Saturday, December 4, 2010
A work in progress
11/13 Lost in the Dark.
In Goa. We have rented this scooter from our hostel manager (Andrew) who does the paperwork for the owner (Juliana or Aunty - a 75 year old Goan Indian who speaks almost no english). Its a complete shitter - the bike not the hostel (which is just okay but the highlight is the hammock). The scooter, which I promptly name "Scoo-dizzle" maxes out at about 45kph and seems strain every time it starts. Apart from the engine issues it seems to be fine. We take the scooter and vistit a handful of northern beaches until watching the sunset on Morgim beach. Everything is gold and silver and transient. The sunlight here is so much more pure than in the rest of India. The pollution of Mumbai is a thousand kilometers away from us and the fleeting moments of golden purity bleed into night as Nooj and I zoom back towards our Hostel on Anjuna beach.
As night enshouds the valley, I realize that the headlights are not working on this scooter. Shit. While I am completely occupied by driving in the soft evening night, I let Anuja cover the navigation duties. At some point, we are not sure when, we lose our way and suddenly find ourselves in the worse scrape yet: Lost at night in India with no light. Rural India completely shuts down at night. No one goes out. People immediately go home, except on the beach where they have insane trance parties fueled by drugs of all types. I ask Nooj to dig out the flashlight. She says we didn't bring it. Double shit. I turn on the blinker and hope no one hits us. At least they might see the blinker and stop to see what they hit so they can clean our remains off the backroad. I'm using the horn constantly anytime there is an oncomming vehicle. 40 minutes of white knuckled 10 mph scooting, the occational swerve to avoid vagarant cows and 5 sets of bad directions later, we get excited when we see the Dominoes sign which is our one definite landmark in the area. We can now navigate home under our own steam! What a relief... About this time I find the switch for the headlights. Awesome. Boy do I feel dumb.
11/14 - Drinking Gasoline with Vivek
Sunrise yoga again over the beach. I wake up Nooj and we get fruit smoothies for breakfast. This girl really likes to sleep in. I think she would probably sleep until 10:30 every day if given the opportunity. We switch hostels in the morning to "Evershine Guest House" which is the nicest hostel we've stayed at. Its got warm water and is clean. The hostel owner, Sebastiana Fernandez or Sammy is about 55 and hardly ever leaves the hostel. She'll check you in at 10am or 2am and always offers a free drink on arrival. We take Scoodizzle down south checking out beaches as we go. I try to swim to a wrecked cargo ship the "River Princess" but the lifeguards stop the guy who is in front of me while he is climing the ladder up to the main deck. I decide that I have no chance to make it, so I go back to body suring. That evening we meet up with Anuja's 56 year old cousin Vivek who has a laid back attitude and a scratchy voice that says to me he either used to smoke a pack a day or was a shouter for a bus company (more to come on that). I am nervous about taking "Scoot-dizzle" back at night but Vivek says it will be no big deal and that we wont get lost this time. We eat dinner at a place called "Foodland" which is located on Miramar beach and serves both fast and slow food. The Goan cuisine is dynamite and we get our first taste of Fenni, a local powerful alcohol which is brewed from mashed cashew fruit. It tastes like nut-flavored gasoline and is strong enough to knock down a horse. Anuja and I end up buying a couple bottles of "Big Boss" for friends.
11/15 - Matchmaking and Elephants
I trade in "Scoot-dizzle" for the new and improved "Scoot-dizzle 2point0" which turns out to have about 1/10th the number of kilometers on its odometer and twice as many rattles. Around noon we decide that we are going to go to Dudhsagar falls which is quite a distance. Our hostel owner says we should be able to scooter there in an hour and a half or two. I think this is optimistic. I have a natural sense of how to drive in India now. It has only taken a few days. I am an excellent passer - even with only seconds to spare and I use the horn like it was a second throttle. 2 hours later we are in Ponda, about 2/3 of the way to the falls and realize that this is a bad idea. We hear that we will also need to charter a Jeep for what is normally a 40 minute ride that is taking an hour and a half due to the recent rains (scooters are not allowed). We reroute our trip to a local spice farm where I am entranced by an elephant named Lakshim which I pet until the owner tells me to stop. His skin is rough and hard and covered with a sparsely populated course black hair. It feels like it could withstand most anything. His eyes look me back and I understand why people consider elephants wise: they seem to be taking all of me in and seeing me for who I am. Lashkim is probably the most gentle and powerful creature I've yet met. He has a certain sadness in him. It might be an anipomorphic trait that I've ascribed to tim due to the state of captivity that he lives in, where he is doomed to serve as a beast of burden for the remainder of his days. I imagine him going "Rogue Mastadon," goreing his trainer and dashing off into the jungle in search of a wild herd of his own kind.
During our tour of the spice planation I am guessing the names of the spices we encounter, usually guessing such things as "banana spice!" or "All spice!" or "Curry!" I am correct only twice. The guide there tells me that she is still looking for her first love pairing and I tell her that I have a good match for her in the united states - my friend John has authorized up to 15,000 Rupees (about $330) for an Indian bride. She says that her father should be paying him that in addition to some other stuff. Eventually she refuses my matchmaking offer after she finds out that he is not in her caste. Her loss. John is a sweety and takes good care of his women.
11/16 Hammer Pants and Hail to the Queen
I've bought a pair of Red "Ali-Baba" pants which I call my "Goan Hammer Pants." They resemble the pants that Aladin wears, except are red and black and have some silly designs on them. While I'm putting them on I feel a familiar painful tug at my back - the feeling I get when I throw my back out. I stretch for 20 minutes and don't get much relief. I decide to ignore it and carry on with our planned trip on "Scoot-dizzle 2" to Mandrem beach up north of Anjuna. We swim at the mostly deserted Mandrem beach, enjoying the yellow coral sand and the clear water. Life couldnt be much better (except this nagging pain in my back). We get a meal at a place we think if Goan but turns out to be Thai. My unpronoucable thai lunch is delicious but Anuja's cheese sandwich (who orders a cheese sandwich!) is less than inspiring. Its apparently shredded mozorella drenched in mayo with tomato and cucumber. We get Ayurvedic healing massages in a shack by the beach. This seems to help my back but is the most expensive thing that we've done in India (1300 Rupees! Which is about $30) We motor back to Anjuna in record time for a sunset dinner on the red crumbly-sandstone cliffs above the ocean. We have the "Peppy Paneer Pizza" and 2 desserts. "Hail to the Queen" is the most grandiouse of all deserts encompassing the entire desert menu in an icecream dish. It is almost a vertical foot of decidence and I decide that I wont be able to drive home so we pass on it in favor of sweet rice tall is the and banana flambe.
11/17 The Rome of India and Bad Milk.
We check out of Evershine, assuring Sammy that we'll recommend her to all our friends and catch a taxi down to Panaji, the capital city of Goa. From there we catch a bus to Old Goa "The Rome of India" for 5 Rupees each (11 cents). It seems that most bus routes are run by private companies and the bus-walas or bus salesmen / ticket takers shout the destination of the bus for about 10 minutes before it leaves. "OlGoa!OlGoa!OlGoa!" is what it sounds like to me. I'm confused but excited by the low tech advertising. At least we know we are on the right bus.
When the Portuguese led by Vasco de Gama colonized the Goan state for its rich spice farms they centered their Goverance 10km up the Mandovi River in old Goa. They built immense late-Rennisance Roman and Barque style mansions. The Catholic Missionaries erected the beautiful and enormous Se Cathedral and Bascillica de Bom Jesus, where "The Incorrupted Body of St. Francis Xavior" is held, along with the Church of St Franscis of Assisi. All are extravegant - equal in ways the the cathedrals in Europe and so impressive that they survived so many years of monsoonage. The entire city was abandoned to the ravages of a number of plagues that seemed to crop up every 5 years of so, decimating the population over and over again. Only the missionaries and priests stayed, keeping the churches intact.
In the early afternoon, against my better judgement, I drink some milk (Its a good brand!) and immediately feel bad. 2 hours later finds me vomiting in a cowfield beside the bus station. A taxi driver named Alex offers us a discounted fair back to Panaji if we stop by a museum. Its a shady deal but apparently if he takes 25 people there to look he gets a free tire. The "Museum" is actually an antique shop in a historic house. I insist that we bring our bags in and then leave the "Museum" quickly. As we Taxi back to Panaji, Alex tells us more history of the area and tells us of his Portugese anscestory. He looks very indian but I nod in agreement. Back in Panaji we wait in the municipal garden beside the bus station while we wait for a pick up from Vivek, Anuja's cousin. On the way back to his house, I get him to stop so that I can get something back in my stomach. I get a pepsi which provides short comfort until I boot into his western style toilet shortly after getting to his house. I wont go into the full details but I did not feel good the entire night. My body was evacuating all foreign objects as fast as possible. I now know the meaning of "Delhi Belly." Anuja takes tender care of me as I work through the worst of it. I made it to sleep around 2am feeling much relieved and content that I did not waste my one dose of antiboitics on food poisoning.
11/18 Butterfly Beach and the Broke-Down Rickshaw
We have taken a Bus to Palolem - about 90km south of Panaji to spend the day at "Heaven on Earth." On the way down we see 6 people on a single scooter. How was it possible?!? 3 of the kids were standing up front and two kids were sitting on the back while dad was driving. I don't know if I have mentioned it yet, but apart from being a celebrity of sorts, I'm also a giant. Anuja is of average height here. I am towering over most people we meet. The only person taller than me is Madhu. At Palolem, we hire a fishing boat to take us along with a british coulple and a Russion 3some to the legendary deserted "Butterfly Beach." The Russians (other ones) have apparently established a hippy commune on the beach head so as representatives of the Free World, we set up on the south end of the beach in opposition. Praying that the cold war is now over and we can live in peace, I end up playing some volleyball with Ivan and his friends from some unpronouncable Russian city where I'm sure [Vladisolvok?]. I don't think that I've mentioned it before but Goa is full of Russians. Everywhere, things are written in Hindi (Devnagri), English and Russian. Agreeing that we like the northern beaches better, we get some fish and tandoori chicken before heading back to the bus station.
We think our bus departs at 6:10pm. Apparently the last bus departs at 5:10. We make a snap decision to catch a rickshaw to the nearby bus hub where we manage to catch the last bus before it departs north to Mangao. From there we catch the last northbound bus to Panaji arriving sometime arouind 9:30 or so.
A 20 minute bicker with the rickshaw dispatcher has the fare down from 150 Rupees to 70 Rupees and they will go no further. We want 60 - as the distance is only about 4km. The difference is about 25 cents but its the principle of the matter. Finally agreeing to their exorbinant fee of 70 Rupees ($1.60), we step into what must be the poorest running Rickshaw in their fleet. Side note: Ricksaws of yesterday were handcarts driven by some poor fellow unfortunate enough to have a rickshaw driver as a father. Today they are an enclosed 3 wheeled vehicle that is derived from a motorcyle. Rickshaws are started by a handcrank and run on a 100cc (approx) two stroke gas engine.
Immediately I understand that there is something wrong with the situation. They are punishing us for our excellent barganing skills and huge brains. We travel no further than 1km before the Rickshaw begins its slow spiral of destruction. Barely managing up a 20 foot hill, the rickshaw's transmision makes a horrific grinding noise and rejects second gear. As the engine coughs and spudders, the driver jams it back into first as we crest the rise, then second again on the way down. Two minutes later, the left wheel slams into a pothole the size of a large kitchen sink and the suspension does not recover like it should. We are now dragging the left axle. I can hear the wheel bearing whining as it siezes. Still the rickshaw driver keeps the throddle cranked. Second gear will not longer accept us. We are relegated to only first and that is having trouble and the left wheel is making the worst grinding noise in the world. I notice an old man on a bicycle passing us. He quickly fades into the dark.
While we are passing one of the many open marshlands (Costal Goa is mainy reclaimed marshland) the engine has quit for probably the 4th or 5th time. I think to myself, "This is where those shady crooks from that dispatched us in this 3 wheeled piece of crap will come and rob us. They wont even find our bones in this swamp..." Then the driver starts the engine using the handcrank again. It continues to be slow going. I get out and lift the rickshaw while the driver kicks the tire. I don't know what happens because once again, the Indian night is so dark that I cannot see anything. Something happens though and we are able to continue once again. Limping at a pace no better than a walk, we finally reach our destination. I pay the Rickshaw driver 100 Rupees (approx $2.30) becuase I feel bad for him.
11/19 Goodbye Goa, Hello Delhi.
My clothing stinks. I've only brought 3 shirts, a pair of shorts and a pair of pants. I don't think I have successfully cleaned any of my shirts since getting to india. I've washed them multiple times but I am yet to get a good dry of them which really only leads to them smelling worse. No one on the bus is complaining out loud but I still feel bad for anyone around me. I don't smell myself - I'm freshly showered this morning and had a haircut yesterday. The haircut came with a shampoo and quick head massage which (also serving the dual purpose of drying my hair) was quite relaxing. I thought it was a little much but there was an option for a longer one. Later Vivek assures me this is quite common and the he likes to get a head massage with "Red oils" when he's feeling stressed. Then he tells me with a laugh that the 200 Rupee haircut that I got should cost more like 35-45 but it also came with experience. I'm now mad that I gave that crook a 50 Rupee tip. I vow to always bargain for everything by starting at 1/10th the offered price.
We are flying out of Goa for Delhi this afternoon and its going to take us all day to ship the gifts we have bought in Goa back to Pune. To ship something in India, you have to pay someone to wrap package it correctly which entails cutting a custom box to fit your stuff from a larger box, wrapping it in twine, then sewing a canvas sack around it. The process should take about 2 hours. Then you go to the post office where they charge you less to ship it then it cost to wrap it. Two busses and 60 rupees (approx $1.50) later we are in the Goa airport. Our flight should be leaving at 3:45 and we are the recommnded 2 hours early. Our flight is (of course) delayed and we spend the day in the airport.
1/20 Delhi's Red Fort and the best driver in India
We sleep at Vinay, Anuja's cousin's house. He is a lawyer that argues cases at India's supreme court. Its similar to ours, only they hear approximately 50,000 cases a year so I guess this things happen fast which makes them pretty stressful. His wife works for the indian trade ministry, negotiating import/export rules with europe. She is pissed about Switzerland's protectionist laws reguarding the importing of agriculture. Their daughter Ananya is eight and loves to dance. Shes my favorite of Anuja's 2nd cousins. We play like I am a monster or her jailor or like I am mad at her and she is frightened.
Vinay has kindly lent us the use of his driver today while we tour about Delhi. Its pretty damn convenient. We see the Red Fort which was the most covetted military post in Delhi and surrounding Rajasthan. It was the lap of luxury for the Moguls when they were in power and once housed the world's biggest gem before Anuja's ancestors looted it when they beat back the Moguls (I think that the legend is that they scaled the 100 foot tall walls by clinging to the backs and tails of 15m long monitor lizzards).
We go the the largest mosque in all of Asia which has free entry and some guys at the door try to extort 200 Rs for a "foreigner camera fee" from me. After repeated attempts, I literally tell them "Go fuck yourselfs." The meaning is lost on them, however the accompanying action and stare that I give them are not. They leave me alone because only a crazy person would do that action in public and I am also giving them the Crazy Serbian Eye - I learned this trick from a friend of mine in college - Niko. Basically you just look at someone out of the corner of your eye and don't blink. It makes you look like you are going to stab someone. The accosters leave me alone but as we are entering, Anuja is asked to cover up what I am terming as her "unmodest body" while entering Allah's presence. She is not happy and so we leave soon.
We go to the central park, and then a larger than life astronomical tool sight to watch the sun set. I guess that "angle of inclanations" and "determining the apparent solar time" were important to the moguls. We then go to Parliment and the India Gate - a monument similar to the Arc De Triumph only its in New Delhi and not paris and doesnt have centaurs but does pay tribute to all the falled indians who resisted and/or fought for freedom and/or died in a number of conflicts. In a way, it makes me feel unpatriotic that I didn't give myself the opportunity to die for my country but that doesnt weigh me down for long. We go eat kababs with Anuja's cousin's family. They are outerworldy good. If you ever go to Delhi, eat lamb Kababs. It will change your idea of roasted meat.
1/21 Anuja is sick with Delhi Belly and the reason you don't sit in the back of the bus
The most unfortunate part of the previous day was that Nooj wasnt very hungry for the Kababs. In fact she hadnt been very hungry the entire day before. Today she is barely able to eat breakfast and then goes back to bed. We were planning on touring at least part of the day before our night bus to Derhradun but our tour plans for the day are put on hold and I submit myself to do the rest of the "bookings" for the rest of the trip as we have internet on Vinay's work computer. I book a train ticket from Haridwar back to Delhi and a follow on leg to Agra. I book a flight from Delhi to Pune. I examine bus/train tickets from Jaipur / Agra / Delhi. Everything there is booked so I decide not to book onto the waitlist. Just before sunset I convince Nooj that we need to get her moving a little in anticipation of the coming trip to Haridwar. We walk to a Bengali temple where they worship "Kali Ma" or the god of death and destruction. I keep saying "KALI MA! KAAAAALI MAAAAA!" like in Indian Jones and the Temple of Doom. Its the same god. Nooj asks if they filmed the movie here. I tell her its similar but with a cave, more fire and ritualistic sacrafice. Pretty much the same though.
We take the metro to the bus and manage to avoid the rickshaw drivers who want 200 Rs (about $4.60) for fare. I tell them we are lost and just want directions. They still want 200 Rs. We just start walking and two blocks later we have found the place.
Let me condense a 7 hour busride that lasts from 9:15 to about 4 am into a quck summary:
No one is able to sleep as the road is made entirely of potholes.
The AC bus is exactly as advertised - blasting AC which is uncomfortably cold as we are driving into the Himalayan foothills and I have only a scarf to keep me warm.
The driver is a stereotypical indian busdriver - a total maniac on the road ready pass anyone with traffic coming head on, then slam on the breaks throwing everyone out of their seats, and completely deaf to the screams as people are launched out of their seats by the wheelbarrow sized potholes he is hitting without slowing down.
After deciding last minute that Rishikesh looks cooler than Haridwar, Anuja and I stay on a little longer (no one gets off at Haridwar by the way - total looserville) and we are dropped off on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere next to what looks like a scene from "The Road Warrior." Spray paint addorns the locked storage units that bare advertiserments for Vodafone and Airtel. During the day function as shops for food vendors general stores. Tonight the full moon lights them and crumbling cement footings into an eerie, incandescent, post appocalyptic scene.
The German author who is on a two and a half month trip to write about his search for "Ze Yeti" and two other mid twenties girls have gotten off as well. We are all pretty confused about where to go. We have no idea where we are, no idea how far our destination is and no idea which direction it is. We talk about walking but don't know which way to even start. Soon an Autorickshaw happens by. The girls (who are speaking mostly spanish) think that his offer of 400 Rs is a per person deal and that it is too steep. I start negotiating and bring him down to 300 Rs (about $7) total fare to Riskatesh which I think is more than fair - after all, we're lost and its 4:30 in the morning. I think he's holding all the cards and we're just playing his game. He doesnt seem to realize this. I probably would have paid 600 if he had started at 1000. He gives us excellent service all the way to the international travelers area of Rishikesh after I pull out my guide book and ask him to take us there. Thank you, Lonely Planet!
Again the guide book comes out when the girls want to find a cheap hostel. Anuja points out the cheap isnt what we should be looking for. We should be looking for "open" as it is now 5am. The group splits when Anuja and I find a place that is open but full and points us to The Temple (something or other - I still dont know the name of this place we are staying at) and says that they have vacancy at 500 Rs a night. We wake up the manager who is asleep and sharing a bed with someone at the reception area and he says the rooms are 350 Rs a night. Score!
11/22 Rishikesh and Rajaji National Park
Waking up in the morning after such a night of traveling was a chore but I was happy to do it. Nooj slept in while I went out in search of a light jacket. In addition to being the (Possibly) Official Yoga Capital of the World (tm), Rishikesh also happens to be one of the starting points for many a Trekking party. I got a quick feel for it when I went out shopping. Instead of a sweater, I picked up a 2nd hand North Face 900-Fill down jacket for just about Rs2000 ($40). In the same purchase, I also bought the only present that I had promised anyone - A "sherpa" jacket for my friend Joe. This is the most badass jacket I have ever seen and am super jelous that he is going to own it. Its not all that practical but is really badass looking. I tried to find one with a wool exterior but they were unavailable in "Man Size," which was okay because the end result was nothing short of extrodinary.
When Nooj wakes up around 10:30, she is still not hungry but she eats a nutella pancake anyway. I eat my usual Mixed Fruit with Curd and Honey for Rs50 (about $1) and a Lassi (mixed Yogurt drink) which is so bad that I can't finish it.
We finally get going for our planned day to Rajaji National Park to search for tigers by around noon. After being snookered by a Rickshaw-Wala into a Rs500 fare for the 15km journey we get about 3km into the journey when something goes wrong with the rickshaw. It wont go anywhere. It turns out that the throttle cable has broken. Not to be deterred, the driver ties the cable which is normally operated like a motorcycle throttle to the frame of his tuktuk (Rickshaw) and uses it like a gas pedal with is left foot. I am very impressed.
On the way there we pick up a good looking guy on the side of the road where a car appears to have broken down. The guy, Narij, tells us that he is a safari guide and that his Gipsy (Small Jeep) is the quietest in the park. He offers us a fair rate. We tell him that we'll think about it. Also on the way to Rajaji, we understand why the Rickshaw is costing us so much - the road has been washed out by a creek and we must drive the Rickshaw through it. This is not all that difficult but given the precarious state of must of the Auto-Rickshaws around, I can now understand why no one wants to take us to the park.
We get to the park and after much debate we band together with a pair of Swiss grad students which lowers our Safari rate by Rs400. The Safari, although still expensive, is definetly worth doing (once). Although during the day we see no Tiger, Leopards or Wild Elephant, we do see plenty of peace and quiet (thanks to Narij's nice jeep) along with lots of Wild Boar and Spotted Deer. The closest to big game we see is elephant dung but its still worth the experience. We get back to the village that the park is based out of (Chilla) around sunset and are now faced with the proposition of how to get home. We are told there is a 5:30 bus to Rishekesh so we do not take the 5:15 Haridwar Express (which goes the wrong way but ultimately will get us there after 2 hours). This turns out to not be the case. Narij offers to drive us in the park's large jeep for Rs800. I tell him this is rediculous and start trying to hitchike. This turns out to not work very well as noone is driving to Rishekesh. After much debate (this is how the price of things are determined in India if you are not from India) we settle on a Rs350 fare to the Rishekesh bus station. This same ride is free to any point for the people that Narij would be driving the same way anyway but for us it is not. I feel extorted and robbed but pay it anyway in order to make it home.
11/23 Mussouri or BUST
The next morning I drop in on the cheapest yoga class ever. It cost me Rs100 and taught by a clinician at the teacher's school that overlooks the Ganga River. I enjoy it more than any other practice in India. It is lightly cool in the room and dimly lit by the sun through bamboo slats that cover the windows in the concrete walls. The unevenly set marble floor is covered by large wool blankets. The teacher sings every instruction while performing them.
Around Noon, Nooj and I set out for Mussouri, another "Hillstation." It is known as "the gateway to the Himalayas" and is part of the reason that we are up this far north. After nixing the trek that I wanted to do so much, I am unwilling to sacrifice this small glimpse of the legandary mountains even when we are told by several people that doing this today is not possible. We go anyway and are rewarded with a distant veiw of the famous snowcovered peak Navi Deva. We share some chai at the highest point in Mussouri (Gun hill) then take the bus back down to Dheradun then back to Rishikesh.
11/24 Haridwar and the night train to Delhi
Our final day in the Northlands of India is spent getting ready for our 11:30 night train back to Delhi. Although Nooj has been subsiting on Toast and Juice for the last 3 and a half days, we summit a temple hike in the light rain. On the way up a monkey sees Nooj's bottle of mango juice and scales her leg in attempts to get a free bottle of juice. Unable to disuade the monkey (nasty fellow and big as far as this variety of monkey goes) she throws the bottle to me and it then chases after me. The second time it tries to climb my leg, I give it a bit of a kick as I shake it loose and it hisses at me. "This is a stickup! Give me the mango juice Mutha-F*****!" It seems to be saying as it bares its teeth. I yell at it like I would a mean stray dog. It follows until we run into another group of Indian guys who all start yelling at it too. It gives up and leaves us alone.
11/25 Missed train to Jaipur and the Lucky-Tiger connection
Our train getting into Delhi is late and we miss our connection to Jaipur. Luckily the next (and only other) train is an hour later. Booking two tickets takes the entire hour and 600Rs (what is the world coming to?!?) and we just get on before the train departs for Jaipur. We arrive at the Jaipur train station in the early afternoon and allow ourselves to be picked up by a kid named "Lucky" and his brother "Tiger." They are two really likable young Muslim kids with slicked back hair and speak english fast. This works well because apparently we also speak english fast. After a hotel debachle where we go to 5 different hotels, we take a small tour of another "Janta Mantar" with Lucky and another driver. Lucky explains to me that he is learning how to drive. His english is good but the three times he gets behind the controls I am instantly scared. He's 14 and hell on wheels.
On the way back to the hotel we buy two bottles of kingfisher beer and a bottle of whiskey. The beers are priced just over the MRP (maximum retail price Rs65) but that is fine. The whiskey costs Rs150 which is also fair. "We're getting drunk on $6!" I yell as we are Rickshawed home by a seedy driver with a mustache similar to Tom Selick's. We down one kingfisher on the road home during rush hour.
In the hotel restaurant and bar we run into Lucky and Tiger's cousin who's name is Zakir. He speaks Japanese and is only there because his very talkative friend Ali Khan ("I'm Ali Khan, and I am not a terrorist", as he so directly introduces himself) needed him for some Japanese tourists. I finish the bottle of scotch in the restaurant while the two of them share a pair of similarly sized bottles. Midway through the second bottle, Zakir starts weeping uncontrollably several times. I don't know what its about. Ali says that Zakir just isnt used to drinking alcohol. Ali talks a lot (a LOT). He explains that the biggest problem in all of India is arranged marriage and that because of this, he only dates foreigners. At some point the Japanese tourists that Ali has been giving a tour to leave. Zakir gives them both the two most awkward hugs that I have ever seen - and I have forced some awkward hugs before. As they are going Ali explains very loudly that he hates Japanese people (before we started talking to Zakir and Ali, Nooj introduces herself to the Japanese ladies. She asks them to massage her thighs, and one of them does without hesitation. Ooo!). Then we talk about women again and Zakir starts weeping again. Nooj is trying desperately to hide her laughter by covering her mouth, because she really does feel sorry for Zakir but is unsuccessful in hiding it. Luckily Zakir is drunk enough to not notice or care. An impressive fellow in his own way, he can speak Hindi, English, Japanaese, French, Spanish, and Italian because he is always taking tourists around but does not know how to read or write Hindi (or English for that matter) because of a lack of formal education. He writes his name and phone number on some plain white card stalk and says that we are brothers and have the same spirit and that I must visit his Guru. If you are ever in Jaipur, give him a call - 09166581092. We hug it out after he finds out we are the same age, "come here, hug". Ali, "you just made an appointment with Zakir". We all make vauge references to Zakir being gay but he only understands them Ali's enuendos. Given the differences in moods, Ali is much more enjoyable to talk to though. He is very smooth and I understand quite easily why foreign women like this guy. He tells me about how hard he works so that he can finish paying for the marriages of his 6 younger siblings - 5 down, 1 to go. Only then will he be free to do as he pleases. For once I actually believe what a Rickshaw driver is telling me. He tells me of an engagement that he broke off with a Scottish woman because he couldnt leave his responsibilities and I tell him how much respect I have for that. After our great night out (or in as the case might be), Anuja and I decide that we will hire Ali as our guide the next day. We get his phone number and promise a 10am start (which in retrospect was too early for Ali).
I emerge from that night witha new respect for the Profession of "Rickshaw Driver" and I finally understand why Yousef, our Rickshaw driver in Aurangabad was such a successful man. In addition to being a Rickshaw driver, he also runs a sided buisiness where he contracts other more expensive drivers to chouffer tourists from location to location while he drums up more buisiness via the Rickshaw trade and collects the Margin Royalties. Ali seems to have a similar buisiness network only using a network of other Rickshaw drivers.
11/26 Jaipur by rickshaw and night bus to Agra
The next morning, although I am slightly feeling the booze from last night, Anuja and I eat breakfast early and then call Ali to confirm our appointment. He concurs that he will be here at 10am.
Unfinished
11/27 Agra and Fatapur-Shikri
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11/28 Most chill day ever in Agra
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11/29 Early bus to Delhi and fly to Pune
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1/30 Pune to Mumbai and Reflections
If I have been searching for anything on this trip, I still have not found it. Not inside myself, not in India. I'm beginning to thing that the sort of revolation that I might be tempted to look for doesn't exist. All that I have discove``red so far is that even Houston is much cleaner than India and that I would not want to live here. The people here are amazing. In my life I have never felt so taken in by a family that isnt mine as with Anuja's family here. From Madhu and Uma to Vivek, Prabote and Ajit the accomidations could not have been better and food could not have been more filling (I think that I have gained at least 10 lbs). It was great to have home bases from which to explore and branch out - friendly faces offering their advice and expertise.
1/1 Mumbai
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1/2 Mumbai and fly home
In Goa. We have rented this scooter from our hostel manager (Andrew) who does the paperwork for the owner (Juliana or Aunty - a 75 year old Goan Indian who speaks almost no english). Its a complete shitter - the bike not the hostel (which is just okay but the highlight is the hammock). The scooter, which I promptly name "Scoo-dizzle" maxes out at about 45kph and seems strain every time it starts. Apart from the engine issues it seems to be fine. We take the scooter and vistit a handful of northern beaches until watching the sunset on Morgim beach. Everything is gold and silver and transient. The sunlight here is so much more pure than in the rest of India. The pollution of Mumbai is a thousand kilometers away from us and the fleeting moments of golden purity bleed into night as Nooj and I zoom back towards our Hostel on Anjuna beach.
As night enshouds the valley, I realize that the headlights are not working on this scooter. Shit. While I am completely occupied by driving in the soft evening night, I let Anuja cover the navigation duties. At some point, we are not sure when, we lose our way and suddenly find ourselves in the worse scrape yet: Lost at night in India with no light. Rural India completely shuts down at night. No one goes out. People immediately go home, except on the beach where they have insane trance parties fueled by drugs of all types. I ask Nooj to dig out the flashlight. She says we didn't bring it. Double shit. I turn on the blinker and hope no one hits us. At least they might see the blinker and stop to see what they hit so they can clean our remains off the backroad. I'm using the horn constantly anytime there is an oncomming vehicle. 40 minutes of white knuckled 10 mph scooting, the occational swerve to avoid vagarant cows and 5 sets of bad directions later, we get excited when we see the Dominoes sign which is our one definite landmark in the area. We can now navigate home under our own steam! What a relief... About this time I find the switch for the headlights. Awesome. Boy do I feel dumb.
11/14 - Drinking Gasoline with Vivek
Sunrise yoga again over the beach. I wake up Nooj and we get fruit smoothies for breakfast. This girl really likes to sleep in. I think she would probably sleep until 10:30 every day if given the opportunity. We switch hostels in the morning to "Evershine Guest House" which is the nicest hostel we've stayed at. Its got warm water and is clean. The hostel owner, Sebastiana Fernandez or Sammy is about 55 and hardly ever leaves the hostel. She'll check you in at 10am or 2am and always offers a free drink on arrival. We take Scoodizzle down south checking out beaches as we go. I try to swim to a wrecked cargo ship the "River Princess" but the lifeguards stop the guy who is in front of me while he is climing the ladder up to the main deck. I decide that I have no chance to make it, so I go back to body suring. That evening we meet up with Anuja's 56 year old cousin Vivek who has a laid back attitude and a scratchy voice that says to me he either used to smoke a pack a day or was a shouter for a bus company (more to come on that). I am nervous about taking "Scoot-dizzle" back at night but Vivek says it will be no big deal and that we wont get lost this time. We eat dinner at a place called "Foodland" which is located on Miramar beach and serves both fast and slow food. The Goan cuisine is dynamite and we get our first taste of Fenni, a local powerful alcohol which is brewed from mashed cashew fruit. It tastes like nut-flavored gasoline and is strong enough to knock down a horse. Anuja and I end up buying a couple bottles of "Big Boss" for friends.
11/15 - Matchmaking and Elephants
I trade in "Scoot-dizzle" for the new and improved "Scoot-dizzle 2point0" which turns out to have about 1/10th the number of kilometers on its odometer and twice as many rattles. Around noon we decide that we are going to go to Dudhsagar falls which is quite a distance. Our hostel owner says we should be able to scooter there in an hour and a half or two. I think this is optimistic. I have a natural sense of how to drive in India now. It has only taken a few days. I am an excellent passer - even with only seconds to spare and I use the horn like it was a second throttle. 2 hours later we are in Ponda, about 2/3 of the way to the falls and realize that this is a bad idea. We hear that we will also need to charter a Jeep for what is normally a 40 minute ride that is taking an hour and a half due to the recent rains (scooters are not allowed). We reroute our trip to a local spice farm where I am entranced by an elephant named Lakshim which I pet until the owner tells me to stop. His skin is rough and hard and covered with a sparsely populated course black hair. It feels like it could withstand most anything. His eyes look me back and I understand why people consider elephants wise: they seem to be taking all of me in and seeing me for who I am. Lashkim is probably the most gentle and powerful creature I've yet met. He has a certain sadness in him. It might be an anipomorphic trait that I've ascribed to tim due to the state of captivity that he lives in, where he is doomed to serve as a beast of burden for the remainder of his days. I imagine him going "Rogue Mastadon," goreing his trainer and dashing off into the jungle in search of a wild herd of his own kind.
During our tour of the spice planation I am guessing the names of the spices we encounter, usually guessing such things as "banana spice!" or "All spice!" or "Curry!" I am correct only twice. The guide there tells me that she is still looking for her first love pairing and I tell her that I have a good match for her in the united states - my friend John has authorized up to 15,000 Rupees (about $330) for an Indian bride. She says that her father should be paying him that in addition to some other stuff. Eventually she refuses my matchmaking offer after she finds out that he is not in her caste. Her loss. John is a sweety and takes good care of his women.
11/16 Hammer Pants and Hail to the Queen
I've bought a pair of Red "Ali-Baba" pants which I call my "Goan Hammer Pants." They resemble the pants that Aladin wears, except are red and black and have some silly designs on them. While I'm putting them on I feel a familiar painful tug at my back - the feeling I get when I throw my back out. I stretch for 20 minutes and don't get much relief. I decide to ignore it and carry on with our planned trip on "Scoot-dizzle 2" to Mandrem beach up north of Anjuna. We swim at the mostly deserted Mandrem beach, enjoying the yellow coral sand and the clear water. Life couldnt be much better (except this nagging pain in my back). We get a meal at a place we think if Goan but turns out to be Thai. My unpronoucable thai lunch is delicious but Anuja's cheese sandwich (who orders a cheese sandwich!) is less than inspiring. Its apparently shredded mozorella drenched in mayo with tomato and cucumber. We get Ayurvedic healing massages in a shack by the beach. This seems to help my back but is the most expensive thing that we've done in India (1300 Rupees! Which is about $30) We motor back to Anjuna in record time for a sunset dinner on the red crumbly-sandstone cliffs above the ocean. We have the "Peppy Paneer Pizza" and 2 desserts. "Hail to the Queen" is the most grandiouse of all deserts encompassing the entire desert menu in an icecream dish. It is almost a vertical foot of decidence and I decide that I wont be able to drive home so we pass on it in favor of sweet rice tall is the and banana flambe.
11/17 The Rome of India and Bad Milk.
We check out of Evershine, assuring Sammy that we'll recommend her to all our friends and catch a taxi down to Panaji, the capital city of Goa. From there we catch a bus to Old Goa "The Rome of India" for 5 Rupees each (11 cents). It seems that most bus routes are run by private companies and the bus-walas or bus salesmen / ticket takers shout the destination of the bus for about 10 minutes before it leaves. "OlGoa!OlGoa!OlGoa!" is what it sounds like to me. I'm confused but excited by the low tech advertising. At least we know we are on the right bus.
When the Portuguese led by Vasco de Gama colonized the Goan state for its rich spice farms they centered their Goverance 10km up the Mandovi River in old Goa. They built immense late-Rennisance Roman and Barque style mansions. The Catholic Missionaries erected the beautiful and enormous Se Cathedral and Bascillica de Bom Jesus, where "The Incorrupted Body of St. Francis Xavior" is held, along with the Church of St Franscis of Assisi. All are extravegant - equal in ways the the cathedrals in Europe and so impressive that they survived so many years of monsoonage. The entire city was abandoned to the ravages of a number of plagues that seemed to crop up every 5 years of so, decimating the population over and over again. Only the missionaries and priests stayed, keeping the churches intact.
In the early afternoon, against my better judgement, I drink some milk (Its a good brand!) and immediately feel bad. 2 hours later finds me vomiting in a cowfield beside the bus station. A taxi driver named Alex offers us a discounted fair back to Panaji if we stop by a museum. Its a shady deal but apparently if he takes 25 people there to look he gets a free tire. The "Museum" is actually an antique shop in a historic house. I insist that we bring our bags in and then leave the "Museum" quickly. As we Taxi back to Panaji, Alex tells us more history of the area and tells us of his Portugese anscestory. He looks very indian but I nod in agreement. Back in Panaji we wait in the municipal garden beside the bus station while we wait for a pick up from Vivek, Anuja's cousin. On the way back to his house, I get him to stop so that I can get something back in my stomach. I get a pepsi which provides short comfort until I boot into his western style toilet shortly after getting to his house. I wont go into the full details but I did not feel good the entire night. My body was evacuating all foreign objects as fast as possible. I now know the meaning of "Delhi Belly." Anuja takes tender care of me as I work through the worst of it. I made it to sleep around 2am feeling much relieved and content that I did not waste my one dose of antiboitics on food poisoning.
11/18 Butterfly Beach and the Broke-Down Rickshaw
We have taken a Bus to Palolem - about 90km south of Panaji to spend the day at "Heaven on Earth." On the way down we see 6 people on a single scooter. How was it possible?!? 3 of the kids were standing up front and two kids were sitting on the back while dad was driving. I don't know if I have mentioned it yet, but apart from being a celebrity of sorts, I'm also a giant. Anuja is of average height here. I am towering over most people we meet. The only person taller than me is Madhu. At Palolem, we hire a fishing boat to take us along with a british coulple and a Russion 3some to the legendary deserted "Butterfly Beach." The Russians (other ones) have apparently established a hippy commune on the beach head so as representatives of the Free World, we set up on the south end of the beach in opposition. Praying that the cold war is now over and we can live in peace, I end up playing some volleyball with Ivan and his friends from some unpronouncable Russian city where I'm sure [Vladisolvok?]. I don't think that I've mentioned it before but Goa is full of Russians. Everywhere, things are written in Hindi (Devnagri), English and Russian. Agreeing that we like the northern beaches better, we get some fish and tandoori chicken before heading back to the bus station.
We think our bus departs at 6:10pm. Apparently the last bus departs at 5:10. We make a snap decision to catch a rickshaw to the nearby bus hub where we manage to catch the last bus before it departs north to Mangao. From there we catch the last northbound bus to Panaji arriving sometime arouind 9:30 or so.
A 20 minute bicker with the rickshaw dispatcher has the fare down from 150 Rupees to 70 Rupees and they will go no further. We want 60 - as the distance is only about 4km. The difference is about 25 cents but its the principle of the matter. Finally agreeing to their exorbinant fee of 70 Rupees ($1.60), we step into what must be the poorest running Rickshaw in their fleet. Side note: Ricksaws of yesterday were handcarts driven by some poor fellow unfortunate enough to have a rickshaw driver as a father. Today they are an enclosed 3 wheeled vehicle that is derived from a motorcyle. Rickshaws are started by a handcrank and run on a 100cc (approx) two stroke gas engine.
Immediately I understand that there is something wrong with the situation. They are punishing us for our excellent barganing skills and huge brains. We travel no further than 1km before the Rickshaw begins its slow spiral of destruction. Barely managing up a 20 foot hill, the rickshaw's transmision makes a horrific grinding noise and rejects second gear. As the engine coughs and spudders, the driver jams it back into first as we crest the rise, then second again on the way down. Two minutes later, the left wheel slams into a pothole the size of a large kitchen sink and the suspension does not recover like it should. We are now dragging the left axle. I can hear the wheel bearing whining as it siezes. Still the rickshaw driver keeps the throddle cranked. Second gear will not longer accept us. We are relegated to only first and that is having trouble and the left wheel is making the worst grinding noise in the world. I notice an old man on a bicycle passing us. He quickly fades into the dark.
While we are passing one of the many open marshlands (Costal Goa is mainy reclaimed marshland) the engine has quit for probably the 4th or 5th time. I think to myself, "This is where those shady crooks from that dispatched us in this 3 wheeled piece of crap will come and rob us. They wont even find our bones in this swamp..." Then the driver starts the engine using the handcrank again. It continues to be slow going. I get out and lift the rickshaw while the driver kicks the tire. I don't know what happens because once again, the Indian night is so dark that I cannot see anything. Something happens though and we are able to continue once again. Limping at a pace no better than a walk, we finally reach our destination. I pay the Rickshaw driver 100 Rupees (approx $2.30) becuase I feel bad for him.
11/19 Goodbye Goa, Hello Delhi.
My clothing stinks. I've only brought 3 shirts, a pair of shorts and a pair of pants. I don't think I have successfully cleaned any of my shirts since getting to india. I've washed them multiple times but I am yet to get a good dry of them which really only leads to them smelling worse. No one on the bus is complaining out loud but I still feel bad for anyone around me. I don't smell myself - I'm freshly showered this morning and had a haircut yesterday. The haircut came with a shampoo and quick head massage which (also serving the dual purpose of drying my hair) was quite relaxing. I thought it was a little much but there was an option for a longer one. Later Vivek assures me this is quite common and the he likes to get a head massage with "Red oils" when he's feeling stressed. Then he tells me with a laugh that the 200 Rupee haircut that I got should cost more like 35-45 but it also came with experience. I'm now mad that I gave that crook a 50 Rupee tip. I vow to always bargain for everything by starting at 1/10th the offered price.
We are flying out of Goa for Delhi this afternoon and its going to take us all day to ship the gifts we have bought in Goa back to Pune. To ship something in India, you have to pay someone to wrap package it correctly which entails cutting a custom box to fit your stuff from a larger box, wrapping it in twine, then sewing a canvas sack around it. The process should take about 2 hours. Then you go to the post office where they charge you less to ship it then it cost to wrap it. Two busses and 60 rupees (approx $1.50) later we are in the Goa airport. Our flight should be leaving at 3:45 and we are the recommnded 2 hours early. Our flight is (of course) delayed and we spend the day in the airport.
1/20 Delhi's Red Fort and the best driver in India
We sleep at Vinay, Anuja's cousin's house. He is a lawyer that argues cases at India's supreme court. Its similar to ours, only they hear approximately 50,000 cases a year so I guess this things happen fast which makes them pretty stressful. His wife works for the indian trade ministry, negotiating import/export rules with europe. She is pissed about Switzerland's protectionist laws reguarding the importing of agriculture. Their daughter Ananya is eight and loves to dance. Shes my favorite of Anuja's 2nd cousins. We play like I am a monster or her jailor or like I am mad at her and she is frightened.
Vinay has kindly lent us the use of his driver today while we tour about Delhi. Its pretty damn convenient. We see the Red Fort which was the most covetted military post in Delhi and surrounding Rajasthan. It was the lap of luxury for the Moguls when they were in power and once housed the world's biggest gem before Anuja's ancestors looted it when they beat back the Moguls (I think that the legend is that they scaled the 100 foot tall walls by clinging to the backs and tails of 15m long monitor lizzards).
We go the the largest mosque in all of Asia which has free entry and some guys at the door try to extort 200 Rs for a "foreigner camera fee" from me. After repeated attempts, I literally tell them "Go fuck yourselfs." The meaning is lost on them, however the accompanying action and stare that I give them are not. They leave me alone because only a crazy person would do that action in public and I am also giving them the Crazy Serbian Eye - I learned this trick from a friend of mine in college - Niko. Basically you just look at someone out of the corner of your eye and don't blink. It makes you look like you are going to stab someone. The accosters leave me alone but as we are entering, Anuja is asked to cover up what I am terming as her "unmodest body" while entering Allah's presence. She is not happy and so we leave soon.
We go to the central park, and then a larger than life astronomical tool sight to watch the sun set. I guess that "angle of inclanations" and "determining the apparent solar time" were important to the moguls. We then go to Parliment and the India Gate - a monument similar to the Arc De Triumph only its in New Delhi and not paris and doesnt have centaurs but does pay tribute to all the falled indians who resisted and/or fought for freedom and/or died in a number of conflicts. In a way, it makes me feel unpatriotic that I didn't give myself the opportunity to die for my country but that doesnt weigh me down for long. We go eat kababs with Anuja's cousin's family. They are outerworldy good. If you ever go to Delhi, eat lamb Kababs. It will change your idea of roasted meat.
1/21 Anuja is sick with Delhi Belly and the reason you don't sit in the back of the bus
The most unfortunate part of the previous day was that Nooj wasnt very hungry for the Kababs. In fact she hadnt been very hungry the entire day before. Today she is barely able to eat breakfast and then goes back to bed. We were planning on touring at least part of the day before our night bus to Derhradun but our tour plans for the day are put on hold and I submit myself to do the rest of the "bookings" for the rest of the trip as we have internet on Vinay's work computer. I book a train ticket from Haridwar back to Delhi and a follow on leg to Agra. I book a flight from Delhi to Pune. I examine bus/train tickets from Jaipur / Agra / Delhi. Everything there is booked so I decide not to book onto the waitlist. Just before sunset I convince Nooj that we need to get her moving a little in anticipation of the coming trip to Haridwar. We walk to a Bengali temple where they worship "Kali Ma" or the god of death and destruction. I keep saying "KALI MA! KAAAAALI MAAAAA!" like in Indian Jones and the Temple of Doom. Its the same god. Nooj asks if they filmed the movie here. I tell her its similar but with a cave, more fire and ritualistic sacrafice. Pretty much the same though.
We take the metro to the bus and manage to avoid the rickshaw drivers who want 200 Rs (about $4.60) for fare. I tell them we are lost and just want directions. They still want 200 Rs. We just start walking and two blocks later we have found the place.
Let me condense a 7 hour busride that lasts from 9:15 to about 4 am into a quck summary:
No one is able to sleep as the road is made entirely of potholes.
The AC bus is exactly as advertised - blasting AC which is uncomfortably cold as we are driving into the Himalayan foothills and I have only a scarf to keep me warm.
The driver is a stereotypical indian busdriver - a total maniac on the road ready pass anyone with traffic coming head on, then slam on the breaks throwing everyone out of their seats, and completely deaf to the screams as people are launched out of their seats by the wheelbarrow sized potholes he is hitting without slowing down.
After deciding last minute that Rishikesh looks cooler than Haridwar, Anuja and I stay on a little longer (no one gets off at Haridwar by the way - total looserville) and we are dropped off on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere next to what looks like a scene from "The Road Warrior." Spray paint addorns the locked storage units that bare advertiserments for Vodafone and Airtel. During the day function as shops for food vendors general stores. Tonight the full moon lights them and crumbling cement footings into an eerie, incandescent, post appocalyptic scene.
The German author who is on a two and a half month trip to write about his search for "Ze Yeti" and two other mid twenties girls have gotten off as well. We are all pretty confused about where to go. We have no idea where we are, no idea how far our destination is and no idea which direction it is. We talk about walking but don't know which way to even start. Soon an Autorickshaw happens by. The girls (who are speaking mostly spanish) think that his offer of 400 Rs is a per person deal and that it is too steep. I start negotiating and bring him down to 300 Rs (about $7) total fare to Riskatesh which I think is more than fair - after all, we're lost and its 4:30 in the morning. I think he's holding all the cards and we're just playing his game. He doesnt seem to realize this. I probably would have paid 600 if he had started at 1000. He gives us excellent service all the way to the international travelers area of Rishikesh after I pull out my guide book and ask him to take us there. Thank you, Lonely Planet!
Again the guide book comes out when the girls want to find a cheap hostel. Anuja points out the cheap isnt what we should be looking for. We should be looking for "open" as it is now 5am. The group splits when Anuja and I find a place that is open but full and points us to The Temple (something or other - I still dont know the name of this place we are staying at) and says that they have vacancy at 500 Rs a night. We wake up the manager who is asleep and sharing a bed with someone at the reception area and he says the rooms are 350 Rs a night. Score!
11/22 Rishikesh and Rajaji National Park
Waking up in the morning after such a night of traveling was a chore but I was happy to do it. Nooj slept in while I went out in search of a light jacket. In addition to being the (Possibly) Official Yoga Capital of the World (tm), Rishikesh also happens to be one of the starting points for many a Trekking party. I got a quick feel for it when I went out shopping. Instead of a sweater, I picked up a 2nd hand North Face 900-Fill down jacket for just about Rs2000 ($40). In the same purchase, I also bought the only present that I had promised anyone - A "sherpa" jacket for my friend Joe. This is the most badass jacket I have ever seen and am super jelous that he is going to own it. Its not all that practical but is really badass looking. I tried to find one with a wool exterior but they were unavailable in "Man Size," which was okay because the end result was nothing short of extrodinary.
When Nooj wakes up around 10:30, she is still not hungry but she eats a nutella pancake anyway. I eat my usual Mixed Fruit with Curd and Honey for Rs50 (about $1) and a Lassi (mixed Yogurt drink) which is so bad that I can't finish it.
We finally get going for our planned day to Rajaji National Park to search for tigers by around noon. After being snookered by a Rickshaw-Wala into a Rs500 fare for the 15km journey we get about 3km into the journey when something goes wrong with the rickshaw. It wont go anywhere. It turns out that the throttle cable has broken. Not to be deterred, the driver ties the cable which is normally operated like a motorcycle throttle to the frame of his tuktuk (Rickshaw) and uses it like a gas pedal with is left foot. I am very impressed.
On the way there we pick up a good looking guy on the side of the road where a car appears to have broken down. The guy, Narij, tells us that he is a safari guide and that his Gipsy (Small Jeep) is the quietest in the park. He offers us a fair rate. We tell him that we'll think about it. Also on the way to Rajaji, we understand why the Rickshaw is costing us so much - the road has been washed out by a creek and we must drive the Rickshaw through it. This is not all that difficult but given the precarious state of must of the Auto-Rickshaws around, I can now understand why no one wants to take us to the park.
We get to the park and after much debate we band together with a pair of Swiss grad students which lowers our Safari rate by Rs400. The Safari, although still expensive, is definetly worth doing (once). Although during the day we see no Tiger, Leopards or Wild Elephant, we do see plenty of peace and quiet (thanks to Narij's nice jeep) along with lots of Wild Boar and Spotted Deer. The closest to big game we see is elephant dung but its still worth the experience. We get back to the village that the park is based out of (Chilla) around sunset and are now faced with the proposition of how to get home. We are told there is a 5:30 bus to Rishekesh so we do not take the 5:15 Haridwar Express (which goes the wrong way but ultimately will get us there after 2 hours). This turns out to not be the case. Narij offers to drive us in the park's large jeep for Rs800. I tell him this is rediculous and start trying to hitchike. This turns out to not work very well as noone is driving to Rishekesh. After much debate (this is how the price of things are determined in India if you are not from India) we settle on a Rs350 fare to the Rishekesh bus station. This same ride is free to any point for the people that Narij would be driving the same way anyway but for us it is not. I feel extorted and robbed but pay it anyway in order to make it home.
11/23 Mussouri or BUST
The next morning I drop in on the cheapest yoga class ever. It cost me Rs100 and taught by a clinician at the teacher's school that overlooks the Ganga River. I enjoy it more than any other practice in India. It is lightly cool in the room and dimly lit by the sun through bamboo slats that cover the windows in the concrete walls. The unevenly set marble floor is covered by large wool blankets. The teacher sings every instruction while performing them.
Around Noon, Nooj and I set out for Mussouri, another "Hillstation." It is known as "the gateway to the Himalayas" and is part of the reason that we are up this far north. After nixing the trek that I wanted to do so much, I am unwilling to sacrifice this small glimpse of the legandary mountains even when we are told by several people that doing this today is not possible. We go anyway and are rewarded with a distant veiw of the famous snowcovered peak Navi Deva. We share some chai at the highest point in Mussouri (Gun hill) then take the bus back down to Dheradun then back to Rishikesh.
11/24 Haridwar and the night train to Delhi
Our final day in the Northlands of India is spent getting ready for our 11:30 night train back to Delhi. Although Nooj has been subsiting on Toast and Juice for the last 3 and a half days, we summit a temple hike in the light rain. On the way up a monkey sees Nooj's bottle of mango juice and scales her leg in attempts to get a free bottle of juice. Unable to disuade the monkey (nasty fellow and big as far as this variety of monkey goes) she throws the bottle to me and it then chases after me. The second time it tries to climb my leg, I give it a bit of a kick as I shake it loose and it hisses at me. "This is a stickup! Give me the mango juice Mutha-F*****!" It seems to be saying as it bares its teeth. I yell at it like I would a mean stray dog. It follows until we run into another group of Indian guys who all start yelling at it too. It gives up and leaves us alone.
11/25 Missed train to Jaipur and the Lucky-Tiger connection
Our train getting into Delhi is late and we miss our connection to Jaipur. Luckily the next (and only other) train is an hour later. Booking two tickets takes the entire hour and 600Rs (what is the world coming to?!?) and we just get on before the train departs for Jaipur. We arrive at the Jaipur train station in the early afternoon and allow ourselves to be picked up by a kid named "Lucky" and his brother "Tiger." They are two really likable young Muslim kids with slicked back hair and speak english fast. This works well because apparently we also speak english fast. After a hotel debachle where we go to 5 different hotels, we take a small tour of another "Janta Mantar" with Lucky and another driver. Lucky explains to me that he is learning how to drive. His english is good but the three times he gets behind the controls I am instantly scared. He's 14 and hell on wheels.
On the way back to the hotel we buy two bottles of kingfisher beer and a bottle of whiskey. The beers are priced just over the MRP (maximum retail price Rs65) but that is fine. The whiskey costs Rs150 which is also fair. "We're getting drunk on $6!" I yell as we are Rickshawed home by a seedy driver with a mustache similar to Tom Selick's. We down one kingfisher on the road home during rush hour.
In the hotel restaurant and bar we run into Lucky and Tiger's cousin who's name is Zakir. He speaks Japanese and is only there because his very talkative friend Ali Khan ("I'm Ali Khan, and I am not a terrorist", as he so directly introduces himself) needed him for some Japanese tourists. I finish the bottle of scotch in the restaurant while the two of them share a pair of similarly sized bottles. Midway through the second bottle, Zakir starts weeping uncontrollably several times. I don't know what its about. Ali says that Zakir just isnt used to drinking alcohol. Ali talks a lot (a LOT). He explains that the biggest problem in all of India is arranged marriage and that because of this, he only dates foreigners. At some point the Japanese tourists that Ali has been giving a tour to leave. Zakir gives them both the two most awkward hugs that I have ever seen - and I have forced some awkward hugs before. As they are going Ali explains very loudly that he hates Japanese people (before we started talking to Zakir and Ali, Nooj introduces herself to the Japanese ladies. She asks them to massage her thighs, and one of them does without hesitation. Ooo!). Then we talk about women again and Zakir starts weeping again. Nooj is trying desperately to hide her laughter by covering her mouth, because she really does feel sorry for Zakir but is unsuccessful in hiding it. Luckily Zakir is drunk enough to not notice or care. An impressive fellow in his own way, he can speak Hindi, English, Japanaese, French, Spanish, and Italian because he is always taking tourists around but does not know how to read or write Hindi (or English for that matter) because of a lack of formal education. He writes his name and phone number on some plain white card stalk and says that we are brothers and have the same spirit and that I must visit his Guru. If you are ever in Jaipur, give him a call - 09166581092. We hug it out after he finds out we are the same age, "come here, hug". Ali, "you just made an appointment with Zakir". We all make vauge references to Zakir being gay but he only understands them Ali's enuendos. Given the differences in moods, Ali is much more enjoyable to talk to though. He is very smooth and I understand quite easily why foreign women like this guy. He tells me about how hard he works so that he can finish paying for the marriages of his 6 younger siblings - 5 down, 1 to go. Only then will he be free to do as he pleases. For once I actually believe what a Rickshaw driver is telling me. He tells me of an engagement that he broke off with a Scottish woman because he couldnt leave his responsibilities and I tell him how much respect I have for that. After our great night out (or in as the case might be), Anuja and I decide that we will hire Ali as our guide the next day. We get his phone number and promise a 10am start (which in retrospect was too early for Ali).
I emerge from that night witha new respect for the Profession of "Rickshaw Driver" and I finally understand why Yousef, our Rickshaw driver in Aurangabad was such a successful man. In addition to being a Rickshaw driver, he also runs a sided buisiness where he contracts other more expensive drivers to chouffer tourists from location to location while he drums up more buisiness via the Rickshaw trade and collects the Margin Royalties. Ali seems to have a similar buisiness network only using a network of other Rickshaw drivers.
11/26 Jaipur by rickshaw and night bus to Agra
The next morning, although I am slightly feeling the booze from last night, Anuja and I eat breakfast early and then call Ali to confirm our appointment. He concurs that he will be here at 10am.
Unfinished
11/27 Agra and Fatapur-Shikri
Not written
11/28 Most chill day ever in Agra
Not written
11/29 Early bus to Delhi and fly to Pune
Not written
1/30 Pune to Mumbai and Reflections
If I have been searching for anything on this trip, I still have not found it. Not inside myself, not in India. I'm beginning to thing that the sort of revolation that I might be tempted to look for doesn't exist. All that I have discove``red so far is that even Houston is much cleaner than India and that I would not want to live here. The people here are amazing. In my life I have never felt so taken in by a family that isnt mine as with Anuja's family here. From Madhu and Uma to Vivek, Prabote and Ajit the accomidations could not have been better and food could not have been more filling (I think that I have gained at least 10 lbs). It was great to have home bases from which to explore and branch out - friendly faces offering their advice and expertise.
1/1 Mumbai
Not written
1/2 Mumbai and fly home
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Its been a while since I've had internet.
11- 6 "Are those dead bodies laying on the heap of trash?" I ask as Anuja's cousin Ajit's driver swiftly pilots us away from the Mumbai International Airport. I might have asked with such trepidation from the backseat that the only person that hears me is Anuja and she is as unaware as me. In retrospect she argues that she is positive they were just sleeping but I am not convinced that people would sleep in such piles, their legs twisted about and arms splayed to such inhuman angles. She's right - they must have been sleeping because as far as i know, disposing of human remains in a rubbish pile only partially hidden by a tarp beside an airport isn't even okay in India. But what do I know?
It's almost 3am and the streets of Mumbai are even now abustle with people hovering in doorways under radiant incandescence, people portaging god knows what on their back or on two wheeled carts. Motorcycles zip in between the light traffic as Ajit convinces us that we absolutely MUST go and get some coffee or a coca cola or a chaha (tea - my phonetic spelling).
We finally submit to his request, even though we are completely exhausted. We end up at a 5 star hotel (Sahara S* Mumbai?) where the 24 hour fare subsists of 4 varieties of hamburgers, 6 sandwiches, anything imaginable to drink and 4 different deserts. Opting for the adventurous route, I order the "Iced Fruit Soup." Its a vanilla custard with gelitanized fruit on top of it. Its both foreign and domestic. I've never had the combination but it occurs to me that that my mother has made something very similar.
The drive back to Ajit's apartment in central Mumbai is less shocking than the initial "are those dead bodies" moment that I had when leaving the airport. Its still powerful though. Everywhere people are loping in and out of the shadows that are cast by the Duwalai festival lights against the impermanent hovels. These mutli-level shacks are built by tacking whatever is at arm's length together for shelter. Here a piece of tin is used as roofing. There a pallet is used as siding. I can't tell if the signage out front offering services ranging from travel to massage or haircuts are only there for the wall surface or are true offerings of the residents of the business/home. We arrive at Ajit's apartment at 4:30 in the morning. I'm relieved that we are here - after meeting his wife and daughter we finally able to rest. I don't think that the stress of wondering if our bags were lost somewhere between Seattle and the baggage conveyor prone to sporadic electrical/mechanical has gotten to me, but its close.
Breakfast food. O-ba-ma mania. Driving in mumbai and dinner in pune.
We manage only 3 quick hours of sleep before awaking early to the never ceasing noise of Mumbai. Oustide the world has not decided to slow for us - its busy hubbub is the honking of car horns, the barking of dogs and the chattering of people. Its strange that I can hear people talking out on the street from the 5th floor but I am not surprised. Its India. Breakfast with Anuja's cousin and family is the first of a series of grubfests not to be under estimated. "Just cornflakes" has turned into cornflakes and sweet cookies and chocolate and delicious almond things and "have more of this spicy mix" and "surely you need more" until I have to refuse even anything more. I have a sneaking suspicion about halfway through breakfast that every meal is going to be like this. Anuja's family seems to have it out for my stomach - they want me to fill my belly until it pops.
"Obama is in town." Here in Mumbai its pronounced "Oh-Ba-Ma." I didn't understand Gunjan, Anuja's 2nd Cous
in when she said it the first time. Security has blocked off the entire south end of the city, blockading 11 of the main roads for 20 blocks around his location. He's staying at the Taj - infamous site of the hotel bombing that rocked downtown Mumbai about a year ago. The paper says that around 43,000 police are out on the streets today - Mumbai's entire police force. I tell our hosts that "Oh-Ba-Ma wanted to meet up with us in Colaba, but we are too busy. He'll have to wait until Christmas for us to accept his request that we stay in the Lincoln bedroom." I don't think that they got the joke.
Driving in Mumbai is like taking your life in your hands at around 25 miles per hour. The road's organized chaos is not governed by any rules that I can immediately discern except for two: Rule number 1: "Stay left unless its easier to stay right."
Rule number 2: "Always use your horn."
I'm in love with rule number 2. I think that we should implement it America immediately.
Below is a partial list of horn use moments as noted by me in our 1 hour drive in downtown:
A car is slowly yawing towards you at about 6 miles per hour
Pedestrians that look like they might step out in front of your car
A car/rickshaw is moving too slowly in front of you half in your section of the road half in another.
A bicyclist is in the middle of the road
5 streets are meeting and everyone has the right of way
A 100cc motorcycle carrying 4 people has just managed to squeeze between your car and the far right barrier and you want to say "nice job."
You and the 10 cars around you are muscling your way through a crowded 5 way intersection that has a stoplight but no one is paying attention to it. Whichever group honks with most authority gets to go.
A motorcycle is driving the wrong way on a one way bridge and you want to say "Hey I see you."
-------------
11-6 Now in Pune. Anuja and I have been fetched by her very giving Aunt Uma and Uncle Madhu. Uma is a software consultant and Mahdu is an ex-officer in the Indian Army. I'm never quite able to tell what he does these days. They live in a house of epic nature. The house is concrete slab construction with both load bearing and non load bearing walls. The bathroom is a cantilevered beam suspended off the foundation. It is very modern in many ways and at the same time reminds me of places I've been in Mexico. It would cost a fortune to have built this house in the US but I think that concrete must be cheaper in India as Madhu said that wood was too expensive a material to build in.
Anuja and I spent part of the day planning the remainder of our trip with pockets of success and other unfortunate misses. We found out that the Corbett Tiger Preserve is booked all the way until December and that there is very little chance that we will be able to even get in. This shouldn't be that much of a surprise to me but it still is. There are so many people here - it is amazing and to allow anyone to go without reserve would cause the endangered tigers to loose the hunting land that they require to sustain themselves.
I've decided to go for a walk by myself. If Anuja wakes any time soon she can come with me but I think that I need to be self sufficient here.
She did not - which was too bad. I had an excellent experience. I debated a few short minutes on which way to go. North or south? I sat for several minutes and thought. Moments of my younger childhood floated back to me as I started north. Looking back I spotted Anuja's young third cousin (Urvi - 12) trailing me my about 20 feet.
We had a good walk. Probably the most interesting thing that we ran across was the youth drum circle by the slum. They had a base drum and another that sounded similar to a snare. They were laying down rhythms that were foreign but inviting. We walked near when they saw us they started waving and playing faster.
Later tonight we go to the MG road market.
Anuja's india phone number... 020 - 9766358669
Always dial +91 when calling India. Always dial the local city code- who knows what they are though!
-------------------
11-8 Today we are up early and on our way to Pungchani - a "Hill Station" founded by the "Brittaners." Its up in the nearby hills about two and a half hours from Pune. About 25 minutes into my 4th major car ride I've decided that I don't even want to know the accident rate here in India. Everyone I talk to says "Accidents don't happen. No one is ever hurt in car accidents." But I'm guessing that is untrue. I've already heard of one famous guy running over 5 people who were asleep on the sidewalk. I just now decided that if I don't die in a horrific car accident then the slew of local water-born illnesses (the "Delhi-Belly" as they are called) will probably get me.
Pungchani is just the sort of tourist trap that I am fine with right now. I'm still in "India-lite" mode. I'm unable to take much seriously, especially being a tourist. I want to check out the local entrapments and markets and all that, but I also like to see the interesting landscapes. Its a little frustrating that I feel like everyone here wants us to have a "plan." I find it ridiculous that we need "everything booked in advance." I realize that it all comes from their concern but still it feels very intrusive to me. It is nice of them to help us book bus tickets though... While up on Pungchani we run into this super impressive little girl who is walking a tightrope about 6 feet up. am and we're out the door on our way to Auragabad. I keep calling it "Agrabah" like in Aladdin. I'm still having trouble with most of the names of people and places. I feel bad when I can't consistently pronounce "Prabodt" from memory. Anyway here we are leaving Anuja's family at the bus stop and Prabodt gives me a little send off package of information on the hotel booking and taxi he's coordinated for us. The place is called the Khinoor Plaza hotel. I'll give a description of it when we get there. In the package he says that his father has offered to pay for the hotel. This is too generous. I vow to myself to return the money when we see Prabodt next. The bus ride from Pune is going to be around 5 hours. We're now about 3 and a half hours into the ride. Anuja and I are in concurrence that the driver has a death wish. He's taking ques from my family's legendary friend Bill Ray - of the two pedals that a car has (gas and break) one should be pushed to the floor at all times. Hes on the horn about 25% of the time and alternating between about 100kph bumpy (way too fast for these bumpy laneless roads) and 15kph behind the occasional bicyclist or motorcycle (called two-wheeler here) who has turned out in front of us knowing full well that we will end him if the driver of the bus doesn't slam on the breaks. Once again I think to myself that we're going to die in a twisted wreck of metal when the vehicle we are driving in careens into another head on while avoiding a family walking down the highway on one side and a pack of stray dogs on the other. We should be so lucky as to avoid the dogs.
---------------------
Today was the best day that we have had on our trip. AMAZING! We hired a taxi from the hotel to take us to the Ajunta caves which were about 100 clicks away (I love saying clicks). This guy is the new cake taker for being a crazy driver. He sure did earn his money. He didnt speak much english, but his cousin that we hired him through was a real head wagger. Side note - the Maharatian people do this thing with their head that I call "the head waggle." Pivoting off their neck, they move the top and bottom of their head in opposite directions while smiling. Anuja (who's family is from the state of Maharatia) does it sometimes. She says people do it when they are happy or agree with you or are excited or sarcastic. Basically any positive emotion gets a head waggle. I'm going to start practicing.
So the Ajunta caves were very grand. They reminded me so much of Mesa Verde's Cliff Palace back home near Cortez. The Ajunta caves are manmade caves, carved into the limestone by Bhudist monks during 2 different periods. The first was near 50BC. The second, which is up for debate was somewhere during 400AD to 800AD. These huge excavations were religous devotional undertakings all featued enormous carvings of Bhudda or references to him. To get to the caves you have to take a bus 4km in. We shortcut the 2 hour que but it would still be a very long wait to get on a bus as the indians are packing them so full people are almost falling out and still the buses are too few and the line extremely long so we walk. On our way I meet this nice british chick who quit her job as a researcher about 6 months ago. She mentions that she will be in Goa at the same time as us. I think that Nooj might be jelous that I am talking to the only other nearly albino in the same zipcode as she speeds up and leaves me and the brittisher in her dust. The chick is nice in a smart way but not terribly interesting so I let her droan on about "nervous mums and the effects thereof on children ages 2 to something or other." After 4k I'm releaved to have made it with my ears intact and a new understanding of child psychology - nervous (crazy) mums produce affected (also crazy) children. After entering the park, she wanters ahead of us and that is the last we see of her before she passes us on her way out.
Later on I have a shock when I am sitting next to an aging asian woman and this young indian guy wedges himself in between us and sits for a moment. A second later his friend walks up and takes a picture of him. I think - there must be something really good in the background for him to want to take this picture because the three of us are sitting REALLY close together (but whatever - Indian people have very little concept of personal space). He gets up and leaves and not 30 seconds later another guy wedges himself into the same space. When I notice that the camera guy hasn't moved is when I realize that I've seen this before... Sometimes in the US people try to take pictures with unwitting celebrities and apparently I am the unwitting celebrity. I start making funny faces and end up taking pictures with about 5 different people. Its really surreal. This is repeated over the next two days in various fashion. I should start a tally because soon I'll forget how many pictures there have been (the current number is 11). When Indian people ask to have their picture taken with me now, I tell them it will cost them 5 rupees each which is equivelent to about 10 cents a pop. This cracks me up. Some of them don't get that I'm joking.
-------------------
Here is a short summery of the evening and next day: Our driver is even more crazy on the way home. We eat the spiciest dish of Nooj's life and decide to walk back to the hotel. We eventually decide that we are lost and take a rickshaw about a block and a half back to the hotel. We are unable to find an internet cafe that is operating at 9:30 pm.
The next day we visit a unconquerable fort (Daunadain [sp?] and Ellora Caves which is similar to Ajunta but has Jainist and Hindu carved caves as well. We eat only street food and drink coconut water before hitting the bus back to Pune. On this busride we experience the most insanely horrible driving ever by a professional. He's all over the road, talking on the phone while driving in the wrong lane (as though there are lanes!) laying on the horn while swerving left and right to avoid god knows what. We make it back to Pune and eat dinner, check email, unsuccessfully try to update this blog and go to bed.
11/12 - I can't believe that it has been a week.
11/13 - Night bus to Goa. Wake up in the morning to a temperate climate and good sun. We swim in the Arabian Sea then get lost trying to find our hostel. A guy named "Johnny" offers us both a place to stay and weed. I politely decline - better safe than spending a 10 year drug sentence in the Agauda prison (which we see the following day). We successfully rent a scooter and being terrorizing the local drivers by driving on the right (and incorrect) side of the road. We visit 4 beaches and another banged up fortress - this one has changed hands anytime ANYONE invades. Its like the consolation prize for trying to conquer: "Sorry, thank for playing! Have Fort Cosada."
11/13 Goa is beautiful. Anjuna beach is home to aging hippies and Yogis. I take a yoga class while Nooj sleeps in.
to be continued...
It's almost 3am and the streets of Mumbai are even now abustle with people hovering in doorways under radiant incandescence, people portaging god knows what on their back or on two wheeled carts. Motorcycles zip in between the light traffic as Ajit convinces us that we absolutely MUST go and get some coffee or a coca cola or a chaha (tea - my phonetic spelling).
We finally submit to his request, even though we are completely exhausted. We end up at a 5 star hotel (Sahara S* Mumbai?) where the 24 hour fare subsists of 4 varieties of hamburgers, 6 sandwiches, anything imaginable to drink and 4 different deserts. Opting for the adventurous route, I order the "Iced Fruit Soup." Its a vanilla custard with gelitanized fruit on top of it. Its both foreign and domestic. I've never had the combination but it occurs to me that that my mother has made something very similar.
The drive back to Ajit's apartment in central Mumbai is less shocking than the initial "are those dead bodies" moment that I had when leaving the airport. Its still powerful though. Everywhere people are loping in and out of the shadows that are cast by the Duwalai festival lights against the impermanent hovels. These mutli-level shacks are built by tacking whatever is at arm's length together for shelter. Here a piece of tin is used as roofing. There a pallet is used as siding. I can't tell if the signage out front offering services ranging from travel to massage or haircuts are only there for the wall surface or are true offerings of the residents of the business/home. We arrive at Ajit's apartment at 4:30 in the morning. I'm relieved that we are here - after meeting his wife and daughter we finally able to rest. I don't think that the stress of wondering if our bags were lost somewhere between Seattle and the baggage conveyor prone to sporadic electrical/mechanical has gotten to me, but its close.
Breakfast food. O-ba-ma mania. Driving in mumbai and dinner in pune.
We manage only 3 quick hours of sleep before awaking early to the never ceasing noise of Mumbai. Oustide the world has not decided to slow for us - its busy hubbub is the honking of car horns, the barking of dogs and the chattering of people. Its strange that I can hear people talking out on the street from the 5th floor but I am not surprised. Its India. Breakfast with Anuja's cousin and family is the first of a series of grubfests not to be under estimated. "Just cornflakes" has turned into cornflakes and sweet cookies and chocolate and delicious almond things and "have more of this spicy mix" and "surely you need more" until I have to refuse even anything more. I have a sneaking suspicion about halfway through breakfast that every meal is going to be like this. Anuja's family seems to have it out for my stomach - they want me to fill my belly until it pops.
"Obama is in town." Here in Mumbai its pronounced "Oh-Ba-Ma." I didn't understand Gunjan, Anuja's 2nd Cous
in when she said it the first time. Security has blocked off the entire south end of the city, blockading 11 of the main roads for 20 blocks around his location. He's staying at the Taj - infamous site of the hotel bombing that rocked downtown Mumbai about a year ago. The paper says that around 43,000 police are out on the streets today - Mumbai's entire police force. I tell our hosts that "Oh-Ba-Ma wanted to meet up with us in Colaba, but we are too busy. He'll have to wait until Christmas for us to accept his request that we stay in the Lincoln bedroom." I don't think that they got the joke.Driving in Mumbai is like taking your life in your hands at around 25 miles per hour. The road's organized chaos is not governed by any rules that I can immediately discern except for two: Rule number 1: "Stay left unless its easier to stay right."
Rule number 2: "Always use your horn."
I'm in love with rule number 2. I think that we should implement it America immediately.
Below is a partial list of horn use moments as noted by me in our 1 hour drive in downtown:
A car is slowly yawing towards you at about 6 miles per hour
Pedestrians that look like they might step out in front of your car
A car/rickshaw is moving too slowly in front of you half in your section of the road half in another.
A bicyclist is in the middle of the road
5 streets are meeting and everyone has the right of way
A 100cc motorcycle carrying 4 people has just managed to squeeze between your car and the far right barrier and you want to say "nice job."
You and the 10 cars around you are muscling your way through a crowded 5 way intersection that has a stoplight but no one is paying attention to it. Whichever group honks with most authority gets to go.
A motorcycle is driving the wrong way on a one way bridge and you want to say "Hey I see you."
-------------
11-6 Now in Pune. Anuja and I have been fetched by her very giving Aunt Uma and Uncle Madhu. Uma is a software consultant and Mahdu is an ex-officer in the Indian Army. I'm never quite able to tell what he does these days. They live in a house of epic nature. The house is concrete slab construction with both load bearing and non load bearing walls. The bathroom is a cantilevered beam suspended off the foundation. It is very modern in many ways and at the same time reminds me of places I've been in Mexico. It would cost a fortune to have built this house in the US but I think that concrete must be cheaper in India as Madhu said that wood was too expensive a material to build in.Anuja and I spent part of the day planning the remainder of our trip with pockets of success and other unfortunate misses. We found out that the Corbett Tiger Preserve is booked all the way until December and that there is very little chance that we will be able to even get in. This shouldn't be that much of a surprise to me but it still is. There are so many people here - it is amazing and to allow anyone to go without reserve would cause the endangered tigers to loose the hunting land that they require to sustain themselves.
I've decided to go for a walk by myself. If Anuja wakes any time soon she can come with me but I think that I need to be self sufficient here.
She did not - which was too bad. I had an excellent experience. I debated a few short minutes on which way to go. North or south? I sat for several minutes and thought. Moments of my younger childhood floated back to me as I started north. Looking back I spotted Anuja's young third cousin (Urvi - 12) trailing me my about 20 feet.
We had a good walk. Probably the most interesting thing that we ran across was the youth drum circle by the slum. They had a base drum and another that sounded similar to a snare. They were laying down rhythms that were foreign but inviting. We walked near when they saw us they started waving and playing faster.
Later tonight we go to the MG road market.
Anuja's india phone number... 020 - 9766358669
Always dial +91 when calling India. Always dial the local city code- who knows what they are though!
-------------------
11-8 Today we are up early and on our way to Pungchani - a "Hill Station" founded by the "Brittaners." Its up in the nearby hills about two and a half hours from Pune. About 25 minutes into my 4th major car ride I've decided that I don't even want to know the accident rate here in India. Everyone I talk to says "Accidents don't happen. No one is ever hurt in car accidents." But I'm guessing that is untrue. I've already heard of one famous guy running over 5 people who were asleep on the sidewalk. I just now decided that if I don't die in a horrific car accident then the slew of local water-born illnesses (the "Delhi-Belly" as they are called) will probably get me.Pungchani is just the sort of tourist trap that I am fine with right now. I'm still in "India-lite" mode. I'm unable to take much seriously, especially being a tourist. I want to check out the local entrapments and markets and all that, but I also like to see the interesting landscapes. Its a little frustrating that I feel like everyone here wants us to have a "plan." I find it ridiculous that we need "everything booked in advance." I realize that it all comes from their concern but still it feels very intrusive to me. It is nice of them to help us book bus tickets though... While up on Pungchani we run into this super impressive little girl who is walking a tightrope about 6 feet up. am and we're out the door on our way to Auragabad. I keep calling it "Agrabah" like in Aladdin. I'm still having trouble with most of the names of people and places. I feel bad when I can't consistently pronounce "Prabodt" from memory. Anyway here we are leaving Anuja's family at the bus stop and Prabodt gives me a little send off package of information on the hotel booking and taxi he's coordinated for us. The place is called the Khinoor Plaza hotel. I'll give a description of it when we get there. In the package he says that his father has offered to pay for the hotel. This is too generous. I vow to myself to return the money when we see Prabodt next. The bus ride from Pune is going to be around 5 hours. We're now about 3 and a half hours into the ride. Anuja and I are in concurrence that the driver has a death wish. He's taking ques from my family's legendary friend Bill Ray - of the two pedals that a car has (gas and break) one should be pushed to the floor at all times. Hes on the horn about 25% of the time and alternating between about 100kph bumpy (way too fast for these bumpy laneless roads) and 15kph behind the occasional bicyclist or motorcycle (called two-wheeler here) who has turned out in front of us knowing full well that we will end him if the driver of the bus doesn't slam on the breaks. Once again I think to myself that we're going to die in a twisted wreck of metal when the vehicle we are driving in careens into another head on while avoiding a family walking down the highway on one side and a pack of stray dogs on the other. We should be so lucky as to avoid the dogs.
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Today was the best day that we have had on our trip. AMAZING! We hired a taxi from the hotel to take us to the Ajunta caves which were about 100 clicks away (I love saying clicks). This guy is the new cake taker for being a crazy driver. He sure did earn his money. He didnt speak much english, but his cousin that we hired him through was a real head wagger. Side note - the Maharatian people do this thing with their head that I call "the head waggle." Pivoting off their neck, they move the top and bottom of their head in opposite directions while smiling. Anuja (who's family is from the state of Maharatia) does it sometimes. She says people do it when they are happy or agree with you or are excited or sarcastic. Basically any positive emotion gets a head waggle. I'm going to start practicing.
So the Ajunta caves were very grand. They reminded me so much of Mesa Verde's Cliff Palace back home near Cortez. The Ajunta caves are manmade caves, carved into the limestone by Bhudist monks during 2 different periods. The first was near 50BC. The second, which is up for debate was somewhere during 400AD to 800AD. These huge excavations were religous devotional undertakings all featued enormous carvings of Bhudda or references to him. To get to the caves you have to take a bus 4km in. We shortcut the 2 hour que but it would still be a very long wait to get on a bus as the indians are packing them so full people are almost falling out and still the buses are too few and the line extremely long so we walk. On our way I meet this nice british chick who quit her job as a researcher about 6 months ago. She mentions that she will be in Goa at the same time as us. I think that Nooj might be jelous that I am talking to the only other nearly albino in the same zipcode as she speeds up and leaves me and the brittisher in her dust. The chick is nice in a smart way but not terribly interesting so I let her droan on about "nervous mums and the effects thereof on children ages 2 to something or other." After 4k I'm releaved to have made it with my ears intact and a new understanding of child psychology - nervous (crazy) mums produce affected (also crazy) children. After entering the park, she wanters ahead of us and that is the last we see of her before she passes us on her way out.Later on I have a shock when I am sitting next to an aging asian woman and this young indian guy wedges himself in between us and sits for a moment. A second later his friend walks up and takes a picture of him. I think - there must be something really good in the background for him to want to take this picture because the three of us are sitting REALLY close together (but whatever - Indian people have very little concept of personal space). He gets up and leaves and not 30 seconds later another guy wedges himself into the same space. When I notice that the camera guy hasn't moved is when I realize that I've seen this before... Sometimes in the US people try to take pictures with unwitting celebrities and apparently I am the unwitting celebrity. I start making funny faces and end up taking pictures with about 5 different people. Its really surreal. This is repeated over the next two days in various fashion. I should start a tally because soon I'll forget how many pictures there have been (the current number is 11). When Indian people ask to have their picture taken with me now, I tell them it will cost them 5 rupees each which is equivelent to about 10 cents a pop. This cracks me up. Some of them don't get that I'm joking.
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Here is a short summery of the evening and next day: Our driver is even more crazy on the way home. We eat the spiciest dish of Nooj's life and decide to walk back to the hotel. We eventually decide that we are lost and take a rickshaw about a block and a half back to the hotel. We are unable to find an internet cafe that is operating at 9:30 pm.
The next day we visit a unconquerable fort (Daunadain [sp?] and Ellora Caves which is similar to Ajunta but has Jainist and Hindu carved caves as well. We eat only street food and drink coconut water before hitting the bus back to Pune. On this busride we experience the most insanely horrible driving ever by a professional. He's all over the road, talking on the phone while driving in the wrong lane (as though there are lanes!) laying on the horn while swerving left and right to avoid god knows what. We make it back to Pune and eat dinner, check email, unsuccessfully try to update this blog and go to bed.11/12 - I can't believe that it has been a week.
11/13 - Night bus to Goa. Wake up in the morning to a temperate climate and good sun. We swim in the Arabian Sea then get lost trying to find our hostel. A guy named "Johnny" offers us both a place to stay and weed. I politely decline - better safe than spending a 10 year drug sentence in the Agauda prison (which we see the following day). We successfully rent a scooter and being terrorizing the local drivers by driving on the right (and incorrect) side of the road. We visit 4 beaches and another banged up fortress - this one has changed hands anytime ANYONE invades. Its like the consolation prize for trying to conquer: "Sorry, thank for playing! Have Fort Cosada."
11/13 Goa is beautiful. Anjuna beach is home to aging hippies and Yogis. I take a yoga class while Nooj sleeps in.
to be continued...
Friday, November 5, 2010
Getting out of town can be tough...
... and flying to India is no exception.
Anuja and I got a great start on our trip today. I picked up a few Frango mints as host presents on our way to Anuja's parents place. Her mother, more anxious and excited than ever about our trip, continued to repeat advice that she has probably given Anuja 20 times and me 5. "Don't eat street food! Even if you see everyone else eating... Do not drink any water when outside. Don't go anywhere without a family member. Be very careful..." etc etc etc... I can see a lot of my own mother in her - however my Mom has learned to let go more than Anuja's. The advice is still coming and Anuja keeps laughing at it. I try to convey the correct amount of seriousness, knowing that we will probably do about half of those things in the first 24 hours we're there. I know that the intent is good and she wants only the best for us and is worried that I don't have any lick of worldly sense. Maybe I don't. She's talking to me like this is my first trip to India.
Anuja and I got a great start on our trip today. I picked up a few Frango mints as host presents on our way to Anuja's parents place. Her mother, more anxious and excited than ever about our trip, continued to repeat advice that she has probably given Anuja 20 times and me 5. "Don't eat street food! Even if you see everyone else eating... Do not drink any water when outside. Don't go anywhere without a family member. Be very careful..." etc etc etc... I can see a lot of my own mother in her - however my Mom has learned to let go more than Anuja's. The advice is still coming and Anuja keeps laughing at it. I try to convey the correct amount of seriousness, knowing that we will probably do about half of those things in the first 24 hours we're there. I know that the intent is good and she wants only the best for us and is worried that I don't have any lick of worldly sense. Maybe I don't. She's talking to me like this is my first trip to India.
Right now I'm sure that someone somewhere is screaming, "ACT like you've got some sense! For once in your life - at least ACT like you've got some sense!..." while they are thinking of me.
However this is my first trip to India or even Asia. Although I don't show it as much as Anuja's mom, I'm just as excited and nervous. I don't have any clue what it will be like in wild India and I'm trying to not worry too much about it because worry wont do any good. I'm trying to not form too many mental impressions before I get there. I've resolved to allow myself to experience as it happens and not anticipate too much - that is one of the big reasons that I wanted to get out of Seattle for a while. Life just seemed like it was beginning to become stifling. Sometimes that's just the way things go.
Back to Anuja's parents - we've up her dad from his work location downtown so that he can see us off as well. Its really cute. I can tell they are worried but I tell them not to worry - I don't know if they pick up on it, given the ambling way that I so often speak, that my quiet confidence should not be taken as ignorance and that the trip's most basic intent is light hearted and that worry will only be counterproductive. Sometimes we have a difficult time communicating because of the strange gaps that exist between our understandings of the world. I don't think this is a bad thing - in fact its probably good. Bharti loves me and cares for me. Mohan's concern for us is self evident as he waves goodbye.
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I've stayed up all last night so that I'll be able to sleep better on the plane. It hasnt worked. I'm exhasted and my neck hurts and my sinuses feel like they have been pumped with dry sandpaper in the 40 minutes that I slept in my chair while listening to an audiobook. Poor me. I guess having this much fun is rough. Doubts are starting to creep into my mind about the tentative plans that we have made. I'm currently banishing them from my mind. India is still 15 or so hours away and I haven't had a full night's sleep in almost half that many days.
The flight is smooth - the Boeing (Yeah AMER-CUH!) 777 has excellent entertainment and there are two meals. I am no longer angry at the guy who plays music with Anuja's father and has a name that I cannot even hope to pronounce and speaks far too quickly to understand and doesn't respond to things that you tell him or even seat you beside the person that you are traveling with but can apparently get round trip tickets to India at 40% off 5 days before your travel date. These things cease to matter because KAL is really fucking great - except that Anuja and I understand about the same amount of things that are coming out of the mouths of the flight attendants, who are all female, 25, skinny and vaguely attractive, whether they are speaking English or Korean.
I turn my attention back to my third in-flight movie. The adult ADD that I've developed is really kicking my ass. I think this one is about 5 kids that won a basketball game when they were 12 and reunite to bury their dead coach and end up finding themselves over the weekend... For some reason the black grandma keeps farting. It isn't that funny except for any of the multiple scenes involving rope-swing accidents.
However this is my first trip to India or even Asia. Although I don't show it as much as Anuja's mom, I'm just as excited and nervous. I don't have any clue what it will be like in wild India and I'm trying to not worry too much about it because worry wont do any good. I'm trying to not form too many mental impressions before I get there. I've resolved to allow myself to experience as it happens and not anticipate too much - that is one of the big reasons that I wanted to get out of Seattle for a while. Life just seemed like it was beginning to become stifling. Sometimes that's just the way things go.
Back to Anuja's parents - we've up her dad from his work location downtown so that he can see us off as well. Its really cute. I can tell they are worried but I tell them not to worry - I don't know if they pick up on it, given the ambling way that I so often speak, that my quiet confidence should not be taken as ignorance and that the trip's most basic intent is light hearted and that worry will only be counterproductive. Sometimes we have a difficult time communicating because of the strange gaps that exist between our understandings of the world. I don't think this is a bad thing - in fact its probably good. Bharti loves me and cares for me. Mohan's concern for us is self evident as he waves goodbye.
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I've stayed up all last night so that I'll be able to sleep better on the plane. It hasnt worked. I'm exhasted and my neck hurts and my sinuses feel like they have been pumped with dry sandpaper in the 40 minutes that I slept in my chair while listening to an audiobook. Poor me. I guess having this much fun is rough. Doubts are starting to creep into my mind about the tentative plans that we have made. I'm currently banishing them from my mind. India is still 15 or so hours away and I haven't had a full night's sleep in almost half that many days.
The flight is smooth - the Boeing (Yeah AMER-CUH!) 777 has excellent entertainment and there are two meals. I am no longer angry at the guy who plays music with Anuja's father and has a name that I cannot even hope to pronounce and speaks far too quickly to understand and doesn't respond to things that you tell him or even seat you beside the person that you are traveling with but can apparently get round trip tickets to India at 40% off 5 days before your travel date. These things cease to matter because KAL is really fucking great - except that Anuja and I understand about the same amount of things that are coming out of the mouths of the flight attendants, who are all female, 25, skinny and vaguely attractive, whether they are speaking English or Korean.
I turn my attention back to my third in-flight movie. The adult ADD that I've developed is really kicking my ass. I think this one is about 5 kids that won a basketball game when they were 12 and reunite to bury their dead coach and end up finding themselves over the weekend... For some reason the black grandma keeps farting. It isn't that funny except for any of the multiple scenes involving rope-swing accidents.
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