Way Behind

We got home from the India-Nepal adventure on Sunday. I have much more to describe, but I must process my thoughts and my photos. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I cannot Photoshop 2,000 pictures before posting. Still, I must weed.

In the meantime, here’s something I forgot to mention until I saw the picture.

They served us Washington apples on our houseboat in Kerala.


We didn’t eat apples in India, of course, since we don’t know how they washed them. Our constant vigilance notwithstanding, Rob brought back a little something with him. Came down with it just before takeoff. I’m glad he didn’t spoil the trip or anything, but it hasn’t made the transition back to reality any easier. He’s been IV-dripped and is home recovering. We’re waiting for the tests to come back to see whether it’s typhoid. (Impossible! We were vaccinated.)

Update 5/7/08: Apparently not typhoid, but campylobacter.

Here are some of the first photos I’ve gotten around to posting.

Buddhist monkeys

Today we decided to walk up to the “nice place to meditate.” I knew this was going to be physically challenging for me, but what else did we have to do?

A few minutes in, I was all, “It’s hot, I can’t, I’ll wait here.” It wasn’t particularly scenic at that point, just hot and dusty. The road was so steep and rocky, it was hard to imagine any other method of getting up there, but two women with horses passed us on the way down. Rob asked where they got them and they said, “luckily they’re ours.” We should have asked to rent them.

After we got to a prettier area with trees, Rob stopped to take a picture. I trudged on, looking at my feet and decided this could be like a walking meditation. One foot in front of the other. I could do that for an hour. That way, I wasn’t looking up at the steep hill that went on forever, because then, even if I thought, oh, I just need to make it up to that tree, I could tell there was more steepness beyond.

Staring at my feet, I could concern myself with one step at a time. Living in the present moment. Very Zen. Except I also was mentally composing what I would write about it later.

My focus on my feet was distracted by a large monkey sitting very close to the path. We took several dozen pictures of him picking at his knee. He didn’t seem to mind us, until Rob reached out “to shake his hand” (?), and the monkey bared his teeth, struck an aggressive pose and galloped away.

We reached a fork and asked a red-robed monk which way to go. (Yeah, monks just happen to be standing around whenever you need one.) He pointed and we noticed several monkeys putting on an acrobatic show on the monk’s front lawn. Then, for no reason at all, they moved in for the attack, rushing toward me, teeth bared and all.

“They’re coming after me!” I cried, fearing that if I ran, they’d chase, so I stomped and growled and barked at them. Which sort of discouraged them, but not entirely. The monk gestured that we should throw rocks at them.

Seriously? Is that what monks do? Not that the monkeys even noticed the monk.

I picked up a few rocks, but by then the monkeys were no longer interested in us.

Rejuvenated, or energized by the fight or flight instinct, we moved up a narrow rocky trail, side-stepping monkey shit.

The nice place to meditate wound up being the Tushita meditation center, which I suspected and have now verified, was the same place where Matt and Kelly spent 10 days silently meditating. Except when Matt was escaping to eat real food. (Hi, Matt and Kelly!)

It felt a little like trespassing, but we went through the gate and sat down at some tables overlooking the treetops. Pine needles fell on my head, and I worried that the few people passing by were staring at us wondering who we were, but it was the most peaceful and quiet moment we’ve experienced in a long time.

It had been a few hours since my breakfast banana pancake (it was actually a pancake; I was expecting a crepe). And like my cousin, I got hungry, so we left.

Ahh, Dharamsala

Brilliant decision to stay here two nights, instead of going overnight back to Delhi tonight. Not least because our laundry won’t be done til tomorrow. Feels good to just relax. To not have to be up for anything, which has been the case only a couple of other times, both in Bombay, I think, and there I did feel a little pressure to get out to see the sights.

Dharamsala reminds us a bit of Kathmandu. We’re seeing more backpackers here than anywhere else, and that’s sort of a relief, not to stand out so much. This time, all the crafts along the narrow streets are Tibetan, not Nepalese, and the streets are steeper.

I was actually surprised when a little boy asked us for money as soon as we stepped outside yesterday afternoon, and then again 15 minutes later when we came out of the money changer. It’s like I forgot I was in India. Still, even though motorcycles and auto rickshaws honk and nearly run us over every few minutes, at least we aren’t being stopped every third second by a driver insisting that we want them to take us somewhere.

Certain vantage points of the hilltops could almost be Benedict Canyon, but then you spot a string of prayer flags, or a snow-peaked mountain peeking out between the green mounds.

Yesterday, we just wandered. We noticed hippie yoga types trudging down a steep hill beyond the shops. We asked a woman who said there is a nice place to mediate waaay up there. Rob asked how far. “Not tonight,” she advised. “Very steep.”

We got Tibetan massages, very professional. The masseurs, who escaped from Tibet about 5 years ago, did not ask us to help them move to America (as my Nepalese masseuse did), nor was I groped as before.

There is a temple across from our guesthouse. We spun the prayer wheels before bed last night, and I noticed how hard they were to spin from a standstill. This morning during breakfast, I listened to bell-ringing and watched as actual Tibetans and red-robed monks (male and female) spun the wheels, using the wooden handles at the base. So that’s how it’s done. Also spinning the wheels were the aforementioned hippie backpackers, some with enormous stuff sacks on their backs.

The only sight we feel compelled to see is of course, the Dalai Lama’s residence. Apparently he’s back from Seattle, so it will be all the more thrilling to look at the exterior of the building, knowing he might be inside. I haven’t seen any signs with arrows pointing to “Dalai Lama’s house, 1 km,” but surely someone can tell us.

From hell on earth to the top of the world

Delhi was hotter than a son of a bitch. We arrived early in the morning, went through the bizarre experience that is booking an overnight train ticket to Dharamsala (or in that general direction) and left our luggage for the day at the hotel where we plan to stay when we return to Delhi from Dharamsala.

Then what? It was too hot, and we were too tired. We’d reached the point in the trip when navigating India’s world just seemed too hard. Lying on the couch with the dog seemed awfully appealing.

But refusing to crack (OK, I’ll admit I started to cry in a Kentucky Fried Chicken at the air-conditioned mall. We went there to get a bottle of water. I didn’t come to India to smell chicken!), we hailed an autorickshaw to take us to a fancy hotel in the center of town where we could just sit in a bar. Naturally, the driver had a better idea and suggested the revolving restaurant Parikrama.

Let me tell you, this revolving restaurant saved the day. It had signs pointing out to the sights out in the distance, and I spent two hours looking stuff up in my book and squinting out the window to figure out what stuff was. Rob drank 3 beers, Coronas (imported), which wound up costing $20, I had two sodas, palak paneer (spinach with cubes of Indian cheese) and lychees with ice cream. And a bottle of water, totaling $16. We were pretty surprised when the bill came. Rob hadn’t checked out the price of the beer, and says he should have suspected something when the waiters kept showing him the beer bottles as though they contained fine vintage wine. Still, it was fun and I got to feel like I saw some of Delhi.

When we got back to our waiting rickshaw driver (they never just want to take your money and leave), he told us about a lovely shopping emporium…

Rob: No.
Driver: But it’s a lovely emporium. They have many nice things.
Rob: No.
Driver: Why not?
Rob: Absolutely not. If you mention it again, we will get out right here.
Driver: (silence)

Heading for the hills

We paid more to be in a sleeper car with two-bunk stacks ‘sted of 3, but we were put on the side, so we were parallel to the “aisle.” There was a family of 8 in the “compartment” across from us. We had drapes, which we didn’t have before, but altogether, I was less comfortable than I had been on the previous overnight trains.

An online forum had a suggestion of training to Chakki Bank, going 3 km to the Pathankot station and taking a scenic narrow-gauge train 3 hours to Dharamsala. The cabbie who nabbed us as soon as we got off the train at 5 am really wanted to take us all the way to Dharamsala for 700 rs, which actually didn’t seem like much, but I had my heart set on this scenic train ride. The cabbie AND the guy at the “enquiry” counter at Pathankot discouraged this method to get to Dharamsala, but I held firm.

We got tickets for a 7:10 train (35 Rs total vs. 700), and waited for it on this huge platform that was practically deserted compared to the other India stations we’ve been to. Several dozen saddhus (those yellow-robed dudes) were scattered on the pavement and a couple of grungy looking girls and old women approached us for money. We were unmoved, as we had seen the most pathetic beggar last night, and if we didn’t give him money, we’re too hard-hearted to give to the destitute.

This was at New Delhi station. He had all his limbs, but one shin was bloodied, the other was bandaged and he scooted around on his butt. He had a bloody bandage around his head practically covering his eyes. But he could see well enough to get close to us. First time on this trip I have been disturbed/horrified/frightened. I really didn’t want him to touch me.

Rob, being Rob, spoke to him a few minutes before the guy scooted away. That was a few minutes too long as far as I was concerned, but they don’t tend to leave any sooner if you completely ignore them. At the Varanasi station (I think it was), kids actually poked me.

Anywho…we took this little train, the Kangra Valley Railway. It was pretty breezy and nice out, it being 7 am and all. At a stop about 20 minutes later, tons of people piled on and it ceased being comfortable. The view was wonderful. We saw fields of wheat and people harvesting them, and people carrying big jars or bundles on their heads, and little colorful temples in the middle of nowhere and cliffs and rocks and valleys. Also, cows, dogs and saris, but they’re everywhere.

It was very entertaining for about 3 hours. It was even fun that it was so crowded because there were some girls singing in our compartment. And dudes hanging off the side of the train. I eventually took my camera out, thinking I was missing all these fantastic shots…but really couldn’t get very many good ones.

Unfortunately, the train ride was not 3 hours but 5, which we hadn’t realized…so it got a bit unpleasant and sweltering.

FINALLY we got to our destination, Kangra, as this train didn’t actually go to Dharamsala. Getting off the train in a podunk village, I doubted my abilities as a travel agent for the first time. Maybe I should have listened to that cab driver in Chakki Bank.

We walked along a long, very not-touristy path, astonished that several minutes went by without someone offering to take us to Dharamsala.

We got to some auto rickshaws, and I was almost afraid to ask how to get to Dharamsala, because what if I had steered us completely out of the way? But the rickshaw driver referred us to a cab driver, who for 500 rs careened up the mountain the Upper Dharamsala (aka Mcleod Ganj). We talked him down from 600. We’re getting better. There was a whole crowd of them, insisting that it be 600. So I found another driver, and as soon as I started talking to him, one of the original dudes told Rob he’d do it for 500.

In Mcleod Ganj, we got a room for a third of what we’ve been paying, which, get this…has a computer in it. In the room. I’m on it now. A little slow for my comfort, but it’s enabling me to practice Zenlike patience.

There are mountains outside our window and it looks like we’re on top of the world. Now that we’ve showered and changed clothes for the first time since Bombay (35 hours, if you were wondering), maybe we’ll actually get out and look around in a while. Or else we’ll spend the next two days reading in our room and writing emails.

Rob busts the cons

On the boat to Elephanta, a very helpful fellow warned us not to ask anyone on the island to show us a cave, because they’ll charge us 2,000 rs. Then he sold us a guidebook for 260 rs. He told us it was the guidebook recommended by Lonely Planet.

I swear to Shiva, I need to sharpen my scam-dar.

Because if I’d opened my Lonely Planet Best of Mumbai book, I would have seen that it said the guidebooks cost 50 rs on the island, but con artists sell them for 250 at the dock.

Guess there’s been a 10-rupee inflation since publication. Rob went up to the guy, who was still on the boat targeting another white guy, and told the con artist that he would be buying back the guidebook. He said no, but then Rob said that he was going to tell the other white guy not to buy from him, so the con artist gave him back 200 rupees. It was a 60-rupee lesson.

Earlier, Rob bought a pirated DVD of Rambo on the street. He’d had a 75% success rate with Thailand’s street DVDs and was optimistic. We borrowed (rented) a DVD player from our hotel, and whaddya know, Rambo was shot hand-held in a theater, half the screen was blocked and the other half was out of focus. You could see heads of people in the theater.

We went back to the street stand and Rob told them he wanted his money back. They guy said no, and insisted that this other DVD, which he had said the day before was not as good as the one Rob originally bought, would be better. He even went down the street and pretended to test it in an electronics store.

So we took the second DVD to the same store where the manager looked at us like we were criminals for wanting to test a pirated DVD on his machine. The second DVD was worse.

Rob told the DVD pirate that he had four options.

1) Rob would stand there the rest of the day and tell people not to buy his DVDs.
2) Rob would sic the tourist police on him (we decided this was a good form of intimidation after seeing some bongo salesmen at the Gateway to India run away when the Tourist Police car approached).
3) Rob would upturn the table of DVDs, spilling them on the street.***
4) The DVD pirate would give Rob his money back.

The pirate reluctantly reached into his pockets and pulled out 100 Rs. Rob said, “I think I paid more than that.” The guy pulled out another 50. Sad to say, we couldn’t remember how much he paid. Pirates don’t write out receipts.

***Addendum: For those who don’t know Rob, he says these things in a perfectly calm, cheerful voice with a smile on his face. I think the only time I’ve heard him with anger in his voice (like, ever) was when he told a little boy near the Gateway to India to turn around and walk away when the kid wouldn’t leave us alone as we tried to hail a cab. We didn’t know why he was trying to assist us in this task, and didn’t want him to know where we were staying.

Bombay cab

So, we’ve stopped being so generous with cab drivers. Mostly because we are confused. Our hotel had an airport car service that would have cost 900 rs, but our tour guide had told us it should cost 400-500.

Upon arrival in Mumbai (Bombay, whatever), we walked to the cab stand where the dude in charge said it would be 500 rupees. He directed us to a driver who said it would be 600. I took my bag out of the trunk and said never mind, someone else would take us for 500. Already, I thought I probably should have haggled the 500 down, and now the driver was going in the wrong direction.

He said, “OK, OK, 500 rupees.”

Or, that’s what I thought he said, because he threw a fit when we arrived at the hotel (after he stopped one time to ask a friend directions and another time to buy something from a roadside stand) when I handed him the 500 Rs note. He demanded 600 because it was so far. Dude, you’d have more sympathy if you’d brought us directly here.

I said, “We agreed on 500.”

He stamped his foot and said no, we said 550. I’m flashing back and thinking, when he said “500 rupees” was he actually saying “five hundred fifty”?

Regardless, I only had 500 Rs notes handy so we held firm. In the lobby of our hotel, for all to see. Scaring the staff into submission, no doubt.

Next day, we took a cab to Gandhi’s house. 100 rupees he said, which was way too much, so when he said he’d take us back to the hotel, or wherever we wanted to go, “same price,” I figured that was a better deal. We had him take us to a Jain temple, a Hindu temple, some kind of sacred Hindu swimming pool and Thieves Market. He added the Hanging Gardens on and desperately wanted to take us to the Dhobi Ghats, but it was hard to get psyched about a giant outdoor manual laundromat. We’d seen people washing clothes in the Ganges in Varanasi already.

At Thieves Market, I meant to hand the driver another 100 note. Generously doubling the only fare he’d quoted. I accidentally handed him two 100 notes together, and still he practically spit at me. 600, he demanded. He took us all these places! (Uh, yeah, but one of them we didn’t even ask to go to.) I asked Rob if he had any 100 notes, because I did think it would be fair to pay 400 or 500 if that’s what he expected.

With 400 rupees in his hand (plus the 100 Rob gave him at Gandhi’s house) he still wanted another 100. 500 was reasonable, we said. He still wanted 600. We gave him another 50, and I wound up feeling like we cheated him somehow. He was so nice and here we were stiffing him. Or did he drive away thinking, “Awesome, I got 550 out of those suckers. Nice haul.”

Later I counted. Gandhi’s house, two temples, the tank and the market. Five places. At 100 rupees each, that was totally fair. Let’s call the 50 rupees a tip for suggesting the Hanging Gardens.

In the afternoon, we took another cab to Colaba Market (for 50 rupees, I think). The driver, wearing a white hat and beard that made me think he was Muslim, asked us why Americans have such big noses. I told him mine was long because I am a liar and Rob said his was broad because he got punched in the face. The driver asked about the scar on Rob’s lip. Up front, this dude. Rob said he was a boxer, and the driver said “You don’t look like a boxer. They should be big. And taller.”

Still, he was our favorite so far.

Global economics

I feel like we’re spending more money on this trip than we could be.

We refused to give more than 40 rupees ($1) to the barefoot rickshaw runner, because that’s what we agreed upon. Then, feeling guilty about that, I’ve started overtipping waiters, cab drivers and the houseboat-arranging guy, who probably don’t need the money as much as the barefoot rickshaw dude. I don’t have the heart to bargain down when the price is so cheap to begin with. Someone on our tour said that meant I was contributing to inflation in India, but I can’t remember why that seemed like a valid reason to pay a guy only $1 to wheelbarrow us to our hotel (and not get us lost on the way).

In all likelihood, we could have negotiated a better price on our houseboat, but who cares. We had the money, and didn’t have the energy or time to shop around. We liked the tout who approached us at the bus stop. Not least because his name was Shboo Boney (spelling of first name is approximate). Always happy to reward personality with some baksheesh.

One website recommended staying in Alleppey for several days checking out boats. I doubt we could have landed a better experience if we had. If we could have paid less, oh well. It’s the experience we’ll remember, not the price.

Calcutta to Kerala

Calcutta pretty much sucked all around. Fortunately, we are very upbeat and resilient people.

The Fairlawn Hotel was awesome though. The highlight. Real funky, like a 1940s old lady’s house in England…lots of knicknacks, draperies. Claw footed tub. Garden restaurant.Unfortunately the dinner was a fixed menu, vegetarian chowmein that was so spicy I couldn’t eat more than a bite.

We arrived with our tour group on an overnight train in the morning and checked into a few rooms at the Hotel Victerrace to change.

It was forever before all 12 of us were ready to go. We took cabs to the Kalighat temple, which was insanely crowded because it was Sunday morning and people needed to get in there to worship Kali. They were sacrificing a goat. I barely saw the hind legs of the animal, and didn’t hear anything, but i guess others could hear the screaming, so what I saw was them covering their ears and saying “oh my god. oh my god.” Sheesh. Vegetarians are so sensitive.

Then we were supposed to ride on the tram, but the others in our group wanted to go buy Indian cotton, and we were told, “oh there was an accident on the tram…” So we decided to go back to Victerrace, get our stuff, check into the Fairlawn, maybe drop off some laundry and then do our thing.

Our tour leader put us in a foot rickshaw and was supposed to tell the guy to take us to Victerrace and wait while we got our bags, then to the Fairlawn. However, the driver (I mean walker) did not know how to get there. We had the phone number for the place but no address. People kept thinking we were saying Hotel “Victoria”… we called the hotel from a “phone booth” and it took several tries to get them to tell the walker where they were. He decided he couldn’t take us, so he put us in a cab. Who ALSO couldn’t find it. 1/2 hour later, we got out of that cab (the guy was surprised we didn’t pay him. followed us a few blocks shouting at us) and walked, stopping every few minutes to ask a cabbie or dude on the street where the hotel was…and by now we had a street name and a landmark, but still, people had no idea.

As we were walking in the terrible heat (we learned later that it was a record hot day in Calcutta. One degree hotter and they would have declared a “heat wave”) … a bird shit on my head.

Fortunately I was wearing a hat.

Finally we asked at a jewerly store, and the guy knew exactly where the hotel was and it was 2 blocks away. When i asked how far, he said, “not a 1/2 hour” and I wanted to die. But yeah, 5 minutes is not a 1/2 hour, so he wasn’t lying.

Kerala

The tour over, it took us longer than planned to get to Kerala, because the second leg of our flight from Calcutta was canceled. Allegedly they emailed me to tell me this, but I received no such message. We got a flight the next morning to Cochin, not Trivandrum as planned, where we hoped to visit a Kalari Payattu (Indian martial art) training center. Poor Robbie. We stayed overnight in Chennai, which was like Beverly Hills compared to Calcutta.

But let me cut to the good stuff. The houseboat tour (Thanks, Matt and Kelly!). Floating for 20 hours through the backwaters of Kerala. Nice breeze, boat and two-person crew all to ourselves.

We had a great time on the Footsteps of Buddha tour, but this was the first time we had to just unwind and relax, watching life go by. We didn’t have any place to be, and didn’t have to worry about the next leg of our trip, because we arranged for a taxi to take us back to Cochin. We took a local bus to the boats in Alleppey, saved a bit of money, but decided to splurge on the way back.

Some of the backwaters were big lakes, other portions were narrow canals that ran through neighborhoods where the only mode of transport is a boat. Our boat was thatched and spacious, with an air-conditioned room to protect us from the thick layer of bugs that swarmed the ceiling on the deck as soon as night fell. I actually was too cold during the night, from the a/c. I wasn’t as gaga about lunch and dinner as Rob was, but it was fun being served on a banana leaf, and dishes enameled with little flowers. Breakfast was exciting though. Kerala pancakes with coconut and cardamom, omelette, masala tea and toast. This is why, despite not being able to eat most of the Indian food I’m served, I am not losing weight.

The Bodhi Tree

Our tour group visited the Bodhi Tree last night at 5:30. I was so pissed because it was too dark to take a decent picture. With the flash, the tree looked fake. Also I felt rushed.

So this morning Rob and I woke up early to go back and take lots of pictures. We only got two with both of us because the guy we gave the camera to was hesitant. A monk in dark red robes gave his cell phone to Rob to take his picture in front of the tree. Funny that the monks want to take that picture of themselves too.

Last night, an Indian family with a baby girl wearing dark eye makeup came up to me near the entrance and said, “One picture? One picture?” I reached out to take the camera and they said, no no, they wanted to take a picture with me.

Earlier, Rob and I took a rickshaw to an 80-foot-tall Buddha in Bodh Gaya. A 10-year-old boy followed us and asked us what country we were from.

Then he said, “The capital of America is Washington, DC. George Bush is not a good man!”

Rob chatted him up about how we’ll soon have a black president or a woman. Vikram (that was his name) wasn’t so sure about the woman. He asked us to buy him a school book and Rob was just going to give him money, but he said he didn’t want money (I wondered if that was because someone would take it from him). He took us to a bookstand and picked out a 500-rupee Oxford English Dictionary!

Rob asked why he didn’t want money and Vikram said he’d only spend it on food or something.

I know this was likely a scam and the woman behind the counter was his mom or at least in on it, but whatever. The kid spoke great English and knew about American politics. We bargained down to 400 rupees ($10). Whether we gave him 40 rupees or 400, he was going to do with it what he was going to do with it.

Today we found out that one of the Canadians on our tour had met him too. He said, “Canada! The capital is Ottawa.”

Apparently he didn’t ask her for a book, but when she told me she met him, I braced myself for the news that she had bought him a 500-rupee Oxford English Dictionary.