Travel Journal - Entry 6

New Delhi 2/12/2008
Arrived Delhi this morning from Varanasi. The Scottish doctor on his 5th trip helped me find lodging - walked me past touts and into hotel row a short stroll away from the train station. I would have never known to find this street on my own. Had I asked anyone from around here where I could stay close by on the cheap, I would have no doubt been misdirected into God knows where. I haven't forgotten my last little ordeal here. Tried a place called the Krishna but I didn't have a reservation. Hah. The next hotel, the Hotel Shelton, had a nice room with a pretend balcony next to the big blue neon sign right above the street overlooking the bazaar. It's noisy but it's a bed and I brought ear plugs.

This bed is probably what you would find at the rescue mission - hard wood frame in the place of a box spring with two inch foam mattress. That's how all the beds have been in all my hotel rooms here. Mattresses have been thicker at times, depending on the area and price of the room. In Agra it seemed thicker for a less expensive room. In a quiet, garden-spot hotel that was only 500 ft from the Taj Mahal. Here in Delhi I am on a double wide bed so I put one mattress on the other.

Honking horns and loud music playing outside. This is probably the worst room noise but I'm not too worried. I have been able to sleep on loud, uncomfortable trains so I probably manage now. As it turns out I am here for a festival of some sort. Men were busily stringing lights between buildings and across roads, worships stations with different idols were set up around the bazaar area. And the morning found me listening to the droning of some ancient prayer being recited over a modern enough speaker system - loud and long. There was also sporadic displays of worship marching down the streets in the guise of boys and young men with drums and such at odd hours of the late evening, also chanting loudly.

I think I am catching cold. Oh for my Emergen-C. I was going to bring a few but opted to not. Dang.

I put some forethought into remaining healthy while I was away. I bought these little plastic ziplock pill bags and assembled four weeks worth of daily doses; Vitamin C, Vitamin B12, a multi vitamin, a garlic tablet, a pro-biotic capsule and a fish oil capsule. So each morning after I get a bite to eat (as it is inadvisable to down these on an empty stomach) I take this handful of medical assistance and swallow them like a whale eating minnows, pills jostling for position as they ride the waterfall into the deep dark unknown.

I bought several handcrafted Indian fabric tapestries today after settling into the hotel and heading back out into the bazaar. Also picked up some camel bone jewelry. Different colors. I understand the camels were finished with the bones. I also purchased an inexpensive bag to lug it all around in. No more big stuff - I'm already thinking I am going to have some trouble on the flight home.

Encountered whispering touts again wanting me to buy drugs. Also fake-accented Indians trying to lure me into their shops - they think I am Australian. Haha. Let them. I answered one yesterday in Spanish. He didn't know Spanish so I was saved.

From now on I am speaking Spanish. OLE!!

Travel Journal - Entry 5

Varanasi 2/11/2008
The 3:45 train to Delhi arrived early. Unusual in my opinion. I am cynical actually. After the delay at JFK (flight to Mumbai), the delay at Mumbai (flight to Delhi) and the delay in the train to Varanasi I became so. When the train showed up I just figured it for the one before mine.

Met a Scottish MD on the platform. His 5th trip, traveling light with a very small pack and an umbrella. We talked about how India changes you. Maybe not here, now, right away, noticeably. But it becomes apparent once you return to civilization. "Simplify" was the word he used. I rather felt that the case even before getting started on this trip.


Thoughts of Varanasi on riding out:
The land of Learn and Burn. Hindu spiritual learning hub as well as ghat burning ceremonies. Lots of non-Indians exploring life here. There is music and art, a world perspective reinforced by a non local populace. Very dirty and unsafe Ganga. Trash literally covers what could be a beautiful shoreline. I saw it at its lowest. There was mud and sand. When the water is higher the ghats rim the water; their steps descending down, down into the murk.




I wish some organization could systematically clean up the crap. I saw numerous cows nibbling through mounds of garbage. Do people leave it out for them? Cows like plastic, apparently. At least from what the dining choices I saw them making.

Where is the mind of those controlling infrastructure?

Dos and Don'ts:
Do drive as though lanes do not exist.
Don't hug the opposite sex in public.
May I please suggest a switch in present singular 1st person auxiliary verbs?

The Times of India is one of the most interesting newspapers I have ever read. Always dozens of things odd and interesting. Reminds me of where I am and that life goes on before my very eyes.

Travel Journal - Entry 4

Varanasi 2/10/08
Driving is an art. A team sport in which there can be any number of winners but all must keep their eye on the ball - and not hit anyone or anything. Two lanes are four, four are six. The horn is primarily an instrument of concern and polite warning when approaching from behind. The back of most vehicles have 'Honk O.K. Please' stretching from left to right across the bumper in colorful paint. A cacophony of these blaring horns pushing and elbowing their way into your psyche is the sound of a safe and happy roadway.

I have seen/heard a few horns sounded in anger, however. There have been a few birds too. Flipping. The taxi I took to the airport in Mumbai when I was flying to Delhi got backed into by a rather large and severe looking truck. With a thick black pipe for a bumper. My driver ended up getting me to my destination late. This incident contributed to that. Then he went to the wrong destination despite my clear English instructions. Ha ha. Then he tried to charge me double what the fare should have been. Lucky for me I checked his card, paid him and quit feeling sorry for him that he had been backed into by a pipe-bumpered truck. Inside the terminal I found my flight was late as well. Coffee time!

Out of all of the taxis i have been in, not one has a working speedometer. Not one.

16 pieces of laundry clean and folded, pocket repaired - Rp 150 (About $3).

I want to buy a carrot from the cart of the fresh vegetable seller below.

Sometimes I think I am too negative. I don't mean to be. It's easy to level out there however. Two sides to every story and I am not always right.

Deep talk with strangers. Over chai. I met a pleasant woman yesterday while enjoying some chai at the ghats. From the UK, married 8 years, she is spending 6 months in India. Starting with a stint in the south doing humanitarian work - an exchange program of some sort having to do with health care I believe. Our somewhat brief conversation moved to her relationship; her suspicions of her husband. Another woman. Maybe. Probably. Not the jealous rage kind of reaction but the talk about it kind. More interested in honest open communication that would enhance their relationship than in false hopes or not knowing.

He had joined her in India for a time at the beginning of her work here.

We had 'met' once before at the Varanasi train station. She was assisting some French tourist backpackers who had been drugged, robbed and lost a couple of days to unconsciousness. They had gotten a little too friendly with the natives. She speaks French, caught wind of their plight and was helping them book passage home.

We ran into one another one other time on the ghats and spoke briefly in passing. I hope their marriage works out. He would be the biggest loser if it does not.

Travel Journal - Entry 3

Varanasi 2/10/2008
Kites are everywhere in the sky. The "Kite Runner" kind. Rising, falling, circling to best the others. Cut them. Starting young these kids are soon experts making the sky an acrobatic feast for the eyes. I wish I could get a good snap.

Almost any building is in the use regardless of repair. Shelter is shelter, after all. They make good use of the entire structure. Roofs are outdoor patios for meals, chai, naps, laundry. Kite flying. For bathing and grooming. Prayer.

Monkeys run free in the city. I have seen them here as in Agra, run across the rims of buildings, leap onto wires, inspire concern in otherwise docile canines. And howl from the spires of forts.

The ants on the wall small. And slow. Probably slow because it's cold. Red with black thoraxes. There are big black kick ass ants that I have encountered a few times. All business, these.

Curious kids and older sisters looking over rooftops at me. A man a couple of buildings over has been in front of what must be a mirror working on his hair for the past 15 minutes. He is probably 29 or 30. Grooming is important. People may not be able to effect the sanitation/look and feel of the city at large. But they can certainly be presentable.

Travel Journal - Entry 2

Varanasi 2/10/08
Clothing styles are interesting. For the most part men wear western style shirts, sweaters, jeans jackets, whatever. The styles could be modern but its a little bit confusing in this context. This all became very real for me as I tried to buy another pair of cargo pants since the ones I had brought along were so industriously comfortable.

I had gone into a shop to look around. What I found was that besides the ridiculously high prices ($30 US??), the styles were decidedly 70's or 80's with odd embroidery, scattered corduroy and weird pockets every which way but natural. Nothing I could ever agree to wear let alone pay that much for.

The buying experience must have been strictly Indian - a long U-shaped counter with boys/teens/young men behind showing potential buyers choices based on their size and preference. For me it was to be cargo pants, 38x34. The cry went out and after some time a boy brought a stack of plastic wrapped pants from somewhere in the back. 15 pairs or so, assorted colors. Another guy (my helper) pulled each pair out of its bag, unfolded them for my inspection, and then folded it partially (longways) before doing the same to the next pair.

I discovered that an Indian size 38 is smaller than an American size 38. After trying on the two least embellished pair, which didn't fit at all, the guy measuring me. Leaning over from from behind the counter with his measuring tape, I was told I was a 40. Hmmm.

Yeah so I didn't buy anything there.

For the most part kids here are great. They are children in every aspect. Innocent, curious, playful. Quick to smile. The first set I encountered in Mumbai were all this. I then began to hear about and eventually crossed paths with a few. They were poor, dirty, cuter then hell and annoyingly persistent in running beside me for a sale or a handout. "Hellooo!", is where it all starts. I have taken to pretending not to understand English in order to avoid these encounters. Yesterday after the hundredth kid asked me for something I jabbered back in some unintelligible gibberish I made up there on the spot. Which he merely parroted back to me. Smart ass. But I could appreciate that.

I met these three as they were playing outside my friends flat in Bandra. I asked if I could take their snap and they got all organized and lined up and ready for me. They called me 'Uncle'. That's a term of respect.

At least it wasn't 'Grandpa'.

Travel Journal - Entry 1

Varanasi 2/10/08
Arrived V. from Agra by sleeper train. Will try to make is more comfy this trip (huh?). Upside is no matter what it will take you where you want to go. Like the bus from Delhi to Agra, the light at the end of the tunnel was that is would all soon be over.

One thing is certain about some of these folks here - rich and poor alike - industrious as hell and trying to get as much as possible out of your wallet. From business owners, silk merchants, boatmen, cabbies, to children - how many rupees are in it for them? Tourists are targets simply because we are their business. They eat by how well we are swindled or forced into buying what we don;t want or need. From my hotel balcony I watch one hard at work, the poor white man trying to make sense of it all, looking around, shrugging. We are cattle stomping through their towns and cities and must be herded for maximum benefit, dumb animals that we are.

The chai guy at the big ghat yesterday was great. Some teenager caught me walking toward the burning, warned me not to take snaps and tried to lure me up and over to where all the foreigners were to stand (according to him). Feeling herded I approached the chai guy (old) brewing the milky, sugary tea in a large pot over a fire pit in front of his wooden box stand at the halfway point up the steps, over to the far left. Inquiring about chai he pointed me over to a row of wooden benches - homemade by the look of them like almost everything here. Sitting I was delivered chai in a proper glass, hot and steaming, thus sealing my bid for freedom from the teen aged terrorist who scowled nearby. Occasionally he would lean in to inform me of something so obvious even I had already figured it out.

"Those are the families of the dead", "He is boiling milk". Duh. Eventually I would have been asked to pay him for helping me wade through all this mind numbing confusion of burning bodies and chai making. I stared at him as if to say, "Bugger off", which he eventually did after my second chai arrived. No doubt I might enjoy myself more if I didn't feel like I had to wrestle with so many of these sort. The cabbies/boatmen I can somewhat understand. This is their living. A white boy usually means a job. Others are merely buzzing mosquitoes and need to be repelled.

Prolepsis

So now I am a world traveler. Sure I have only been to one place outside the US (not counting anything in Baja California) but that one place was almost on the exact other side of the planet from me. About 12 hours away on a 24 hour planet. A world traveler. Yeah that's me alright. I flew right over some of the major continents. Asia. Europe. North America. I knew it because my Delta in-flight information map told me so. And how high I was flying (ft and km) and how fast (mph and kph). And the outside temperature in fahrenheit and centigrade. Had I been paying any attention at all I would have learned a whole other language.

So I find myself going through these pangs of longing. Longing to be back eating samosa and drinking Kingfisher in Mumbai after a long tiring day of walking around. Spending money. I guess that is the sign of a good vacation. And a somewhat spent emotional state. I went to work yesterday, the morning after I got back to Fresno. I stayed most of the day but literally ran out of gas. I went home to try and organize everything; things I bought and to whom they were to go, laundry started with piles on standby, get luggage emptied and put away. Clear out the mess that's all over my bed to I can use it to sleep on. About 9 I was out like a light.

At 3 AM I was wide awake. And hungry. I waddled out to the kitchen and fired up some Red Beans and Rice, a gourmet treat from the bayous of Louisiana. Then I came on back and fired up the computer and the TV. The news was on TV. At that hour of the morning it just recycles about every 20 minutes. You see the same report done by the same people over and over again. All in the name of readjusting my internal clock to PST. I'm glad to see Hillary and Barrack getting along so well, mostly. And that McCain didn't really do anything.

I made some instant coffee. Anyone who knows me very well would know that I used to consider this an abomination of the bean. However, as much as I might have earlier hated to admit it, I have grown fond of a certain milky sweet 'brew' since this was what I had almost daily on my trip. And one of my friends in Mumbai bequeathed me with a late Christmas gift; Davidoff Gourmet Instant Coffee. Strong and tasty it helped me face the wee hours of the morning. While feeding my desire to experience something of the trip once again. Meanwhile I have been editing and uploading my snaps, a little at a time. Click the slideshow on the upper right of this blog and you will open the album containing them all. At least all the ones I was able to upload. Eventually they will all be there so stay tuned.

Tomorrow I shall make an entry based on my journal notes.

Perambulant

I'm baaaaack. About 32 hours of travel. Lots of time to read. Finished my book, started another. Lots of time to buy coffee. Starbucks was happy to see me finally. I got skinny lattes at JFK and in Atlanta. Also got mugs to commemorate. The latte in Salt Lake however went uncommemorated. They didn't have the SLC mugs there. No reason. They just didn't.

I also had lots of time to write. So I did.

I looked like a lost vagabond. What was acceptable dress in a third world country became noticeably apparent once I arrived back in the US. I had on jeans that needed to be washed. Badly. I didn't send them in to be cleaned before I left because circumstances dictated otherwise. So I wore dirty jeans, maroon fleece, sandals with socks and Alcatraz. One of the pilots on one of the flights asked me as I was deplaning if I was going back.

Dress was only a part of the weary, spent traveller image I was projecting however. I had an official business-like black shoulder satchel that carried my iPod, noise-cancelling earphones, books, money, snacks, etc. But this seemed strangely out of place with what I was wearing. It didn't fit with any of the other items I was carrying either.

I had the small guitar I had purchased in Mumbai before my 10 day northern cross country excursion via trains, planes and scary buses. Add to this a large bag that looked like something a carpet bagger would be carrying his shifty wares around in. And it was full. I had some fragile food items coming back with me in this bag, Chaat mix. The Bux mugs, my hats and sunglasses. Hawaiian shirt (took place of the fleece at JFK). Chicki toffee (Indian candy) and Muckwas mix (Indian breath freshener). I had bought this HUGE bag of cashews way back in Varanasi. It was a magic bag. It never ran out. It never even got low. I ate all the cashews my poor body could manage but the bag didn't change. It just stayed the same. HUGE. So eventually I took this bag out of the satchel where I had to wrestle it for dominance every time I wanted my iPod. I was put it in the carpet bag instead. I couldn't have cared less if it made every other thing in it's baggy kingdom subservient. So long as I didn't have to see it again. For a long time.

All of this being hauled around with me from one airport to the next. In SLC I walked from one end of the terminal to the other in search for the Bux mug that wasn't there. Before I discovered it wasn't there. There were three Bux and I had too see them all with my own two eyes. But I had 6 hours to chill so why not? I had the BEST Stromboli from SLC Airport Sbarro however, so I forgive them for lack of the SLC Bux the mug.

All the while I had this stuff with me. I got some stares. The further away I got from the international flights, the more interested (or afraid perhaps?) people became.

Frankly I was just too tired to care.

Plane

Sorry 'Plane' was all I could come up with right now. Haha. I just got back into my apartment in Fresno. I left Mumbai about noon (Fresno time) and arrived on the ground about 9:30 pm the following evening (again, Fresno time). Lots of time in the air. Lots of time in the airport waiting. Lots of wanting to sleep. Not to much actual sleep. So I am going to just lay this brief post out here and update properly tomorrow.

I was writing a lot in my journal today, re-reading some of the previous entries and adding more details now that I had the time. I will be posting from among those stories and add more snaps as I am now home and should be able to easily. See you soon!

Special thanks to Joan, Arti and Piyush for making my last day in Mumbai so memorable.

I will be back :)

Pricing

This was my second to last day in India. Tomorrow late I would fly out of Mumbai International, back, back in time toward Atlanta, Georgia for a 6 hour layover on my way to California and everything good I left behind 3 weeks ago.

I spent the day on what is known as the Colaba Causeway. Going there causes you to spend money. Lots of money. Block after block after block there are set up longs rows of booths, carts, blankets, tables, re appropriated planters etc, etc, etc, filled with goods for the sale. Everything imaginable. Windows Vista for $4 anyone? I didn't see anything Autodesk but I am sure all I would have had to do was ask. How about a hand woven silk shawl with a brown/gold pattern of elephants, camels, birds and trees? They 'give you good price'! Shirts? No problem - popular Bollywood franchises are well represented in poster, sticker and t-shirt. Hand made jewelry, but you want to avoid the plastic stuff. Need drugs? Wander the streets long enough and pretty soon a whispering shadow just behind your left shoulder hisses in your ear, "Hashhhhhhhh?".

I had some fun with the 'hashers'. I took their quiet tones and brought them out into the real world by conversing with them - normally as one should converse in public - about just exactly what it was that clued them into my dire need for hash. Should I buy it even though I am not a smoker now, and if so, did they believe it would be in my best interest to start here and now. Good for my health? Of course not knowing most of anything that I was saying they would walk along with me since at least I was responding - negatively was probably better than the blow off they usually were accustomed to - smiling and nodding until I just walked away from them, always to the cry of "Sir! Sir!" fading into the sunset

Books. OMG anything you ever wanted AND in any condition! Grisham's newest book is in paperback here 'For Sale on the Indian Subcontinent Only' was emblazoned on the back. Not wanting to disappoint anyone I bought it. I also got a book of short stories by Indian writers. Something I would probably would have had a great deal of trouble finding in the US. Incense, DVD's, cigars, shades. Gaudy bling, handmade bags and totes, leather wallets and purses, shoes of every sort (except apparently size 12, US). It's just a darned good thing there was an ATM ready, willing and able to spit Rupees out at me when I needed them. Because I needed them.

Everything here was negotiable. They tell you one price, you act shocked. You tell them half that price, they act shocked. It's all part of the game. I learnt to play it while I was here but could use more practise. Instead of going back and forth, back and forth to eventually land up on the price I wanted, I would hit my price early and begin to walk off to the protests of the merchant - but was usually called back to give it to me at almost the price I named. "Okay, wrap it up," were the instructions given to the grunt nearby in feigned defeat. Shocked, I would walk away in disgust. Finally, once again, I would be called back over to be awarded the price I had offered. I didn't want to make the exercise unprofitable for the merchant while at the same time I was negotiating for all those times I had been ripped earlier by others. Karma.

It was a good way to spend the day I even had a Washington Apple (for 2 rupees!!?? I was shocked!!). Later that night a friend was treating me to dinner so I had to get back and shower I will tell you more when I am back in the states!

Sunday in Mumbai. What a contrast to the rest of the week. I had forgotten how empty the streets became when no one had to rush off to work. It was like I was in a dream. The fuzzy edged kind where the brights are extra shiny, as if people were angels walking together on a cool breezy sunny afternoon. Weird, huh?

Anyone who has ever been to a summertime Farmer's Market will get what I am talking about. It's as if a slice of Americana was dropped right here in the middle of the Indian subcontinent. And I was eating it up like it was chocolate ice cream.

The sun was up. The weather was mild. The breeze was helpful in policing the humidity. I was back in my jeans after ten days of travel. And a Hawaiian shirt. Sandals (with socks). Tourist written all over my forehead. I didn't care. I was hypnotized by the family atmosphere that seemed to have replaced the usual urban confusion with a peaceful strolling calm. Families. They were out in force. Dads and moms, kids in tow. Groups of friends, men and women. Walking up and down the sidewalk chatting, laughing, eating, shopping.

I think I have mentioned how the trees here so perfectly cover some of the roads. Ageless behemoths spreading their cool foliage over the crowds below. Thick trunks entwined with themselves, roots surfacing and diving down the sidewalks and streets; mossy vines reaching down to touch the earth, cut short just above head-level (for me). It made me think of lemonade. Actually I had a drink in Ahmedabad made from lime juice and cilantro. Wow. I wanted that again.

I got lost of course. Eventually made my way back around to Barista. You will remember this epiphany of mine from an earlier blog. Filter coffee. Muffins, etc. Today I had arrived about noon so I chose to eat one of their Chicken Tikka sandwiches. When else would I have the opportunity so why not now. It came toasted and was yummmm. The coffee was yummm too. All adding top one of the most perfect days of my trip so far.

Then, because I was on my way to meet up with another friend here, I got two baked items from the shoppe as a gift and hailed a cab to whisk me away. Even the streets from the perspective of inside a fire-breathing-bat-out-of-hell taxi was one of extreme calm. No one was on the streets. The cabby and I had even had a conversation about it. As best we could. The little stretch of freeway was like a long skinny runway without any planes. The view of the city through the buildings passing by was that of streets crowded with people. For nearly as long as it took me to get from one side of this huge city to the other, it was all the same. People out. Together. Doing things. It was Sunday after all.

The shops were all open, the street vendors were out in all of their merchandising glory. Jewelry, shoes, clothing, the freshest of vegetables, chaat carts, travel bags, nearly anything you ever wanted could be found today. In more than one place.

I was up quite late last night. Had the best time talking and drinking tea. I drink tea now? With buffalo milk and sugar. Chai. Hee hee. You really have to here. It just works. Had a chocolate muffin and then some coffee. Another friend dropped by. We all talked and laughed. We made dinner. Butter chicken. With naan and roti (just in case). Chole something - don't ask because I won't know - which is made with chickpeas. All in what was simply one of the most satisfying Sunday meals I can remember. Finally got back into a cab after 1 AM for the long drive back to my hotel.

The streets were still empty. Now there weren't of all the people on the sidewalks either. Little darkened boxy cabs were parked nearly everywhere all along the route we took. Some had their inside light on. A sign they were for hire. But really I doubted anyone would be by. Not anytime soon. It was a wonderful Sunday in Mumbai. People had to rest up for tomorrow.

Privilege

Good morning! Today is Sunday, February 17th. It's about 11:00 AM. I just got into Mumbai last night via train. First Class train I might add. I have never experienced First Class anything except the mail. Flying has always been Coach. Too expensive any other way for my budget. But the Ashram Express from Ahmedabad to Mumbai was First Class all the way! A real bargain for only $33.

This was only an express in the most general sense of the term. We stopped at several stations along the route. We expressed in between them. The First Class car has airplane style seats but with more leg room than a theatre with stadium seats. Thick, red and cushy these chairs were definitely worth the cost of admission.

As we were expressing, I thought back to my very first overland journey here on the Indian subcontinent. It was the night bus to Agra. The big bus that thought it was a little taxi. The bus that was the camel blasting through the eye of too many needles to recount. The bus where, in the dark, I had vivid thoughts of pirate and thugs lying in wait to relive me of my precious JanSport EuroSak and everything it contained (two pairs of pants, 4 t-shirts, 5 prs socks, 7 boxers and some soap). Big booty. The bus would become suddenly loud and unruly, making me hunch closer to my prized possessions, just in case it was a diversion. After a exhausting five-something hour ordeal I arrived worn and weary.

First Class on the train was a different animal altogether. Air conditioned. Small TV screens ever other row pointing back to we could all see them. Hindi TV is big here. Go figure. When they began to show old Tom and Jerry type cartoons is when I perked up. I immediately got acquainted with my surroundings when I sat down. My seat reclined. Nice. I am not big on reclining in a train but it was certainly something I had no intention of ever doing on that bus. The train had a wisely placed foot rest that would flip into one of two positions. The closest was the one I found to be the most satisfying on this long journey.

To my great surprise there was also free food service. I was offered first a tall bottle of mineral water, chilled, with a paper cup should I be a pinky drinker. Then I was offered a glass of very cold, thick, juicy nectar of some sort. Which I promptly gulped down. As everyone was getting this I was relatively certain this was not a continuing scheme of the band of bus pirates.

A man carrying a stack of books came down the aisle, stopping to ask if I would like to choose one. I already had my own book and let him know. He carried on. People bought his books. There was poetry, fiction, business, travel - those were the ones in English that I saw.

Soon a man came by offering a snack tray which I graciously accepted. There was a Nestle Munch bar (wafers covered in chocolate), a small bag of salted cashews, a small but adequate bag of chaat made from fried lentils, a small rectangular shaped piece of candy (I think) yellow, sweet and gellish with nuts in it. I ate it. People were watching. Of the choice of coffee or tea, this time I chose coffee. So I was given the ubiquitous demitasse cup in a saucer, a small pitcher of hot water and three packets from which I could concoct the milky sweet coffee that I have had in the south quite often: Nescafe, powdered creamer (another Nestle product) and a HUGE packet of sugar. Too much sugar actually. I used only a fraction.

Later on they brought tomato soup. In a bowl with the kind of spoon you get with your soupy noodles in a Chinese restaurant. There were breadsticks with this and a roll with butter.

Then they brought dinner. I will describe it but I cannot name it.

There were two larger foil tins: one with a yellowish spicy clearish sauce with kidney beans in it and unnamed cooked down veges. Spicy and yummy I spooned this over my rice and ate it with a spoon. A real metal one this time. I was given naan but the train proved to be severe enough challenge to civilized eating without having to use hands - scooping sauce and rice up with the naan, then effectively finding my mouth without dropping most of it on my lap, chair and the floor. I felt like I was using chopsticks in a hilariously wrong manner (which I do) while having a Chinese meal in a Chinese restaurant. In China. Surrounded by bemused Chinese.

There was also a smaller tin of spicy boiled potatoes and another of spicy sauce (spicy sauce it huge here) with either tofu or some kind of cheese, I wasn't certain which. Of course we always get little packets of spicy this or pickled that which I never touch for fear of making a bigger fool out of myself than I already have. I might squeeze the pickled whatever onto the thing-a-ma-jiggy, and it doesn't go there. It might be like opening little packets of sugar and pouring them all over your pepperoni pizza for all I know. So I stick to the safety of 'no condiments'.

There was also a little tub of 'milk curd' which I though might either be yogurt or something I would mix with something else I had already eaten. Cooking with yogurt is also big here. However deeper inspection of the carton only gave me information I already knew - it was milk curd in a small carton. I left it alone too. As if all this gastronomy was not enough, they then came down the aisle handing out bananas. Real ones that had ripened on some nearby nearby. Exquisite.

Afterward the porter came by yet again. This time with small tubs of ice cream. I knew this one. Proudly. They were small, round and had that icy crust on the outsides. Plus we were given the tell-tale wooden spoons. YAY. It read Butter Scotch on the lid. I hate butterscotch anything. So I pulled open the lid and eagerly dug in. It was rock hard. I tried again. Still rock hard. I looked at the guy to my left. He was going from his mouth down for a second dig. What the..? The guy on my right, same thing. I was the only white guy in the car and apparently the only person not eating ice cream. The only person with a wooden spoon that was threatening to break into a thousand splinters if I forced it any harder than I already was doing. Perhaps the bus pirates had put the train people up to this by way of revenge for my rigid watchfulness that caused them to come up empty handed on that fateful night not so long ago. Still I tried digging for gold.

Then, unexpectedly, the carton began to crush a little under the strain of my careful yet determined digs. As this happened, the edge of the ice cream hockey puck pushed up and out a little bit. In a dim stroke of genius that only a desperate yet comfortable tourist could hope to achieve I used the spoon to further stand the puck on end. Then, holding the bottom half with the crushed carton, I took a bite. Like I would have a cookie. I felt a little embarrassed that I finished before anyone else. Like a tough quiz when the smart kids were still struggling.

The bus was hell. Hot, cramped, uncomfortable, tired but not daring to sleep. On previous sleeper-trains I had to lock my bags beneath the seats. In the First Class car of the Ashram Express, no one wanted my pathetic boxes. And I took two naps before the first stop.

Poo Poo

A reader who has been to third world countries has been keeping up on my blog. In correspondence she has mentioned that there are things I have left out of the descriptions of my travels. One of these things is the peculiar odor one encounters when walking the streets of just about any city. To me it is no longer a ghastly surprise whenever I see a man turned, back toward the street, urinating. In public. I mean when you gotta go you gotta go. And so they do. While this is the easiest to accept for me it does not stop there. Yesterday I saw a baby squatting in the street. Diapers must be used little if at all in some places here and besides the bovine excrement one must also strive to avoid the human piles as well.

Yesterday, as if mocking the poo poo gods, I purchased my first pair of Indian sandals. My white leather tennies have been through enough and I have ample room in my luggage now that I can effectively tote them safely home. I have toyed with the idea of giving them away to someone in more need of them than I. But if the poor unfortunate to whom they are bequeathed ever enters a temple (or cybercafe) where one is required to remove their shoes he had best be prepared to spend a good amount of time to do so. Frankly I passed up a visit to the Monkey Temple in Agra simply because I was so tired of having to take my shoes off everywhere I went. Half my vacation has been spent untying, removing, replacing and then retying my bloody American shoes. Damn the poo poo gods, I'm wearing sandals from now on!

The people here seem to be much more kind and open in general. I took a short walk around the block yesterday to buy a few items (sandals, batteries, popcorn) and encountered only friendly curious faces for the most part. Many smiles and some hellos. Tolerance seems more available here. Yesterday I had coffee at a curious spot called Lucky's. This was an open ended cafe with a tree growing up and out of the middle of it, snaking its way through the roof and toward the sky; its twisted trunk being assisted by man-made supports. That wasn't the odd part however. The odd part was the little bright green rectangular tombs ordered about in rows and cemented into the floor. Each tomb was fenced by white metal bars so the diners did not inadvertently walk on any one's remains. This was a Muslim graveyard. It was a Hindu cafe. Tolerance. Go figure.

I met a friend for some chai on the courtyard of the National Institute of Design here in Ahmedabad. The foliage covering and surrounding the campus makes it an oasis in the heart of the new city. The school is a buzz with talent and training students in nearly any creative field you can think of. My friend had studied animation there and is a talented artist and writer. She is a published children's illustrator and is currently working on another book project. I dropped off a Fresno Starbucks mug so maybe we'll see it in a kids book someday.

I am staying next to a cybercafe that seems to be having issues. Each time I went to see if it was working, it wasn't. For two days (so far). So I am currently typing in another one down the road and around the corner. The keyboard is functional but many of the letters are missing from the keys so my hunt-n-peck sensibilities are being severely taxed. Apologies for uncorrected typos. Today is Saturday February 16, about noon. I have passage to Mumbai booked for today's afternoon train so I shall sign out for now. See you in Mumbai!!

Postcard

It is 9:50 AM on Friday February 15th as I type this. Most of you are still out on your Valentines dates, fighting the crowds for space in popular eateries around the world. It is hotter than hell in this net cafe this morning. I walked over here from the hotel and found it stuffy and warm, the guy next to me lights up and now its smoky. All we need is some sleazy lounge music and a few drinks.

Not much to report from yesterday. I have a touch of a cold so I stayed in last night. Had planned to meet up with a friend here but their dead cell made that not happen. Today then. I spent time in my room watching such romantic classics as You've Got Mail, Must Love Dogs, Sleepless in Seattle and the Wedding Crashers. Rest assured that in India HBO is heavily sedated so there is no cussing or nudity. I actually wasn't going to watch the Crashers but found the edited version more enjoyable.

I am going to post a few snaps from the trip so far (again) and try to explain a little about them.

This was my first up close and personal view of Mumbai. The Lake Site Hotel where I was routed for a price higher than I have paid for rooms twice as nice. One thing about the thugs here is that they take advantage of your youth. I have grown up much in the past two weeks. Hopefully enough to avoid such lying denizens in the future.


My real hotel in Mumbai, the Railway, was in walking distance to CST (see previous posts), I had walked past it many times but was a little afraid to venture into it since I wasn't a passenger. There must be rules against white guys with cameras loitering inside train stations. But one day I went anyways. I never actually got down onto the platform, however, that would be going too far. So I watched everything from the walkways above. Since then I have become very well acquainted with the entire process of traveling in India by rail. First class baby, or walk.

You see a lot of living being done right in front of you on the streets everywhere in India. This is one of those oddities that I ran across, a street barber. Both were congenial and allowed me to take this snap. I haven't worked up the courage to actually allow one of them to take a straight razor to my skin.

Street food is huge here. Everyday, anytime of day you will see crowds of people elbowing their way to the front of the line in order to feast on the tasty treats the food vendor has for them. This particular one is a coconut drink. The man trims up the end of a green coconut and then lops off the end. The buyer then drinks the sweet coconut milk out with a straw. I asked if I could take this snap and they were cooperative, enthusiastic even. The buyer (with the glasses) offered to buy me one. Here you cannot simply decline such an offer politely. You have to say "I just had some" in order to no offend. I had just had some. But I was genuinely touched by the offer.

There are too many archaeological sites in too many places to mention. It is the archaeologists dream vacation with all of the temples, etc thousands of years old, seeped in the history of the world. This is a snap I took at Agra Fort which was inhabited by many rulers throughout the years, each one adding their own special touches and additions. Across the river is the Taj Mahal.

In a devastating marketing coup over PepsiCo, Coca Cola's faded logo remains visible on a centuries old building across from the restaurant on the rooftop of my Agra hotel. Coke is painted everywhere here. Like a marketing thug went on a tagging spree about 50 years ago.

I snapped this photo while looking in on some silk tapestry makers working on looms. Kids are everywhere and quite happy and good natured all of them. I find them quick to smile and interact while we adults are far more suspicious.

After a 17 1/2 hour train journey I decided that I will travel First Class if by train I must arrive in Mumbai. Sheesh. I met a San Fran software developer on the platform. She was looking for her berth,. Mine was posted clearly on my ticket. Hers, however, was not. Turns out she is in the car attached to mine only First Class. The difference is that of a short naugahyde sofa to a thick plush sectional. I took two Tylenol PM and went to bed. On the naugahyde.

Okay so well I am in Ahmedabad. Arrived at 8 this morning and am securely placed in the Hotel Serena for about $13/nt. Had a wonderfully spicy masala omelet with milk coffee upon arrival ($1.13) and took a hot shower. Had to get TP however from the 'chemist' (pharmacy) down the street. Also got some cold tabs that I needed yesterday. I had TP stuck up my nostril on the train so I didn't post nasal drip all over everything. Sigh.

Well today is February 14th, Valentines Day even in India. I shall have to give my friends leave to be romantic if they choose instead of meeting up with me. I shall have time to take a rickshaw and explore a bit. I already have given the hotel my laundry which will be back this evening but I do not recall the last time I shaved...probably two or three days ago. I have a battery operated razor but also a blade which I have used as much to catch up whenever I forget for a few days. Like now. I have decided to not change the publish date/time of this blog in order to let everyone see the time difference. As you can see it will be 13 1/2 hours behind what I am actually experiencing,

The Times of India has been an interesting read every time I have picked it up. Written in English it covers the news stories from all over the country. The Monday I pulled out from Varanasi I read that some guy building a bomb had blown himself up there. On Sunday. In Varanasi. Oops. I didn't hear anything. Last week a hotel here in Ahmedabad that had been listing eventually fell in on itself. It's 32 rooms were at capacity. Mine seems sturdy enough. Mumbai has some political unrest surrounding some glory seeking politicians inflammatory remarks which sparked violence. They wanted to arrest him but feared more of the same. I though I would rather they did all that while I was out, honestly. It seems they complies because the news this morning was the this guy had posted bail. Interesting times. Thankfully I seem to be missing all the trouble. The big news today is that India's equivalent of the TSA is pushing to have the ability to 'take out' hijacked planes if there is conclusive evidence that it will be used as a weapon, a la 9/11. I believe this is already law, the push is to be able to take them out without protocol.

Here are a few memories. I was walking the ghats in Varanasi when this burro was standing on one of the upper steps leading down to the water. I stopped and sat next to it, readying my camera when I noticed it was hobbled; front leg tied by rope to back leg. I figured it belonged to someone. Turns out the women by the river didn't appreciate me taking a snap of their burro. And told me so. I walked away. Would have run if I had to. Don't think saree wearing old women could beat me in a race to safety. Exceedingly glad I didn't have to test the theory.

It was a holiday in Varanasi and there were paintings and sculpture, food and drink and things to buy everywhere on the ghats. More than there usually are. This particular fellow who reminds me of Stromboli from Pinocchio caught me looking at his wares and began cooking for me, unbidden. If I was ever going to dive into street food why not now? He took two potato paste patties and flattened them down in some hot oil on his really wide wok-like grill. Adding this and that (don't ask me what) he flipped them, added more stuff, two spoons and told me to have a seat on the ghat steps behind him. It was yummy. Potato Aloo. Spicy with some sweet syrupy sauce on it too. Filled me up.

Part of the holiday ritual was having various worship places erected around where I was staying. To much noise and celebration. Loud music blaring from speakers in the streets. You get enough guys banging on little drums and it sounds like the train is passing through. These happy children were taking part in a parade. Either they were playing the part of whoever they were or they really wanted to be somewhere else. These boys following behind seemed cheerful enough.

I love the mannequins here. They all seem really annoyed at something...


Scary Kung-Fu baby mannequin. Anyone wanna babysit? Brrr.