It's slowly starting to come together... (and photos)

I haven't forgotten to post my final thoughts on my trip, it's just that it's taken me until now to realize that I will never fully have them together all at once, all in the same place exactly as I would like them. It's more of a piecemeal sort of thing, the type of realizations that hit you one by one, sometimes in the middle of the night or maybe it's triggered by a description you hear of something completely unrelated. India is a confounding place to begin with, which makes me think that the experiences I had there will be forever revealing themselves in new and fascinating ways. For example, I've been reading a fabulous book titled "Full Tilt: From Dublin to Delhi on a Bicycle", by Dervla Murphy. I am officially in love with this woman. The book was written in the sixties, when this lady undertook said voyage by herself, with only her bicycle Roz to keep her company, through all sorts of fascinating places: France, Italy, the whole mess o' states formerly known as Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Turkey, Azerbaijan, Iran (which she never calls Iran, she refers to it only as Persia), Afghanistan and Pakistan. Her observations at times are so akin to what I felt and experienced that it makes me homesick for places I haven't even been yet. This is an example of one passage that makes me laugh because I know EXACTLY what she's talking about.

Doab, 25 April
"...At 7 a.m. the Police Commissioner appeared again to say that a bus was leaving for Bolola at 8 a.m., but I've been long enough in Afghanistan now to know what that means, so I crawled (*1) down to the village at 9.30 and sat in the sun, drinking tea and watching the Bazaar Day crowd, till the bus was ready to go at 12.15 p.m. In these parts no bus will start until double the number of passengers that it was designed to hold have been crammed into and onto it. If there's room for just one more, it'll wait hours for that one to turn up, with the bacha standing out in the middle of the road hoarsely yelling the bus's destination to attract the necessary extra passenger. As Afghans are so indifferent to time (the vast majority have no idea how old they are) (*2) it follows that every passenger comes when it suits him so that it can take up to six hours to fill a bus. Afghans are equally vague about distance: a truck-driver who goes from Kabul to Mazar once a week won't have the remotest idea how far it is; he just knows that if he keeps driving long enough, and if Allah is willing, he'll get there some day. Personally I find all this most endearing after a lifetime of being tyrannized by the clock."

*1: The author was suffering from a broken rib from what she called "a misadventure with a rifle butt" and had yet to seek medical attention, hence the "crawled down to the village".
*2: This describes the general attitude about time in India as well.

I suppose if there is ever to be any sort of book about my travels (not just India) that perhaps I should consider trying to coalesce my thoughts into a solid state at one point or another. The problem with this is that I'm forever thinking "OH! I should have said THAT" or "I forgot to put in THAT part" as new thoughts race through my brain about one thing or another. I guess that's the good thing about a blog, I can just keep adding to it instead of seeing it permanently published all in one place with no ability to add on as I wish.

So anyway, I totally want to be Dervla Murphy when I grow up. AAAAAND I got the rest of my photos uploaded, w00t: http://s120.photobucket.com/albums/o199/IndiaJeanie/ Some of them are hanging on my wall already. Let me know what you think...