I’m overdue in writing and have so much to tell. Where to start?!
On Monday, when we first got to Nepal, we stayed at the Nirvana Hotel. Tuesday morning, I woke up first, and Shauna awoke shortly after. She shrieks as she was the first to notice that we had a visitor in our room. On the wall above her bed was a huge disgusting spider. Thankfully it didn’t move once while we were getting ready, but it was still creepy to think this thing had been in our room all night.
We board the bus and start out towards Chitwan. In the morning we stopped at Lumbini, which is the birthplace of Buddha and now a holy site for Buddhists. They have the exact location of his birth marked down to a single stone, which is impressive considering it’s been something like 2600 years since his birth. The area is mostly gardens and ruins of temples, many from 3 and 4BC.
After we exited the site, we had time to peruse the mini market set up on the road that leads into the temple. Lots of prayer beads and prayer bowls and jewelry for sale. After ten minutes, Dan, the gratingly annoying, horribly self-centered, typical American* traveller, starts losing his shit because his passport and money are missing.
*I should note that there was another group of Americans with us, Bob and Melanie and their thirteen-year-old daughter Montana, and they were a pretty cool bunch. Not the typical yankee tourists you see elsewhere.
Despite being at a holy site surrounded by Buddhist monks, he starts screaming and swearing at the top of his lungs, causing this massively embarrassing scene. When swearing wasn’t quite cutting it, he starts accusing the merchants of stealing his stuff. Then that escalates into him actually saying “If I don’t get my stuff back I’m going to start punching people.” Everyone’s standing around helplessly, and I feel so horrible for Dinesh, who has no idea what to do.
We’re asking him to check his pockets, telling him to double-check hat he didn’t accidentally set it down somewhere, and he’s adamant that it’s gone, that someone stole it, and that he’s “stuck in this fucking country.” He insists that the pocket that everything was in was empty, and he’s storming around like a lunatic.
I get fed up and tell him to stop yelling and swearing because it’s not helping anything. He gets right in my face and screams as loud as possible “SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!!” The guy is losing his mind, and I went from trying to help to walking away, because I wanted nothing to do with the situation.
And five minutes later? Turns out Dan was wearing two pairs of pants that day, and his passport and money were in the inner pair. When I get back to where the group is, he does manage to throw an apology my way, but only because half the group had seen him yell in my face. I could care less whether or not he apologized to me, but did he go back and apologize to all the merchants whom he accused and threatened physically? No, of course not. So now it reflects poorly on our entire group, and poor Dinesh has to go back there repeatedly, and will undoubtedly be embarrassed about this for some time.
Post-dramatic outburst, we headed on to our hotel at Chitwan National Park and it is an absolute slice of heaven. The deck has a bunch of outdoor couches with cushions and pillows, and this was our first real dose of sunshine. The view is of fields and a stream and a little bridge, and the locals are out letting their goats graze.
After getting into our rooms, we headed to the elephant breeding centre, which I wasn’t much of a fan of, but I won’t go into that now.
The hotel is located on the grounds of Chitwan National Park, which is a government-owned park that is 932 square kilometers. It’s home to elephants, rhinoceroses, snakes, crocodiles, deer, wild boar, countless birds, monkeys, and the elusive tiger.
We ate dinner at the hotel and then sat around the fire until it was well into the night. The next morning (Tuesday), we met up at 8:30 for elephant safaris! After visiting the elephant breeding center, I was really conflicted on whether or not to go on the elephant safari, because I wasn’t thrilled with how they were caging the animals, but I’m so glad I decided to go.
For the safari, four people climb into a wooden frame, mounted on top of the saddle. The “driver” sits on the elephant’s neck, and uses his bare feet to prod and steer the elephant. The passengers each sit with their backs to one another, with one of the four corner posts between their legs. Less than ten minutes into our trek, we come across two rhinos sleeping in the bushes, a male and a female. So awesome!
The safari was about an hour and a half, and included walking through the grasslands, which have the tallest grass in the world, and crossing a stream. So awesome to see elephants drinking and eating up close. In the stream were three crocodiles, and perched on a branch was a brilliant blue kingfisher. In the grasslands, we found another rhino, and the herd of elephants and tourists surrounding him was enough to make him groan and snort. So cute!
We meandered back into the forest where we saw deer and three more rhinos, for a total of six. It’s pretty amazing to be able to say that I’ve seen rhinos in real life, and not at a zoo.
(Right now we’re on a bus, leaving Pokhara and headed to Kathmandu. Dinesh is explaining the entire arranged marriage situation. While interesting, and there are definitely success stories, I’m so glad I can pick my own husband-to-be without concerns for astrological diaries and clans and parental selection. When his mom finds a suitable prospect, she gives Dinesh a spec sheet. It’s like shopping for a car. It includes her picture, her family history, detailed information about her father and brothers, her astrological diary and more. Dinesh then can choose whether or not he wants to meet her. Once he agrees to meet her, he has to give his family a yes or no answer almost immediately, like within a week at most, as to whether or not he’ll marry her. Those Indians don’t mess around!
It’s still a sad situation for many though; Dinesh said that while people can divorce, it’s still looked down upon, and the divorcees will likely never remarry as there’s too much stigma. Women feel trapped in relationships because the alternative is a lifetime of loneliness, plus the threat of shaming their families. When your parents choose your partner for you, it’s difficult to tell them they made a poor choice and that you want out.)
After the safaris, we had the whole afternoon for optional activities. Options included a jungle walk, an elephant ride into the village, henna tattoos, cooking classes in the Tharu style, elephant washing and more. I initially decided against elephant washing, but quickly changed my mind when I saw the first group go.
Two saddle-less elephants were walked up to where we were at the restaurant, and the first group climbed up onto them, Lene and Kristine on one, and Julian, Montana and Steen on the other. The elephants walked down to the river and right into the water. They started spraying the people on top of them with their trucks, and the first elephant laid down in the water, tossing all its riders into the water. So much fun to watch! The elephants were rolling onto their sides and spraying water everywhere, and dunking their heads underwater with just their trunks peeking out. The riders could sit on the backs or bellies, depending on which way they were sitting in the water, and were continually getting tossed off into the water. Then they climbed back on, soaking wet, and the elephants stood up and walked out of the river and back up to where they started.
Then Rose and I climbed on, with Montana, who decided to go for round 2, and it was awesome. Not much more I can say about it! We were able to stand right on its belly at one point, and it’s the animal version of logrolling. We kept getting thrown into the water, and we had Dinesh, David and Michael taking tonnes of pictures of the three (well, four, including the elephant) of us.
Then I hussled back to the room for a shower (despite being elephant “washing,” you come out of it pretty dirty), and then got henna tattoos from a local girl. I’m not sure if there’s anything traditional about them, or if she was just doodling whatever she wanted, but they’re pretty and temporary.
I was originally planning on doing the jungle walk in the afternoon, but it was for four hours and I just wasn’t feeling up to it. Instead, Lene, Kristine, Rose, Dinesh, Montana and I walked into the local market. We stopped at every baby animal, which started with puppies right at the beginning of our venture. There are puppies everywhere and they’re all so sweet. These ones were so lazy from the heat and sun that they didn’t mind at all when we picked up them up. Momma dog came over for some love too; the animals here are so relaxed around people it’s amazing.
The shops sold the typical wares that we’ve been seeing all trip: tea and prayer bowls and jewelry and anything else a tourist might want to take home. I bought some Nepali masala tea and some razors, as I had forgotten mine in the shower of one of the previous hotels. I am going to miss Indian chai and Nepali masala tea so much when I get home. I bought one bag that should last me for a while, but after that I’ll need to hunt for an Indian or Nepali shop in Vancouver to buy more.
The tea that they make here is about one part hot milk and one part hot strong brewed tea, with a generous spoonful of sugar. It’s served at every meal and is also used as a welcome drink at shops and hotels. (Orange juice has also been a welcome drink, as has been Fanta. Pretty fancy!) The tea’s delicious, and I fully intend to make it regularly when I’m at home.
On our walk back, Dinesh caught a kid goat, and we chased goats around a field while an old guy, probably the goat owner, laughed at us. Then we found goats that were only two days old! They were the tiniest, sweetest, softest, cutest little things you could imagine.
When we were almost back at the hotel, we went after the pack of tiny chicks at a house, and a group of little kids came out. I was taking pictures of them and they didn’t understand that they could all be in the picture at once, because they were fighting and shoving and pushing to be front and centre. One little three-year-old got whacked in the head when one of the older kids didn’t like that he was trying to be in the picture.
Later, after dinner, we sat around the fire drinking rum in the dark, enjoying our last night at Chitwan.
Wednesday morning we loaded into the bus and began the drive to Pokhara. Pokara is situated right on a lake with a view of the Annapurna mountains. Our hotel was right in the middle of the main drag, and the boy working the front desk was beeeeeautiful. I was trying to figure out how much it would cost to import him to Canada when Dinesh broke my heart and told me he’s getting married in two months. Nepali boys are a fine looking breed.
We had the whole afternoon to meander the shops. There are a tonne of North Face knockoffs that are unbelievably good, but at $60 for a jacket that at home would be easily $450, they’re definitely not the real thing. I guess I’ve decided that I’m buying a piece of silver jewelry in every country I go to, because I ended up with a little horn-shaped pendant made of silver, turquoise, lapis lazuli, coral and black onyx. At about $12, it was an absolute steal, and definitely not something you can find at home. I also snagged an adorable turquoise cotton purse with two elephants embroidered on it.
For dinner, we went to a restaurant near the hotel and they had steak on the menu! After seeing so many beef-free menus in India it was unusual to see it offered, and it was delicious. (Nepal has a very large Hindu population, so beef was still a rare sight to see. We also didn’t see much pork offered because of the large Muslim population.) Poor Dinesh was seated next to me, watching me eat his holy cow.
Yesterday morning we were up and in the lobby of the hotel for 6am to drive to Sarangkot to watch the sun rise over the Annapurna mountains. So beautiful! Once we were done our chai and snapping pictures of the sun, we began the descent down the mountain, this time by foot. It was 800m and was mostly stone steps. Twenty minutes into it my legs were getting shaky, and you had to be so careful with your footing because we were on the edges of cliffs. We spotted birds and monkeys on our way, and stopped for pictures with terraced farm fields in the background.
On the way down, we felt compelled to complain, but then we looked around and realized the years it would have taken to assemble the steps. It would have been backbreaking labour, and we were just happy to be doing the decent rather than ascent. Many of the locals walk the steps every day, and they are a lifeline to their villages. With so little flat land in Nepal, and with flat land reserved for farmland, it makes sense that the hillsides are used for homes, but it’s still crazy to see thousands upon thousands of stone steps.
We were back on flat land after about an hour of endless steps, and I’m pretty sore today, but it was still good. At the bottom we looked up to where we had been, and waaaay up at the top was a tiny little yellow backhoe. The backhoe was huge in person, and we came across it at least twenty minutes into our descent, so seeing just how far we had walked as impressive.
The rest of the day was free time, and most of the group opted to go paragliding. I opted not to as I’m budgeting and I didn’t feel like I’d regret choosing not to go. At 70 Euros, it wasn’t cheap. After lunch and a nap, Shauna and I hired a boat. For Rs 300 it comes with a driver for an hour, so including tip we had a boat and a man to paddle for $5. Nepal is ridiculously cheap. Julian came with, and as we predicted he paddled half the time, giving our hired paddler a break. Julian has boundless amounts of energy. We went to an island in the middle of the lake that was a Hindi temple, and then made our way back to where we started, “racing” the Japanese tourists that were taking photos of us with their gargantuan lenses.
Then Shauna and I headed back to the hotel for our massages. Probably the nuttiest massage I’ll have in my life.
[Whoo boy, I’m not so great at this eh? Wrapping up this one, as I left yet another unfinished, on Feb 7th. I guess it’s not a half bad sign though; either I’ve been too tired or too busy to complete these in one go, and neither of those is a bad thing when travelling.]
Melanie and Shauna had gone for massages at the hotel in Orchha, and how Asia does massages is not how they’re done at home. Since they had told us what the Indian version of a massage was like, I was a little bit prepared. And at about $30 CDN for an hour-long deep tissue massage, it wasn’t something I wanted to pass up.
At home, when I go to massage therapy, or even just a massage at Mackie Naturals, modesty is a big deal. They turn the lights down low, leave the room, and then give you time to undress and get under the sheet.
Not the case in Nepal!
I get into the room, which is fairly well lit, and the cute little Nepali masseuse gestures for me to strip down. The door’s open, and she’s standing there facing me, waiting. Uhhh… ok. So I start peeling off clothes and it’s getting increasingly awkward. At home, the undies stay on, so I get in a language-barriered argument over whether or not I can keep them on. She says no, I say yes, but I’m paying for this shit so I win. So I’m standing there, almost butt naked, covering up my boobs with my arm, and the door is still open and she’s still staring at me. Whooo boy.
I lay face-down on the bed, and feel two snaps. Yup, it’s my underwear, right up my butt. They were in her way I guess. I had booked a deep-tissue massage, and despite being shorter than I am and maybe 110lbs, this tiny woman can inflict pain. And since “ow!” apparently isn’t universal, I’m trying to explain “not so hard!” which she apparently interprets as “please go harder!” Eventually I get the message across that I need to be able to walk later, and she softens up.
Shauna’s in the room next to me, and panels of the walls are made of lattice, so we can hear each other. Or moreso, I can hear her laughing at me as I’m whining in pain.
The masseuse probably went through a litre of oil, and massaged everywhere from between my toes to my scalp. Then it’s time to flip over.
Canada style: Alwynn, my massage therapist, holds the sheet up and looks away so I can turn over without flashing any boob.
Nepal style: “Turn over!” *yanks blanket down to waist*
Trying to talk to someone who speaks a different language is awkward enough, but when you can see your own boobs while conversing? Even more awkward. At this point, Shauna’s done her reflexology massage and Julian comes in to get a massage, and he’s laughing at me because I can’t take this seriously and I’m giggling at the ridiculousness of it.
An hour’s up and I’m a total greaseball. The masseuse goes out of the room to get something, and leaves the door wide open, so anyone walking by can see me scrambling to get my clothes, which I had left right by the door. Luckily it wasn’t very busy, but it’s still awkward having to James Bond it across the room without anyone seeing you. Trying to walk back to the room was difficult; the soles of my feel were slick with oil and made my flipflops a hazard. And showering was a task all in itself; Nepal has hard water, which makes washing up with soap really difficult. After ten minutes of scrubbing I could still see the water beading up all over me, so I gave up.
For dinner, we went to the Amsterdam Café, which was a disappointment. Doors were open at both ends so it was really breezy, and there was a band doing covers of English songs (U2, Sublime, the Eagles, etc). They were butchering them, and since the songs are English and they speak Nepalese, they were constantly messing up the lyrics. It would have been better if they were just doing their own thing, because no one likes an awful cover band. On top of that, it was super loud when they were playing, so despite us all being together at a table, no one could talk to one another. Oh well, it was the only crappy dinner of the entire trip.
Julian and I ducked out early and headed back to the hotel to get to bed. Then it was up in the morning and on the bus to head to Kathmandu.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Day 15 – Road to Nepal
I feel bad for whoever paints the lines on the road denoting lanes. What meaningless work.
We’re about five hours into a bus trip that will take at least nine hours, and we’re on our way to Nepal. We pulled over for breakfast about an hour ago and had the most amazing samosas I’ve ever tasted. We also had jelabi, which is about as artery-clogging as it is amazingly delicious, so I’m glad it’s not readily available at home.
It’s been an unbelievable couple of days, and probably my favourite parts of India overall. Varanasi’s just as dirty, just as polluted, just as noisy as the other cities, but somehow it’s more beautiful.
After we got into Varanasi, and after our crazy rickshaw rides through town amidst the celebrations, we walked down the banks of the Ganges and climbed aboard a wooden oat. At one end were our two paddlers, and on the other end, two guys playing sitar and drums.
[I’m completing this entry now – Saturday, January 30, 2010 – as I didn’t finish it when I started it. In my strive for journalistic integrity, I felt that this needed to be disclosed. Because anyone reading this will really care when it was written.]
We rowed over to one of the two main cremation sites, and then took part in a candle ceremony. Little paper dishes are filled with yellow flowers and one red flower, with a candle placed in the middle. Then you make a wish and release it from the boat. Seeing dozens of little dishes of flowers aglow with candlelight floating on the water was beautiful.
We learned that Varanasi has eighty ghats, which are banks of stairs leading from the town down to the water. It’s regarded as the holiest city in India, and many elderly people move to Varanasi so that they will be cremated there when they die. Dozens of cremations take place each day, and once the bodies are burned, the charred remains are tossed into the water. The act of cremation is to remove the sins from the body, so that what remains is pure. People that are already pure, such as very young babies and priests, do not need to be burned, and their bodies are floated into the water intact. The majority of bodies are burned however, so the stories of seeing the Ganges full of dead bodies is untrue.
The water was also littered with effigies, made of clay and paper and wood so they will eventually decompose. While still dirty, the water is still far cleaner than you’d imagine.
Once we were finished on the boat, we returned to land and climbed back into our cycle rickshaws. We saw the same scene on the way back to our hotel as we had seen on the way to the Ganges: dozens of processions, the same loud music and dancing men. It was amazing.
Yesterday, we returned to the Ganges to see it by daylight. We walked along the banks on the ghats, and witnessed people bathing in the water and meditating on the ghats. We came near the larger of the two cremation sites and saw the cremations. Such an unbelievable sight! Families gathered around fires, preparing their deceased loved ones for their journey into the Ganges by burning the sins out of their flesh. We were actually able to walk right up into the middle of the group of fires. I felt a little uneasy because I didn’t want my being there to be disrespectful, but the locals didn’t seem to mind.
The bodies are first washed by the family members with water from the Ganges. Then they are placed on a big pile of wood, with more wood piled on top. The fire is lit using fire from the eternal flame, a fire that has been burning continuously for 3500 years. The bodies take three hours to burn, and we could see chests and heads and feet in the fires. It wasn’t at all creepy or weird to witness it; it was just families saying their goodbyes while the bodies turned to ash. I thought it was beautiful.
Afterwards, we were allowed into the Golden Temple. It’s situated right next to a mosque, so tensions and security are high. It’s been destroyed several times over hundreds of years, as the Muslims would destroy it and build a mosque in its place. Eventually, instead of continually destroying each other’s buildings, the new temple was built next to the mosque, and they’ve managed to co-exist somewhat harmoniously since then.
We also went to a silk factory, where we saw ancient looms that are the last of their kind. Should the strings that create the design ever break or become unravelled, the looms will be finished, as the people that initially made them aren’t alive anymore. Inside, we saw the most amazing woven silks. Using the old-style loom is incredibly slow; an entire day of work will create only one or two centimetres of finished product. One piece took three years to create, and was bigger than a blanket for a king-sized bed. They refuse to sell it, so it’s effectively priceless.
Then we shopped! They had the most amazing pure silk scarves in brilliant colours, so I now own five (or four rather, as at least one is for mom). I also bought two cushion pillowcases. One is turquoise with elephants on the front, and the other is purple with peacocks, which is India’s national bird. They’re both stunning and made of pure silk, and at only $5 each they were an unbelievable deal.
I also scored some other scarves from their odds and ends pile, and one “scarf” that would be horribly uncomfortable to wear as it’s made of stiff material and encrusted with tiny mirrors. It will, however, make a lovely red glittery table runner at Christmas, so into the bag it went.
[Completed more than ten days later because I’m not very good at staying on top of these.]
Next we met for lunch, and we were short one of our group as Julian was buying a sitar! He had gone to the home of the sitar player from the boat the night before, and ended up with a gorgeous sitar, that cost surprisingly only around $500 CDN for both the instrument and the case. The bottom of a sitar is actually made from a pumpkin! Julian’s is adorned with wood carvings and he was given a lesson in playing it. Julian reminds me of Will in so many ways, and if Will ever came to India I could see him buying one too.
After lunch, we wander back onto the street and find that the same processions from the night before are still going on, still in celebration of the goddess of knowledge. As one pack of dancers makes its way past, I can’t help but run into the middle of it. The look on Dinesh’s face was priceless. He had warned that the guys would get grabby, but undeterred I went for it anyway, as it looked like too much fun to pass up. Surprisingly, three or four of the older boys immediately formed a protective wall around me, pushing back the others that were crowding in. I wasn’t too concerned anyway; with only 20 or so people in the pack, and most of them 13-year-old-boys, it wouldn’t have been difficult to get out. Still, it was cute that they stepped in as my bodyguards. A few spins and twirls later and I was back on the side of the road with the rest of the spectators. Dinesh comes over laughing at me, and at that moment a few of the boys from the pack grab my hands and try to pull me back in. Why the women in India don’t join in is beyond me, it was so fun!
Later that day, Dinesh took us into the “real” markets. The shops and stalls that line the roads are aimed at tourists, but the shops inside the markets are mostly for locals. It was a much calmer pace, and the merchants weren’t frantic about convincing tourists to buy their wares. We went to his “uncle’s” (not actually his uncle, but calling someone an uncle is a term of endearment and shows strong friendship) silk and cotton shop.
While I had already bought my share of silk and cotton scarves and wasn’t prepared to buy anything, the experience was awesome. The shop is lined with shelves on all four walls, piled top to bottom with colourful fabrics. The entire floor is a think white mattress, and you shuck your shoes at the door before you walk in. With everyone sitting cross-legged on the floor drinking chai, he gave us a lesson in all the material types, from blended silks to pure silk, brushed wools, and true pashminas. Sorry girls, but the $10 pashminas that we buy from the mall aren’t real pashminas.
Pashmina is a type of goat wool that is from the Himalayas. It’s collected from bushes that snag the wool as the goats walk past. Many scarves are made of real pashmina wool, but there’s a massive difference, both in price and softness, between standard pashminas and true pashminas. For the real deal, only the insanely-soft belly fur is used in making the scarf. The result is the second softest thing I’d felt in my entire life (the first being chinchillas), and I spent the entire two hours we were in the shop manhandling the scarf that was out of my pricerange. At about $175 CDN, it was worth every penny, but I had already bought more than a half dozen scarves for less than that, and so the scarf stayed in Varanasi.
I did, however, promise myself that I’ll have one one day, so when I’m home and working and ready to splurge, I’ll give Dinesh a shout and have one mailed out.
On our walk to get rickshaws to take us to the hotel, I stopped to buy oranges. I had made a deal to buy four oranges at Rs 10 a piece, but Dinesh stepped in and worked his Indian magic. A kilo of oranges was only Rs 40, so I actually ended up with 5.5 (one was a little baby orange) oranges. Next I see the guy that just sold us oranges running across the street, and Dinesh said he was going to get us an auto-rickshaw.
We pile into the rickshaw and it’s brand spanking new! Only 25 days old with less than 600kms on it. The new rickshaws all have the same green body with yellow roof, but the insides can be really fancy. The roof and seats are usually brown vinyl, and they’ll have pink and blue stars and hearts sewn into them. They’re actually pretty cute. I’m definitely going to miss rickshaws, and if Vancouver weren’t such a rainy city they’d be fantastic for the downtown core. Of course, they’re a hell of a lot cheaper here (Negotiating a fair of Rs 20 for a ten-minute ride is completely normal. Only 50 cents!!), but they’re an awesome method of transportation.
We start off down the road and Dinesh points out that the driver is the same guy that just sold us oranges! Sure enough, he had left his post at the fruit stand to drive us across town. And he’s driving fast. I’ve been scared a few times in rickshaws, but this guy was racing through town. He’d been driving for a long time and definitely knew what he was doing, but when you don’t even slow down for a red light–much less stop–it’s a little frightening. But of course, we made it to the hotel unscathed, and when I got out of the rickshaw I could hear the driver giggling to himself. Nothing like scaring the tourists!
Then it was dinner and off to bed for an early morning bus ride to the Nepali border. Chullo!
We’re about five hours into a bus trip that will take at least nine hours, and we’re on our way to Nepal. We pulled over for breakfast about an hour ago and had the most amazing samosas I’ve ever tasted. We also had jelabi, which is about as artery-clogging as it is amazingly delicious, so I’m glad it’s not readily available at home.
It’s been an unbelievable couple of days, and probably my favourite parts of India overall. Varanasi’s just as dirty, just as polluted, just as noisy as the other cities, but somehow it’s more beautiful.
After we got into Varanasi, and after our crazy rickshaw rides through town amidst the celebrations, we walked down the banks of the Ganges and climbed aboard a wooden oat. At one end were our two paddlers, and on the other end, two guys playing sitar and drums.
[I’m completing this entry now – Saturday, January 30, 2010 – as I didn’t finish it when I started it. In my strive for journalistic integrity, I felt that this needed to be disclosed. Because anyone reading this will really care when it was written.]
We rowed over to one of the two main cremation sites, and then took part in a candle ceremony. Little paper dishes are filled with yellow flowers and one red flower, with a candle placed in the middle. Then you make a wish and release it from the boat. Seeing dozens of little dishes of flowers aglow with candlelight floating on the water was beautiful.
We learned that Varanasi has eighty ghats, which are banks of stairs leading from the town down to the water. It’s regarded as the holiest city in India, and many elderly people move to Varanasi so that they will be cremated there when they die. Dozens of cremations take place each day, and once the bodies are burned, the charred remains are tossed into the water. The act of cremation is to remove the sins from the body, so that what remains is pure. People that are already pure, such as very young babies and priests, do not need to be burned, and their bodies are floated into the water intact. The majority of bodies are burned however, so the stories of seeing the Ganges full of dead bodies is untrue.
The water was also littered with effigies, made of clay and paper and wood so they will eventually decompose. While still dirty, the water is still far cleaner than you’d imagine.
Once we were finished on the boat, we returned to land and climbed back into our cycle rickshaws. We saw the same scene on the way back to our hotel as we had seen on the way to the Ganges: dozens of processions, the same loud music and dancing men. It was amazing.
Yesterday, we returned to the Ganges to see it by daylight. We walked along the banks on the ghats, and witnessed people bathing in the water and meditating on the ghats. We came near the larger of the two cremation sites and saw the cremations. Such an unbelievable sight! Families gathered around fires, preparing their deceased loved ones for their journey into the Ganges by burning the sins out of their flesh. We were actually able to walk right up into the middle of the group of fires. I felt a little uneasy because I didn’t want my being there to be disrespectful, but the locals didn’t seem to mind.
The bodies are first washed by the family members with water from the Ganges. Then they are placed on a big pile of wood, with more wood piled on top. The fire is lit using fire from the eternal flame, a fire that has been burning continuously for 3500 years. The bodies take three hours to burn, and we could see chests and heads and feet in the fires. It wasn’t at all creepy or weird to witness it; it was just families saying their goodbyes while the bodies turned to ash. I thought it was beautiful.
Afterwards, we were allowed into the Golden Temple. It’s situated right next to a mosque, so tensions and security are high. It’s been destroyed several times over hundreds of years, as the Muslims would destroy it and build a mosque in its place. Eventually, instead of continually destroying each other’s buildings, the new temple was built next to the mosque, and they’ve managed to co-exist somewhat harmoniously since then.
We also went to a silk factory, where we saw ancient looms that are the last of their kind. Should the strings that create the design ever break or become unravelled, the looms will be finished, as the people that initially made them aren’t alive anymore. Inside, we saw the most amazing woven silks. Using the old-style loom is incredibly slow; an entire day of work will create only one or two centimetres of finished product. One piece took three years to create, and was bigger than a blanket for a king-sized bed. They refuse to sell it, so it’s effectively priceless.
Then we shopped! They had the most amazing pure silk scarves in brilliant colours, so I now own five (or four rather, as at least one is for mom). I also bought two cushion pillowcases. One is turquoise with elephants on the front, and the other is purple with peacocks, which is India’s national bird. They’re both stunning and made of pure silk, and at only $5 each they were an unbelievable deal.
I also scored some other scarves from their odds and ends pile, and one “scarf” that would be horribly uncomfortable to wear as it’s made of stiff material and encrusted with tiny mirrors. It will, however, make a lovely red glittery table runner at Christmas, so into the bag it went.
[Completed more than ten days later because I’m not very good at staying on top of these.]
Next we met for lunch, and we were short one of our group as Julian was buying a sitar! He had gone to the home of the sitar player from the boat the night before, and ended up with a gorgeous sitar, that cost surprisingly only around $500 CDN for both the instrument and the case. The bottom of a sitar is actually made from a pumpkin! Julian’s is adorned with wood carvings and he was given a lesson in playing it. Julian reminds me of Will in so many ways, and if Will ever came to India I could see him buying one too.
After lunch, we wander back onto the street and find that the same processions from the night before are still going on, still in celebration of the goddess of knowledge. As one pack of dancers makes its way past, I can’t help but run into the middle of it. The look on Dinesh’s face was priceless. He had warned that the guys would get grabby, but undeterred I went for it anyway, as it looked like too much fun to pass up. Surprisingly, three or four of the older boys immediately formed a protective wall around me, pushing back the others that were crowding in. I wasn’t too concerned anyway; with only 20 or so people in the pack, and most of them 13-year-old-boys, it wouldn’t have been difficult to get out. Still, it was cute that they stepped in as my bodyguards. A few spins and twirls later and I was back on the side of the road with the rest of the spectators. Dinesh comes over laughing at me, and at that moment a few of the boys from the pack grab my hands and try to pull me back in. Why the women in India don’t join in is beyond me, it was so fun!
Later that day, Dinesh took us into the “real” markets. The shops and stalls that line the roads are aimed at tourists, but the shops inside the markets are mostly for locals. It was a much calmer pace, and the merchants weren’t frantic about convincing tourists to buy their wares. We went to his “uncle’s” (not actually his uncle, but calling someone an uncle is a term of endearment and shows strong friendship) silk and cotton shop.
While I had already bought my share of silk and cotton scarves and wasn’t prepared to buy anything, the experience was awesome. The shop is lined with shelves on all four walls, piled top to bottom with colourful fabrics. The entire floor is a think white mattress, and you shuck your shoes at the door before you walk in. With everyone sitting cross-legged on the floor drinking chai, he gave us a lesson in all the material types, from blended silks to pure silk, brushed wools, and true pashminas. Sorry girls, but the $10 pashminas that we buy from the mall aren’t real pashminas.
Pashmina is a type of goat wool that is from the Himalayas. It’s collected from bushes that snag the wool as the goats walk past. Many scarves are made of real pashmina wool, but there’s a massive difference, both in price and softness, between standard pashminas and true pashminas. For the real deal, only the insanely-soft belly fur is used in making the scarf. The result is the second softest thing I’d felt in my entire life (the first being chinchillas), and I spent the entire two hours we were in the shop manhandling the scarf that was out of my pricerange. At about $175 CDN, it was worth every penny, but I had already bought more than a half dozen scarves for less than that, and so the scarf stayed in Varanasi.
I did, however, promise myself that I’ll have one one day, so when I’m home and working and ready to splurge, I’ll give Dinesh a shout and have one mailed out.
On our walk to get rickshaws to take us to the hotel, I stopped to buy oranges. I had made a deal to buy four oranges at Rs 10 a piece, but Dinesh stepped in and worked his Indian magic. A kilo of oranges was only Rs 40, so I actually ended up with 5.5 (one was a little baby orange) oranges. Next I see the guy that just sold us oranges running across the street, and Dinesh said he was going to get us an auto-rickshaw.
We pile into the rickshaw and it’s brand spanking new! Only 25 days old with less than 600kms on it. The new rickshaws all have the same green body with yellow roof, but the insides can be really fancy. The roof and seats are usually brown vinyl, and they’ll have pink and blue stars and hearts sewn into them. They’re actually pretty cute. I’m definitely going to miss rickshaws, and if Vancouver weren’t such a rainy city they’d be fantastic for the downtown core. Of course, they’re a hell of a lot cheaper here (Negotiating a fair of Rs 20 for a ten-minute ride is completely normal. Only 50 cents!!), but they’re an awesome method of transportation.
We start off down the road and Dinesh points out that the driver is the same guy that just sold us oranges! Sure enough, he had left his post at the fruit stand to drive us across town. And he’s driving fast. I’ve been scared a few times in rickshaws, but this guy was racing through town. He’d been driving for a long time and definitely knew what he was doing, but when you don’t even slow down for a red light–much less stop–it’s a little frightening. But of course, we made it to the hotel unscathed, and when I got out of the rickshaw I could hear the driver giggling to himself. Nothing like scaring the tourists!
Then it was dinner and off to bed for an early morning bus ride to the Nepali border. Chullo!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Day 13 – Spectacular Varanasi
If you had asked me yesterday morning if I’d ever come back to India, my answer would have been probably not. My answer now? Yes. Every year. To Varanasi. In the days leading up to January 26th.
Every particle of pollution, every beggar, every filthy toilet, every time someone shoved something in my face telling me to buy it, every bump in a rickshaw, every cold hotel, every moment spent sick, every frustrating language barrier, every cold stare, every pile of shit in the street... every single thing that was making me never want to come back to India was obliterated by last night.
Last night could very well be to date the most spectacular thing I’ve experienced in my 24 short years of life.
After what was supposed to be 11 hours on a sleeper train from Orchha turned into more than 15, we finally got into Varanasi around 4pm yesterday. We had time to shower and grab a quick bite before we had to rush to our cycle rickshaws and make the trip to the Ganges for our sunset boat ride.
We didn’t make it in time for sunset because the streets were full of parades. Miniature, disorganized, impromptu parades of men and boys dancing wildly to music so loud that it drowned out everything else. The “floats” consisted of generators, walls of speakers stacked ten high, industrial lamps lighting up the streets, and effigies of [insert the name of the Goddess whose name I’ve already forgotten], the Goddess of Knowledge. They were parading the effigies down to the banks of the Ganges, where they’d continue the singing and dancing and celebrating while they toss their homemade six-feet-tall-plus creations, adorned with flowers and glitter and offerings, straight into the holy waters of the river Ganges.
If ever there was a traffic jam to be in, this was it. And we had a front-and-centre view from our cycle rickshaw seats.
This is the India I wanted, the India I came for. The India where they dance and play music not as a means to solicit money from tourists, but for themselves; where the bass shakes the street and drowns out the sound of cars honking; where rickshaws and bulls and pedestrians and dogs are detoured through back alleys to get through the mess; where every person was smiling and celebrating; where the streets are crowded not because everyone’s in a rush to get somewhere, but because people are choosing to move slowly instead; where the men’s faces are covered with splashes of orange and pink and red and green and yellow powder; where the cows get necklaces made of flowers and splashed with the same coloured powders; where the sight of a tourist’s camera made them smile harder and dance faster and cheer louder. Where I never wanted it to end.
Every particle of pollution, every beggar, every filthy toilet, every time someone shoved something in my face telling me to buy it, every bump in a rickshaw, every cold hotel, every moment spent sick, every frustrating language barrier, every cold stare, every pile of shit in the street... every single thing that was making me never want to come back to India was obliterated by last night.
Last night could very well be to date the most spectacular thing I’ve experienced in my 24 short years of life.
After what was supposed to be 11 hours on a sleeper train from Orchha turned into more than 15, we finally got into Varanasi around 4pm yesterday. We had time to shower and grab a quick bite before we had to rush to our cycle rickshaws and make the trip to the Ganges for our sunset boat ride.
We didn’t make it in time for sunset because the streets were full of parades. Miniature, disorganized, impromptu parades of men and boys dancing wildly to music so loud that it drowned out everything else. The “floats” consisted of generators, walls of speakers stacked ten high, industrial lamps lighting up the streets, and effigies of [insert the name of the Goddess whose name I’ve already forgotten], the Goddess of Knowledge. They were parading the effigies down to the banks of the Ganges, where they’d continue the singing and dancing and celebrating while they toss their homemade six-feet-tall-plus creations, adorned with flowers and glitter and offerings, straight into the holy waters of the river Ganges.
If ever there was a traffic jam to be in, this was it. And we had a front-and-centre view from our cycle rickshaw seats.
This is the India I wanted, the India I came for. The India where they dance and play music not as a means to solicit money from tourists, but for themselves; where the bass shakes the street and drowns out the sound of cars honking; where rickshaws and bulls and pedestrians and dogs are detoured through back alleys to get through the mess; where every person was smiling and celebrating; where the streets are crowded not because everyone’s in a rush to get somewhere, but because people are choosing to move slowly instead; where the men’s faces are covered with splashes of orange and pink and red and green and yellow powder; where the cows get necklaces made of flowers and splashed with the same coloured powders; where the sight of a tourist’s camera made them smile harder and dance faster and cheer louder. Where I never wanted it to end.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Day 12 – From Orchha to Varanasi
We’re on a sleeper train! And this time, we were actually on it overnight! It’s 7:30 in the morning and most of us just awoke from a not-entirely-terrible night’s sleep, despite being on a sleeper train in India. And I’ve convinced myself that it’s only one creepy crawly that I keep seeing multiple times, so that’s helping a little.
I’m feeling a million times better, and I haven’t had to hit the can in over 12 hours now! So grateful for Louise and her Imodium; definitely something I’m going to need to pack on my next trip. (The Imodium, not Louise, although packing Louise along too would be nice; she’s a gem.) All that ails me now is a sore neck, but a night in a proper bed with a proper pillow will hopefully clear that up (if Tylenol doesn’t do the trick).
I skipped out on yesterday afternoon’s temple activities in favour of staying close to a toilet, as I haven’t been getting much warning when the uhh… wave comes in. Orchha was a good place to miss stuff, as it was just more temples and nothing that I was too crazy about. Hopefully this is the only round of illness I deal with on this trip. No one’s been able to pinpoint what made so many of us sick, but we suspect Pizza Hut might have been one cause. I accidentally rinsed my toothbrush with tap water a few nights ago, so it could have been that too.
India is still so surreal. I feel like it’s a dream. Last night I was feeling well enough to venture into the “town” (aka the rows of shops lining the street to the hotel) with Melanie and Montana, and on our way we passed a dead puppy. It looked like it had just lied down on its blanket on the side of the road and died, and it had definitely been there at least a few days, as its face was deteriorating and its belly was sunken in.
The people in Orchha were way more calm. They still wanted you to go into their shops, but at least this time they didn’t shake bangles and anklets in your face and make it impossible to see where you’re going. The desperation here is ridiculous; you’ll be in a shop looking at a pair of shoes, and they’ll hold a pashmina literally between your face and the shoes, blocking your view. Then they don’t understand why you got fed up and left their store. I guess if only one out of a thousand times that they shove something in someone’s face it results in a sale then it’s worth it, but they don’t seem to understand that if they let people shop in peace they’ll be more inclined to buy.
It’s working in my favour though; the more they harass me, the more fed up I get, and the less I spend (and have to pack around).
As I didn’t know if I’d be well enough to go into town yesterday, I bought a pretty purple purse to house some stuff. My daypack doesn’t always hold everything I need, and I’m concerned I’m going to kill the zippers on it if I keep constantly weighing it down with my laptop and Shantaram.
Bringing Shantaram was a bad idea, and I’ll probably mail it home. It’s over 900 pages and it’s equivalent to packing a brick around. I’ve got a few things clothing-wise, plus the bangles and silver jewelry that I bought that I can mail home. It’ll lighten my load, and free up some space in my pack (to later fill with more souvenirs, of course).
We’re on this train til around noon today, so I’m going to attempt more sleep in an effort to pass the time faster. We’ll be in Varanasi for two nights, and then we’ll be in a coach all day headed to the Nepalese border. India is almost over!
I’m feeling a million times better, and I haven’t had to hit the can in over 12 hours now! So grateful for Louise and her Imodium; definitely something I’m going to need to pack on my next trip. (The Imodium, not Louise, although packing Louise along too would be nice; she’s a gem.) All that ails me now is a sore neck, but a night in a proper bed with a proper pillow will hopefully clear that up (if Tylenol doesn’t do the trick).
I skipped out on yesterday afternoon’s temple activities in favour of staying close to a toilet, as I haven’t been getting much warning when the uhh… wave comes in. Orchha was a good place to miss stuff, as it was just more temples and nothing that I was too crazy about. Hopefully this is the only round of illness I deal with on this trip. No one’s been able to pinpoint what made so many of us sick, but we suspect Pizza Hut might have been one cause. I accidentally rinsed my toothbrush with tap water a few nights ago, so it could have been that too.
India is still so surreal. I feel like it’s a dream. Last night I was feeling well enough to venture into the “town” (aka the rows of shops lining the street to the hotel) with Melanie and Montana, and on our way we passed a dead puppy. It looked like it had just lied down on its blanket on the side of the road and died, and it had definitely been there at least a few days, as its face was deteriorating and its belly was sunken in.
The people in Orchha were way more calm. They still wanted you to go into their shops, but at least this time they didn’t shake bangles and anklets in your face and make it impossible to see where you’re going. The desperation here is ridiculous; you’ll be in a shop looking at a pair of shoes, and they’ll hold a pashmina literally between your face and the shoes, blocking your view. Then they don’t understand why you got fed up and left their store. I guess if only one out of a thousand times that they shove something in someone’s face it results in a sale then it’s worth it, but they don’t seem to understand that if they let people shop in peace they’ll be more inclined to buy.
It’s working in my favour though; the more they harass me, the more fed up I get, and the less I spend (and have to pack around).
As I didn’t know if I’d be well enough to go into town yesterday, I bought a pretty purple purse to house some stuff. My daypack doesn’t always hold everything I need, and I’m concerned I’m going to kill the zippers on it if I keep constantly weighing it down with my laptop and Shantaram.
Bringing Shantaram was a bad idea, and I’ll probably mail it home. It’s over 900 pages and it’s equivalent to packing a brick around. I’ve got a few things clothing-wise, plus the bangles and silver jewelry that I bought that I can mail home. It’ll lighten my load, and free up some space in my pack (to later fill with more souvenirs, of course).
We’re on this train til around noon today, so I’m going to attempt more sleep in an effort to pass the time faster. We’ll be in Varanasi for two nights, and then we’ll be in a coach all day headed to the Nepalese border. India is almost over!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Day 10/11 – Delhi Belly moves south
It’s been a long couple of days. Where I left off feels like a week ago. I’ll catch up on everything that’s gone on since, and the bits before that that I missed.
I am so sick. I knew I’d probably get hit with something at some point, but I didn’t think it’d be this bad. I’ve got the shits like you wouldn’t believe and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been to the bathroom since we got here at 4pm. I’ve slept most of the last 24 hours and I’m still exhausted. This is definitely too much information, but this last round just now was full of blood. Don’t worry, it was bright red, not dark red, which means it’s a cut in my lower intestines, rather than internal bleeding higher up in my system, and shouldn’t be too big of an issue. If it’s no better in the morning I’ll head to a doctor… should there be one around here. Crossing my fingers that I don’t need one.
It’s 10:40pm and I’m in a lovely tent. From the outside they’re pretty nothing-special, but on the inside they’re sooo pretty. The inner layer of the tent is fabric covered with a black and purple Indian print, and despite being a tent it’s still equipped with power, lights, and running water. There’s even a heater, which is so good as I’ve been freezing cold all day.
***
It’s morning now, nearly 8:30, and I slept right through the night, which is impressive considering I’ve mostly been sleeping since 5pm yesterday, and I slept a good chunk of the 6 hour bus ride here too. Guess I need it. Diarrhoea hasn’t subsided at all, and how I still have anything left in me is beyond me, as I haven’t eaten anything substantial since breakfast yesterday, and that was just toast. Despite this, I don’t feel completely terrible, and I’m less achey than yesterday.
I started my antibiotics last night so hopefully they kick in soon. We’re on a sleeper train tonight for like 11 hours, and I was already not looking forward to it. Having the shits definitely won’t improve it any. I’m going to ask Dinesh to put me in a bottom bunk near the bathroom since I’m going to need it. I can’t stand the oil of oregano that I’ve brought with me, but I’ll see if I can manage to get some down today. Can’t hurt any.
So two days ago, on Tuesday, after spending the morning on the train, we got into Agra, best known for being the home of the Taj Mahal. It is every bit as amazing as you could possibly imagine, and so much more. It was built as a tomb for emperor Shah Jahan’s favourite wife Mumtaz-i Mahal (you were allowed up to four in those days), after she died giving birth to his 14th child. It’s a shame that the woman it was built for never saw it, as it’s beyond amazing. It took 12 years to build, beginning in 1632, with over 20,000 men working on it annually. The emperor actually ruined India’s entire economy building it, which is why he was later imprisoned by his son after he was overthrown from the throne. He was imprisoned at Red Fort, where he could see the Taj Mahal. When he died eight years later, his casket was added to the Taj Mahal, which is the only place in the entire thing that you see asymmetry: her casket is exactly centered, and his is to the left and raised up higher. Legend has it that he planned to build an exact replica of the Taj Mahal as his own tomb, but in black marble. I think the getting-thrown-in-prison-by-his-son deal thwarted his plans a bit.
The Taj Mahal is ridiculous. It sits on the bank of a leg of the Ganges, surrounded by walls and four massive red gates that are spectacular in their own right. Made out of white marble, the entire thing is covered in the most intricate marble inlays, depicting flowers and (I think) Islam scripts. The handiwork is amazing, and it’s easy to see how it took so many men to build it. It’s a true testament of love, and Dinesh said it’s ruined romance in India, as now all the girls will say “Will you build me a Taj Mahal?” Dinesh’s reply is “Yes, but first you have to die.” Fair enough.
After the Taj Mahal, we headed to the Red Fort. If you had to be imprisoned anywhere, this is the place. It’s a palace in itself, and is a work of red clay and marble inset with precious and semi-precious stones (although many of the precious stones have been looted from it now). It was built for military purposes, but instead of for battle, it was to protect the emperor and family. It’s got two walls, with a wet moat on the outside and a dry moat in between, and you can see the Taj Mahal from its windows. Unfortunately for us, we’ve been plagued by fog most days, so we didn’t get to see the Taj Mahal from afar.
When the Red Fort was built, the emperor’s intention was to create something that encompassed all religions and all styles of architecture. He wanted to create a new religion, the Religion of God, and throughout the palace you can see many different religious symbols: the star of David, the swastika, gothic symbols of Christianity, and some other ones that I’ve forgotten already even though it was only yesterday that I was there. Tres awesome!
After the Red Fort, we headed back to the hotel and then later out to dinner. Towards the end of my meal I began to feel unwell, so I headed back. By the time I got to my room I felt light-headed and had a bit of a stomach ache. Shauna’s been sick for several days now, and several others have had bouts of illness.
Yesterday morning we left to catch the train to Orchha, which is cancelled or late about 80% of the time. When we met in the hotel lobby, it was scheduled to leave on time, but our luck ran out shortly after and it was cancelled completely due to fog. Our two our train trip in comfy second class chairs turned into six hours on a coach bus driving down a dirt highway. Dinesh claimed it was a proper road; we disagreed.
When we finally got into Orchha, we headed to our hotel. The reason we’re staying in tents is that you can’t build permanent structures within 100m of ruins, and we’re well within that 100m. The ruins are a gorgeous backdrop to our little tents, and they’re complete with monkeys and vultures.
As I still wasn’t feeling well last night, I skipped out on the evening’s activities and dinner as well, and opted just to hit the sack instead.
I am so sick. I knew I’d probably get hit with something at some point, but I didn’t think it’d be this bad. I’ve got the shits like you wouldn’t believe and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been to the bathroom since we got here at 4pm. I’ve slept most of the last 24 hours and I’m still exhausted. This is definitely too much information, but this last round just now was full of blood. Don’t worry, it was bright red, not dark red, which means it’s a cut in my lower intestines, rather than internal bleeding higher up in my system, and shouldn’t be too big of an issue. If it’s no better in the morning I’ll head to a doctor… should there be one around here. Crossing my fingers that I don’t need one.
It’s 10:40pm and I’m in a lovely tent. From the outside they’re pretty nothing-special, but on the inside they’re sooo pretty. The inner layer of the tent is fabric covered with a black and purple Indian print, and despite being a tent it’s still equipped with power, lights, and running water. There’s even a heater, which is so good as I’ve been freezing cold all day.
***
It’s morning now, nearly 8:30, and I slept right through the night, which is impressive considering I’ve mostly been sleeping since 5pm yesterday, and I slept a good chunk of the 6 hour bus ride here too. Guess I need it. Diarrhoea hasn’t subsided at all, and how I still have anything left in me is beyond me, as I haven’t eaten anything substantial since breakfast yesterday, and that was just toast. Despite this, I don’t feel completely terrible, and I’m less achey than yesterday.
I started my antibiotics last night so hopefully they kick in soon. We’re on a sleeper train tonight for like 11 hours, and I was already not looking forward to it. Having the shits definitely won’t improve it any. I’m going to ask Dinesh to put me in a bottom bunk near the bathroom since I’m going to need it. I can’t stand the oil of oregano that I’ve brought with me, but I’ll see if I can manage to get some down today. Can’t hurt any.
So two days ago, on Tuesday, after spending the morning on the train, we got into Agra, best known for being the home of the Taj Mahal. It is every bit as amazing as you could possibly imagine, and so much more. It was built as a tomb for emperor Shah Jahan’s favourite wife Mumtaz-i Mahal (you were allowed up to four in those days), after she died giving birth to his 14th child. It’s a shame that the woman it was built for never saw it, as it’s beyond amazing. It took 12 years to build, beginning in 1632, with over 20,000 men working on it annually. The emperor actually ruined India’s entire economy building it, which is why he was later imprisoned by his son after he was overthrown from the throne. He was imprisoned at Red Fort, where he could see the Taj Mahal. When he died eight years later, his casket was added to the Taj Mahal, which is the only place in the entire thing that you see asymmetry: her casket is exactly centered, and his is to the left and raised up higher. Legend has it that he planned to build an exact replica of the Taj Mahal as his own tomb, but in black marble. I think the getting-thrown-in-prison-by-his-son deal thwarted his plans a bit.
The Taj Mahal is ridiculous. It sits on the bank of a leg of the Ganges, surrounded by walls and four massive red gates that are spectacular in their own right. Made out of white marble, the entire thing is covered in the most intricate marble inlays, depicting flowers and (I think) Islam scripts. The handiwork is amazing, and it’s easy to see how it took so many men to build it. It’s a true testament of love, and Dinesh said it’s ruined romance in India, as now all the girls will say “Will you build me a Taj Mahal?” Dinesh’s reply is “Yes, but first you have to die.” Fair enough.
After the Taj Mahal, we headed to the Red Fort. If you had to be imprisoned anywhere, this is the place. It’s a palace in itself, and is a work of red clay and marble inset with precious and semi-precious stones (although many of the precious stones have been looted from it now). It was built for military purposes, but instead of for battle, it was to protect the emperor and family. It’s got two walls, with a wet moat on the outside and a dry moat in between, and you can see the Taj Mahal from its windows. Unfortunately for us, we’ve been plagued by fog most days, so we didn’t get to see the Taj Mahal from afar.
When the Red Fort was built, the emperor’s intention was to create something that encompassed all religions and all styles of architecture. He wanted to create a new religion, the Religion of God, and throughout the palace you can see many different religious symbols: the star of David, the swastika, gothic symbols of Christianity, and some other ones that I’ve forgotten already even though it was only yesterday that I was there. Tres awesome!
After the Red Fort, we headed back to the hotel and then later out to dinner. Towards the end of my meal I began to feel unwell, so I headed back. By the time I got to my room I felt light-headed and had a bit of a stomach ache. Shauna’s been sick for several days now, and several others have had bouts of illness.
Yesterday morning we left to catch the train to Orchha, which is cancelled or late about 80% of the time. When we met in the hotel lobby, it was scheduled to leave on time, but our luck ran out shortly after and it was cancelled completely due to fog. Our two our train trip in comfy second class chairs turned into six hours on a coach bus driving down a dirt highway. Dinesh claimed it was a proper road; we disagreed.
When we finally got into Orchha, we headed to our hotel. The reason we’re staying in tents is that you can’t build permanent structures within 100m of ruins, and we’re well within that 100m. The ruins are a gorgeous backdrop to our little tents, and they’re complete with monkeys and vultures.
As I still wasn’t feeling well last night, I skipped out on the evening’s activities and dinner as well, and opted just to hit the sack instead.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Day 9 – From Jaipur to Agra
We’re on a sleeper train! Except we boarded at 6am and we’re disembarking at 10am. Our chair class tickets got changed to sleeper cars. While initially terrifying, now that we’re all settled the general consensus is that they’re not bad… save for Dan, who got stuck on a top bunk and isn’t too thrilled about it.
Unlike sleeper cars in Europe that are usually a separate room with four bunks, these aren’t divided off from the others. The side bunks are three high (I’m in the middle), and then there are two more on the opposite side of the aisle, for a total of eight bunks per section. The bunks and provided blankets aren’t exactly clean, but they give you fresh sheets so it’s not bad.
We’re on our way to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal! We’re departing Jaipur. Jaipur is different from Delhi in a few ways: the auto-rickshaws seat three (comfortably – we piled six people into one, plus the driver, after a tire blew on one of them), whereas in Delhi they only seat two (again, comfortably – there aren’t any hard-and-fast rules about anything here); people aren’t taking pictures of me here like they were in Delhi, although the stares haven’t decreased; and the merchants are way more aggressive.
The only way to get the message through to someone is to not even acknowledge they exist, which is difficult when they walk in front of you, waving Indian puppets in your face, or stop their rickshaw in front of you as you’re trying to cross the street. “No!” means “Yes I’d love to buy that!” “I have no money” means “I’m lying, of course I have money and I’d love to buy that!” and “No, we’re walking” means “Yes, I’d love to get in your rickshaw, but I want you to follow me down this alley just for fun!”
It’s hard seeing the beggars, especially the children. Three year old girls taught to pull on your pantleg and beg, and they’re just filthy. It’s heartbreaking because they probably will never amount to anything. Unless they turn out to be absolutely gorgeous and Prince Charming swoops in to rescue them from a life of poverty, they’ll probably have daughters of their own doing exactly the same in ten years. If the government of India wanted to help its people, its best bet would be to start with free birth control for everyone.
On the flip side, not everyone is relegated to a life of extreme poverty if they set their mind to it. Born without legs? No problem, you can pedal your rickshaw with your hands!
On the morning train to Jaipur two days ago, Dinesh gave us the rundown on where to shop for what. Jaipur is for jewelry and art, Agra is for leather, and Varanasi is for silks and saris. So what did I do with my free time in Jaipur? Why, scoured the markets for the perfect silver jewelry, of course!
On Saturday, after our train got into Jaipur, we headed to our adorable hotel. A courtyard in the back and a garden and yard in the front, it was a little slice of sanctuary in an otherwise chaotic city. And it was finally warm enough to strip down to t-shirts!
After we got settled, we ventured out to the City Palace. The best part was the weapons gallery, where I got bored of the audio tour and ended up with a personal tour guide. The coolest ones all were combo-weapons, like a knife that fires a bullet after you stab someone, or canes with guns built into them. Tons of them were encrusted with rubies and emeralds and were for ceremonial use only.
After lunch at the City Palace, we headed into the markets to shop. Wandering through the lengths of shops and stopping at most of the jewelry stores, I found the most amazing necklace and bracelet. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, which is exactly what I wanted. If I’m going to bother packing/shipping something home, I need the reaction to it to be “WOW! Where did you get that?!” That’s what this necklace and bracelet is. Coin-size irregular discs of hammered silver, strung two wide on the bracelet and five wide at the widest point of the necklace. I love it! I left it on Sunday to think about it overnight.
On Monday, we went to the Amber Fort, which is a giant labyrinth of courtyards and hallways and staircases. About halfway through the tour, I stopped to put my watch in my backpack as Julian and a couple of others stopped to take a picture. When I turned around they were gone, and I had no idea where they went. The part that I got left behind at had no fewer than ten different ways to go, so I stayed put hoping they’d realize I was gone and come back and get me.
After waiting for over 25 minutes, I became concerned that they might not realize at all that I was missing. I headed to the entrance to wait for them, because at least I could see them when they left. We were a long way from the hotel, the name and address of which I wasn’t even sure of anyway. After over 50 minutes of being lost, I finally heard Michael, Steen and Louise shouting at me from a courtyard.
What had happened is that shortly after I got left behind, the group split up to take pictures, and were supposed to meet back in one spot after 15 minutes. Before they dispersed, Dinesh asked if everyone was there and someone said yes. He should have been doing a headcount, or Shauna should have checked for me, as we’d been buddied-up previously.
Regardless, I was soon found and that’s all that matters. Dinesh said in four years that’s never happened, and he’s been really good about doing headcounts since. With 14 people, it’s easy to think that everyone is there.
After the Amber fort, we headed back to the markets, and I went back to negotiate a deal on the necklace and bracelet, and I bartered the not-completely-unreasonable starting price of Rs 17000 down to Rs 10380. Still a small fortune – and by India’s standards, more than three months’ wages for a bellboy in a hotel – but I knew if I left without it I’d regret it forever.
After that, Dinesh took Julian and I to shop for bangles. There are lots for sale in the markets and they’re cheap (both in price and in quality), but these were special shops with high-quality bangles. Imagine a room filled with shelves filled with stacks of bangles that are completely made of rhinestones. These are probably the shops that brides-to-be shop at. I went with two solid-rhinestone bracelets, and two that are clear and brown rhinestones in a really pretty pattern. Love them!
In a different shop, you could buy skinny bangles at Rs 35 for 12, which is insanely good bang for your buck. I bought ten sets of 12, all different colours, and the total was less than $10. The wide bangles are called kada (plural kade), and the skinny bangles are chudi (chudiya).
Now I have to mail stuff home, because I had absolutely no room in my backpack for souvenirs. Life is hard!
After stopping for lunch at the Rainbow Cafe (whose postal address actually includes “Near Post Office”), and then back to the hotel, we ventured back into town to head to the Raj Mandir theatre to see a Bollywood film.
The theatre only has one screen and the movie playing that night was 3 Idiots. The stars are all Bollywood royalty, and the movie’s been a huge success. It’s three hours long with an intermission, and the language is “Hinglish” (Hindi + English). While hard to follow at times, I was luckily seated next to Dinesh, who kept me afloat of the storyline and jokes.
While we were lining up outside, we learned that the huge group of girls waiting near us had traveled 700kms to see the movie. They were so cute, and if you waved they’d all wave back.
Post-movie, we went to McDonald’s. Since Hindus don’t eat beef, nearly the entire menu was chicken, including the Majaraja Mac (India’s alternative to the Big Mac). Not super impressed with it but oh well; the patties were gross and not really very chicken-y. The fries tasted exactly the same as at home, which is almost kind of eerie. They also give you an option for “Shake Shake Fries,” which is a paper bag that you dump your fries and a seasoning packet into, resulting in spicy fries. Not bad, but I think I like the original better.
Then we headed back to the hotel to get to bed for today’s early start.
Unlike sleeper cars in Europe that are usually a separate room with four bunks, these aren’t divided off from the others. The side bunks are three high (I’m in the middle), and then there are two more on the opposite side of the aisle, for a total of eight bunks per section. The bunks and provided blankets aren’t exactly clean, but they give you fresh sheets so it’s not bad.
We’re on our way to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal! We’re departing Jaipur. Jaipur is different from Delhi in a few ways: the auto-rickshaws seat three (comfortably – we piled six people into one, plus the driver, after a tire blew on one of them), whereas in Delhi they only seat two (again, comfortably – there aren’t any hard-and-fast rules about anything here); people aren’t taking pictures of me here like they were in Delhi, although the stares haven’t decreased; and the merchants are way more aggressive.
The only way to get the message through to someone is to not even acknowledge they exist, which is difficult when they walk in front of you, waving Indian puppets in your face, or stop their rickshaw in front of you as you’re trying to cross the street. “No!” means “Yes I’d love to buy that!” “I have no money” means “I’m lying, of course I have money and I’d love to buy that!” and “No, we’re walking” means “Yes, I’d love to get in your rickshaw, but I want you to follow me down this alley just for fun!”
It’s hard seeing the beggars, especially the children. Three year old girls taught to pull on your pantleg and beg, and they’re just filthy. It’s heartbreaking because they probably will never amount to anything. Unless they turn out to be absolutely gorgeous and Prince Charming swoops in to rescue them from a life of poverty, they’ll probably have daughters of their own doing exactly the same in ten years. If the government of India wanted to help its people, its best bet would be to start with free birth control for everyone.
On the flip side, not everyone is relegated to a life of extreme poverty if they set their mind to it. Born without legs? No problem, you can pedal your rickshaw with your hands!
On the morning train to Jaipur two days ago, Dinesh gave us the rundown on where to shop for what. Jaipur is for jewelry and art, Agra is for leather, and Varanasi is for silks and saris. So what did I do with my free time in Jaipur? Why, scoured the markets for the perfect silver jewelry, of course!
On Saturday, after our train got into Jaipur, we headed to our adorable hotel. A courtyard in the back and a garden and yard in the front, it was a little slice of sanctuary in an otherwise chaotic city. And it was finally warm enough to strip down to t-shirts!
After we got settled, we ventured out to the City Palace. The best part was the weapons gallery, where I got bored of the audio tour and ended up with a personal tour guide. The coolest ones all were combo-weapons, like a knife that fires a bullet after you stab someone, or canes with guns built into them. Tons of them were encrusted with rubies and emeralds and were for ceremonial use only.
After lunch at the City Palace, we headed into the markets to shop. Wandering through the lengths of shops and stopping at most of the jewelry stores, I found the most amazing necklace and bracelet. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, which is exactly what I wanted. If I’m going to bother packing/shipping something home, I need the reaction to it to be “WOW! Where did you get that?!” That’s what this necklace and bracelet is. Coin-size irregular discs of hammered silver, strung two wide on the bracelet and five wide at the widest point of the necklace. I love it! I left it on Sunday to think about it overnight.
On Monday, we went to the Amber Fort, which is a giant labyrinth of courtyards and hallways and staircases. About halfway through the tour, I stopped to put my watch in my backpack as Julian and a couple of others stopped to take a picture. When I turned around they were gone, and I had no idea where they went. The part that I got left behind at had no fewer than ten different ways to go, so I stayed put hoping they’d realize I was gone and come back and get me.
After waiting for over 25 minutes, I became concerned that they might not realize at all that I was missing. I headed to the entrance to wait for them, because at least I could see them when they left. We were a long way from the hotel, the name and address of which I wasn’t even sure of anyway. After over 50 minutes of being lost, I finally heard Michael, Steen and Louise shouting at me from a courtyard.
What had happened is that shortly after I got left behind, the group split up to take pictures, and were supposed to meet back in one spot after 15 minutes. Before they dispersed, Dinesh asked if everyone was there and someone said yes. He should have been doing a headcount, or Shauna should have checked for me, as we’d been buddied-up previously.
Regardless, I was soon found and that’s all that matters. Dinesh said in four years that’s never happened, and he’s been really good about doing headcounts since. With 14 people, it’s easy to think that everyone is there.
After the Amber fort, we headed back to the markets, and I went back to negotiate a deal on the necklace and bracelet, and I bartered the not-completely-unreasonable starting price of Rs 17000 down to Rs 10380. Still a small fortune – and by India’s standards, more than three months’ wages for a bellboy in a hotel – but I knew if I left without it I’d regret it forever.
After that, Dinesh took Julian and I to shop for bangles. There are lots for sale in the markets and they’re cheap (both in price and in quality), but these were special shops with high-quality bangles. Imagine a room filled with shelves filled with stacks of bangles that are completely made of rhinestones. These are probably the shops that brides-to-be shop at. I went with two solid-rhinestone bracelets, and two that are clear and brown rhinestones in a really pretty pattern. Love them!
In a different shop, you could buy skinny bangles at Rs 35 for 12, which is insanely good bang for your buck. I bought ten sets of 12, all different colours, and the total was less than $10. The wide bangles are called kada (plural kade), and the skinny bangles are chudi (chudiya).
Now I have to mail stuff home, because I had absolutely no room in my backpack for souvenirs. Life is hard!
After stopping for lunch at the Rainbow Cafe (whose postal address actually includes “Near Post Office”), and then back to the hotel, we ventured back into town to head to the Raj Mandir theatre to see a Bollywood film.
The theatre only has one screen and the movie playing that night was 3 Idiots. The stars are all Bollywood royalty, and the movie’s been a huge success. It’s three hours long with an intermission, and the language is “Hinglish” (Hindi + English). While hard to follow at times, I was luckily seated next to Dinesh, who kept me afloat of the storyline and jokes.
While we were lining up outside, we learned that the huge group of girls waiting near us had traveled 700kms to see the movie. They were so cute, and if you waved they’d all wave back.
Post-movie, we went to McDonald’s. Since Hindus don’t eat beef, nearly the entire menu was chicken, including the Majaraja Mac (India’s alternative to the Big Mac). Not super impressed with it but oh well; the patties were gross and not really very chicken-y. The fries tasted exactly the same as at home, which is almost kind of eerie. They also give you an option for “Shake Shake Fries,” which is a paper bag that you dump your fries and a seasoning packet into, resulting in spicy fries. Not bad, but I think I like the original better.
Then we headed back to the hotel to get to bed for today’s early start.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Day 7 – Train to Jaipur
Up at 4 and in the lobby by 5 to catch the 6:05 train to Jaipur! It’s about a four-hour journey (barring no delays) and we’re barely able to see out the windows as it’s so foggy/smoggy. Putting our luggage on top of the transport vans that took us to the train station was a bit unnerving, especially when I ended up in a different vehicle than the one that my big backpack was loaded on.
We’re well in the habit of locking up packs and keeping valuables in front of us, but I’m still terrified that someone’s going to run by and snatch my camera out of my hand, or worse, grab my entire daypack. If the latter were to happen, I’d probably just give up and go home. Knock on wood nothing like that happens.
We met the group last night at 5pm at the hotel and so far I think it’s a great group. We’ve got myself and Michael, and the tour leader Dinesh. Melanie, Bob, and their daughter Montana are from California, as is Dan. Julian is from Melbourne, Australia, and Steen and Louisa are a couple from Denmark. Lene and Christina are from Norway, and Danish and Norwegian are similar enough that the five of them (Michael, Steen, Louisa, Lene & Christine) can converse decently between their two languages (although they all speak English as well). Rose and David are from Calgary, so a football rivalry may erupt (although David pointed out that it won’t be as bad as a Canucks vs Flames battle, so it’s good I’m not a huge hockey fan). And lastly, my roommate Shauna is from Belfast, Ireland, where I now have a place to stay! The beauty of travel is that is opens up so many doors for more.
After filling out forms and going through introductions, we met at 6 and took taxis to India Gate. Michael and I went there in the daylight yesterday, when we were exploring New Delhi. It was pretty to see it at night too. It’s a memorial erected in honour of the many soldiers killed in various wars, primarily the first world war. Not that I’ve seen it in person yet, but it reminds me of the Arc de Triumphe.
Yesterday morning, before I met Michael at breakfast, I had an opportunity to check my email on the lobby computer at the hotel. While I was updating Facebook, the man at the desk told me that my family had called the day before but I was out. I was super bummed that I had missed their call, and not even two minutes later he starts laughing and telling me that my family was calling again. Mom had signed onto Facebook at the same time and saw that I had just updated and called the hotel. So nice to speak with mom and dad!
India is insane. And that’s no surprise to anyone. You go forward 11 hours time difference-wise, but it’s like stepping back in time by fifty or more years. I knew there’d be poverty, but I didn’t think it’d be at this calibre, nor this widespread. Endless tin huts and shelters crafted out of whatever they could salvage. People sleeping in every doorway and in the middle of roundabouts and in the train stations and in the street. Kids digging through piles of garbage looking for anything of value, and young children taught to beg and gesture hunger with their fingers.
Many of the people here are tiny, shorter than I am, unlike the Indians in Canada, whom are usually much taller than I am, and often robust in stature. I wonder if it’s nutritional deficiencies stunting their growth. So unusual to see men that are maybe five feet tall at best.
The constant harassment takes its toll; the second you exit a rickshaw, you’ve got three more drivers asking you where to next. They want to make a deal to have you tour the city all day, and they can’t comprehend that you might just want to walk places. When I told one driver that we were walking instead, he replied with “No! Walking is talking and talking is pick pocketing!”
Yesterday I had reached my maximum shortly after noon. We’d been in auto-rickshaws all day and every driver wants to know where you’re from and where you’re going and if you’ve been to this temple and that temple and you can hire him for the day and he’ll wait and you shouldn’t walk. The questions and chatter are endless. We were standing near a busy intersection trying to look at the map in Michael’s guidebook and men kept coming up and asking us a million questions in broken English and it’s impossible to block it out. You ignore them and walk away and they follow you and it’s “Ma’am, ma’am, where do you want to go?” Their persistence is unbelievable. You continually say no and they continually keep asking you questions. Couple that with the excessive street noise due to so many cars and so much honking and I couldn’t take it anymore. We retreated, despite Michael’s reluctance, into a super fancy coffee house and restaurant.
Inside it was noisy with the chatter of voices and the clatter of cutlery, but it was peaceful compared to outside. It was primarily tourists, as I expect many locals couldn’t afford the “expensive” fare, so the constant stares that I was faced with outside were non-existent in the restaurant. I never realized the value of being able to disappear in a crowd, like I am at home, until it was taken from me. Being invisible and blending in here is impossible. Total for our bill: about $30 CND. If we had eaten outside from a street vendor? Probably less than $2. But worth every penny for the temporary sanctuary it provided me.
Traffic here is indescribable. While practically all cars have numerous dings and dents, I’d expect the overall rate of fatal crashes to be lower. I may be wrong though. Lane lines are merely suggestions, and it’s not uncommon to be five or six vehicles wide in a two-lane street.
Whatever a typical Indian’s job is, be it selling peanuts or hocking clothes or cooking street food or begging or charming snakes or repairing cobblestone paths, there is no easy work here. The days start early and end late, and the struggle is often multiplied by children to care for. This is a hard life, and one I don’t envy.
Another moment of solace that I was happy to have yesterday was in the astoundingly beautiful Lotus Temple (aka Baha’i House of Worship). When you enter the temple, complete silence is required. And since everyone’s removed their shoes, it’s serenely quiet. The temple was built for the use of all religions, and is a place of reflection and meditation. Its exterior is made of white concrete, and is nine-sided, in the shape of a (surprise!) lotus flower. The interior is panels of white marble and filled with wooden benches with white marble seats. The outside has several pools of (milky) turquoise water. The entire thing was built by volunteer efforts, and is reminiscent of the Sydney Opera house in its grand sail-like design.
Despite having worked in the tourism for several years, Dinesh hasn’t ever been outside of India (save for Nepal, as his job takes him there). Last night when we were taxiing to India Gate we were commenting on how chaotic the traffic is here compared to home. I said he should come to Canada and see it, and he pointed out that with his wage he’ll never be able to travel. I’d assume that by Indian standards he’s doing well, but it’s a sad reminder that no matter how hard these people work their entire lives, they may never be afforded the same opportunities that we take for granted. Having a dollar that’s worth a lot means I’ll always be able to venture out of Canada. Dinesh could work longer and harder and save more of what he makes and likely never have the same options for holidaying. It’s too bad that things are so unfair.
I’m glad I’m taking advantage of the opportunity while I can, because who knows when it may disappear. I’m also glad my parents have instilled the travel bug in me, and that they’re so behind me going off on adventures. If I didn’t have their house to live in when I came home this trip wouldn’t have been as easy to manage.
We’re nearing Jaipur now, where we’ll find the best jewelry and art. India is amazing.
We’re well in the habit of locking up packs and keeping valuables in front of us, but I’m still terrified that someone’s going to run by and snatch my camera out of my hand, or worse, grab my entire daypack. If the latter were to happen, I’d probably just give up and go home. Knock on wood nothing like that happens.
We met the group last night at 5pm at the hotel and so far I think it’s a great group. We’ve got myself and Michael, and the tour leader Dinesh. Melanie, Bob, and their daughter Montana are from California, as is Dan. Julian is from Melbourne, Australia, and Steen and Louisa are a couple from Denmark. Lene and Christina are from Norway, and Danish and Norwegian are similar enough that the five of them (Michael, Steen, Louisa, Lene & Christine) can converse decently between their two languages (although they all speak English as well). Rose and David are from Calgary, so a football rivalry may erupt (although David pointed out that it won’t be as bad as a Canucks vs Flames battle, so it’s good I’m not a huge hockey fan). And lastly, my roommate Shauna is from Belfast, Ireland, where I now have a place to stay! The beauty of travel is that is opens up so many doors for more.
After filling out forms and going through introductions, we met at 6 and took taxis to India Gate. Michael and I went there in the daylight yesterday, when we were exploring New Delhi. It was pretty to see it at night too. It’s a memorial erected in honour of the many soldiers killed in various wars, primarily the first world war. Not that I’ve seen it in person yet, but it reminds me of the Arc de Triumphe.
Yesterday morning, before I met Michael at breakfast, I had an opportunity to check my email on the lobby computer at the hotel. While I was updating Facebook, the man at the desk told me that my family had called the day before but I was out. I was super bummed that I had missed their call, and not even two minutes later he starts laughing and telling me that my family was calling again. Mom had signed onto Facebook at the same time and saw that I had just updated and called the hotel. So nice to speak with mom and dad!
India is insane. And that’s no surprise to anyone. You go forward 11 hours time difference-wise, but it’s like stepping back in time by fifty or more years. I knew there’d be poverty, but I didn’t think it’d be at this calibre, nor this widespread. Endless tin huts and shelters crafted out of whatever they could salvage. People sleeping in every doorway and in the middle of roundabouts and in the train stations and in the street. Kids digging through piles of garbage looking for anything of value, and young children taught to beg and gesture hunger with their fingers.
Many of the people here are tiny, shorter than I am, unlike the Indians in Canada, whom are usually much taller than I am, and often robust in stature. I wonder if it’s nutritional deficiencies stunting their growth. So unusual to see men that are maybe five feet tall at best.
The constant harassment takes its toll; the second you exit a rickshaw, you’ve got three more drivers asking you where to next. They want to make a deal to have you tour the city all day, and they can’t comprehend that you might just want to walk places. When I told one driver that we were walking instead, he replied with “No! Walking is talking and talking is pick pocketing!”
Yesterday I had reached my maximum shortly after noon. We’d been in auto-rickshaws all day and every driver wants to know where you’re from and where you’re going and if you’ve been to this temple and that temple and you can hire him for the day and he’ll wait and you shouldn’t walk. The questions and chatter are endless. We were standing near a busy intersection trying to look at the map in Michael’s guidebook and men kept coming up and asking us a million questions in broken English and it’s impossible to block it out. You ignore them and walk away and they follow you and it’s “Ma’am, ma’am, where do you want to go?” Their persistence is unbelievable. You continually say no and they continually keep asking you questions. Couple that with the excessive street noise due to so many cars and so much honking and I couldn’t take it anymore. We retreated, despite Michael’s reluctance, into a super fancy coffee house and restaurant.
Inside it was noisy with the chatter of voices and the clatter of cutlery, but it was peaceful compared to outside. It was primarily tourists, as I expect many locals couldn’t afford the “expensive” fare, so the constant stares that I was faced with outside were non-existent in the restaurant. I never realized the value of being able to disappear in a crowd, like I am at home, until it was taken from me. Being invisible and blending in here is impossible. Total for our bill: about $30 CND. If we had eaten outside from a street vendor? Probably less than $2. But worth every penny for the temporary sanctuary it provided me.
Traffic here is indescribable. While practically all cars have numerous dings and dents, I’d expect the overall rate of fatal crashes to be lower. I may be wrong though. Lane lines are merely suggestions, and it’s not uncommon to be five or six vehicles wide in a two-lane street.
Whatever a typical Indian’s job is, be it selling peanuts or hocking clothes or cooking street food or begging or charming snakes or repairing cobblestone paths, there is no easy work here. The days start early and end late, and the struggle is often multiplied by children to care for. This is a hard life, and one I don’t envy.
Another moment of solace that I was happy to have yesterday was in the astoundingly beautiful Lotus Temple (aka Baha’i House of Worship). When you enter the temple, complete silence is required. And since everyone’s removed their shoes, it’s serenely quiet. The temple was built for the use of all religions, and is a place of reflection and meditation. Its exterior is made of white concrete, and is nine-sided, in the shape of a (surprise!) lotus flower. The interior is panels of white marble and filled with wooden benches with white marble seats. The outside has several pools of (milky) turquoise water. The entire thing was built by volunteer efforts, and is reminiscent of the Sydney Opera house in its grand sail-like design.
Despite having worked in the tourism for several years, Dinesh hasn’t ever been outside of India (save for Nepal, as his job takes him there). Last night when we were taxiing to India Gate we were commenting on how chaotic the traffic is here compared to home. I said he should come to Canada and see it, and he pointed out that with his wage he’ll never be able to travel. I’d assume that by Indian standards he’s doing well, but it’s a sad reminder that no matter how hard these people work their entire lives, they may never be afforded the same opportunities that we take for granted. Having a dollar that’s worth a lot means I’ll always be able to venture out of Canada. Dinesh could work longer and harder and save more of what he makes and likely never have the same options for holidaying. It’s too bad that things are so unfair.
I’m glad I’m taking advantage of the opportunity while I can, because who knows when it may disappear. I’m also glad my parents have instilled the travel bug in me, and that they’re so behind me going off on adventures. If I didn’t have their house to live in when I came home this trip wouldn’t have been as easy to manage.
We’re nearing Jaipur now, where we’ll find the best jewelry and art. India is amazing.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Day 6 – 3:00am
So much for sleeping through the night as I’d hoped. Sleeping from 10pm to 3am is better than sleeping through the middle of the day though, so I’m getting closer to the time change. It’s an 11 hour difference from home, so I’ve basically flipped my sleep schedule on its head.
Despite how different it is from home here, I’m still comfortable as far as all the necessities go; I’m not hungry, I have a shower at my disposal (albeit the hot water is in limited supply), and so far I’m not sick. All things considered I’m doing better than probably 90% of the population of India.
I wish you could teleport to these extremes, and then retreat to the familiarities of home on a nightly basis. I’d love to be hanging out with dad drinking an MDG right now, but I’ll have plenty of time to do that when I’m home in April. I need to remember that this opportunity isn’t ever going to happen again, and while I’ve been pretty good about it so far, I do miss the little things, like cuddling with my dog.
The Flying Pig’s (hostel that I stayed at in Amsterdam) motto is “home is in your head,” so I’m trying to keep that in mind, as it’s definitely true to a point. Home is also where your friends and family are though, so I can’t fool myself completely.
I realized yesterday that I’ve lost my sunglasses. My brand new, practically unworn perfect Ray Bans. I think I lost them in Amsterdam, and my guess is that they fell out of my backpack at some point, as I don’t think there was any opportunity for them to be stolen. I’m a little bummed, as I really wanted to have decent quality sunnies when I got to the places I’ll really need them (definitely Egypt and possibly Greece), but oh well.
India is foggy. Someone told me it’s because it’s winter, but it looks more like pollution to me. It’s been really cool, and occasionally cold (like in the back of an auto-rickshaw), so I’ve been wearing jeans and a sweater and it’s still too cold sometimes. I knew it wasn’t going to be sweltering, but I thought it’d be warmer than this.
My room is warm now though! The front desk brought me a heater and it’s now nice and toasty in here.
Bottled water is ridiculously cheap, like Rs 20 cheap (about 50 cents), so I’m less concerned about getting ridiculously sick. I just need to be on the ball about brushing my teeth with bottled water, and avoiding any uncooked vegetables, and hopefully I won’t have any major issues. Diarrhea is even more terrifying when you know you’ll be faced with managing it on a squatter toilet.
And so far no malaria! Which is always nice.
I’m meeting Michael at breakfast at 9 today, after which we’re going to head into New Delhi. Hopefully it’s not as chaotic as Old Delhi, but I’m not holding my breath.
Despite how different it is from home here, I’m still comfortable as far as all the necessities go; I’m not hungry, I have a shower at my disposal (albeit the hot water is in limited supply), and so far I’m not sick. All things considered I’m doing better than probably 90% of the population of India.
I wish you could teleport to these extremes, and then retreat to the familiarities of home on a nightly basis. I’d love to be hanging out with dad drinking an MDG right now, but I’ll have plenty of time to do that when I’m home in April. I need to remember that this opportunity isn’t ever going to happen again, and while I’ve been pretty good about it so far, I do miss the little things, like cuddling with my dog.
The Flying Pig’s (hostel that I stayed at in Amsterdam) motto is “home is in your head,” so I’m trying to keep that in mind, as it’s definitely true to a point. Home is also where your friends and family are though, so I can’t fool myself completely.
I realized yesterday that I’ve lost my sunglasses. My brand new, practically unworn perfect Ray Bans. I think I lost them in Amsterdam, and my guess is that they fell out of my backpack at some point, as I don’t think there was any opportunity for them to be stolen. I’m a little bummed, as I really wanted to have decent quality sunnies when I got to the places I’ll really need them (definitely Egypt and possibly Greece), but oh well.
India is foggy. Someone told me it’s because it’s winter, but it looks more like pollution to me. It’s been really cool, and occasionally cold (like in the back of an auto-rickshaw), so I’ve been wearing jeans and a sweater and it’s still too cold sometimes. I knew it wasn’t going to be sweltering, but I thought it’d be warmer than this.
My room is warm now though! The front desk brought me a heater and it’s now nice and toasty in here.
Bottled water is ridiculously cheap, like Rs 20 cheap (about 50 cents), so I’m less concerned about getting ridiculously sick. I just need to be on the ball about brushing my teeth with bottled water, and avoiding any uncooked vegetables, and hopefully I won’t have any major issues. Diarrhea is even more terrifying when you know you’ll be faced with managing it on a squatter toilet.
And so far no malaria! Which is always nice.
I’m meeting Michael at breakfast at 9 today, after which we’re going to head into New Delhi. Hopefully it’s not as chaotic as Old Delhi, but I’m not holding my breath.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Day 5 – Culture Shock
Just… wow. I don’t even know if I can put into words what today was. It wasn’t the piles of garbage in the street, or the hustle and bustle, or the traffic, as I think I was prepared for those. I think what made today so crazy was that I was the spectacle.
People stare at me wherever I go. I know the blonde/purple/black hair doesn’t help the situation much. And while I’ve been stared at in other countries before, it pales in comparison to this.
On top of staring at me, they take photos. Michael, whom I met at breakfast and is also doing the Delhi to Kathmandu tour, first noticed it this morning, when a young boy used his cellphone to snap a picture of me. While I didn’t see it that time, I saw it happen at least a dozen other times throughout the day.
And groups of people stopped me for pictures. Mostly younger boys, probably 13 or 14 years old, but some families too. I was probably stopped a half dozen times for people to take pictures of me with them, and each time they took three or four or five photos, ensuring every member got their turn. [ edit: its E
If this is what it’s like to be a celebrity, I don’t ever want to be famous.
It’s beyond overwhelming to constantly have eyes trailing on you. While at the mosque (I forget its name, it’s a huge Muslim mosque in the centre of Old Delhi) [edit: its English name is the Friday Mosque], I was waiting for Michael to returning from climbing a tower (I opted out, as I was tired and I don’t fare well with spiral staircases). A man stopped and stared at me, completely unabashedly, for at least 15 minutes. What do you do in that situation? And it was clear I was uncomfortable, yet he just stood there, staring and staring.
Most of the people are much friendlier in their gawking though. One family stopped me, and after they had taken pictures with me, the husband asked me to turn around so he could take a picture of the back of my head. I guess the purple is just asking for it though.
#1 rule when traveling in India: determine a price before you do anything. I’ve heard this time and time again, but it’s easy to just jump into something, which makes it difficult to argue the price as you don’t have the option of walking away.
I fell into this trap twice; once, with a snake charmer. Michael and I couldn’t remember what the snakes are, are they cobras? Anyway, he had two, and I got suckered into sitting next to him. The next thing I know he’s putting one of his two supremely venomous snakes around my neck and telling me the price is Rs 2000 (about $50 CDN). He wasn’t even a very good snake charmer. His flute playing sucked. Needless to say, I think we paid him a very generous Rs 500 instead and fled that section of the bazaar before he could protest.
The second time I fell into this trap was with an elephant! Michael and I went to the park that Ghandi was cremated at, and wandered through to the construction area / slums behind it. We spotted two elephants a ways off and eventually caught up to them. Without thinking, I immediately accepted the owner of one’s offer to get on the elephant. It wasn’t until I was getting off that he started demanding Rs 1000. A far better price than the snake charmer, but I’m not paying $25 for sitting on an elephant for one minute, especially since that price is probably comparable to the two- and three-hour elephant rides we’ll see later in the tour.
I’m back in my room after eating dinner in the meeting room with Michael. He’s from Denmark and I’m so grateful he speaks perfect English. I’m also grateful that I could go tour the city with him today, as there is no way I’d have survived it alone.
I’m beginning to doubt my decision to spend six days alone in Mumbai. I keep hearing that there isn’t much to see and that I’d be better off going to Goa. I’m going to see if I can change my flight from Mumbai to Goa instead. Alternatively, I can take a train to Goa from Mumbai, but it’s a 12 hour journey each way, which will eat up two of my days (unless it’s a sleeper car, but I don’t know if I feel comfortable sleeping on a train alone).
Michael and I got back to the hotel around 4 and I slept for a couple of hours. It’s now a quarter after nine and I’m already really tired again, so I’m (hopefully) pretty much adjusted to the time difference. I guess waking up early and walking all day is all that’s needed to shift.
We took a rickshaw and a couple of auto-rickshaws today, which are both not as terrifying as one might expect. And we saw our first traffic accident, which was merely a bumper grazing another. Every. Single. Car. has dents all over it. And the nicest car I’ve seen so far was a brand new Honda Accord. This is not a land of luxury.
The computer’s battery is dying, as is mine. Time to recharge both for another day of India tomorrow.
People stare at me wherever I go. I know the blonde/purple/black hair doesn’t help the situation much. And while I’ve been stared at in other countries before, it pales in comparison to this.
On top of staring at me, they take photos. Michael, whom I met at breakfast and is also doing the Delhi to Kathmandu tour, first noticed it this morning, when a young boy used his cellphone to snap a picture of me. While I didn’t see it that time, I saw it happen at least a dozen other times throughout the day.
And groups of people stopped me for pictures. Mostly younger boys, probably 13 or 14 years old, but some families too. I was probably stopped a half dozen times for people to take pictures of me with them, and each time they took three or four or five photos, ensuring every member got their turn. [ edit: its E
If this is what it’s like to be a celebrity, I don’t ever want to be famous.
It’s beyond overwhelming to constantly have eyes trailing on you. While at the mosque (I forget its name, it’s a huge Muslim mosque in the centre of Old Delhi) [edit: its English name is the Friday Mosque], I was waiting for Michael to returning from climbing a tower (I opted out, as I was tired and I don’t fare well with spiral staircases). A man stopped and stared at me, completely unabashedly, for at least 15 minutes. What do you do in that situation? And it was clear I was uncomfortable, yet he just stood there, staring and staring.
Most of the people are much friendlier in their gawking though. One family stopped me, and after they had taken pictures with me, the husband asked me to turn around so he could take a picture of the back of my head. I guess the purple is just asking for it though.
#1 rule when traveling in India: determine a price before you do anything. I’ve heard this time and time again, but it’s easy to just jump into something, which makes it difficult to argue the price as you don’t have the option of walking away.
I fell into this trap twice; once, with a snake charmer. Michael and I couldn’t remember what the snakes are, are they cobras? Anyway, he had two, and I got suckered into sitting next to him. The next thing I know he’s putting one of his two supremely venomous snakes around my neck and telling me the price is Rs 2000 (about $50 CDN). He wasn’t even a very good snake charmer. His flute playing sucked. Needless to say, I think we paid him a very generous Rs 500 instead and fled that section of the bazaar before he could protest.
The second time I fell into this trap was with an elephant! Michael and I went to the park that Ghandi was cremated at, and wandered through to the construction area / slums behind it. We spotted two elephants a ways off and eventually caught up to them. Without thinking, I immediately accepted the owner of one’s offer to get on the elephant. It wasn’t until I was getting off that he started demanding Rs 1000. A far better price than the snake charmer, but I’m not paying $25 for sitting on an elephant for one minute, especially since that price is probably comparable to the two- and three-hour elephant rides we’ll see later in the tour.
I’m back in my room after eating dinner in the meeting room with Michael. He’s from Denmark and I’m so grateful he speaks perfect English. I’m also grateful that I could go tour the city with him today, as there is no way I’d have survived it alone.
I’m beginning to doubt my decision to spend six days alone in Mumbai. I keep hearing that there isn’t much to see and that I’d be better off going to Goa. I’m going to see if I can change my flight from Mumbai to Goa instead. Alternatively, I can take a train to Goa from Mumbai, but it’s a 12 hour journey each way, which will eat up two of my days (unless it’s a sleeper car, but I don’t know if I feel comfortable sleeping on a train alone).
Michael and I got back to the hotel around 4 and I slept for a couple of hours. It’s now a quarter after nine and I’m already really tired again, so I’m (hopefully) pretty much adjusted to the time difference. I guess waking up early and walking all day is all that’s needed to shift.
We took a rickshaw and a couple of auto-rickshaws today, which are both not as terrifying as one might expect. And we saw our first traffic accident, which was merely a bumper grazing another. Every. Single. Car. has dents all over it. And the nicest car I’ve seen so far was a brand new Honda Accord. This is not a land of luxury.
The computer’s battery is dying, as is mine. Time to recharge both for another day of India tomorrow.
Day… 5? End of day 4 / beginning of day 5.
I’m in India! And I’m totally overwhelmed. I think the realization that I’m 10,000kms from home all by myself has sunk in. Unlike Amsterdam, where English is everyone’s second language and half the people you meet are from North America anyway, this is so foreign. And I knew that coming into it. And I knew I wouldn’t be prepared. And I knew I would probably break down. So I guess I’m doing ok in that sense.
I think getting in at midnight is contributing greatly to the loneliness I feel right now. Loneliness isn’t really the right word. I guess it’s independence that I maybe wasn’t ready for. No better way to change that than to throw myself right into it though, which is why I’m doing this in the first place. No internet doesn’t help either; it’s hard to feel alone when Facebook and email provide a sort of realtime view into the goings-on of everyone at home. I’ll hunt tomorrow in the hopes of finding an internet café so I can check in with everyone.
I’m sitting on the cold tile floor of my ghetto hotel room because the only plug that I didn’t think would toast my laptop is behind the fridge and TV. The outlet in the bathroom started snapping and popping when I plugged my converter in, so I decided against that one.
When I say ghetto hotel room, I mean it. There were stray dogs outside, there is garbage literally everywhere in the street, and the windows face the blank walls of the building next door. So much for “Grand Hotel,” not that I was expecting anything five-star anyway.
I thought the cab ride here might be terrifying, or even possibly the death of me, but after two minutes you realize that everyone drives fast and close, but they also all drive cautiously. Probably 80% of the vehicles on the road were dumptruck-sized commercial trucks and they all had “HORN PLEASE” written on the back of them. Rather than using pesky mirrors or having to strain yourself shoulder-checking, you just rely on everyone else to communicate that they’re beside you by honking or flashing their headlights or both. And it works. I’m surprised we didn’t graze any bumpers, as we were literally inches away from other cars a few times.
The smell inside the cab was reminiscent of the odour that my Bug emitted on one of its bad days, save for ten times worse. But rolling down the window didn’t really help, as it’s a little funky outside too, and surprisingly cold. I knew it’d be cooler as it’s winter, but it’s super foggy and pretty chilly.
I made the mistake of sleeping pretty much the entire flight here (I passed out before takeoff I was so beat), so now I’m wide awake. My sleep schedule basically doesn’t exist right now, and I’ve been surviving off three hour naps whenever I feel tired. I’m here tonight and tomorrow night, and then the tour check-in is at 5pm on Saturday, with the tour commencing the following day. So that gives me a solid two days to try to get a handle on the new time zone. Really wishing I had brought melatonin with me; I’ll try to find some tomorrow. Not holding my breath on that one.
I should recap on the rest of Amsterdam, although I don’t remember exactly where I left off. I planned on taking advantage of a free walking tour that kicked off at 10:30am and went through all the major to-sees in Amsterdam (Anne Frank museum, Van Gogh museum, Red Light District, etc), but that didn’t exactly happen. I had gone to bed at 2am, woke up wide awake at 5am, and then I guess I passed out again around 8am. When I awoke again, it was 1pm and I’d missed the boat on the free tour. So instead, Tamera and Dave (the San Franciscans) and I headed out to wander the city for a bit. Then later that night we went for waffles (most amazing waffles EVER!) and strolled through the Red Light District.
It’s by no means as seedy as everyone implies it to be. I guess if you thought that the whole thing is immoral then it might not sit well with you, but if that’s the case, why are you in Amsterdam? It’s actually really pretty, seeing all these 100-year-old+ buildings, aglow with red lights. It’s probably not a place I’d let a young kid wander through, but the scantily-clad prostitutes pale in comparison to some of the super-graphic images that hang in the porn shop windows.
The main section of the RDL lines a canal, and despite the water being almost completely frozen, it was full of ducks and swans. How they didn’t freeze to death is beyond me.
Speaking of freezing to death, I had to buy a toque and mittens as it was so bloody cold in Amsterdam. They might come in handy though, as apparently Egypt gets cold at night, as can Nepal. And I might be forced to don them in this ice palace hotel room. There’s no heater, so I’m considering cranking the fridge in the hopes that its output will warm up the room a degree or two.
Tomorrow’s going to be another adventure, as I have no idea what part of town I’m even in. I’m hoping some of the other tour group members straggle in tomorrow, so that I can glom onto them for some company.
Oh, and if you ever fly to India and you’re waiting at the baggage carousel for your luggage, don’t. It’s probably all piled up at the end of the hall, so just go look for it there.
Time to crawl into bed and make friends with Shantaram. I’m lugging around a 900+ page book, I better get some use out of it.
I think getting in at midnight is contributing greatly to the loneliness I feel right now. Loneliness isn’t really the right word. I guess it’s independence that I maybe wasn’t ready for. No better way to change that than to throw myself right into it though, which is why I’m doing this in the first place. No internet doesn’t help either; it’s hard to feel alone when Facebook and email provide a sort of realtime view into the goings-on of everyone at home. I’ll hunt tomorrow in the hopes of finding an internet café so I can check in with everyone.
I’m sitting on the cold tile floor of my ghetto hotel room because the only plug that I didn’t think would toast my laptop is behind the fridge and TV. The outlet in the bathroom started snapping and popping when I plugged my converter in, so I decided against that one.
When I say ghetto hotel room, I mean it. There were stray dogs outside, there is garbage literally everywhere in the street, and the windows face the blank walls of the building next door. So much for “Grand Hotel,” not that I was expecting anything five-star anyway.
I thought the cab ride here might be terrifying, or even possibly the death of me, but after two minutes you realize that everyone drives fast and close, but they also all drive cautiously. Probably 80% of the vehicles on the road were dumptruck-sized commercial trucks and they all had “HORN PLEASE” written on the back of them. Rather than using pesky mirrors or having to strain yourself shoulder-checking, you just rely on everyone else to communicate that they’re beside you by honking or flashing their headlights or both. And it works. I’m surprised we didn’t graze any bumpers, as we were literally inches away from other cars a few times.
The smell inside the cab was reminiscent of the odour that my Bug emitted on one of its bad days, save for ten times worse. But rolling down the window didn’t really help, as it’s a little funky outside too, and surprisingly cold. I knew it’d be cooler as it’s winter, but it’s super foggy and pretty chilly.
I made the mistake of sleeping pretty much the entire flight here (I passed out before takeoff I was so beat), so now I’m wide awake. My sleep schedule basically doesn’t exist right now, and I’ve been surviving off three hour naps whenever I feel tired. I’m here tonight and tomorrow night, and then the tour check-in is at 5pm on Saturday, with the tour commencing the following day. So that gives me a solid two days to try to get a handle on the new time zone. Really wishing I had brought melatonin with me; I’ll try to find some tomorrow. Not holding my breath on that one.
I should recap on the rest of Amsterdam, although I don’t remember exactly where I left off. I planned on taking advantage of a free walking tour that kicked off at 10:30am and went through all the major to-sees in Amsterdam (Anne Frank museum, Van Gogh museum, Red Light District, etc), but that didn’t exactly happen. I had gone to bed at 2am, woke up wide awake at 5am, and then I guess I passed out again around 8am. When I awoke again, it was 1pm and I’d missed the boat on the free tour. So instead, Tamera and Dave (the San Franciscans) and I headed out to wander the city for a bit. Then later that night we went for waffles (most amazing waffles EVER!) and strolled through the Red Light District.
It’s by no means as seedy as everyone implies it to be. I guess if you thought that the whole thing is immoral then it might not sit well with you, but if that’s the case, why are you in Amsterdam? It’s actually really pretty, seeing all these 100-year-old+ buildings, aglow with red lights. It’s probably not a place I’d let a young kid wander through, but the scantily-clad prostitutes pale in comparison to some of the super-graphic images that hang in the porn shop windows.
The main section of the RDL lines a canal, and despite the water being almost completely frozen, it was full of ducks and swans. How they didn’t freeze to death is beyond me.
Speaking of freezing to death, I had to buy a toque and mittens as it was so bloody cold in Amsterdam. They might come in handy though, as apparently Egypt gets cold at night, as can Nepal. And I might be forced to don them in this ice palace hotel room. There’s no heater, so I’m considering cranking the fridge in the hopes that its output will warm up the room a degree or two.
Tomorrow’s going to be another adventure, as I have no idea what part of town I’m even in. I’m hoping some of the other tour group members straggle in tomorrow, so that I can glom onto them for some company.
Oh, and if you ever fly to India and you’re waiting at the baggage carousel for your luggage, don’t. It’s probably all piled up at the end of the hall, so just go look for it there.
Time to crawl into bed and make friends with Shantaram. I’m lugging around a 900+ page book, I better get some use out of it.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Day 2.5? - Jet lagggged
It's 6am and I'm wide awake after about three hours of sleep.
KLM were AWESOME! I definitely recommend flying with them. I've got three more KLM flights this trip, and hopefully they're all as great as yesterday's was. Sitting in a cramped metal tube breathing in recycled air for nine hours sucks no matter how you look at it, but between the pretty decent food, super nice attendants, constant flow of drinks (they have free booze but I just made friends with endless orange juice) and a bevy of movie and TV choices on the individual screens, it wasn't half bad at all.
I watched the Ugly Truth. Verdict: Katherine Heigl has a perfect body, weird head, and zero acting skills. Gerard Butler is a beautiful man.
I'm staying at the Flying Pig Downtown hostel in Amsterdam. My roomies are Tamera and Dave from San Fransisco, and Mika/Miki/something like that from Japan.
After settling in, sleeping for a few hours and then getting ready, I headed down to the bar / smoking room. Beer for... k, so the Euro symbol is on my keyboard, but no matter what I press it won't work. Humph. Anyway, huge glasses of beer for 2 Euros and 90 cents. Hung out with Tamera and Dave for a while, got awkwardly hit on by some dudes from Barcelona, and then ventured out into the street with Jeanie from Connecticut to find food.
It's FREEZING cold here! Literally. There's snow on the ground and the walkways are icy. I was wearing flipflops last night, which may not have been the best choice, but thankfully we're right in the middle of everything, so we didn't have to venture far to find burgers.
When I checked in, I grabbed a brochure for free walking tours. Opened it up only to find Donald's picture in it! (Went to high school with him in Mission, he dated a friend of mine, and he's responsible for all my piercings.) He lived here for a while, but I think he's in Berlin now, working as a tour guide. So crazy to see a familiar face in print on the other side of the globe!
I think later this morning I'll take advantage of said free tours. Three hours around Amsterdam, including the Red Light District and Anne Frank's house. Today's my last day here before I jet off to India, but I'll be back in a couple of weeks and then again at the end of my trip. Save for the smokiness, I like Amsterdam so far.
KLM were AWESOME! I definitely recommend flying with them. I've got three more KLM flights this trip, and hopefully they're all as great as yesterday's was. Sitting in a cramped metal tube breathing in recycled air for nine hours sucks no matter how you look at it, but between the pretty decent food, super nice attendants, constant flow of drinks (they have free booze but I just made friends with endless orange juice) and a bevy of movie and TV choices on the individual screens, it wasn't half bad at all.
I watched the Ugly Truth. Verdict: Katherine Heigl has a perfect body, weird head, and zero acting skills. Gerard Butler is a beautiful man.
I'm staying at the Flying Pig Downtown hostel in Amsterdam. My roomies are Tamera and Dave from San Fransisco, and Mika/Miki/something like that from Japan.
After settling in, sleeping for a few hours and then getting ready, I headed down to the bar / smoking room. Beer for... k, so the Euro symbol is on my keyboard, but no matter what I press it won't work. Humph. Anyway, huge glasses of beer for 2 Euros and 90 cents. Hung out with Tamera and Dave for a while, got awkwardly hit on by some dudes from Barcelona, and then ventured out into the street with Jeanie from Connecticut to find food.
It's FREEZING cold here! Literally. There's snow on the ground and the walkways are icy. I was wearing flipflops last night, which may not have been the best choice, but thankfully we're right in the middle of everything, so we didn't have to venture far to find burgers.
When I checked in, I grabbed a brochure for free walking tours. Opened it up only to find Donald's picture in it! (Went to high school with him in Mission, he dated a friend of mine, and he's responsible for all my piercings.) He lived here for a while, but I think he's in Berlin now, working as a tour guide. So crazy to see a familiar face in print on the other side of the globe!
I think later this morning I'll take advantage of said free tours. Three hours around Amsterdam, including the Red Light District and Anne Frank's house. Today's my last day here before I jet off to India, but I'll be back in a couple of weeks and then again at the end of my trip. Save for the smokiness, I like Amsterdam so far.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Day 1 of Sam's Epic Adventure - Departure!
Is it too bold to dub my adventure epic when it hasn't happened yet?
I'm at YVR (thanks for the free wifi!) killing time before boarding. Security was a breeze; no questions, no restrictions, and I didn't even have to take off my shoes!
Will and Dustin accompanied me to the airport via the Canada Line. It was nice to have some company to distract me, and I never get enough time with my brother anyway. Now that I'm here I'm actually calm. I've been freaking out every time I actually thought about what I'm about to undertake, but now that my bags are checked and I'm actually here I'm way more chill. It's missing flights or not having accommodations that has me periodically panicking, but I seem to be ok now.
Or it's the apple martini calming my nerves.
I'm loaded down with American dollars, Euros and Rupees, and with about thirty pounds more luggage than I should have. There's a good chance all of the previously mentioned stuff will not be coming back to Canada. We'll see how I feel about my hair dryer and makeup when I actually have to carry it around all day. The girly girl in me may die a brutal death on this trip.
Getting less than three hours of sleep last night hopefully means I'll be able to fall asleep easily on the plane. Failing that, I'll get liquored. Free booze!
And tomorrow, at 3pm local time, I arrive in Amsterdam, ready to take on the world! And by world I mean the bed at the hostel I'm staying at. I'm gonna be pooped.
I'm officially unemployed! Which is terrifying! Job hunting in April is going to suck! Please hire me as a technical writer!
I'm at YVR (thanks for the free wifi!) killing time before boarding. Security was a breeze; no questions, no restrictions, and I didn't even have to take off my shoes!
Will and Dustin accompanied me to the airport via the Canada Line. It was nice to have some company to distract me, and I never get enough time with my brother anyway. Now that I'm here I'm actually calm. I've been freaking out every time I actually thought about what I'm about to undertake, but now that my bags are checked and I'm actually here I'm way more chill. It's missing flights or not having accommodations that has me periodically panicking, but I seem to be ok now.
Or it's the apple martini calming my nerves.
I'm loaded down with American dollars, Euros and Rupees, and with about thirty pounds more luggage than I should have. There's a good chance all of the previously mentioned stuff will not be coming back to Canada. We'll see how I feel about my hair dryer and makeup when I actually have to carry it around all day. The girly girl in me may die a brutal death on this trip.
Getting less than three hours of sleep last night hopefully means I'll be able to fall asleep easily on the plane. Failing that, I'll get liquored. Free booze!
And tomorrow, at 3pm local time, I arrive in Amsterdam, ready to take on the world! And by world I mean the bed at the hostel I'm staying at. I'm gonna be pooped.
I'm officially unemployed! Which is terrifying! Job hunting in April is going to suck! Please hire me as a technical writer!
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