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.
Friday, November 20, 2009
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.
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