Well, I am finally better. In a hilarious act of karmic backlash, as I left Delhi, imparting words that weren't a ringing endorsement of India, I began to feel achy, tired and generally not well. India decided that if I did not like the country then feel its wrath. I am here to make amends: India is awesome, just a super place. At no point was I ever frustrated, blown away by noises. It was like a constant skip in the park.
I decided to nip this feeling of general crapiness in the bud by taking a fever reducer before boarding the plane. We had 22 hours of flight time from Delhi to Chicago so I wanted to feel ok- also, taking a fever reducer doubles as a pain masker which is so important for my back and well being. This was the final time I would feel good for 50 hours. I had a tremendous fever, the shivers and had a small band thumping behind my eyes and in my head. I would run the gamut of temperatures: from Arctic to the Sahara. It was, without a doubt, the worst flight I have ever been through. I set the record of trips to the bathroom as I was hydrated to the max. People probably assumed I was drunk as I slumped forward, eyes bloodshot from the pain, taking meticulous steps in the row towards the bathroom.
We arrived in Chicago and I still felt badly to the point where my fever had not subsided. I finally decided that this was not normal and ambled to the doctor's office in Chicago. I am not sure what was a better idea. Be sick in India: treatment would be cheap, but most of the time, I would be a little nervous with the unknown. Or be sick in US: treatment would be above standard and price would be even more above standard. Seeing the bill really makes me redefine my stance on prolonging the getting a job dance.
The storm has passed luckily and I am feeling heaps better. With the Duncans, I have seen Niagara, Motown Museum, a Cubs and Bulls game. Chicago has been a beautiful host for my re-entry. I am happy to be here yet I still feel like an outsider. I am not entirely comfortable being back. I am not ready to blend in again. I can't shake the feeling. It may be, in part, that I know I am going to be leaving soon again, but I feel there is more than knowing that I am transient guest. I am still at a loss of words to expound more, I need more time to mesh again with the US culture to paint the right picture.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Final Musings
This is the final indo-instalment for this mini publication. I am writing with complete equanimity since we leave tonight. While there will be countless other tales, tribulations and achievements, the chapter on India is closed. It is true what the locals say, "In India, anything is possible:" You can drive down the wrong side of the road, buy anything, do anything; but as the shopkeeper in Jodhpur stated "Indians have not digested foreigners yet." There seems to be a window that is closed to us. We are experiencing the veneer of Indian life, but only in small doses. As for the main recipe of Indian culture and society, this will always be locked away. That is what the culture dictates, travelers are yet to be positioned Indian social stratification. I believe, that it will never happen. Although India, on the surface, appears to be an open book, what I have seen is that they are fiercely wary of outside influence, only reluctantly accepting foreign interest.
Presently, Delhi did not get a fair shake from us. We arrived in the capital city rundown, sick and weary. I believe that things would have been different if we knew that there were two weeks more to travel and we had to soldier on, but the reality of leaving was much to strong to continue the facade of !ncredible !ndia. This is not a condemnation of our travels, quite the contrary, we have enjoyed our time here immensely. We have learned more about each other- our likes, dislikes, aspirations and pitfalls. All of these have been thrown into the fire that is traveling and that is India and the outcome is a sheen welding of strength and understanding. Moreover, we have gained valuble insight on what makes Indian society tick.
From the outset, I will apologize with you all. This blog will lack the coherent, clarity and cohesive components that my other blogs have remotely displayed. This is quite apropos to being here in India where these three C's, when applied to everyday activities, are in limited- almost extinct- supply.
Even before touching down in India, the trip began with Sam and her meticulous planning almost two years ago. She had always harboured dreams of going, finding enlightenment and reliving the traveler's life free from want and desire. Her aspirations to travel were ostensibly shelved due to her inhumane work schedule and other time commitments- and I would like to think meeting me was a larger factor. I, on the other hand, knew that India was spelled I N D I A and that was basically my background. It was not until I traveled to China that my focus was redirected really to India as a destination. One traveler succinctly stated that "if I thought China is crazy, wait till you see India." There it was: the seed of adventure, mystery and fear was planted.
I do agree, as does Sam, with this statement from this clairvoyant traveler; India, as many travelers bemoan or exalt, is frustratingly crazy: the gamut of emotions ranging from elation, sadness, animosity, understanding, obstinacy, withdrawal, desire and acceptance. A mosaic of feelings that usually are experienced before mid-day. As for coming here, I believe that we were searching for that essence of India that we heard so much about: attainment of enlightenment. However, I have felt nothing of the sort. What I do feel is more battle hardened, a crafty veteran of travel, which could be enlightenment. India provokes your deepest sensations and forces you to "come alive," so to speak. I was aware of my sphere of consciousness the entire time I traveled here: constantly on guard- good and bad- and entirely enveloped by all senses at once. As Wayne, my English friend aptly said, "India is like running a gauntlet."It forces you to interact on a daily basis. I found this deeply troubling sometimes since my interaction invariably involved people in poverty or people who just wanted money from case and point. In no way does my six weeks provide me with an insider's scope to what it is like to be in India. I realize we traveled the well beaten path by many and our experience was inexorably a traveler's experience on the tourist path where these dealings with the aforementioned characters occur on a regular basis. Yet, this does not weaken my perspective or make my time here worthless. Our trip opened the debate to being human, interacting on the human level. It is hard to shun a three year beggar under the auspices that giving two rupees only furthers their dependence on obtaining money through begging. It is hard to be so stoic in front of these people, so cold and numb to their plight. On the other side, I was shown great care and genuine concern for my well being by many people, strangers or people working in tourism. Indians took special interest in our travels and were quick to ask how we liked India. If any answer had slight negative undertones, these people took this as an offense equal to treason that we have had a bad time and I am fairly certain that, on the drop of a hat, would make sure that we did enjoy being here if we let them. As one person explained the mentality is that " we (travelers) are guests here and it is important for us to treat you as such." There was such genuine interest in our well being that it was almost smothering.
I don't subscribe to the notion that India is tough place to be. I look back at my earlier musings and apprehension and smile at my preoccupations before coming here. I know that I have come along way; as yesterday we met two English guys who just arrived. They looked as we did when we first arrived: uncertain, timid, lost and exuded a certain oh my god what have we gotten ourselves into vibe. We weren't any different. We imparted as much information, tricks of the trade, to ease their emotional tumult, and in a way, this seemed slightly cathartic. All the frustrations were compiled into hilarious anecdotes and advisories and I have begun to appreciate being here.
I think that I built up the notion that India will change you . I was, and still am, resistant to that idea. This has not been any different that any other place I have been in terms of annoying and enthralling instances. India has strengthened my resolve to go live abroad for more time- I am frothing at the mouth to go to Latin America. Undoubtedly, traveling to India has tested my every fiber and now, I crave a little home cooking. My time here has made me appreciate the little things about being in Australia or in the US, but on the flip side, has made me revise what is important. This has been another fundamental step towards (gulp) maturation. I wouldn't go out on a limb to say I am definitely going to return to India in the near future, but being here has supplied me with more knowledge which would have been ignored by me.
So, it is not with a heavy heart that I leave here- the heaviness can be attributed to the goodies I got for people- I depart with a stronger resolve to continue to test my ability to adapt and understand cultures, but more importantly, understand where I fit in this grand scheme. I know this will all help in the mythical outcome that is something that starts with "J" and rhymes with "OB."
As for the next stop on the Duncan-Hitch train, Chicago. Let's see how re immersion fairs us.
Presently, Delhi did not get a fair shake from us. We arrived in the capital city rundown, sick and weary. I believe that things would have been different if we knew that there were two weeks more to travel and we had to soldier on, but the reality of leaving was much to strong to continue the facade of !ncredible !ndia. This is not a condemnation of our travels, quite the contrary, we have enjoyed our time here immensely. We have learned more about each other- our likes, dislikes, aspirations and pitfalls. All of these have been thrown into the fire that is traveling and that is India and the outcome is a sheen welding of strength and understanding. Moreover, we have gained valuble insight on what makes Indian society tick.
From the outset, I will apologize with you all. This blog will lack the coherent, clarity and cohesive components that my other blogs have remotely displayed. This is quite apropos to being here in India where these three C's, when applied to everyday activities, are in limited- almost extinct- supply.
Even before touching down in India, the trip began with Sam and her meticulous planning almost two years ago. She had always harboured dreams of going, finding enlightenment and reliving the traveler's life free from want and desire. Her aspirations to travel were ostensibly shelved due to her inhumane work schedule and other time commitments- and I would like to think meeting me was a larger factor. I, on the other hand, knew that India was spelled I N D I A and that was basically my background. It was not until I traveled to China that my focus was redirected really to India as a destination. One traveler succinctly stated that "if I thought China is crazy, wait till you see India." There it was: the seed of adventure, mystery and fear was planted.
I do agree, as does Sam, with this statement from this clairvoyant traveler; India, as many travelers bemoan or exalt, is frustratingly crazy: the gamut of emotions ranging from elation, sadness, animosity, understanding, obstinacy, withdrawal, desire and acceptance. A mosaic of feelings that usually are experienced before mid-day. As for coming here, I believe that we were searching for that essence of India that we heard so much about: attainment of enlightenment. However, I have felt nothing of the sort. What I do feel is more battle hardened, a crafty veteran of travel, which could be enlightenment. India provokes your deepest sensations and forces you to "come alive," so to speak. I was aware of my sphere of consciousness the entire time I traveled here: constantly on guard- good and bad- and entirely enveloped by all senses at once. As Wayne, my English friend aptly said, "India is like running a gauntlet."It forces you to interact on a daily basis. I found this deeply troubling sometimes since my interaction invariably involved people in poverty or people who just wanted money from case and point. In no way does my six weeks provide me with an insider's scope to what it is like to be in India. I realize we traveled the well beaten path by many and our experience was inexorably a traveler's experience on the tourist path where these dealings with the aforementioned characters occur on a regular basis. Yet, this does not weaken my perspective or make my time here worthless. Our trip opened the debate to being human, interacting on the human level. It is hard to shun a three year beggar under the auspices that giving two rupees only furthers their dependence on obtaining money through begging. It is hard to be so stoic in front of these people, so cold and numb to their plight. On the other side, I was shown great care and genuine concern for my well being by many people, strangers or people working in tourism. Indians took special interest in our travels and were quick to ask how we liked India. If any answer had slight negative undertones, these people took this as an offense equal to treason that we have had a bad time and I am fairly certain that, on the drop of a hat, would make sure that we did enjoy being here if we let them. As one person explained the mentality is that " we (travelers) are guests here and it is important for us to treat you as such." There was such genuine interest in our well being that it was almost smothering.
I don't subscribe to the notion that India is tough place to be. I look back at my earlier musings and apprehension and smile at my preoccupations before coming here. I know that I have come along way; as yesterday we met two English guys who just arrived. They looked as we did when we first arrived: uncertain, timid, lost and exuded a certain oh my god what have we gotten ourselves into vibe. We weren't any different. We imparted as much information, tricks of the trade, to ease their emotional tumult, and in a way, this seemed slightly cathartic. All the frustrations were compiled into hilarious anecdotes and advisories and I have begun to appreciate being here.
I think that I built up the notion that India will change you . I was, and still am, resistant to that idea. This has not been any different that any other place I have been in terms of annoying and enthralling instances. India has strengthened my resolve to go live abroad for more time- I am frothing at the mouth to go to Latin America. Undoubtedly, traveling to India has tested my every fiber and now, I crave a little home cooking. My time here has made me appreciate the little things about being in Australia or in the US, but on the flip side, has made me revise what is important. This has been another fundamental step towards (gulp) maturation. I wouldn't go out on a limb to say I am definitely going to return to India in the near future, but being here has supplied me with more knowledge which would have been ignored by me.
So, it is not with a heavy heart that I leave here- the heaviness can be attributed to the goodies I got for people- I depart with a stronger resolve to continue to test my ability to adapt and understand cultures, but more importantly, understand where I fit in this grand scheme. I know this will all help in the mythical outcome that is something that starts with "J" and rhymes with "OB."
As for the next stop on the Duncan-Hitch train, Chicago. Let's see how re immersion fairs us.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Almost there
We have reunited finally. After ten days of mystery, Sam has emerged from her cocoon of OMMMMMMMMs, meditation and silence and has burst through the protective casing a new and vibrant girl. She was ready to spread her proverbial wings and tackle new stressful and frustrating situations like a Buddhist ninja, slicing through the annoyances with ease. However, India, and more importantly, the transportation realm has endless reinforcements of situations that perturb, rattle and want-to-make-you-grab-the-person-who-is-talking-and-shake-some-common-sense-or-at-least-get-a-straight-answer-for-all-that-is-holy. I was relieved to see her to say the least. Protocol and cultural awareness be damned, when we met for the first time, we re-enacted that famous photograph from V-day 1945 in NYC in front of some shocked, but more likely, perverted male audience.
She told me all about her time in the center. She learned all about how to release stress and practiced these techniques for 10 hours a day. For those mathematicians at home that is 100 hours of meditation for Sam. She also, hilariously enough, learned about the art of what Indian food does to one's digestive system when untreated. It seems as though Sam's mind and body had similar thoughts as when Sam was mediating and attempting to clear her mind of all thoughts, her bowels were trying to do the same thing in a non medidative way. She is a strong girl. The probable cause of the irritability was the food and water at the center, which as I understand, made rice cakes look like a culinary explosion; I guess to meditate, rice gruel moves you closer to nirvana.
Our plan was to go from Jaipur to Agra- to see what this hubbub about the Taj was about- and then to Delhi. We were on a tight schedule so time was of the essence. We took a local bus, which promised to take five hours; seven hours later we arrived in Agra. For those 100 hours, Sam had mastered and understood the importance of feeling your senses, vanquishing all stress and allowing frustrating events pass. By the first stop- over 40 minutes- Sam's hair- already longer than normal- was a mess, loud sighs and mutterings began to escape from her. At least the program was free, so I guess it was money well spent.
All jokes aside, she is better and has scaled back what the center called "attachment." I have noticed change and a mellowing of her persona, which was the initial attraction for her to this place. We did have scary moment when there was a huge BANG outside and two windows blew out on the bus. Nothing serious honestly; a tire of a truck blew out next to the bus causing the noise and destruction, but the remarkable aspect of this episode was Sam's reaction, or lack thereof. She was cool and collected whereas before this would have led to a panic attack-especially here. I myself, was a bit unnerved, but all was well.
As we polished off the Taj and headed to Delhi, we had one final moment where Sam's training failed her. We booked a pre-paid rickshaw, yet no driver would drive us. Most looked at our slip- it was short distance to our destination- and scoffed at driving us since it was not a "big chauna of a drive". I felt we had some contagious disease and nobody wanted to fraternize with us at all. This marked the first time we have wanted to be hassled and our reception was frigid. Most of the time, the touts compete in the Olympic event: 100 meter sprint to the foreigner. It was disorienting- to make matters worse, we were hungry and frazzled from the whole day's journey. Sam, after 10 minutes of fruitless searching, marched to the pre-paid booth and unleashed barbs that probably felt good after 10 days of silence. To the consternation of one driver, he was forced reluctantly to take this supposedly stress free girl and bald man to our desired location.
As for me, to step back into the past, I enjoyed my final days in Jaisalmer thanks to a great camel safari. I went alone and slept under the stars. I had a chance to escape the rush of India and appreciate silence, camping and that riding on a camel will never be high on my list of things to do again. I mean almost immediately my butt hurt in the saddle. I was only on for a total of 4 hours, but god bless those people who trek for two days. Girdhar, the camel driver, had Raj, the camel, run arbitrarily provoking searing pain in the rumpus; while exciting I was smiling as though I was having a kidney operation on the camel.
My time there was worth it and the ten days alone. I learned new things about me- bargaining has never been my strong suit. I met some great people, Wayne and Michelle among others, and I feel my time alone was important for our next phase in Guatemala.
She told me all about her time in the center. She learned all about how to release stress and practiced these techniques for 10 hours a day. For those mathematicians at home that is 100 hours of meditation for Sam. She also, hilariously enough, learned about the art of what Indian food does to one's digestive system when untreated. It seems as though Sam's mind and body had similar thoughts as when Sam was mediating and attempting to clear her mind of all thoughts, her bowels were trying to do the same thing in a non medidative way. She is a strong girl. The probable cause of the irritability was the food and water at the center, which as I understand, made rice cakes look like a culinary explosion; I guess to meditate, rice gruel moves you closer to nirvana.
Our plan was to go from Jaipur to Agra- to see what this hubbub about the Taj was about- and then to Delhi. We were on a tight schedule so time was of the essence. We took a local bus, which promised to take five hours; seven hours later we arrived in Agra. For those 100 hours, Sam had mastered and understood the importance of feeling your senses, vanquishing all stress and allowing frustrating events pass. By the first stop- over 40 minutes- Sam's hair- already longer than normal- was a mess, loud sighs and mutterings began to escape from her. At least the program was free, so I guess it was money well spent.
All jokes aside, she is better and has scaled back what the center called "attachment." I have noticed change and a mellowing of her persona, which was the initial attraction for her to this place. We did have scary moment when there was a huge BANG outside and two windows blew out on the bus. Nothing serious honestly; a tire of a truck blew out next to the bus causing the noise and destruction, but the remarkable aspect of this episode was Sam's reaction, or lack thereof. She was cool and collected whereas before this would have led to a panic attack-especially here. I myself, was a bit unnerved, but all was well.
As we polished off the Taj and headed to Delhi, we had one final moment where Sam's training failed her. We booked a pre-paid rickshaw, yet no driver would drive us. Most looked at our slip- it was short distance to our destination- and scoffed at driving us since it was not a "big chauna of a drive". I felt we had some contagious disease and nobody wanted to fraternize with us at all. This marked the first time we have wanted to be hassled and our reception was frigid. Most of the time, the touts compete in the Olympic event: 100 meter sprint to the foreigner. It was disorienting- to make matters worse, we were hungry and frazzled from the whole day's journey. Sam, after 10 minutes of fruitless searching, marched to the pre-paid booth and unleashed barbs that probably felt good after 10 days of silence. To the consternation of one driver, he was forced reluctantly to take this supposedly stress free girl and bald man to our desired location.
As for me, to step back into the past, I enjoyed my final days in Jaisalmer thanks to a great camel safari. I went alone and slept under the stars. I had a chance to escape the rush of India and appreciate silence, camping and that riding on a camel will never be high on my list of things to do again. I mean almost immediately my butt hurt in the saddle. I was only on for a total of 4 hours, but god bless those people who trek for two days. Girdhar, the camel driver, had Raj, the camel, run arbitrarily provoking searing pain in the rumpus; while exciting I was smiling as though I was having a kidney operation on the camel.
My time there was worth it and the ten days alone. I learned new things about me- bargaining has never been my strong suit. I met some great people, Wayne and Michelle among others, and I feel my time alone was important for our next phase in Guatemala.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
King of the Sand Castle
Apparently, according to the Lonely Planet, I am ethically dead. I am a monster of epic proportions. Jaisalmer Fort is reportedly collaspsing due to the combination of too many tourists coming to stay within the fort along with the liberal use of water and careless wastage of the 4,000 citizens within the fort. It has strained the antequated pipes to the brink and in some areas the fort has fallen down. This event happened about four years back and now, what will happen next is unknown. For this reason Lonely Planet has taken the high ground to not list any hotels within the fort and pronounce that it is for this reason that travelers should ethically make the right desicion. Well, the attraction was too much for me. The hostel I am staying in is beautiful and according to many locals within the fort, all of the hubub and the real danger depends on who you ask. As a two pronged justification, I know how to conserve water from living in Sydney and I am pretty sure that LP does not have this disclaimer when they compiled the guide for the entire continient of Australia, which is a much more dire situation.
With that said the defense rests. Staying within the fort is magical since it is a maze of cobbled, golden honey small lane ways. The buildings and temples are of the same material and color so you are constantly believing that you are King Midas. I have found a perfect spot, at a store about 200 meters from the main gate, where I sit with five other Indian shop keepers and emulate the first scence of King of the hill- minus the beer drinking. The background is a little more grandiose, but the outcome, time slipping by, people leaving coming back, pedestrians, cows, moto bikes, all whiz by while time moves on. More or less these are my days with the people and location changing.
With that said the defense rests. Staying within the fort is magical since it is a maze of cobbled, golden honey small lane ways. The buildings and temples are of the same material and color so you are constantly believing that you are King Midas. I have found a perfect spot, at a store about 200 meters from the main gate, where I sit with five other Indian shop keepers and emulate the first scence of King of the hill- minus the beer drinking. The background is a little more grandiose, but the outcome, time slipping by, people leaving coming back, pedestrians, cows, moto bikes, all whiz by while time moves on. More or less these are my days with the people and location changing.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Finally stopped
Welcome to Sgt Hitch's Lonely Heart's Club band, playing live in Jaisalmer, Rajasthan. As I left you, we were headed to Jaipur, where Sam would ultimately stay for ten days of intensive mediation. The show must go on, therefore I have gone to Jaisalmer. Rajasthan is a historical nerd's dream. The whole region is filled with forts and the Rajasthani history is tipped slightly less bellicose than say the Mongols. They love weapons and hunting. Jaisalmer is no exception as the town is dominated by a fort in the "desert."- again mostly scrubs and tons of people. You can go out in a traditional desert experience with sand dunes, the main source of tourist income.
Back in urban Jaipur, Sam's experience is totally different: she is not allowed to speak, make eye contact or have any contact with the outside world. For me, that all translates into, how shall I say it, not fun. For Sam, it has long been her idea- her calling- to finally have the techniques to wash away a lot of her past two, stressful years. The main objective of this course is to fundamentally understand how to clear their head and control all impatience- at least that is what I gathered in my own impatience. Sam has burned to do this in India where this type of mediation was established. It brings more credibility to do it from the source. Who could blame her? Currently, she is on day four- not that I am counting- of complete silence. As for me, I am making up for the absence of Sam's voice by talking to everyone and anyone. I have spent three days in Jodhpur and now I have come to Jaisalmer fully intending to relax and spend more than two days.
Traveling with Sam has been great, we have been able to learn more about each other than ever before - unfortunately I don't think she wanted to know about my propensity to have loose hygienic values when traveling. Furthermore, as a result of my experience currently, I have now the ability to understand how hard it is to travel as a woman in India. Before, we have been bamboozled by shop keepers solely interested in selling; which Sam, in most cases, is happy to oblige their offer to "come look, looking is free." However there is a tangible distance created, whether constructed by us or the shop keeper, that keeps us from truly talking or building a trust foundation.
This is not to say I don't get hassled or treat or be treated with indifference. You should have seen when I arrived at Jaisalmer station at the tender hour of 6 a.m. after quite a fitful sleep. As soon as my foot glanced the platform, I was surrounded by touts; a wild mass of arms, legs, fingers enveloping me, my personal space and bag. A barrage of voices slammed into my ears. Touts, enthusiastically, malicious, aggressively shoving their hotel card in my face, promising me everything that I desired. At one point, like a wounded wildebeest struggling against a pride of lions, I kicked- more like whistled, and then put my hands up to signal fellas back the f@#k off for a second and allow me to get my bearings- which consequently would probably have been taken by them as well. This momentarily stunned them and somewhere in the distance a record stopped; it was lasted a precious second as the touts recoiled, then attacked again with more fervor. Eventually, my torso, legs, bags, ego, bearings all arrived- separately of course- to my hotel of choice. Very cheap room in the solitude of the fort itself.
I am fairly confident that the distant relationship between us, Sam and I, with many locals- one point before continuing, I am generalizing mightily, but when traveling for such a short time, one is reduced to forming these opinions as to make sense of it all. - is because Sam is in their presence. Don't get the idea that people don't want to talk to us, we are, both of us, a gregarious lot, but a foreign woman transforms the atmosphere. It is part of the culture for this attitude toward foreigner, especially foreign women. A foreign women is more than just a visual oddity. There is so much misunderstanding of them. Most of the media they receive from foreign countries shows basically sexual smut. This includes our movies. I do not condone their actions of staring and basic eye undressing, but I, as well as Sam, understand the reason behind. We are generalizing the masses here. Also, as James Browne emphatically sung, this is a man's world baby. Everything is male dominated. Therefore any women is a peculiar occurance.
We are also culpable, if not more so, as most times, we exhibit a wariness, if not hostile, attitudes to these proprietors and street sellers.
Moreover, Sam and I were self sufficient in the most part, relying on each other to bounce ideas or air more than a few grievances, but I did make a contentious effort to talk to people.However traveling alone, there has been a significant change. My travels in the last few days have been drowned in cups of Chai and verbosity. While the stench outside is mixture of urine, cow dung and open sewers, the real potent aroma has now come from me- not from the lack of showers- but from the amount of amicable bullshitting that I have done. I have talked, on one more than one occasion, to people for 2 hours straight about: politics- foreign and domestic- Obama, cricket, women, culture, what India will be like in ten years, teaching people Spanish; you name it I have grilled people and they in turn have reciprocated. I now have at least five "Chai dates," with separate groups of people (men, naturally) today and tomorrow. I am right now compiling notes from my conversations about India today and in the future for another blog, but returning to my main theme, I believe there is greater ease with just having just me, a male, around; no sense in formality or uneasiness with Sam around. It is a marked difference I believe. I go inside fully stating that under no pretense of buying and every time I have emerged two hours later, or in Chai terms, 6 cups later, with the promise to visit again tomorrow. I have finally, in some ways, understand why people return year after year. The sanguine disposition of people when conversing with me is so genuine. This understanding would have been stunted with Sam; more because we have relied on each other and because we were so hell bent on traveling to different areas as fast as possible- thereby eliminating any chance of formally establishing any relationship. I have finally slowed down and will be here for six days, and figuratively smelled the rampant cow manure- as the locals have given the smell the moniker- Indian fragrance. It has felt good to have my pressing questions answered as I was a complete ignoramus when it came to anything, past or present, that pertained to India.
Traveling alone has been a wonderful opportunity for me to flex my mouth muscles in only the way I can. It is because Sam is gone that I have had to put myself out there, talking to travelers and locals alike or suffer incredible boredom. For me, this is my mediation, my relaxation. This also represents, truly, the first time I have gone somewhere alone. It is a liberating feeling starting afresh. It parallels my time in Sydney working at the bar. I can tell the same stories or jokes without embarrassing repercussions. Every conversations has inexorably the same motifs or subjects, but are inherently different and that is the exciting part.
I have five more days here and I plan on continuing this trend, throwing in some reading and eating, but in the end, I do miss traveling with Sam.
Back in urban Jaipur, Sam's experience is totally different: she is not allowed to speak, make eye contact or have any contact with the outside world. For me, that all translates into, how shall I say it, not fun. For Sam, it has long been her idea- her calling- to finally have the techniques to wash away a lot of her past two, stressful years. The main objective of this course is to fundamentally understand how to clear their head and control all impatience- at least that is what I gathered in my own impatience. Sam has burned to do this in India where this type of mediation was established. It brings more credibility to do it from the source. Who could blame her? Currently, she is on day four- not that I am counting- of complete silence. As for me, I am making up for the absence of Sam's voice by talking to everyone and anyone. I have spent three days in Jodhpur and now I have come to Jaisalmer fully intending to relax and spend more than two days.
Traveling with Sam has been great, we have been able to learn more about each other than ever before - unfortunately I don't think she wanted to know about my propensity to have loose hygienic values when traveling. Furthermore, as a result of my experience currently, I have now the ability to understand how hard it is to travel as a woman in India. Before, we have been bamboozled by shop keepers solely interested in selling; which Sam, in most cases, is happy to oblige their offer to "come look, looking is free." However there is a tangible distance created, whether constructed by us or the shop keeper, that keeps us from truly talking or building a trust foundation.
This is not to say I don't get hassled or treat or be treated with indifference. You should have seen when I arrived at Jaisalmer station at the tender hour of 6 a.m. after quite a fitful sleep. As soon as my foot glanced the platform, I was surrounded by touts; a wild mass of arms, legs, fingers enveloping me, my personal space and bag. A barrage of voices slammed into my ears. Touts, enthusiastically, malicious, aggressively shoving their hotel card in my face, promising me everything that I desired. At one point, like a wounded wildebeest struggling against a pride of lions, I kicked- more like whistled, and then put my hands up to signal fellas back the f@#k off for a second and allow me to get my bearings- which consequently would probably have been taken by them as well. This momentarily stunned them and somewhere in the distance a record stopped; it was lasted a precious second as the touts recoiled, then attacked again with more fervor. Eventually, my torso, legs, bags, ego, bearings all arrived- separately of course- to my hotel of choice. Very cheap room in the solitude of the fort itself.
I am fairly confident that the distant relationship between us, Sam and I, with many locals- one point before continuing, I am generalizing mightily, but when traveling for such a short time, one is reduced to forming these opinions as to make sense of it all. - is because Sam is in their presence. Don't get the idea that people don't want to talk to us, we are, both of us, a gregarious lot, but a foreign woman transforms the atmosphere. It is part of the culture for this attitude toward foreigner, especially foreign women. A foreign women is more than just a visual oddity. There is so much misunderstanding of them. Most of the media they receive from foreign countries shows basically sexual smut. This includes our movies. I do not condone their actions of staring and basic eye undressing, but I, as well as Sam, understand the reason behind. We are generalizing the masses here. Also, as James Browne emphatically sung, this is a man's world baby. Everything is male dominated. Therefore any women is a peculiar occurance.
We are also culpable, if not more so, as most times, we exhibit a wariness, if not hostile, attitudes to these proprietors and street sellers.
Moreover, Sam and I were self sufficient in the most part, relying on each other to bounce ideas or air more than a few grievances, but I did make a contentious effort to talk to people.However traveling alone, there has been a significant change. My travels in the last few days have been drowned in cups of Chai and verbosity. While the stench outside is mixture of urine, cow dung and open sewers, the real potent aroma has now come from me- not from the lack of showers- but from the amount of amicable bullshitting that I have done. I have talked, on one more than one occasion, to people for 2 hours straight about: politics- foreign and domestic- Obama, cricket, women, culture, what India will be like in ten years, teaching people Spanish; you name it I have grilled people and they in turn have reciprocated. I now have at least five "Chai dates," with separate groups of people (men, naturally) today and tomorrow. I am right now compiling notes from my conversations about India today and in the future for another blog, but returning to my main theme, I believe there is greater ease with just having just me, a male, around; no sense in formality or uneasiness with Sam around. It is a marked difference I believe. I go inside fully stating that under no pretense of buying and every time I have emerged two hours later, or in Chai terms, 6 cups later, with the promise to visit again tomorrow. I have finally, in some ways, understand why people return year after year. The sanguine disposition of people when conversing with me is so genuine. This understanding would have been stunted with Sam; more because we have relied on each other and because we were so hell bent on traveling to different areas as fast as possible- thereby eliminating any chance of formally establishing any relationship. I have finally slowed down and will be here for six days, and figuratively smelled the rampant cow manure- as the locals have given the smell the moniker- Indian fragrance. It has felt good to have my pressing questions answered as I was a complete ignoramus when it came to anything, past or present, that pertained to India.
Traveling alone has been a wonderful opportunity for me to flex my mouth muscles in only the way I can. It is because Sam is gone that I have had to put myself out there, talking to travelers and locals alike or suffer incredible boredom. For me, this is my mediation, my relaxation. This also represents, truly, the first time I have gone somewhere alone. It is a liberating feeling starting afresh. It parallels my time in Sydney working at the bar. I can tell the same stories or jokes without embarrassing repercussions. Every conversations has inexorably the same motifs or subjects, but are inherently different and that is the exciting part.
I have five more days here and I plan on continuing this trend, throwing in some reading and eating, but in the end, I do miss traveling with Sam.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Very, Very Special Post
We are here in Pushkar after a whirlwind couple of days here and in Bundi. Although Pushkar is a relaxing detour, with oodles of shops and probably the best food we have eaten thus far, I am sorry to announce that I do not share in the much ballyhooed love of Pushkar. All I can say is, it is nice; not the ringing endorsement that we have heard from scores of travelers.
Pushkar is filled with a large amount of cookie cutter shops selling the same materials to cater to the eager tourist. While I can enjoy a good time, it seems Pushkar's appeal is predicated on ordering vast amounts of Bhang Lassis- a yogurt drink that has, let's call it, some special ingredients. As an example, one menu had a selection of very, very special lassis or chocolate balls- regular or very, very special. To generalize, Pushkar is a veritable hippies paradise, and needless to say, they are here in droves. While Varanasi had its share with the spiritual aspect, Pushkar's hippie per capita is exponentially larger than what I have ever seen. The countryside and surrounding mountains lend the idea of attaining spirituality. Its remote location is conducive to the feeling of isolation and peace, a hippie sanctuary. By the looks of some, many come here to return to the salt of the earth. Temples are abound and the city quietly pulsates a kinship with the earth.
Unfortunately, we have in our hotel, a more than zealous group of French hippies that have formed quite the band; their music is an irritating mixture of repeating chants that last about 25 minutes too long, which is 27 minutes too long for me. To punctuate the music, a drum is involved along with some bells. I am enthused they are enjoying the spirit of life and India , good on them, but when it is 10:30 to 11:15, lets get the ipod- side note, I realize I am a curmudgeon, but you should see Sam, she mutters to curse words at them and last night fully intended on breaking the drum.
We have come to the conclusion though that any traveler should begin in Rajasthan to ease into Indian culture and style. Here, as I mentioned with Pushkar, Rajasthan offers the familiarity for travelers as the services are far better than in other places. Once sufficiently filled with your dose of touristic endeavors, I surmise that you will feel comfortable to branch out and really explore off the beaten path.
India has also re-calibrated my semantic understanding of words: jungle and desert for instance.
In Bundi, we enjoyed arguably our best day in India, with a candid, jovial, robust self-proclaimed archaeologist known to Bundi and supposedly the entire world as Kukki. With Kukki, on the suggestion of another fellow traveler, we went exploring in the "jungle" to look at pre historic and historic rock paintings. When you picture a jungle, George swings into your mind; you hear the phrase "Dr Livingston I presume;" the loud whack of a machete reverberates in your mind's eye; sunlight dribbles through thick, dark, green canopy and so on. Our "jungle" was......... open, scorching heat, acrid air and sporadic clumps of dead trees. As I mentioned, Rajasthan has not had a good monsoon since 2003, this has left the land dry and more dry. I have had a difficult time picturing the green landscape that every tells me happens during the monsoon season. The color green is so out of vogue here. It is through this rough terrain we went rock hunting and had just a helluva day. Kukki, a man who screams for his own blog, was a more than eager host and guide. A genial man, he has dedicated his life and subsequently "destroyed all his money" for these rock painting pursuits." In this countryside we were able to witness the fruits of his labor. He was one of the nicest people, along with his genreous family, we have met and made Bundi and our experience in India that much richer.
We decided in Pushkar to go on a Camel Safari in the desert. Again when desert comes to mind, you think waves of sand dunes; long laborious camel treks stumbling in the sand; unrelenting heat and most of all, isolation. Our safari got off to an inauspicious start as rain pelted the city- a strange turn of events considering that it is not supposed to rain for another three months. In this climate, we trekked out into the desert where it was just us, our camel drivers and the camels.......and countryside construction with a bevy of workers.....and villages overflowing with children......and..........a group of tourists returning to their hotel. We walked for about 15 minutes on these beasts and the serenity was overpowering- at least that I perceived and then remarked to Sam, pointing to a person in the distance on the balcony of our hostel in town; he looked alone in a desert of thoughts. Our trip had to subside because of the inclimate weather and we returned, more like never left, from our excursion in the unrelenting commotion of the desert.
Today, we are off to Jaipur where I will leave Sam for her 10 day mediation course, and I go on a journey to find the real desert- hopefully some presents too.
Pushkar is filled with a large amount of cookie cutter shops selling the same materials to cater to the eager tourist. While I can enjoy a good time, it seems Pushkar's appeal is predicated on ordering vast amounts of Bhang Lassis- a yogurt drink that has, let's call it, some special ingredients. As an example, one menu had a selection of very, very special lassis or chocolate balls- regular or very, very special. To generalize, Pushkar is a veritable hippies paradise, and needless to say, they are here in droves. While Varanasi had its share with the spiritual aspect, Pushkar's hippie per capita is exponentially larger than what I have ever seen. The countryside and surrounding mountains lend the idea of attaining spirituality. Its remote location is conducive to the feeling of isolation and peace, a hippie sanctuary. By the looks of some, many come here to return to the salt of the earth. Temples are abound and the city quietly pulsates a kinship with the earth.
Unfortunately, we have in our hotel, a more than zealous group of French hippies that have formed quite the band; their music is an irritating mixture of repeating chants that last about 25 minutes too long, which is 27 minutes too long for me. To punctuate the music, a drum is involved along with some bells. I am enthused they are enjoying the spirit of life and India , good on them, but when it is 10:30 to 11:15, lets get the ipod- side note, I realize I am a curmudgeon, but you should see Sam, she mutters to curse words at them and last night fully intended on breaking the drum.
We have come to the conclusion though that any traveler should begin in Rajasthan to ease into Indian culture and style. Here, as I mentioned with Pushkar, Rajasthan offers the familiarity for travelers as the services are far better than in other places. Once sufficiently filled with your dose of touristic endeavors, I surmise that you will feel comfortable to branch out and really explore off the beaten path.
India has also re-calibrated my semantic understanding of words: jungle and desert for instance.
In Bundi, we enjoyed arguably our best day in India, with a candid, jovial, robust self-proclaimed archaeologist known to Bundi and supposedly the entire world as Kukki. With Kukki, on the suggestion of another fellow traveler, we went exploring in the "jungle" to look at pre historic and historic rock paintings. When you picture a jungle, George swings into your mind; you hear the phrase "Dr Livingston I presume;" the loud whack of a machete reverberates in your mind's eye; sunlight dribbles through thick, dark, green canopy and so on. Our "jungle" was......... open, scorching heat, acrid air and sporadic clumps of dead trees. As I mentioned, Rajasthan has not had a good monsoon since 2003, this has left the land dry and more dry. I have had a difficult time picturing the green landscape that every tells me happens during the monsoon season. The color green is so out of vogue here. It is through this rough terrain we went rock hunting and had just a helluva day. Kukki, a man who screams for his own blog, was a more than eager host and guide. A genial man, he has dedicated his life and subsequently "destroyed all his money" for these rock painting pursuits." In this countryside we were able to witness the fruits of his labor. He was one of the nicest people, along with his genreous family, we have met and made Bundi and our experience in India that much richer.
We decided in Pushkar to go on a Camel Safari in the desert. Again when desert comes to mind, you think waves of sand dunes; long laborious camel treks stumbling in the sand; unrelenting heat and most of all, isolation. Our safari got off to an inauspicious start as rain pelted the city- a strange turn of events considering that it is not supposed to rain for another three months. In this climate, we trekked out into the desert where it was just us, our camel drivers and the camels.......and countryside construction with a bevy of workers.....and villages overflowing with children......and..........a group of tourists returning to their hotel. We walked for about 15 minutes on these beasts and the serenity was overpowering- at least that I perceived and then remarked to Sam, pointing to a person in the distance on the balcony of our hostel in town; he looked alone in a desert of thoughts. Our trip had to subside because of the inclimate weather and we returned, more like never left, from our excursion in the unrelenting commotion of the desert.
Today, we are off to Jaipur where I will leave Sam for her 10 day mediation course, and I go on a journey to find the real desert- hopefully some presents too.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Holy Holi
Mumbai was a breath of fresh air for us. The city was a welcome addition to our travel schedule. We had initially wanted to pass over Mumbai, but in the end, we are glad we went. The streets were wide and less crowded, travelers were, at times, out numbering the Indians in pedestrian traffic. There was a breath of modernity all over; the city was littered with espresso cafes, pumping bars and sheik restaurants. With Kolkata, the poverty and in -your-face- atmosphere was overwhelming at times. Yet, Mumbai had a different kind of in-your-face aspect; it seemed strange to see beggars outside these type of shops. It seemed out of place. The largest slum in Asia is in Mumbai, and for a passerby in the city, like us, you would not have even suspected it.
As we rolled into Mumbai, I had time to look out the window- Sam, as you know, did not- and there were these tin, burnt out cubes of houses littered all over, but nothing like what I had expected. Sam and I really enjoyed the city and we walked a vast distance. During our time the celebration of Holi was happening. This festival is a celebration of colors and Indians and travelers alike go absolutely crazy over this holiday. People buy pink, green, red, blue paint and mix it with water and the city turns into a colorful water fight. Kids, teenagers, old people like mutants from a nuclear explosion gone wrong. Even now, four days later, people still have spattering of paint in their hair, clothes and sometimes teeth. Luckily Sam and I avoided too much trouble- I got water bombed and my face was slapped with silver- in a holi festive way- by an insolent little street kid. All over travelers delved into the spirit and for most of the day, we passed by walking rainbows or Indian Hulks.
Indian is a spiritual place and the people who I talked to always mention your karma in life. This is a more Buddhist cog, but it has been incorporated into Hindu and practiced in everyday thinking. By avoiding the paint, I believe we angered some mystical force and were bound for some bad Karma surrounding Holi.
On the recommendation of a fellow traveler, we took a private car out of Udaipur to go see the largest- and very impregnable with a wall 36kms in circumfrence- fort in India: Kumblagarh fort. Along the trip we would also see, Ranakpur the oldest and largest Jain temple in India. All exciting sights and to get there we would take another windy road to these impressive Indian monuments. Along with Sam and I, we conscripted a 22 year old Brit, who has been in India for two months. He is a garrulous bloke and shoots the shit more than I. He is not afraid to mix it up with the "locals."
So we set out, the four of us- the driver, Reis, a man who loved stuffing his face with these packets of something and always spoke with clenched teeth so to avoid spilling the contents of his mouth. I found a person who is more frustrating to talk to than me because all of his words ran together in one monsylabic soliloquy.
As we drove through the barren, sun scorched land- there has been a massive drought here - the road turned from highway to country road again. The countryside is speckled with these blackened trees that to the passing eye appear ready to wither, yet at the very tops springs brilliant fire red flowers. All over, whether in clumps or singular, these trees seem incongruous to the harsh countryside around it. A few minutes into our trip in the countryside were halted by a large procession of women- adorned in colorful sarees, paint and drums. They had blocked the road with numerous stones and rocks and demanded money. Singing songs, the eldest member struck out her weathered, dry hand and gave a wicked impish smile. We had to fork over money- 10 rps- or suffer terrible consequences: the car would be covered in paint (as we would learn later on, there were more serious consequences if a tribute was not received.)
We laughed at the situation and happily handed over money. These village people were still celebrating Holi, and as tradition, demanded money for the holiday to every vehicle that had the misfortune of traveling that day. We ran into a few more scattered "check points." Each time our driver, sighing in frustration as approached, then once at the cusp of the stone line, bolting out of the car to negotiate price, and even sometimes, just toss aside the rocks away. During the negoiation process, he was a raging bull. He maintained a steady fury of frustration; however once returning to the car, he languidly looked over at me laughing and smiling.
Most of the time, the roadblocks were manned by small children to which a well placed "haaaa" and menacing grunt would send them flying back to the safety of the hillside, but other times, with older boys, men and women the situation was more serious. Older boys would be the ringleader falnked by his younger painted compatriots and would not budge until the money was given to them. Also places with numerous women were not to be trifled with at all. I learned the hard way as this old woman cackling and smiling malicious- either caught up in the spirit of holi or just plain crazy- threw a sprinkling of pink paint at me. We would have to give them tribute or they, without hesitation, break a window. We must of stopped about 20 times along the road. What should have been two hours turned into three and 1/2. As I said most of the roadblocks were defended by these neon pink, green and blue children which were more than happy to smile and say hello. A lot of them pressed their faces against the glass and we became subjects of some rolling zoo or medical experiment. Richard, the Brit, would step outside to take pictures or roll down the window to speak to the kids. This would prove to be the undoing as later, we were stopped outside this small village. With the window down on the right side of the car, Richard was engaged in small talk. As our driver bartered, pleaded and rebuked the prices, kids began to cover the car with dirt, water and paint; dirt that probably 6/10s cow patties and water that was probably 7/10 cow water. Just before leaving, this little devil of a child snuck behind the car and "WHOOOSH" got a bucket of this earthly concoction all over Richard and Sam. We took it in stride, but the driver was not too pleased.
By the time we moved from the fort to the temple, we had formed a caravan of other travelers to combat the other check points. This was a sight to see. Once at a checkpoint, out stepped three drivers and five large foreign guys. It was a motley phalanx with the command to clear the road. After the fifth stop to the temple, one traveler remarked, "the hilarity of this passed about three hours ago." As we moved rocks, the drivers spent time trying to chase the children.
It went on for a little more, but with the big groups, we were able to pass through without much deterrence.
It was a great day, even with the checkpoints, because we got to see the villagers- up close, neon and personal.
Next time I am just going for gold- or is it pink or green- and just getting Holi-ed out to avoid any bad karma.
As we rolled into Mumbai, I had time to look out the window- Sam, as you know, did not- and there were these tin, burnt out cubes of houses littered all over, but nothing like what I had expected. Sam and I really enjoyed the city and we walked a vast distance. During our time the celebration of Holi was happening. This festival is a celebration of colors and Indians and travelers alike go absolutely crazy over this holiday. People buy pink, green, red, blue paint and mix it with water and the city turns into a colorful water fight. Kids, teenagers, old people like mutants from a nuclear explosion gone wrong. Even now, four days later, people still have spattering of paint in their hair, clothes and sometimes teeth. Luckily Sam and I avoided too much trouble- I got water bombed and my face was slapped with silver- in a holi festive way- by an insolent little street kid. All over travelers delved into the spirit and for most of the day, we passed by walking rainbows or Indian Hulks.
Indian is a spiritual place and the people who I talked to always mention your karma in life. This is a more Buddhist cog, but it has been incorporated into Hindu and practiced in everyday thinking. By avoiding the paint, I believe we angered some mystical force and were bound for some bad Karma surrounding Holi.
On the recommendation of a fellow traveler, we took a private car out of Udaipur to go see the largest- and very impregnable with a wall 36kms in circumfrence- fort in India: Kumblagarh fort. Along the trip we would also see, Ranakpur the oldest and largest Jain temple in India. All exciting sights and to get there we would take another windy road to these impressive Indian monuments. Along with Sam and I, we conscripted a 22 year old Brit, who has been in India for two months. He is a garrulous bloke and shoots the shit more than I. He is not afraid to mix it up with the "locals."
So we set out, the four of us- the driver, Reis, a man who loved stuffing his face with these packets of something and always spoke with clenched teeth so to avoid spilling the contents of his mouth. I found a person who is more frustrating to talk to than me because all of his words ran together in one monsylabic soliloquy.
As we drove through the barren, sun scorched land- there has been a massive drought here - the road turned from highway to country road again. The countryside is speckled with these blackened trees that to the passing eye appear ready to wither, yet at the very tops springs brilliant fire red flowers. All over, whether in clumps or singular, these trees seem incongruous to the harsh countryside around it. A few minutes into our trip in the countryside were halted by a large procession of women- adorned in colorful sarees, paint and drums. They had blocked the road with numerous stones and rocks and demanded money. Singing songs, the eldest member struck out her weathered, dry hand and gave a wicked impish smile. We had to fork over money- 10 rps- or suffer terrible consequences: the car would be covered in paint (as we would learn later on, there were more serious consequences if a tribute was not received.)
We laughed at the situation and happily handed over money. These village people were still celebrating Holi, and as tradition, demanded money for the holiday to every vehicle that had the misfortune of traveling that day. We ran into a few more scattered "check points." Each time our driver, sighing in frustration as approached, then once at the cusp of the stone line, bolting out of the car to negotiate price, and even sometimes, just toss aside the rocks away. During the negoiation process, he was a raging bull. He maintained a steady fury of frustration; however once returning to the car, he languidly looked over at me laughing and smiling.
Most of the time, the roadblocks were manned by small children to which a well placed "haaaa" and menacing grunt would send them flying back to the safety of the hillside, but other times, with older boys, men and women the situation was more serious. Older boys would be the ringleader falnked by his younger painted compatriots and would not budge until the money was given to them. Also places with numerous women were not to be trifled with at all. I learned the hard way as this old woman cackling and smiling malicious- either caught up in the spirit of holi or just plain crazy- threw a sprinkling of pink paint at me. We would have to give them tribute or they, without hesitation, break a window. We must of stopped about 20 times along the road. What should have been two hours turned into three and 1/2. As I said most of the roadblocks were defended by these neon pink, green and blue children which were more than happy to smile and say hello. A lot of them pressed their faces against the glass and we became subjects of some rolling zoo or medical experiment. Richard, the Brit, would step outside to take pictures or roll down the window to speak to the kids. This would prove to be the undoing as later, we were stopped outside this small village. With the window down on the right side of the car, Richard was engaged in small talk. As our driver bartered, pleaded and rebuked the prices, kids began to cover the car with dirt, water and paint; dirt that probably 6/10s cow patties and water that was probably 7/10 cow water. Just before leaving, this little devil of a child snuck behind the car and "WHOOOSH" got a bucket of this earthly concoction all over Richard and Sam. We took it in stride, but the driver was not too pleased.
By the time we moved from the fort to the temple, we had formed a caravan of other travelers to combat the other check points. This was a sight to see. Once at a checkpoint, out stepped three drivers and five large foreign guys. It was a motley phalanx with the command to clear the road. After the fifth stop to the temple, one traveler remarked, "the hilarity of this passed about three hours ago." As we moved rocks, the drivers spent time trying to chase the children.
It went on for a little more, but with the big groups, we were able to pass through without much deterrence.
It was a great day, even with the checkpoints, because we got to see the villagers- up close, neon and personal.
Next time I am just going for gold- or is it pink or green- and just getting Holi-ed out to avoid any bad karma.
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