Madam! Rickshaw? Rickshaw madam!"
"MADAAAAM!!!!!!!!!!"
ALL - AT - ONCE.
Five million fucking madams from every direction at full volume at 8 the fuck in the morning after a bad night of sleep and still unbrushed teeth.
yes.
i was not in the best of moods.
michiko wasnt much better.
and by the grace of god.
in a land of of so many gods.
we met Tariq.
i dont know how.
but he appeared.
an angel in mismatched (but clean) clothing.
and drove us out of the gates of hell and proved to be the jewel of the day.
we ended up hiring him for 300 to take us from the train station to breakfast, then taj, then agra fort, then lunch, the city center, and finally (though it was not in the original agreement) to his own home to meet his family.
(and back to the train station)
i love Tariq.
even if its all a clever clever ruse to get money.
he's really and truly nice.
i heart Tariq.
breakfast was an overpriced affair.
but there was a relatively clean bathroom that proved useful for brushing teeth and freshening up.
the key to simple traveling is always be resourceful.
and then on to the taj mahal.
now.
ill be honest.
in my original plans for this india vacation.
visiting the taj mahal was not at the top of my list.
i was like.
so what.
i can see that shit on television.
i could check it out on youtube.
but then.
i became increasingly aware that it might be some sort of sacrilege to come all the way to india and not at least get a glimpse of the damn thing.
so i stuffed it in.
despite my wrench of pain at the admission fee (750 rupees and keep in mind ive been paying just 200-300 for a bed to sleep in and 10 for a bottle of water)
i suppose im glad i went.
im not crazy.
but i know that sounds crazy.
just stay with me a moment.
it is certainly - certainly - a lovely building.
a marvelous feat of design and engineering.
marble everywhere.
(which felt fantastically cool for my hot sweaty back - i highly recommend finding a corner and just collapsing in the shade and admiring the carved graffitti you are sure to find as less artistically inclined lovers seem to want to proclaim their love to the world as well, albeit rudely)
didnt get a chance to do that moonlight tour, but im sure it would have been brilliant then as well. they say theres is something about the color changes or whatever.
special marble?
another whatever.
the artistry in the carving and tiny tiny details of stone work are really fucking amazing. (im being serious)
but.
the man had it built for his now dead wife.
(from childbirth of their 14th child, god help her - id be dead too and i havent even had one)
right?
ok.
my thought is.
if it were really love.
i mean really really.
he would have built it himself.
its an easy thing when you are king and got loads of cash to shell out to show off your love for your woman.
people (who have money) do it all the time.
so yeah. he's king - surely some people are starving somewhere, surely a school or two needs updating, an irrigation system needs adjusting, but he wants to build this huge crazy thing.
and pays people to do it.
while he what?
sits around sipping banana lassis?
give me a break.
if you want to admire it for the artistry, the workmanship - sure.
do so.
im all for it.
those long dead artisans deserve it.
but dont give me this bullshit about it being this wonderfully romantic symbol of eternal love.
come on.
as a basis of comparison.
titanic.
jack put her on the floating door!
forgive me if im a little biased.
we americans know better.
by the way.
im in no way an expert.
im rather at the other end of that spectrum.
(like way out there)
so should i be missing some surely relevant historical fact.
by all means.
enlighten me.
but i doubt youll change my mind.
(didnt i say we americans know better?)
moving on.
agra fort.
home of the mughal kings.
which i find interesting because i think even without a tour or guide or whatever.
you can see where... eh...
shah jahan?
i thinks that the one who commissioned the taj (grandson of akbar)
also put his little touches on the fort.
the changes over generations.
anyway.
loved it.
loved it for all the little nooks and crannies.
carved gateways and arched paths and open verandas.
the little hallways and skinny stairs and room after room after mini-room.
i could get lost in that place. never wanting to be found.
and play with the monkeys.
and feel like a kid again.
and watch the chinese tour groups ooh and ahh over whatever really important things their tour guides were sharing.
im terrible i know.
but they're fucking hilarious.
they really get into it.
OOOOOOHHH!! AAAAAAAAAH!!!
lunch was lovely.
quiet spot in more green space guarded by a beautiful doberman.
yes.
theyre expensive in india as well.
"nice by day, very mean at night" - Tariq informs us.
good to know.
we then went to store after store admiring beautiful works of craftmanship that i dreamed of one day owning, but had no money or means in the meantime.
tables, plates, boxes of marble carving and stone work - like that of the taj mahal because apparently the iranian artists that came for the taj stuck around rather than go home and passed on their mad skillz (or so im told anyway).
jewelry. silk saris. pashmina scarves. thick, high quality carpets and rugs designed and made right there in front of you.
(which incidentally are made from australian and kiwi wool because indian sheep are lacking in fluff)
Tariq took us all over.
we liked him by then.
and he admitted he gets 20 rupees for us "just looking" and we had loads of time to kill (being all monument-ed out)
and i am very good at "just looking".
michiko zoned out and i went on a "just looking" spree.
photos could not do it all justice.
the marble work is what really had me tempted.
an enormous show room of white, black, and green marble.
all with carved bits of turquoise and mother of pearl and lapis lazuli and god only knows what else!
but they carve out the precise spaces from the marble base then shape the stones bits and pop them in - creating pictures of birds and elephants and flowers or just abstract designs...
i would have paid 750 just to spend the day in that showroom.
to hell with the taj.
but really.
i was just looking.
Amritsar continues
"hot" is a relative term i think.
for example "hot water" may mean anything from not freezing to lukewarm to boiling.
however, so far, my places of rest for the night have only managed not freezing to lukewarm.
that is.
until.
the lucky guesthouse of amritsar.
(as in its called lucky)
god bless this establishment for they have given me my first true hot (i.e. near boiling) bath water in a week.
and i hadnt even realized i missed it.
but after the first hiss of heated pain (and my skin screamed for mercy)
i felt so bloody wonderful i started skating that line between pleasure and pain for a good twenty minutes.
yes this is wasteful.
im aware.
go away.
it was hot and i was happy.
i dont ask for much.
michiko did eventually show up that night, after my scalding, as i lay in bed dozing and dreaming of strange orange men jumping off cliffs.
day 2 in amritsar took us to the golden temple.
heads appropriately covered and shoes removed and stored -
we made our way in following a rinsing of the feet.
the golden temple is a sikh holy place with oodles of marble and real gold plating.
and half naked old men swimming in the pool.
its beautiful.
truly.
look it up.
its also dangerous.
i watched a woman slip and fall on the wet marble and michiko witnessed another woman, carrying an infant, come crashing to the ground as well.
you've been warned.
otherwise.
chanting and praying are the way to go.
they did allow non-sikhs to enter the main temple (that golden one) and i always feel terribly awkward about such places.
im grateful to be allowed entry at all, but im outsider not only by nationality, but spirituality as well.
were i a sikh american...
well the religion holds the stronger bond.
and despite my litte bit of research and preparation prior to this trip - the extensive spiritual options, possiblities, and realites of india are far too widespread for my feeble brain to keep track of.
were i even given several lifetimes.
and so.
try my best not to tread on any toes or bowing hands and keep a low profile.
and dont take any photos.
they yell at you.
and look mean.
i've warned you now.
following the temple of gold (how many ways can you say it?)
we walked the short distance to jailanwalah bagh (please forgive any mispellings).
the massacre site of peacefully gathered indians prior to independence from britain.
dont ask me the year.
somewhere between 1910 and 1940.
i do however know the name of the general who ordered it.
full out shooting without warning. not a very nice man.
general dyer.
yes i know im good.
he died of stroke i believe. much later.
safe in england.
they have it all pretty like now. a garden type set up.
flame memorial.
and most importantly.
there are trashcans.
with advertising stating "use me" -
yes.
please do.
use it.
use it good.
an aside now to consider the trash of india.
its disgusting.
i refuse to mince words.
truly.
i cant stand it.
i walk along the streets behind some woman, man, or child as they consume whatever it happens to be they are consuming and there it goes...
the bit of plastic or paper floating gently to the ground.
an autumn of litter.
my heart all but stops.
it takes all of my will power to refrain from both screaming at them in rage and picking up the offending piece of litter (because that would mean touching all the other disgusting mess on the ground and besides - where the hell else would i put it?)
oh... its already been a thousand occasions that i have had to witness this.
ive experienced the same in mali
and it never, ever, gets any easier.
i can't even bring myself to commit the crime.
ive carried my trash in pockets and my pack until a suitable container appears.
though i know in the end said container will simply be dumped in the corner down the street.
the holy cows need to eat you know.
michiko has taken to grabbing whatever it is im hording and tossing it out the window herself.
it pains me so.
i have to look away.
so the fact that i actually came across not only a green space, but a green space free of trash, and an actual trashcan
still boggles the mind.
joy. pure joy.
there.
this is my religion.
another note.
because in amritsar it happened repeatedly.
in the midst of my hunt for michiko the previous day i actually spent an hour in this mini memorial park sitting about, off to the side.
my skin.
mi piel.
happens to be light.
astounding.
but it carries great powers you see.
powers (supposedly of beauty) that i will never understand.
but perhaps this is because i am (again supposedly) privileged to have it.
to be a white woman.
ive never liked or wanted the term.
in fact (and i think i went on about this in some old rant/blog) i have purposefully fought against it.
denouncing my physical whiteness.
as if accepting it would deny my heritage.
whatever - thats a side note.
in this part of the world.
and particularly in amritsar i felt it.
i was beautiful for my white skin.
at first i thought it was a teenage boy/young male thing.
wanting to be with the white foreign chick.
they would come up in twos or threes or fives.
asking to take 'snaps' (aka photos) with me.
they would pose with their arm around my shoulder (i didnt particularly care as long they werent touching anything else) and in return id demand a photo of them.
and theyd pose in their tight pants, trying to look sexy-cool.
but then married couples would arrive and women with their small children would want to shake my hand...
i could have started a queue.
demanded payment.
they would have paid!
im sure of it!
they all glittered and shined!
they had money.
it was all good fun my first day in amritsar.
i could laugh along with them and smile in photo after photo.
but then that following morning, at the temple -
a group of half a dozen women surrounded me on the slick marble of the compound.
an older of the group, with her graying-orange tinted hair took my hand and stroked it gently saying 'beautiful' and all the girls smiled.
my heart broke a little -
"but i think you are all beautiful"
and they were - with their dark skin and bright smiles and pink and blue sequined cloth.
one younger girl possibly translated -
a guess because some others suddenly appeared shy and shared little giggles.
and so i tried again, just to be clear.
with gestures and saying "beautiful" over again.
they laughed a little and shook their heads in that funny way ive seen.
and i was at a loss.
furious.
and at a loss.
what has led this world and many others ive encountered and even others ive only heard of to
so admire light skin?
to revere it?
and, at times, to worship it.
and so it continued on as i revisited the memorial park on day 2 of amritsar.
by then the anger lingered and i decided to henceforth refuse photos.
for example "hot water" may mean anything from not freezing to lukewarm to boiling.
however, so far, my places of rest for the night have only managed not freezing to lukewarm.
that is.
until.
the lucky guesthouse of amritsar.
(as in its called lucky)
god bless this establishment for they have given me my first true hot (i.e. near boiling) bath water in a week.
and i hadnt even realized i missed it.
but after the first hiss of heated pain (and my skin screamed for mercy)
i felt so bloody wonderful i started skating that line between pleasure and pain for a good twenty minutes.
yes this is wasteful.
im aware.
go away.
it was hot and i was happy.
i dont ask for much.
michiko did eventually show up that night, after my scalding, as i lay in bed dozing and dreaming of strange orange men jumping off cliffs.
day 2 in amritsar took us to the golden temple.
heads appropriately covered and shoes removed and stored -
we made our way in following a rinsing of the feet.
the golden temple is a sikh holy place with oodles of marble and real gold plating.
and half naked old men swimming in the pool.
its beautiful.
truly.
look it up.
its also dangerous.
i watched a woman slip and fall on the wet marble and michiko witnessed another woman, carrying an infant, come crashing to the ground as well.
you've been warned.
otherwise.
chanting and praying are the way to go.
they did allow non-sikhs to enter the main temple (that golden one) and i always feel terribly awkward about such places.
im grateful to be allowed entry at all, but im outsider not only by nationality, but spirituality as well.
were i a sikh american...
well the religion holds the stronger bond.
and despite my litte bit of research and preparation prior to this trip - the extensive spiritual options, possiblities, and realites of india are far too widespread for my feeble brain to keep track of.
were i even given several lifetimes.
and so.
try my best not to tread on any toes or bowing hands and keep a low profile.
and dont take any photos.
they yell at you.
and look mean.
i've warned you now.
following the temple of gold (how many ways can you say it?)
we walked the short distance to jailanwalah bagh (please forgive any mispellings).
the massacre site of peacefully gathered indians prior to independence from britain.
dont ask me the year.
somewhere between 1910 and 1940.
i do however know the name of the general who ordered it.
full out shooting without warning. not a very nice man.
general dyer.
yes i know im good.
he died of stroke i believe. much later.
safe in england.
they have it all pretty like now. a garden type set up.
flame memorial.
and most importantly.
there are trashcans.
with advertising stating "use me" -
yes.
please do.
use it.
use it good.
an aside now to consider the trash of india.
its disgusting.
i refuse to mince words.
truly.
i cant stand it.
i walk along the streets behind some woman, man, or child as they consume whatever it happens to be they are consuming and there it goes...
the bit of plastic or paper floating gently to the ground.
an autumn of litter.
my heart all but stops.
it takes all of my will power to refrain from both screaming at them in rage and picking up the offending piece of litter (because that would mean touching all the other disgusting mess on the ground and besides - where the hell else would i put it?)
oh... its already been a thousand occasions that i have had to witness this.
ive experienced the same in mali
and it never, ever, gets any easier.
i can't even bring myself to commit the crime.
ive carried my trash in pockets and my pack until a suitable container appears.
though i know in the end said container will simply be dumped in the corner down the street.
the holy cows need to eat you know.
michiko has taken to grabbing whatever it is im hording and tossing it out the window herself.
it pains me so.
i have to look away.
so the fact that i actually came across not only a green space, but a green space free of trash, and an actual trashcan
still boggles the mind.
joy. pure joy.
there.
this is my religion.
another note.
because in amritsar it happened repeatedly.
in the midst of my hunt for michiko the previous day i actually spent an hour in this mini memorial park sitting about, off to the side.
my skin.
mi piel.
happens to be light.
astounding.
but it carries great powers you see.
powers (supposedly of beauty) that i will never understand.
but perhaps this is because i am (again supposedly) privileged to have it.
to be a white woman.
ive never liked or wanted the term.
in fact (and i think i went on about this in some old rant/blog) i have purposefully fought against it.
denouncing my physical whiteness.
as if accepting it would deny my heritage.
whatever - thats a side note.
in this part of the world.
and particularly in amritsar i felt it.
i was beautiful for my white skin.
at first i thought it was a teenage boy/young male thing.
wanting to be with the white foreign chick.
they would come up in twos or threes or fives.
asking to take 'snaps' (aka photos) with me.
they would pose with their arm around my shoulder (i didnt particularly care as long they werent touching anything else) and in return id demand a photo of them.
and theyd pose in their tight pants, trying to look sexy-cool.
but then married couples would arrive and women with their small children would want to shake my hand...
i could have started a queue.
demanded payment.
they would have paid!
im sure of it!
they all glittered and shined!
they had money.
it was all good fun my first day in amritsar.
i could laugh along with them and smile in photo after photo.
but then that following morning, at the temple -
a group of half a dozen women surrounded me on the slick marble of the compound.
an older of the group, with her graying-orange tinted hair took my hand and stroked it gently saying 'beautiful' and all the girls smiled.
my heart broke a little -
"but i think you are all beautiful"
and they were - with their dark skin and bright smiles and pink and blue sequined cloth.
one younger girl possibly translated -
a guess because some others suddenly appeared shy and shared little giggles.
and so i tried again, just to be clear.
with gestures and saying "beautiful" over again.
they laughed a little and shook their heads in that funny way ive seen.
and i was at a loss.
furious.
and at a loss.
what has led this world and many others ive encountered and even others ive only heard of to
so admire light skin?
to revere it?
and, at times, to worship it.
and so it continued on as i revisited the memorial park on day 2 of amritsar.
by then the anger lingered and i decided to henceforth refuse photos.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Wagha border
im feeling subdued.
yet again im writing days later.
and wondering if that is perhaps not the best of options.
though, at present, it is the only.
on yet another train - this time to varanasi (aka banares aka kashi aka 'forest of bliss').
and the last ride for 2-3 days at least.
a pleasant break.
the mini-realm that is my personal space has been roughened up a bit much these past 8 days and i aim to take full advantage of the money i have on hand (and available after a quick trip to the atm).
im aware of the good fortune to have decent money at all.
and that i am only a tourist in the end.
i want a massage. ayurvedic.
i want my fortune told.
i want to sleep in a quiet space.
and i want a aura emanating at least 1 foot from my body at all points that reeks of
energy.
pure and thick and vibrant.
all of it screaming 'stay the fuck away'.
one foot is all i ask.
this may be demanding (oh i did say ask, didn't i?) too much.
a girl can dream.
im sitting on the bench that is to become my bed across from a man in a fuzzy, puffy, glittering orange sweater.
please note that all unwanted tinsel following christmas ought to be sent to india.
i assure you they will make use of it.
he has a beard.
i note this because old men with beards that reach their collar bone make me jealous.
i want a beard of my own, you see.
and i dont suppose i will ever have one.
i just to try it out one day.
but i fear hormone pills would only complicate things.
and i hate shaving enough as it is.
fuzzy puffy orange sweater man glittering in the dark is asleep and i want to braid his beard.
but i shall not.
he might kick me.
or curse me.
or something equally un-auspicious.
and i believe i will wait at least until my fortune is told.
sigh.
the pleasures i must deny myself.
on with the main event then.
pretending to be in the moment.
------------------------------
the vehicle that is to take me to the wagha border is a relatively comfortable looking SUV.
the very back aka trunk area is also equipped with benches to maximize seating.
and it is white.
because color matters.
considering it while empty, you would imagine perhaps 10 people could fit into it comfortably.
but of course.
in the end.
15 people are stuffed into this vehicle.
and one child.
who sat on her mothers lap.
or rather her butt was on her mothers lap, who happened to be my neighbor, and in falling asleep, the rest of her collapsed onto me.
all i could see was the back of her head and feared she might suffocate lost somewhere in the folds of my scarf.
i poked her. no response.
i looked helplessly at her mother, thinking surely she would collect her child.
but mother had also gone to sleep.
the problem is that i have a serious issue with touching other peoples children.
strangers' children.
regardless of how affectionate they may be with me.
and as i sat there debating on whether or not i ought to just adjust her myself and attempting to recall whatever pediatric development facts still lingered in my brain -
her head tilted slightly. and her mouth apppeared.
(along with a fair amount of drool along my forearm)
bless the lord!
i will not kill a child today.
a side note.
never doubt the widespread appeal of american music.
i have heard beyonce in the dead of night, floating up the the niger river where even electricity dared not reach the mud villages of the river bank.
and i have now enjoyed eminem and celine dion en route to the pakinstan/india border in a stuffed SUV (how about that for an advertising idea?).
what disturbed me was not the sudden appearance of them -
but rather the combination.
really now.
"Stan" and "My Heart wil go on"?
imagine that duet.
id pay hundreds.
ive never seen the beatles.
i wasnt even alive then.
but you know those old tv snippets where you see how insane girls were? the noise? the shoving? the climbing all over each other?
getting through the line, past the guards and the (so-called) security (another side note for another day) was something like that.
only. add barbed wire.
and that was the madness that took place.
and this event (which i still do not know the name of, i'm merely calling it 'the event')
takes place every day.
EVERY DAMNED DAY.
people get excited around here it seems.
i see now how folks are killed in major sporting events.
i cant even imagine what its like in a pakistan vs india cricket game.
(though im awfully tempted)
whatever.
i gloried in shoving and kicking and snarling!
i growled and clawed my way through the wave of bodies!
i could not be stopped!
i was invincible!
and then there was that barbed wire.
my shirt will never forgive me.
now.
as i understand it.
'the event' takes place every day at 5pm.
primarily ceremonial in nature.
lovely indian and pakistani men in their army garb (which i think is also primarily ceremonial in nature because it doesnt look terribly practical - unless those giant peacock headgear things are stealthy)
and really.
its all good fun.
i didnt understand any of it.
some marching. stomping. kick.
kick. kick. stomp. some guns involved.
(though no shooting)
lots of loud inspirational talking.
MC: "HINDUSTAN!"
people: -jdoisdgfsggrhiudnverg- !
MC: "HINDUSTAN!!"
people: -jergnedfgedriunvuenrgo- !
and on the other side of the fence there was the faint
"PAKISTAN!"
-jheriugnesdgsdgiunvinr- !
i felt the comprehension of these two words was enough.
you get the gist.
more kick. more stomp. and some arm swinging.
the indian side pulled out a greater crowd than the pakistanis but that i could hear them at all over the indian screaming was impressive in itself.
another kick.
theyre really great at this kicking thing.
more like a fling than a kick.
just whip it out.
HACHAAAAH!
and the pakinstani side in a somewhat mirror action.
PACHAAAAH!
i wondered if they practice this.
at some point in time both sides open their respective gates and do more kicking and stomping directly in front of one another.
from my distance it wasnt clear if the opposing soldiers actually touch one another.
but id like to think they did.
if for no other reason but to perform some swinging arm movement.
in sync.
this ought to be an olympic sport.
in fact.
that was the feel of it all.
the crowds screaming. the cheering. the flag waving.
a major gaming event.
if marching is your thing.
soon enough the flags are descending, the lines held in "X" fashion and they pass one another as they return to the waiting arms of their respective countrymen.
in peacock headresses.
the gates close with an audible clang.
firm. secure.
and the crowd goes wild.
im still not sure if all that flinging, marching, and stomping was a show of might
-or a show of brotherhood.
or maybe.. just maybe - it was something in the middle.
depending on the day.
i think the pakistan/hindustan relationship is just that way.
and on the road back, the sound of 98 Degrees filled the darkening skies.
and the kid fell asleep on me again.
yet again im writing days later.
and wondering if that is perhaps not the best of options.
though, at present, it is the only.
on yet another train - this time to varanasi (aka banares aka kashi aka 'forest of bliss').
and the last ride for 2-3 days at least.
a pleasant break.
the mini-realm that is my personal space has been roughened up a bit much these past 8 days and i aim to take full advantage of the money i have on hand (and available after a quick trip to the atm).
im aware of the good fortune to have decent money at all.
and that i am only a tourist in the end.
i want a massage. ayurvedic.
i want my fortune told.
i want to sleep in a quiet space.
and i want a aura emanating at least 1 foot from my body at all points that reeks of
energy.
pure and thick and vibrant.
all of it screaming 'stay the fuck away'.
one foot is all i ask.
this may be demanding (oh i did say ask, didn't i?) too much.
a girl can dream.
im sitting on the bench that is to become my bed across from a man in a fuzzy, puffy, glittering orange sweater.
please note that all unwanted tinsel following christmas ought to be sent to india.
i assure you they will make use of it.
he has a beard.
i note this because old men with beards that reach their collar bone make me jealous.
i want a beard of my own, you see.
and i dont suppose i will ever have one.
i just to try it out one day.
but i fear hormone pills would only complicate things.
and i hate shaving enough as it is.
fuzzy puffy orange sweater man glittering in the dark is asleep and i want to braid his beard.
but i shall not.
he might kick me.
or curse me.
or something equally un-auspicious.
and i believe i will wait at least until my fortune is told.
sigh.
the pleasures i must deny myself.
on with the main event then.
pretending to be in the moment.
------------------------------
the vehicle that is to take me to the wagha border is a relatively comfortable looking SUV.
the very back aka trunk area is also equipped with benches to maximize seating.
and it is white.
because color matters.
considering it while empty, you would imagine perhaps 10 people could fit into it comfortably.
but of course.
in the end.
15 people are stuffed into this vehicle.
and one child.
who sat on her mothers lap.
or rather her butt was on her mothers lap, who happened to be my neighbor, and in falling asleep, the rest of her collapsed onto me.
all i could see was the back of her head and feared she might suffocate lost somewhere in the folds of my scarf.
i poked her. no response.
i looked helplessly at her mother, thinking surely she would collect her child.
but mother had also gone to sleep.
the problem is that i have a serious issue with touching other peoples children.
strangers' children.
regardless of how affectionate they may be with me.
and as i sat there debating on whether or not i ought to just adjust her myself and attempting to recall whatever pediatric development facts still lingered in my brain -
her head tilted slightly. and her mouth apppeared.
(along with a fair amount of drool along my forearm)
bless the lord!
i will not kill a child today.
a side note.
never doubt the widespread appeal of american music.
i have heard beyonce in the dead of night, floating up the the niger river where even electricity dared not reach the mud villages of the river bank.
and i have now enjoyed eminem and celine dion en route to the pakinstan/india border in a stuffed SUV (how about that for an advertising idea?).
what disturbed me was not the sudden appearance of them -
but rather the combination.
really now.
"Stan" and "My Heart wil go on"?
imagine that duet.
id pay hundreds.
ive never seen the beatles.
i wasnt even alive then.
but you know those old tv snippets where you see how insane girls were? the noise? the shoving? the climbing all over each other?
getting through the line, past the guards and the (so-called) security (another side note for another day) was something like that.
only. add barbed wire.
and that was the madness that took place.
and this event (which i still do not know the name of, i'm merely calling it 'the event')
takes place every day.
EVERY DAMNED DAY.
people get excited around here it seems.
i see now how folks are killed in major sporting events.
i cant even imagine what its like in a pakistan vs india cricket game.
(though im awfully tempted)
whatever.
i gloried in shoving and kicking and snarling!
i growled and clawed my way through the wave of bodies!
i could not be stopped!
i was invincible!
and then there was that barbed wire.
my shirt will never forgive me.
now.
as i understand it.
'the event' takes place every day at 5pm.
primarily ceremonial in nature.
lovely indian and pakistani men in their army garb (which i think is also primarily ceremonial in nature because it doesnt look terribly practical - unless those giant peacock headgear things are stealthy)
and really.
its all good fun.
i didnt understand any of it.
some marching. stomping. kick.
kick. kick. stomp. some guns involved.
(though no shooting)
lots of loud inspirational talking.
MC: "HINDUSTAN!"
people: -jdoisdgfsggrhiudnverg- !
MC: "HINDUSTAN!!"
people: -jergnedfgedriunvuenrgo- !
and on the other side of the fence there was the faint
"PAKISTAN!"
-jheriugnesdgsdgiunvinr- !
i felt the comprehension of these two words was enough.
you get the gist.
more kick. more stomp. and some arm swinging.
the indian side pulled out a greater crowd than the pakistanis but that i could hear them at all over the indian screaming was impressive in itself.
another kick.
theyre really great at this kicking thing.
more like a fling than a kick.
just whip it out.
HACHAAAAH!
and the pakinstani side in a somewhat mirror action.
PACHAAAAH!
i wondered if they practice this.
at some point in time both sides open their respective gates and do more kicking and stomping directly in front of one another.
from my distance it wasnt clear if the opposing soldiers actually touch one another.
but id like to think they did.
if for no other reason but to perform some swinging arm movement.
in sync.
this ought to be an olympic sport.
in fact.
that was the feel of it all.
the crowds screaming. the cheering. the flag waving.
a major gaming event.
if marching is your thing.
soon enough the flags are descending, the lines held in "X" fashion and they pass one another as they return to the waiting arms of their respective countrymen.
in peacock headresses.
the gates close with an audible clang.
firm. secure.
and the crowd goes wild.
im still not sure if all that flinging, marching, and stomping was a show of might
-or a show of brotherhood.
or maybe.. just maybe - it was something in the middle.
depending on the day.
i think the pakistan/hindustan relationship is just that way.
and on the road back, the sound of 98 Degrees filled the darkening skies.
and the kid fell asleep on me again.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Amritsar is glittering in the sun
a new rule regarding indian travel. whatever you are told is the amount of time it takes to get from point a to point b - is nothing more than an imaginary number.
pay it no attention.
even on the occasion when a bus, train, or taxi leaves on time - the actual time of arrival is a mystery.
dont think too hard on it.
like a surprise birthday party you know will happen, but not sure when.
just be happy you get one at all.
4:30 i was up and out and creeping my way to the bus station.
my paranoia has been developing over the years. fine-tuning.
and my imagination fills in the holes.
the number of assailants, human and supernatural, that crowd my mind in insane scenarios (and where i manage superwoman feats of defense with merely a toothbrush) serve more as entertainment and are generally useless but for heightening my senses.
its a circular, inefficient method of being on guard and works for me wonderfully.
knock on wood.
i expected the trip to take anywhere from 6-8 hours as i had varying pieces of information.
that bus pulled out at 5:04 and took 5 hours. not 8, not 7, not 6.
5.
moving on.
welcome to Amritsar! (pronounced ahm-reet-sir, sort of)
i had planned to meet my friend (Michiko) at 2 pm that afternoon and i show up at 10.
i wont go into detail of my running around to get a hold of her (the one occasion i did actually miss my cell, otherwise i assure i am thrilled to be well rid of it)
but do want to share one note -
that if anyone tells you an internet cafe is only available 1 km away and you surely need a rickshaw to take you there because its sunday-
is not that case.
and amristarians like to shop. (okay two notes)
the more sparkle. the better.
and i mean SPARKLE.
take sequins, beads, golden thread, silver thread, jewels, semi-precious stones, and tiny little plastic mirrors - throw them all into one big pot and pour over the brightest colored fabric you can find - hot pink works out just fine.
and voila.
instant fashion.
madam - you are the shit.
after my running around, i managed to get a hold of Michiko, come to know that she was not actually getting into the city until 11 that night, booked a hotel room, and bought a ticket to the wagha border.
the actual border being that between india and pakistan and located 30 km away.
i had no idea what they actually do there, but the relationship between the two countries is intriguing and i felt the need to go.
that and the advertising for transportation tickets to the daily event at 5pm sounds like this:
WAHGUH BADABADABADABADA! WAHGUH! WAHGUH!
and all i could here in my hear in my head was a certain muppet and his trademark call.
but one consonant off.
pay it no attention.
even on the occasion when a bus, train, or taxi leaves on time - the actual time of arrival is a mystery.
dont think too hard on it.
like a surprise birthday party you know will happen, but not sure when.
just be happy you get one at all.
4:30 i was up and out and creeping my way to the bus station.
my paranoia has been developing over the years. fine-tuning.
and my imagination fills in the holes.
the number of assailants, human and supernatural, that crowd my mind in insane scenarios (and where i manage superwoman feats of defense with merely a toothbrush) serve more as entertainment and are generally useless but for heightening my senses.
its a circular, inefficient method of being on guard and works for me wonderfully.
knock on wood.
i expected the trip to take anywhere from 6-8 hours as i had varying pieces of information.
that bus pulled out at 5:04 and took 5 hours. not 8, not 7, not 6.
5.
moving on.
welcome to Amritsar! (pronounced ahm-reet-sir, sort of)
i had planned to meet my friend (Michiko) at 2 pm that afternoon and i show up at 10.
i wont go into detail of my running around to get a hold of her (the one occasion i did actually miss my cell, otherwise i assure i am thrilled to be well rid of it)
but do want to share one note -
that if anyone tells you an internet cafe is only available 1 km away and you surely need a rickshaw to take you there because its sunday-
is not that case.
and amristarians like to shop. (okay two notes)
the more sparkle. the better.
and i mean SPARKLE.
take sequins, beads, golden thread, silver thread, jewels, semi-precious stones, and tiny little plastic mirrors - throw them all into one big pot and pour over the brightest colored fabric you can find - hot pink works out just fine.
and voila.
instant fashion.
madam - you are the shit.
after my running around, i managed to get a hold of Michiko, come to know that she was not actually getting into the city until 11 that night, booked a hotel room, and bought a ticket to the wagha border.
the actual border being that between india and pakistan and located 30 km away.
i had no idea what they actually do there, but the relationship between the two countries is intriguing and i felt the need to go.
that and the advertising for transportation tickets to the daily event at 5pm sounds like this:
WAHGUH BADABADABADABADA! WAHGUH! WAHGUH!
and all i could here in my hear in my head was a certain muppet and his trademark call.
but one consonant off.
McLeod Ganj/Dharamsala Day 2
dharamshala day 2 consisted of me waking up at 3:30 in the morning with a low grade fever, hacking up and blowing out thick yellow goo (check out that medical terminology) and generally feeling like a shit.
i wanted a hot shower and i wanted it now.
what i got instead was cold water and a bucket.
so i waited. and waited. wondering if i missed some part of the instructions in how to get the hot water tank to work and alternating between pacing and snuggling under five million blankets.
eventually i calmed down. by 5.
read a little of the booklets on tibet i had picked up the day before (i believe ive mentioned by addiction to collecting paper things to read) and went out to watch the sun rise over mcleod ganj.
a sunrise full of dog barking and monkeys rattling in the trees.
beautiful of course, but ive yet to see an unbeautiful sunrise.
wrapped in finnair once more and simply trying to breathe.
slowly.
the proprietor of yellow guest house finally appeared, disheveled, and grunting when i noted (admittedly with a slight irritated edge to my voice):
'you did say there was hot water yes? i tried before but it didnt work'
'yes, its on now, you can use it'
ah of course.
time limits.
im such an idiot.
'right, thank you!'
and i dashed off. eager for scalding temperatures.
in the end it was warm at best, but i wasnt picky. i needed a good scrubbing more than anything and something hot and nutritious for breakfast.
i popped my vitamins, dressed snug and warmly and wrapped my shawl tight around my head and neck.
still felt a bit like shit, but i was clean and warm and about to eat.
the world was relatively pleasing in that moment.
i passed this day by leisurely.
still had that green tara to buy and the temple complex to explore so i strolled, took my time, attempted to make sense of tibetan buddhism in my mind (albeit unsuccessfully) and enjoyed the sound of chanting as often as i could and aged tibetans conducting their prayers. i sat in the sun as often as i could, hoping to soak up all the warmth it had to give. or burn away the illness.
i put yoga aside as there was a short film at the museum at 3 that i wanted to see more.
and that was my only scheduled event for the day.
after the film (on the imprisonment and subsequent torture of tibetan nuns) i lingered in a nearby cafe. watching the younger monks sip their tea, laugh with one another, and chat on their cell phones.
with the older monks involved in seemingly far more serious interactions, but the warmth was there.
and i knew i had a 5 am bus to amritsar to catch in lower dharamsala and the wiset coures of action was to leave yellow guest house and move to a cheap room in 9 km south, but i so didnt want to leave.
i simply did not want to go.
but time moves on and as i was gathering up my things another foreign woman walked in and i overheard her begin a conversation with a young tibetan - a scheduled meeting they had.
it seemed she was conducting research for her thesis on the identity of young tibetans in exile and i envied her.
so very much.
i cried a little on the taxi to the lower world. apparently noted by my neighbor who asked why i was crying. he seemed to be one of the nicer indian men who have approached me but i waved him off and went back to feeling like shit for other reasons that day.
still. whatever else- im good at focusing on the practical. on what needs to be done. so i took care of some internet things. found an ever so charming room with roaches and used condoms (as i discovered in the middle of the night), and finally tried to sleep, fitfully and just itching for 4:30 am to appear.
i was restless and unsettled.
i needed to move.
it suited that amritsar was waiting.
i wanted a hot shower and i wanted it now.
what i got instead was cold water and a bucket.
so i waited. and waited. wondering if i missed some part of the instructions in how to get the hot water tank to work and alternating between pacing and snuggling under five million blankets.
eventually i calmed down. by 5.
read a little of the booklets on tibet i had picked up the day before (i believe ive mentioned by addiction to collecting paper things to read) and went out to watch the sun rise over mcleod ganj.
a sunrise full of dog barking and monkeys rattling in the trees.
beautiful of course, but ive yet to see an unbeautiful sunrise.
wrapped in finnair once more and simply trying to breathe.
slowly.
the proprietor of yellow guest house finally appeared, disheveled, and grunting when i noted (admittedly with a slight irritated edge to my voice):
'you did say there was hot water yes? i tried before but it didnt work'
'yes, its on now, you can use it'
ah of course.
time limits.
im such an idiot.
'right, thank you!'
and i dashed off. eager for scalding temperatures.
in the end it was warm at best, but i wasnt picky. i needed a good scrubbing more than anything and something hot and nutritious for breakfast.
i popped my vitamins, dressed snug and warmly and wrapped my shawl tight around my head and neck.
still felt a bit like shit, but i was clean and warm and about to eat.
the world was relatively pleasing in that moment.
i passed this day by leisurely.
still had that green tara to buy and the temple complex to explore so i strolled, took my time, attempted to make sense of tibetan buddhism in my mind (albeit unsuccessfully) and enjoyed the sound of chanting as often as i could and aged tibetans conducting their prayers. i sat in the sun as often as i could, hoping to soak up all the warmth it had to give. or burn away the illness.
i put yoga aside as there was a short film at the museum at 3 that i wanted to see more.
and that was my only scheduled event for the day.
after the film (on the imprisonment and subsequent torture of tibetan nuns) i lingered in a nearby cafe. watching the younger monks sip their tea, laugh with one another, and chat on their cell phones.
with the older monks involved in seemingly far more serious interactions, but the warmth was there.
and i knew i had a 5 am bus to amritsar to catch in lower dharamsala and the wiset coures of action was to leave yellow guest house and move to a cheap room in 9 km south, but i so didnt want to leave.
i simply did not want to go.
but time moves on and as i was gathering up my things another foreign woman walked in and i overheard her begin a conversation with a young tibetan - a scheduled meeting they had.
it seemed she was conducting research for her thesis on the identity of young tibetans in exile and i envied her.
so very much.
i cried a little on the taxi to the lower world. apparently noted by my neighbor who asked why i was crying. he seemed to be one of the nicer indian men who have approached me but i waved him off and went back to feeling like shit for other reasons that day.
still. whatever else- im good at focusing on the practical. on what needs to be done. so i took care of some internet things. found an ever so charming room with roaches and used condoms (as i discovered in the middle of the night), and finally tried to sleep, fitfully and just itching for 4:30 am to appear.
i was restless and unsettled.
i needed to move.
it suited that amritsar was waiting.
McLeod Ganj Day One
on with events.
cooking class with llhamo at 10 am.
was brilliant.
im not a cook, not that im incapable, but i have the unfortunate habit of thinking my genius is far greater than any recipe and tweaking is always in order.
that is if im even motivated to cook at all.
so here we were.
myself, a lovely german woman, and an indian couple from mumbai.
we were to be making momos.
and determined to become momo masters.
or just saying momo a lot was satisfying as well.
our instructor was a man who had been teaching these classes for over 10 years now, recommended by lonely planet (oh holy of holies) and some other guide.
he was exact, precise, and rather good at repeating things and making us repeat things so that we could actually create something edible.
he had also come to dharamsala from tibet when he was 16 years old, part of a group of 20 who had the good fortune of making it all over alive, minus a few digits lost of frostbite.
all of his were intact.
his mother is apparently a well known chef in lhasa.
everything he taught to us (and a long line of tourists), he had learned from her.
bit of task master, he was, but it was good for us.
for we were unruly children prone to giggling and in need of discipline.
theres something about playing with dough that does that.
i, perhaps inappropriately, asked questions regarding his journey across the mountains, and his life now in dharamsala. how he lives without family and having never again seen his mother.
theres that strange tension in the air, however.
when dualing energies want dominion.
one the playful, childish, lets have fun we are on vacation sense of things
and the other - the energy that radiates from the shitty things on the world corner.
not precisely sadness. and nothing at all to do with pity (though often misplaced i think when it does arise)
but a grim energy of the darker threads of living.
of striving for something like happiness.
in my mind - gaiety is not happiness.
but thats another distraction for another day.
and in this cooking class, half way through, play won out and i felt edgy and irritated, for too many reasons. with myself, with the others, with the world.
and i gave in and had fun, functioning through those contrasting layers of thought and emotion because, now, my mind had been nudged and that wrinkle refused to be ignored.
no matter how hilarious it is to use a rolling pin.
and so we kneaded, and mixed, and rolled, and pinched.
and pinched and pinched. (look up how to make a momo - traditionally - note the italics there and youll understand - they involve small discs of dough with filling and the pinch is required to close them well and with style)
llamo was quite particular even about hand position.
the pinch can turn out completely wrong if the hand is not in the proper position.
and the pinch means worlds.
your pinching can lead to mountains, friendship, and good luck.
be mindful of that pinching.
there is actual and symbolic beauty to be found in that dough.
in the end, my pinching abilities were passable.
those good luck ones were a bitch.
but as my brother would say,
'it all comes out the same way.'
i take comfort in this.
we photographed, we filmed, we shared business cards, we passed on a tip or two to llamo (plus his 200 rupees fee of course) and walked away from one another after 2 and half hours of momo giddiness.
bellies full and smile intact.
i then went wondering. on the hunt for a yoga school that all the ads plastered on the walls of mcleod ganj displayed.
one class was managable and i wanted to know their schedule.
i also wanted to just get through one day without getting lost.
but i thnk im just good at that.
evetually found my way, picked up a brochure and planned to make the yoga session the next day at 2 pm. 2 hours of yoga. for my aching body actually sounded wonderful.
i checked my time. almost 2 of the day i had in hand and i remembered a blonde woman who had begged that i come by for english conversation class - they were apparently always in need.
she had also mentioned a friday movie for tibetan documentary screening at 7 that i was already planning to attend (i cant resist documentaries, no matter what theyre about) -
and i thought. hm. sure. lets do this english thing. should be fun. i always love speaking with non-native speakers attempting to learn the insanity that is english.
(i recognize my own good fortune of my parents choosing the ever so blessed country that is the US of A to immigrate to.)
so off i went. a few minutes late.
no big deal.
blonde woman picks out 4 tibetans as my charges and we settle in another room to begin discussion. our mission for the afternoon was to go over 4 questions concerning the gov in tibet, the gov in exile, voting, democracies and communism.
sure... no problem.
i had a lay tibetan, a monk, and two nuns to lead.
i felt out of my league.
'um, i dont know who the prime minister of tibet is.'
blonde girl smiles
'thats good because thats what theyre are supposed to be able to tell you.'
'ah...so... what do i do?'
'just talk.'
right.
talking and i dont always get along.
so i sat, smiled, introduced myself and sampled a little more optimism.
and we made it through. question after question. where i wrote down answers in english and they copied and studied, murmuring over and over to themselves, practicing their pronunciation, working out the sound of the 'i' in 'prime' and 'exile' and learning words like 'dedicated' and 'educated'
and chanting vOHte not waht
there was still something tricky about that 'v' by the end
and those long vowels were something else, but they all sounded lovely.
truly.
and that endless murmuring... english rarely sounds so soothing.
they worked so hard, chattering with one another to be sure of the correct statement and prompting me every few seconds on another pronunciation.
they were at different levels, the strongest english speaker became something of a translator and when we were all finished up the discussion questions, we had a little time for q & a
where i learned their individuals stories and what they thought of being in india.
and how insanely shy they were about attempting to answer in english.
so in the end i stopped harassing them (fine line between that and encouragement) and they stopped hiding behind their little notebooks and spoke freely with my lay tibetan charge translating. they would look between the two of us the entire time. even the moments they looked me in the eye and i had no idea what they were saying... (the nuns in particular. both of them.)
its that moment when you can sense much more than the language will ever share.
even had i actually mentally understood their words.
i wont relate their stories, they arent mine to share and i could not do them justice regardless but there was something that particularly unsettled me - a question one nun asked of me just before we were called to reform into the larger group and present the discussion answers.
she asked 'what do you think will happen to tibet after the dalai lama leaves us?'
i had opened my mouth, completely at a loss, my first statement being,
'please know that i speak from limited knowledge'
and i paused - attempting to come up with something -
and thank god blonde girl called us back.
for i certainly did not know. i didnt know a damn thing.
and my blood raged in that moment.
and i was ready for flight. in something between fear and anger.
it obviously occurs to me now that i simply could have said
'i dont know'
but even that would not have sufficed.
and as the others gathered their things to move back to the main room
she looked at me
a small, grim smile on her face
and i could feel what she thought, even if the words would not come
were just out of reach - of some dangerous edge.
and something hurt so deeply - a piercing sort of ache.
that has stayed with me these 4 days.
i didnt say goodbye to her.
i moved too slowly and before i could find her, she had gone.
i intended to ask blonge (asutralian apparently) girl about her later at the movie night.
but i felt horribly ill that afternoon.
and went to sleep
at 5pm no less. and missed the documentaries entirely.
cooking class with llhamo at 10 am.
was brilliant.
im not a cook, not that im incapable, but i have the unfortunate habit of thinking my genius is far greater than any recipe and tweaking is always in order.
that is if im even motivated to cook at all.
so here we were.
myself, a lovely german woman, and an indian couple from mumbai.
we were to be making momos.
and determined to become momo masters.
or just saying momo a lot was satisfying as well.
our instructor was a man who had been teaching these classes for over 10 years now, recommended by lonely planet (oh holy of holies) and some other guide.
he was exact, precise, and rather good at repeating things and making us repeat things so that we could actually create something edible.
he had also come to dharamsala from tibet when he was 16 years old, part of a group of 20 who had the good fortune of making it all over alive, minus a few digits lost of frostbite.
all of his were intact.
his mother is apparently a well known chef in lhasa.
everything he taught to us (and a long line of tourists), he had learned from her.
bit of task master, he was, but it was good for us.
for we were unruly children prone to giggling and in need of discipline.
theres something about playing with dough that does that.
i, perhaps inappropriately, asked questions regarding his journey across the mountains, and his life now in dharamsala. how he lives without family and having never again seen his mother.
theres that strange tension in the air, however.
when dualing energies want dominion.
one the playful, childish, lets have fun we are on vacation sense of things
and the other - the energy that radiates from the shitty things on the world corner.
not precisely sadness. and nothing at all to do with pity (though often misplaced i think when it does arise)
but a grim energy of the darker threads of living.
of striving for something like happiness.
in my mind - gaiety is not happiness.
but thats another distraction for another day.
and in this cooking class, half way through, play won out and i felt edgy and irritated, for too many reasons. with myself, with the others, with the world.
and i gave in and had fun, functioning through those contrasting layers of thought and emotion because, now, my mind had been nudged and that wrinkle refused to be ignored.
no matter how hilarious it is to use a rolling pin.
and so we kneaded, and mixed, and rolled, and pinched.
and pinched and pinched. (look up how to make a momo - traditionally - note the italics there and youll understand - they involve small discs of dough with filling and the pinch is required to close them well and with style)
llamo was quite particular even about hand position.
the pinch can turn out completely wrong if the hand is not in the proper position.
and the pinch means worlds.
your pinching can lead to mountains, friendship, and good luck.
be mindful of that pinching.
there is actual and symbolic beauty to be found in that dough.
in the end, my pinching abilities were passable.
those good luck ones were a bitch.
but as my brother would say,
'it all comes out the same way.'
i take comfort in this.
we photographed, we filmed, we shared business cards, we passed on a tip or two to llamo (plus his 200 rupees fee of course) and walked away from one another after 2 and half hours of momo giddiness.
bellies full and smile intact.
i then went wondering. on the hunt for a yoga school that all the ads plastered on the walls of mcleod ganj displayed.
one class was managable and i wanted to know their schedule.
i also wanted to just get through one day without getting lost.
but i thnk im just good at that.
evetually found my way, picked up a brochure and planned to make the yoga session the next day at 2 pm. 2 hours of yoga. for my aching body actually sounded wonderful.
i checked my time. almost 2 of the day i had in hand and i remembered a blonde woman who had begged that i come by for english conversation class - they were apparently always in need.
she had also mentioned a friday movie for tibetan documentary screening at 7 that i was already planning to attend (i cant resist documentaries, no matter what theyre about) -
and i thought. hm. sure. lets do this english thing. should be fun. i always love speaking with non-native speakers attempting to learn the insanity that is english.
(i recognize my own good fortune of my parents choosing the ever so blessed country that is the US of A to immigrate to.)
so off i went. a few minutes late.
no big deal.
blonde woman picks out 4 tibetans as my charges and we settle in another room to begin discussion. our mission for the afternoon was to go over 4 questions concerning the gov in tibet, the gov in exile, voting, democracies and communism.
sure... no problem.
i had a lay tibetan, a monk, and two nuns to lead.
i felt out of my league.
'um, i dont know who the prime minister of tibet is.'
blonde girl smiles
'thats good because thats what theyre are supposed to be able to tell you.'
'ah...so... what do i do?'
'just talk.'
right.
talking and i dont always get along.
so i sat, smiled, introduced myself and sampled a little more optimism.
and we made it through. question after question. where i wrote down answers in english and they copied and studied, murmuring over and over to themselves, practicing their pronunciation, working out the sound of the 'i' in 'prime' and 'exile' and learning words like 'dedicated' and 'educated'
and chanting vOHte not waht
there was still something tricky about that 'v' by the end
and those long vowels were something else, but they all sounded lovely.
truly.
and that endless murmuring... english rarely sounds so soothing.
they worked so hard, chattering with one another to be sure of the correct statement and prompting me every few seconds on another pronunciation.
they were at different levels, the strongest english speaker became something of a translator and when we were all finished up the discussion questions, we had a little time for q & a
where i learned their individuals stories and what they thought of being in india.
and how insanely shy they were about attempting to answer in english.
so in the end i stopped harassing them (fine line between that and encouragement) and they stopped hiding behind their little notebooks and spoke freely with my lay tibetan charge translating. they would look between the two of us the entire time. even the moments they looked me in the eye and i had no idea what they were saying... (the nuns in particular. both of them.)
its that moment when you can sense much more than the language will ever share.
even had i actually mentally understood their words.
i wont relate their stories, they arent mine to share and i could not do them justice regardless but there was something that particularly unsettled me - a question one nun asked of me just before we were called to reform into the larger group and present the discussion answers.
she asked 'what do you think will happen to tibet after the dalai lama leaves us?'
i had opened my mouth, completely at a loss, my first statement being,
'please know that i speak from limited knowledge'
and i paused - attempting to come up with something -
and thank god blonde girl called us back.
for i certainly did not know. i didnt know a damn thing.
and my blood raged in that moment.
and i was ready for flight. in something between fear and anger.
it obviously occurs to me now that i simply could have said
'i dont know'
but even that would not have sufficed.
and as the others gathered their things to move back to the main room
she looked at me
a small, grim smile on her face
and i could feel what she thought, even if the words would not come
were just out of reach - of some dangerous edge.
and something hurt so deeply - a piercing sort of ache.
that has stayed with me these 4 days.
i didnt say goodbye to her.
i moved too slowly and before i could find her, she had gone.
i intended to ask blonge (asutralian apparently) girl about her later at the movie night.
but i felt horribly ill that afternoon.
and went to sleep
at 5pm no less. and missed the documentaries entirely.
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