Dawg and Pony Show

Flights from Calcutta to Bangkok to Hong Kong. Trips to the airport, over and over again. You'd think this stuff would get tiring, but after seven or so months of doing it at least once a month, it has become the norm. And not once have I failed to become excited in the moments leading up to a change in landscape, climate, or culture.

I spent my final days in Calcutta at the Chandak residence, sans my buddy Ankit. His parents offered to host me, and upon finding out that most of the guesthouses wanted a ridiculous amount of money for me to stay there, I accepted (No matter how nice anybody ever is to me, I still find it hard to accept hospitality). After my sweet train ride from Darjeeling in First Class (It's a cultural experience, right? It was also the only seat that I could possibly get... Luxury out of necessity, you know?), I accompanied Ankit's Dad to Calcutta's version of Green Lake for a walk in the park. I'm pretty sure that nobody there had ever seen a white guy exercising in the morning before, which earned me a look or two. They helped me pass the day by feeding me excessively, making sure that there was no Indian style food that I had not tried. Finally, on the last day, Ankit's mom helped me gain access to a block printing 'factory,' upon learning of my obsession with fabric and art really...



I finished out my time in Calcutta by running last minute errands and doing my best to soak in the last bit of Indian culture I could before landing in Bangkok.

An aside: There is no better picture of a city than the one shown on the ride from the center of town to an airport out in the suburbs. India's is probably the most fascinating of any place in the world. The poverty, the smells, the colors, the construction, the living conditions, the massive amount of people, the old and the new--everything--just provides such stark contrast. One moment you're gawking at a brand new billion dollar high rise, and the next you realize that some kid is cupping his testicles in order to not crap on himself RIGHT NEXT TO THE SIDEWALK! How would you like to dodge traffic while you do your business in the morning? Anyway, sorry to be so graphic, but it's there, and it's something you should know about...



Anyway, I landed in Bangkok then made my way downtown to meet up with my girlfriend's other friend Katie, who lived in the most ridiculously sweet apartment 26 stories above downtown. Upon arrival we stormed out into the city and just soaked up everything possible--I had to, I only had about 24 hours before another flight to Hong Kong. Fried roaches were eaten, Durian fruit was tested (It is AWFUL, a combination of yogurt texture with a smell of piss and cardboard, plus a taste too terrifying to describe), and lady boys were turned down (I suggest you Google it...). The next day consisted of eating myself silly at the market, and neatly placing all unnecessary things in a corner of Katie's apartment before I flew to Hong Kong to meet my good buddy Jon Lee.

About three or four weeks ago, I found out that Jon would be in Hong Kong. I considered it a sign, and almost immediately made plans to fly round trip from Bangkok in order to make it to HK before he left. You see, I worked with Jon for a year doing student government stuff at UW, and he quickly became one of my best friends--I think we share the same pursuasive, sheister-like, characteristics at time. Regardless, it was on in Hong Kong.

As soon as I landed we stepped right off into the city and to its Beer Festival, which happened to conveniently be going on downtown. I was immediately shocked by how immaculately kept the city was, at how many incredibly tall buildings it has, and just how many people I saw at 8pm in the evening. It was like being in Bangkok with how clean it was, and like being in India with how many people there were... I guess you could say it made for a smooth transition.


Here you can see one of the many Hong Kong food stalls, conveniently placed in eateries known as food court. The orange stuff in the bottom of the picture is pig intestine on a stick. I had it, and it tastes exactly like a pig farm smells. Think about it...

After some reminiscing, conversing with some expats and other business folk in the area, and a little bit of eating, we went back to the Hong Kong projects (it's Jon's term) to sleep. When we woke up, we ate again--twice. The first time it was Dim Sum, the traditional Chinese brunch--an assortment of freshly made finger foods similar to the Spanish tapas in style, but incredibly dissimilar in taste, texture, and well, everything else. We felt it appropriate that I look at the menu and choose since I was the visitor. Being unable to read Cantonese, aside from thinking the symbols look like things, I picked at random. As a result, I was able to try about four things I would NEVER eat in the states... Below is myself eating the ultra savory chicken feet.



The eating continued: more chicken's feet, spare ribs, suckling pig, goose, duck, wonton noodle, tea, more tea, tripe, squid, coagulated pigs blood (below, it looks like ice cubes!), and so so so much more. Fortunately for me, Jon knew the city like the back of his hand--when the museums were free, where you could have the 10th best roasted goose in the world, how to know if the shrimp you were eating in the wontons was fresh... pretty much everything I cared about.

I think that I secretly realized I was growing up on my second night in Hong Kong, as cheesy music blared over the loud speakers in Kowloon Peninsula--one of three major parts of HK--as the light show went off across on the island of Hong Kong (All of the big business buildings have lights that go nuts during this thirty minute music show; think discotech). Maybe it's that the end of my trip is looming in the distance, or the fact that my friends are starting to get married, get jobs, and basically just settle down. For some reason, I think it's harder for me to accept because I've been gone while everything else moves forward for everyone else. Even though I'm constantly doing something, learning, changing, etc. it's kind of like time has stopped for me, while all of these things happen to my friends. Of course, inevitably, I'll go back, and like riding a bike, it will feel like I haven't missed a step.


The thought provoking light show of Hong Kong...

Over the final days we continued to explore the city--art museums, boat rides, trams, trollies, malls, more food courts, wwwwwwwaaaaayyyy more food, hard rain, markets, and the horse races. I wish I could explain more about it, but a kid's got to keep some things in store for once he returns home...


It was only appropriate that I talked Jon into trying to take an artsy photo while we were at the art museum. In his defense, the lighting was horrible...


The pig's blood tastes like iron... It's bottom right, on the same plate as the liver. This is a basic Chinese meal--the hot pot--where you cook everything in boiling water.

The incomparable Mr. Jonathan Lee and myself taking in the horse races...

From left to right: (L) Everyone in Asia, (R) Me... I only kid... sort of.

Finally, I've kind of wondered if people are nicer to strangers because of the opportunity to make a good first impression, and why comfort can be measured by the ability to make fun of someone to their face, or open up a refrigerator that isn't yours. What do you think?

Calcutta, Kolkata... Who Gives a...

An example of the perfectionist qualities that haunt me... in my constant attempt to explain it all.

So after many (maybe two, or one and a half) attempts at trying to write about my time in Kolkata, I find myself unable to patter away at the keyboard and put my experiences into words. It's definitely not due to a lack of inspiration, or things to write about. Instead, it's almost too much to put into words. I think it's a common trait amongst each and every one of the moments or complete experiences that I could deem my favorite times, or unforgettable. If anything, I think that I resist writing about such things, because I know exactly how frustrated I'll get typing a single line, erasing it, writing a single line, striking a line through it, rewording, rephrasing, and adjusting, in order to explain why something so simple was so meaningful, or to catch all of the details in a overly extravagant evening of Kati rolls and Cricket. But here I go...

So before I came to India, my girlfriend put me in touch with one of her friends--Mr. Ankit Chandak. For four years, Ankit and I roamed over the same red bricks, through the same hollowed halls, and choked down the same (well almost, he's a vegetarian...) cafeteria food at the Husky Union Building at UW. And in those four years, we never once met. He did, however, get along with Jess well enough, to be kind enough, to invite me to stay with him and his family in Kolkata while I was vagabonding around his country. Not even thinking about the possibility that we wouldn't get along, I started exchanging messages with him through facebook, accepted his invitation, and booked a flight from Jaipur to the Big K. I don't know if I was starved for friendship, in need of someone who can understand my Husky Spirit, or excited to see a city through the eyes of someone who knows it like the back of their hand. Truth be told, it was probably a little of everything. Either way, I embarked upon this portion of my journey full steam ahead, just figuring that the best would happen--and it did.

I woke up way too early on the morning of the 11th to catch the from Jaipur to Kolkata. Of course, being the American that I am, I realized that I probably didn't have to get to the airport two hours early, as all I really needed to do was shove my way to the front of the security line at the last minute like everyone else. After weaving my way through some pretty auspicious security checks, I made my way to the boarding gate where I'd reside until the next bum rush. As I sat comfortably in my chair, I looked forward to seeing a familiar face (we never met, but I had seen his photo on facebook, haha...) and pondered why in the hell Indians don't listen to the airplane attendants when they say, "Please keep your seat in the upright position..." (Was it because she was a female? Culturally, do people not like listening to instructions? Does the standard 'upright' not mean the same thing here? I probably, and way too pensively, thought about the matter for a while longer than I should have, then went back to wondering what it would be like seeing things from a different perspective.

An Aside: There are few things more awkward than sitting in an airport in the morning, being attacked by mosquitoes, and doing your best to kill each and every one of them until you realize that you're sitting in between Buddhist monks (who don't believe in killing things--I think).

The plane landed smoothly about thirty minutes ahead of time, and the Spanish pilot received a standing ovation from the rawkus crowd. We departed the plane, and promptly proceeded to wait for our luggage for around an hour. I was cool with it, as I didn't really see a Husky t-shirt in the mob surrounding the arrival gate (think pink carnation), and it would give me some more time. After snatching my bag, I snuck to the internet cafe to try to find Ankit's phone number. Of course, after I paid way too much to check my email, I bumped into Ankit. We promptly said our hellos, shook hands, and were off to the car--being followed the entire way by a woman who noticed I was white at the very last second. I'm pretty sure she banged on the hood too... But alas, it was a lovely Mother's Day afternoon and we sped off into the steamy afternoon in search of Orchids--Ankit's Mom's favorite flower. Of course, like all good kids, we forgot to get the flowers and then arrived at the Chandak residence empty handed... I met the immediate family and was made to feel at home almost immediately (a trend that has continued to this very moment). Ankit and I went back out for the day, grabbed the most amazing tandoori kebabs I've ever had in my life, had my first beer in a month, and finally remembered to get his mom the flowers. Life in Kolkata was good--almost perfect. Now, we just needed to figure out what to do for the rest of my days there...

Fortunately, my newfound friend Ankit prepared a list. After some banter, we got off topic and like all Sagittariuses (we have the same birthday!), we promptly dispatched the list in favor of playing it by ear. It was eventually decided that we would head to his family's under-construction rice mill and then to the flour mill in the morning. It was here that I found out just how big of a deal Ankit really is (proof directly below):


At only the young age of 22, Ankit already has a company named after him... His brother is pissed too... I only kid... I think.

After a severe sneezing fit, I was ushered out of the flour mill and into an air-conditioned car where we'd travel right back to the Big K. I'm pretty sure that Ankit wondered if I was bored--or overly heated--from our visit to the mills, and I did my best to let him know how much I truly appreciate seeing things that are otherwise impossible to see. You know, at least for a simple backpacker such as myself in a foreign land where people typically want bribes to show you anything of interest. Plus, when in the hell am I ever going to be able to visit a flour mill or learn about all the thought and planning that goes into a construction project in India? It was intense, and I never realized how much thought really has to go into the taxes, tax breaks, the environment, the workers, the heat, watering the cement of a newly constructed foundation--everything. I was also amazed at what kind of thought has to go into the humanitarian side of things (if that's the appropriate word for it) when running a business in India. A lot of the workers sleep on site, men and women work side by side, and little kids wander around without guidance. It was interesting to see what Ankit take on a lot of these things were--especially having seen things from the American point of view for four years. All in all, it was a wonderful and thought provoking opportunity to learn something I wouldn't have pursued otherwise.

We then spent the afternoon in a hookah bar gorging ourselves on nachos. That is, after all, the Indian thing to do, right?

The day was concluded with a romantic cruise consisting of three dudes on a boat in the river, gazing at the Howrah bridge from afar. The sunset was an incredible signal to the end of my first full fledged, non-jet lagged day in Kolkata, and I was eating every second of it up...


There is nothing like a romantic cruise on the river, with three dudes, and a pocket full of fatafat (I don't know how to describe the taste of this Indian candy aside from slightly putrid and satisfying)

We then played video games, and I relished the opportunity to be a real boy again. An honest, breathing, bleeding (it was an intense game), real boy. It's funny how quickly you forget about the little things that comforted you, almost every day, until they're put right back in front of your face.

Sometime before floating down the river, we decided to get tickets for the following evening's cricket match between the Kolkata Knight Riders and the Delhi Dare Devils of the newly formed Indian Premier League. Cricket, as I have seen and have been told, is the stuff of legends here in India. There is not a child that doesn't play it, or an adult that can't rattle off every single rule of the game to a confused American in the entire country--or so it seems. The match itself would also take place in the fabled Eden Gardens, which is perhaps the most famous of all Cricket stadiums in the world (I'm just repeating what people have told me. I don't know a damn thing about cricket.).

Upon slowly rolling out of bed, we jetted out into the steaming hot Kolkata morning to see the sights and catch a Bollywood movie--Tashan. The sights were interesting, but it was too damned hot to really appreciate much, except for some of the artwork inside of Victoria Memorial. Plus, it was yet another opportunity to be looked at by many of the Indian tourists who found me more interesting than the paintings. Which, might I add, is starting to become pretty flattering, really (I mean, how else should you take it? I'm pretty sure that there is absolutely no malice involved; you can tell by the huge shit eating grins on peoples' faces when you say hello!). The movie was classic over the top Bollywood, with unreal song and dance sequences of bikini clad women in the rain on Greek islands. From what Ankit translated for me, I gathered that the story was supposed to be somewhat of a Quentin Tarantino style action flick where all of the characters' lives were intertwined somehow and the story was told through subplots. Either way, despite the fact that it was in Hindi, I got the point and came away thoroughly entertained. It was awful and cheesy. We snagged some Kati Rolls (street food) that would later be the death of me, and mentally prepared ourselves for the game.

Another Aside: I think that one of the highlights of my time in India has been being able to hang out with Ankit and his friends--which include his cousins. It's be pretty refreshing to see a family so tightly knit, and it was just a positive experience in general for me to hang out with these American-educated young Indians and get their perspectives on the differences between our cultures, education, working abroad or at home, etc.


The fabled Eden Gardens Cricket Stadium: Home of the Kolkata Knight Riders. This woman would not sit down, and yet nobody tried to fight her...

At Eden Gardens...

You don't truly know India until you've gone to a cricket match. It's not the first step, and it's not the last, but it's certainly essential in understanding the culture. At least, that was my take after spending a good three and a half hours watching the Kolkata Knight Riders overcome a deficit by providing one of the greater bowling (=pitching) performances that has ever been known to man (as I was emphatically told at least 15 times by Ankit and his friends... haha). It was there in Eden Gardens that I saw the other side of India--the testosterone fueled, hormonally charged, star-crazed, overly impassioned, and sexually frustrated side. It was probably one of the only times I've ever seen multiple--around five--fights amongst fans of the same team. It wasn't a result of the match situation either, but rather because people wouldn't sit down. The most ridiculous moment came when a policeman came up the aisle to stop the fight and chastise a man for standing in the way of an elderly man, only to then stand in front of the very same elderly man. This my friends is a representation of all that puzzles me about this lovely curry flavored country. Anyway, the match was a thriller, though I spent the majority of my time trying to understand what in the hell was happening--how scoring worked--and sucking down water in order to avoid the inevitable dehydration. I was unsuccessful at either, and proceeded to feel nauseous 10 minutes before the end of the game. I was later told that I didn't end up missing anything too thrilling, though I'm sure there were more than a few small riots that could have entertained for hours...

My final day consisted of recovering from the dehydration by going to a hot and steamy marketplace to search for hand printed cloth and some ungodly colored linen in hopes of making sweet pajama pants. Ankit's mom helped me accomplish both before I passed out, and we ventured back to the Chandak home where I would crash and prepare for a train ride to the north and Darjeeling.


A torrential downpour in the streets of Kolkata...

Ankit's family sent one of their drivers with me to the train station to help make sure that I got on the train. No, it wasn't because they knew I was totally inept at handling such situations as simply getting on a train, but rather I was waitlist 20 on the Darjeeling Mail. I basically had no shot to get on the train that I HAD to get on in order to get to Darjeeling by the next afternoon. After about thirty minutes of frantically running up and down the line trying to find out who we should bribe, we found nobody. So what did I do? I just got on the train and hoped for the best. As lucky as I am, I found a berth on the second class sleeper and asked around to see if anyone was sitting there. When the car manager came by I started fabricating a story only to find out that he didn't speak English. Luckily a man sitting across from me was willing to translate the story that I was making up and even more luckily the manager bought the whole thing. There I was, in the middle of a country known for it's clever swindlers, swindling my way out of paying baksheesh (the word for bribery). I had paid too much already to be on the waitlist, and figured that I shouldn't pay anymore... When in Rome, right? Anyway, I made it to Darjeeling alright and lived happily ever after--until the power went out.

I'm back in Kolkata now, and fly off to Bangkok tomorrow, where I'll turn around and fly to Hong Kong a couple days later. I'm really really sad to see my time in India come to an end, as it's a place that I've seriously come to love in such a short period of time. A lot of this has to do with the Chandak family and the amazing hospitality that they have shown me while visiting. I don't think that there has ever been a point in my life where strangers (not complete ones thanks to facebook) have made me feel so comfortable in their homes. They've helped me accomplish my goal of drinking chai, eating every possible type of Indian food there is, and basically gorging myself in all things Indian. In a country known for making people lose weight, I am pretty sure I've gained it--which goes to show the dedication that they had in ensuring my good time. I seriously cannot thank them enough, and it's not even because of the fact that they were good to me, but rather that they're just good, kind people in general--and that goes for the whole family. However, I know that I would feel the same way had I not seen the side of India that I've seen while in Kolkata and also in the north. The people, places, trains, etc. have all played a tremendous role in overwhelming my senses and actually inspiring me--creatively, mostly. I don't know, it's just different here. It's a place that you have to see, and should try to see from all angles and sides; through first class trains, second class trains, rickshaws, air conditioned buildings, buildings with no fans, from tall buildings, from the streets, from the rivers, etc. The place is just pretty damn sweet.

But yeah, that's what I've got. Now, I'm off to pack and read about traveling in India, oddly enough.

I strongly recommend Paul Theroux's Great Railway Bazaar if you ever get a chance to read it.

Kolkata, Calcutta... Who Gives A...

I've kinda left out a five day span in Kolkata from my blogging, as a result of a power outage that wiped out my attempted posting. Also, internet isn't very good up here in the hills of Darjeeling, so pictures will be coming later--I promise.

Just a Month

As the thunder clang outside, and the rain fell hard against the aluminium--I spelled it right in the Indian-English sense--roof of my guesthouse, I finished reading my book in the hillside city of Darjeeling, slightly stupefied by the fog, and aloof as a result of too much sleep. My bed, a three inch thick mattress (if you could ever call it that), was just comfortable enough of a place for me to sleep a little too long today, and I couldn't think of anything better to do than read. In fact, it's all I wanted to do after the whirlwind that has been my time in India... From Delhi to Jodhpur, from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer, Jaisalmer to Jaipur, and off to Kolkata via a plane from Jaipur, just before the bicycle bombings that rocked the city. All the movement (not just my own) can, after all, make a guy pretty sleepy.

I arrived in the city (I'm always inclined to say town when somewhere is located in the middle of nowhere with nothing around it. However, aside from some of the villages that dot the countryside of India, there is seemingly nothing else but a city. A giant ant farm of individuals weaving in and out, ducking and dodging, gliding and maneuvering, moving their respective grains of sand as they carve out the paths of their every day lives... Absolute insanity, inside of a neatly kept box. I swear.) of Siliguri, at the New Jalpaiguri train station, where I was set to meet my friend Ankit's cousin Ayush, who would take me to their family home where I could shower and eat breakfast. This was before, of course, I would be taken by a private driver to the Orange Valley Tea Garden on the outskirts of Darjeeling. Posh living, I know. It's a very different side of India than what I had really come to know in my initial days, and something that I struggled to get used to, mostly as a result of the way I've lived for the last seven months. The struggle, as all great ones are, was internal, which meant that I could pretty much just roll with it on the outside while the battle was waged within. Besides, it did offer me an opportunity for a type of comparative analysis otherwise unavailable to me without the generosity and overwhelming hospitality of the Chandak family. But I digress...

I don't know if there is a more beautiful way to experience the trip from Siliguri--situated at the base of the rolling Shiwalik hills that are home to the many tea plantations--to Darjeeling than by car. One can take a ride on the Toy Train, but six hours of slow, methodical movement pales in comparison to the swiftness and privacy of a car after a good ten hour train ride. Plus, you can stop for chai (who cares about the environment right? I kid... though, the train is probably worse...). After a swift hour and a half, I descended upon the glorious Orange Valley Tea Garden, where approximately 600 Nepalese immigrants were gearing up to pick tea leaves and the views--my gawd--are absolutely breathtaking.


The town of Darjeeling...


The hill that I slid down...

My time at the OVTG, however, was short lived. Aside from a couple of lunches, and a couple of walks down the strikingly steep slopes, I was only able to spend a few hours gawking at the hillside. I made the mistake of agreeing to go with these two young financial auditors to Mirik--another hillside town--for an hour that turned into four. On the bright side, I was regaled with stories of murder threats from businesses who had fudged numbers and risked being turned in (think, cut in two and thrown in a river). All in all, it was interesting and a wonderful opportunity to do something that I had really wanted to do for a long time. There really isn't any way to describe waking up at 4am and walking through the hillside while being stared at by some Nepalese tea leaf pickers who burst out in laughter every time you slip down the steep, wet hills...

Now, I'm done with my book, and am looking for another to help me slowly and peacefully live out my final days in India--a decision made after numerous struggles to obtain a visa to Bangladesh, which is another story in itself--before an adventure to Hong Kong via Bangkok. I have one month left before I come home. It should be a good one.


And the sun sets on my time in India... A place I will surely visit again...

The Stare Express

I laid in bed, in Jaisalmer, after one of the wildest sandstorms I have ever been a part of (only the second one I've ever been apart of (this week)), staring at my ceiling fan. Despite the fact that it seemed to be working just fine, and that my window was open, it seemed to be making my room warmer. I eventually gave up wondering, and just gave in to the fact that the heat was winning, and I should probably just begin my day...


You can't get away from the heat... Unless you seek the shelter of a sandstorm.

The fan and the hot room serve as a perfect analogy for India. Constantly, things appear to be working, only to end up providing a less than perfect result. And vice versa. Nothing here is consistent with what I know, and ultimately I find myself perplexed over such simple things as the various stares and smiles I encounter during an average day. I don't really get it, I don't really understand it, and it's those two facts that help me maintain a certain level of patience with the absolute chaos and disorder--combined of course with the multiple, incredibly good, people that you have the opportunity to meet.

I took the audio tour of the Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur. It was simple, educational, thought provoking, and fun. I didn't care that my 20 minute walk had left me drenched in sweat, or that I had been followed by two different Rickshaw drivers who were trying to lure me into their rides for a swifter movement uphill. I got there early, and just enjoyed it: the views of the city and camel racing track, the absolutely stunning intricacy and craftsmanship of the buildings, and so much more. Shortly thereafter, I found myself lost in the twisting and turning alleyways of the Blue City , but was eventually set on the right path by a kind tailor who seemed pretty set on trying to sell me some Ali Baba pants. I told him I didn't have time, as I actually did have to meet up with a friend of the hostel owner to be 'shown around.'


A picture of a guard in the Mehrangarh Fort. I think that his name was Tariq. Either way, he was a pretty jovial fellow...

I was pretty sure of what this would entail. I told the guy that I wanted to find some block print cloth, because I could sew, and was interested in taking some home. I told him that I wanted nice quality stuff, but that I was a student, didn't have a lot of money, etc. Despite this, I knew that my words had fallen on deaf ears, and that I would be led around like the Westerner that I appeared to be. Of course, I was right, and off we headed into the humid afternoon. First stop: A suit shop. Where he got the idea that I wanted to buy a suit, I don't know. I tried, with increasing persistence, to explain that I only wanted block print fabric, or at least some electric blue linen. He agreed, but told me that we needed to stop at his friends convenience store, where we would enjoy some chai and a casual conversation. He slowly, but surely, introduced his companions to me, one by one, so that I could make sure to remember everybody's name. It didn't really even matter, as after the moment introductions were done, they all started to chatter rapidly in Hindi, ultimately leaving me out of the conversation--one of the more rude things that people can do. I kind of just laughed it off, and enjoyed the fact that I was inside an air conditioned building for the first time since I had arrived in India. The chai arrived, and I declined, as I was kind of sketched out and put off by my hosts complete lack of consideration. He eventually paused every now and then to talk with me about random things like American girls and drugs, sketching me out even more. Eventually, his cousin started passing around little black beads for each of the men to put in their tea. After scouring my brain for what it could be, it dawned on me: Opium. At that point, I tried to do what I could to overtly express the fact that I wanted to get the hell out of there, and eventually just walked out and hopped in a Rickshaw. When I got back to the hostel, I packed up my stuff and got ready to get out of Dodge and head west to Jaisalmer.

I didn't end up leaving until the early morning of the next day, because the train was full the night before. Either way, I was kind of glad to relieve myself of the awkward experience that was Jodhpur and get on with the trip. I boarded the train, after being unable to figure out which car was S4 (posted absolutely nowhere), sat down and sighed. I offered some crackers to the members of the Indian Armed Forces sitting next to me--they appreciatively accepted--and I had made some new friends. Unfortunately, they weren't in my compartment, which was shared with two starers, who either were so incredibly fascinated by my wild hair and height that they could do nothing but keep a straight face, or else they wanted me off of their train. For the next seven hours in the dust and heat, I sat there, while they stared at me. I offered a biscuit, they stared (after accepting of course). Nothing could crack the intentness of their new (or old) habit.

After finally arriving in Jaisalmer, I was greeted by Saruk, the manager of the Artist Hotel--a cooperative developed some odd years ago through the teamwork of an artist colony and an Austrian expat--and was led away on a motorcycle, down the beaten path, to a little peace and quiet. I was the only person staying at the hotel, which allowed me an opportunity to be alone, something I've finally started to truly enjoy.

The town of Jaisalmer is on the edge of the Thar Desert, and close to the border of Pakistan. It's widely known as the Golden City, because of the way it's buildings and Fort blend into the sand from a distance. It's also got a reputation for some badass camel treks into the proximate desert, and it's Bhang Lassis (think marijuana shake). It's quiet this time of the year, there's no pollution, and life just seems to roll by at an easy pace. It was just what I needed after navigating my way through three cities easily described as human ant-colonies.


The main entrance to the fort of the Golden City of Jaisalmer


The Fort in Jaisalmer is supposedly the only 'living' fort in the entire world...

In Jaisalmer, I didn't do a camel trek, nor did I drink the mythical Bhang Lassi. I rested, strolled, and picked the brains of any person willing to chat--particularly the Austrian expat that helped start the Artist Hotel. I was keyed in on multiple issues surrounding the artist community, given a brief lesson in the caste system, and discussed the intricacies of Indian spices--something I know absolutely nothing about. It was an easygoing and relaxing experience, that is, until a storm came through.

I woke up about five times in the middle of the night, as a result of dust, rain, hail, wind, broken glass, shear heat, anything--you name it. Somehow, I managed to slumber through the most of it. When I awoke the next morning, all of the straw roofs of each and every house that surrounded the building was blown off. Bricks and morter, reduced to piles on the still soft ground. Yet, despite this, everything seemed to be fine. People were smiling, playing music, and picking up the pieces. I was kind of in shock. If that happened in the US, everybody would stand around and talk about what to do, before not doing anything... Though it made sense to me, it seemed... illogical? I don't know how to explain it. Most things here have defied what I know about the 'proper' or rational way of doing things... Anyway, in less than a day, things were cleaned up, roofs were reattached, and life kept on going. The same girl was still sitting outside waiting for me to walk by so she could ask me for rupees and the sun was just as hot.

I left later that afternoon, on a 14 hour train ride for Jaipur--where I am right now. After my experience on the short jaunt from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer, I was dreading every second of it. I sat down in my seat, and was immediately greeted by a 13 year old boy named Deepa, and a family of four whose little baby couldn't stop staring at me. For once, I didn't mind the staring, and I felt a little less serious. The final ounces of tension fled my body after I was offered a piece of sweetcake, and I thanked the mother in Hindi. The entire train car erupted in laughter and glee that I was trying to learn the language. I answered the general questions, and the family offered me some of their dinner. Then, for the next four hours--until darkness fell--I received a lesson in Hindi from the 13 year old that I won't forget any time soon (though most of the Hindi words were lost on me).

Tomorrow, it's off to Kolkata... Should be a good time.

Somehow...

I forgot to mention in my last post that I was hit by a Rickshaw yesterday. Here, in Jodhpur, most of the Rickshaw's run on motors with a slightly higher power than a lawnmower--so it didn't knock me on my ass or anything. In fact, I would say I won the battle... Anyway, the point is that I'm a little bit less afraid to walk amidst the crazy Rickshaw drivers and their golf-cart-esque contraptions. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not...

Can You Feel the Heat?

Upon arriving in Agra I was consumed by an illness of the 24 hour variety--probably a small case of the famed 'Delhi Belly,' though I wouldn't be surprised if it was my conscience. When I walked down the stairs with my hefty rucksack to check out of my guesthouse in Delhi, all of the hotel attendants were asleep on the hard marble floor in front of the reservation desk. It struck a chord with me in the early morning that would make my train ride--and stomach--a little more than uneasy. The walk to the train station wasn't any prettier either. Once there, I bought a book, Shantaram, about an Australian convict who escaped to Mumbai and created a life there and plopped onto the seat of my train... thinking, maybe too much, about what I had just seen.

After a rough two hours of train riding, I arrived in Agra only to not be met by someone from my guesthouse as I had been told I would. It's a precarious situation in Agra, as it's known for its touts, and also that the touts are known for hating this particular guesthouse. I eventually got things figured out after finding someone kind enough to let me use their phone, and made my way with Mr. Ali Mohommad. An interesting fellow he was, offering to take me around the city for a very good price and asking me questions about where I was from in his almost perfect and incredibly polite English. I told him I'd think about his offer after I was done projectile vomiting, and he agreed quite quickly.

Since things worked out quite well with the other Rickshaw driver in Delhi, I decided that it wouldn't be a bad idea to get hauled around the city by somebody who knows the ropes, especially since Taxi drivers of any and all sorts hold the keys to unlocking the better parts of a city, or at least to entertaining you for a while. I slept off the illness, drank about 15 liters of water, and watched Sleepless in Seattle on HBO.

I woke up to go to the Taj Mahal at about 5:30 in the morning, as everybody says sunrise is the best time to see it, as the combination of the early morning sun and the pollution around the city provide a dazzling glow to the dome and minarets of the mosque. I was then informed that Mr. Mohommad would not be my driver and I would instead be taken around by Sabir, who didn't really seem to want to talk with me... Anyway, I made it through the line, after two passes through security since they wouldn't let me take my book inside because it was 'too big'--nothing makes sense here. From the outside you can see the top of the dome, and the sky was as orange as it possibly could be, which made me quicken my steps in order to pass the gate and finally see the wonder that is the Taj. Seeing it for the first time is like magic. It absolutely lives up to every single bit of hype that has ever been heaped upon it. It's subtle, yet intricate; finely detailed, and yet simple. It's magnificent. I wandered around for two hours, dodging tourists--foreigners and Indian nationals alike--and finding my own peace and solitude under the hot and humid morning sun.


After 7 months of travel, I have still not mastered the self-taken self portrait... Frustrating

I went back to check out, choke down as much breakfast as I could, and shower before I headed back out to the town again to explore the fort in Agra. By the time I made it there, I was a bit too pacified by the heat, and therefore unable to fully appreciate the splendor of all the courtyards and magnificent architecture that provided me with so many places to sit down away from the heat.


The sprawling walls of the Fort in Agra...

A couple of hours later, I crossed the Yamuna river to see the Taj from the other side. You can walk down to this sand bank where cows, goats, and kids selling postcards like to play. Every once in a while you can find a pretty intense cricket game going on in the park nearby as well. The views were spectacular in the evening, though I left pretty quickly after I was stared at for about thirty minutes straight by these four teenage kids... It was, the first, and hopefully last time, that I ever received more attention than a wonder of the world. At least from people that I don't know... Feeling a little creeped out, as they wouldn't even try to converse with me, I sauntered back to the Rickshaw, grabbed my bags at the hotel, and swiftly headed towards my soon-to-depart train for Jodhpur.

In the train station, I believe I was the only non-Indian there. I once again received my fair share of attention as I sat down in what seemed to be the only open area in the place. It seems, so far, that young men seem to be the most curious--for better or for worse--when it comes to strangers in their country. More than a few times I was surrounded by guys asking me the same questions: "What is your good name sir? From what country have you arrived? How long will you be staying in India? How long [tall] are you (one of the creepier questions you get asked, at least initially... Indian men, tend to ask a lot of sexual questions, particularly with women travelers, or so I've heard)? Do you have a dollar? May I see it? Can you stand up? Although I'm typically good natured about such questioning, some things just don't seem right when people ask them. Plus, you're asked them so often that you just kind of develop this indifference to it all, and either learn to answer back and be inquisitive towards them, deal with the stairs, or simply end the conversation. Keep in mind that I've only been here 5 days now...

After about three different groups of Indian guys surrounded me and then left, I was left alone to my thoughts and the wait for a train delayed by two hours. Eventually, a group of Indian women traveling alone came by, sat down and took their turns trying to get some of the little girls to run up and touch me--another thing that happens quite a bit, despite the fact that my skin is actually quite dark for a Whitey. Through some gestures and a little Hindi I have learned, I tried my best to make conversation... After about ten minutes, I decided to pack it up and head over to the spot where my train car would be. Before I left, the matriarch of the family tried to offer her six year old daughters hand to me... I respectfully declined, fabricating a story of engagement back home. Then the train finally arrived.

I don't remember much of the ride to Jodhpur, except that there were a lot of fans, I got stared at for about two hours straight by the people sitting across from me, and it was really hard to sleep. After 13 hours, I finally made it to my destination--commonly known as the Blue City for it's indigo colored, cubic houses. It's not as hot here, which has been quite the blessing. I haven't done much, except for get really lost in the small alley ways around the base of the hilltop fort. I have seriously never seen so many different people, vehicles, sewage, and animals fit through such small spaces...


The blue-washed buildings of Jodhpur provide a striking contrast to its hilltop fort

Anyway, tomorrow, it's off to explore the fort via what is supposed to be a spectacular audio guided tour, and then perhaps to find where I can get myself a pair of Jodhpur Riding Breeches... haha... Google them--you have to. Actually, I'll probably explore some different tailors with the hopes of having some pyjamas made that will actually fit my 'long' body... I also hear that Jodhpur is a good place to find spices.

Finally, I leave you with this: As intimidating of a meal as I have ever seen, especially for something considered vegetarian.


The Masala Dosa... it's tasty, but this vegetarian thing is a lot harder than I thought...

Namaste, My Dear Friend

Stoic, or confused?

It's just absolutely insane here in India. The poverty, the smells of urine versus the smells of freshly made chabadi (flat bread) or chai, the immensely ornate and beautiful mosques, temples, shrines, gates, ghats, street kids, rickshaws, and well, everything. It's beauty is untouchable and the people smile sooo much when you just say hello (I don't know if I've ever met better natured people, despite the fact that so many have so little). When you barter for things or ask directions, it's all smiles, even if they're out to get every last rupee from you. I seriously wish you were here, I wish you could see it, and I hope that someday you come--you have to. And I've only been here for three days. Only three days...

After I got in a couple of mornings ago, I napped a bit, watched some Bollywood on TV, then went up for breakfast, had some chai from the wala outside--the dude that yells 'chai, chai, chai'--and proceeded to wander around with this guy that I met named Elliot. He's a cool dude that's been traveling for about 4 months in India, plays guitar really well, and just seemed like an overall good bloke--some cool stories from him too. He went with me to sort out my train ticket stuffs, because it was ridiculously hot and there isn't really anything you can do in Delhi between 11:30am to 4pm, and I was hoping for some crazy story to come of it, but we didn't even get approached by any touts who tried to sell us something or trick us or anything. I was, at the least, quite disappointed. Anyway, I had my first Vegetable Thali with Paneer (an India cheese), and some other things, Chabadi, Papadom--the crisp flat bread... It was amazing, and only at the restaurant of my guesthouse...


The New Delhi Train Station

The guesthouse was pretty nice., as it's about 10 bucks a night throughout India for what would be a basic US hotel room. Every single second, somebody would ask me if I have any laundry to do. I say no, and then they ask me if I want some beer... because they charge big prices for it, since they legally can't serve it in the hotel. It's funny, as they definitely get disappointed when I tell them no... which brings me to another point... I've decided to stick to vegetarian only, and not drink while I'm here... until I get to Kolkata at least. It's just the proper [and legal] thing to do, and the likelihood of me getting sick off of veggies is probably pretty low compared to with, oh say, chicken.

I went to a place the other night, and watched this rat scurry across the back area by the sink--away from the food though. Welcome to India...

The food is good though. Definitely good.

After watching a little Nicholas Cage in The ROCK, it cooled down and I passed out. Woke up this morning, met some other guys and toko a private car tour around the city. It was insane. We stopped at shops to get the driver commission, refused to listen to almost anybody who tried to give me anything or tell me what I 'needed' to do--as most of the time people either want to take your shoes, or go through your bag when you 'have to' leave it when entering a building--and followed the rules when somebody either had a gun (army guy) or there was a huge sign in English that at least looked legit. Anyway, the driver Nhandlal took me all over the city, and I got to see the Raj Ghat where Ghandi was buried, the India Gate, the Akshardam temple (look it up online, because you can't take pictures), and the Lotus Temple.... I basically got hauled around the city all day for 200 Rupees, which is equivalent to 5 dollars... insane. I guess it's all relative though--or is it? Then I ate some more.


The Raj Ghat, where Ghandi is laid to rest...

Did I mention that the food is good?


My view from the train...

I arrived early this morning in Agra, in order to see the Taj Mahal. I'm pretty stoked. I find it very fitting that I'm going to see a temple that is pretty much the most absolute of all monuments to love when I am so happy and excited. Excited because of what I'm doing, what I could do, plus the fact that every day is an incredible adventure. Never in my life do I think I have been as happy as I am right now; I'm absolutely in love, I'm eating well (we'll see how that is in a few days), the people around me are happy, I think I know what I want to do in my life, and just feel good natured--something that I think has been missing, either in the last couple of months or for quite a while. I'm still not sure, and don't even know if I have to be...

Despite all of this excitement, the things that I see here continue to keep me grounded--hotel staff sleeping on the floor overnight, little kids with drug problems, and trash being set on fire next to thousand year old relics. It puts things in perspective... So, don't worry about me getting a bigger head than I've already got--I should be fine.

A fire on the sidewalk in front of the Red Fort... Delhi