For all the picture whores

Many of you have seen them, but for everyone else who hasn't been ruthlessly subjected to my slideshow, here are a few shots. The bulk of them are slowly being uploaded, but these are a small glimpse into the journey. Click on them for a larger view.


At the Lal Qila (Red Fort), Delhi:



View of the Himalayas from the plane:



The Floating Market, 5:30am, Dal Lake, Srinagar, Kashmir:



Just outside of Ganderbal, Kashmir:





View of the main ruined Hindu temple in the gypsy village in the mountains:



A gypsy man putting out his water buffaloes in the morning:



Taj Mahal (duh):



Agra Fort:





View of the Taj Mahal from the Agra Fort:



Sunrise in Varanasi:



The Bollywood film in process on the banks of the Ganges in Varanasi:



Mountains around Darjeeling:






Window at Enchey Monastery in Gangtok, Sikkim:



Prayer flags on the hike back to the National Highway from Rumtek:



Me in Delhi:

I feel better today

yay.

And the pictures turned out awesome, too. :D

The Revenge of the Jet Lag

Yep, it got me this time. What a bitch. And here I thought I was safe, but nooooo. The good thing is that I'd forgotten just how comfy my bed is, so that was a nice surprise. The bad thing is that it's beyond difficult to leave it.

I hope everyone had a good turkey day, I sure did.

Currently I'm in the process of going through my photos and creating a slideshow. We'll see how that goes, but hopefully I'll be able to throw up a few teaser shots soon.

I'm also still collecting my thoughts (jet lag does not help with this) about India. In the meantime though, here are a few statistics that may be of some interest.

-Number of hours spent in transit (jeep, plane, train): Approximately 110. Yes, you read that correctly.
-Number of hours spent waiting for transit: Approximatelly 45.
-Number of passport stamps from this journey alone: 6. How is it six, you ask? Here's how, and the sixth one is really weird: Entering the UK. Entering India. Entering Sikkim. Departing India. Re-entering the UK. ENTERING THE FRIGGING UNITED STATES. Yes, you read that correctly. I have a stamp in my passport from the US. This must be a new policy in the past two years. Whatever.
-Number of loose (not hitched to a cart or in a field) cows seen wandering the streets in India: I have no idea. Probably somewhere between 50-100. Those are just the ones I've seen. Two of them were wandering around the train platform at New Jalpaiguri.
-Number of dogs seen wandering the streets in India: Far, far more than the cows. Poor doggies.
-Number of cats seen in India: Two. TWO! And they were both in Darjeeling. I asked other tourists if they'd seen any cats and to their surprise they realized that they hadn't. It's weird, I'm telling you.
-Number of times a gun (assault rifle) was pointed in my general direction: Several. At least one was not on purpose. Apparently those dudes don't know that guns should be pointed at the ground or in the air when not actively in use.
-Number of times a gun (assault rifle) was pointed specifically at me: Two or three, I don't remember. (Hi mom! Don't worry, everything is fine!!!)
-Number of times I ate something and regretted it: Once. But not because it made me sick, only because it tasted terrible.
-Number of times I wished I was an Indian national: Every time I had to pay a foreigner's entrance fee to a monument. Rs.20 vs. Rs.750 at the Taj Mahal for fark's sake.
-Number of signs that made me laugh out loud: Too many. I've listed a bunch of them here already, but another one I saw in Kolkata cracked me up-- a newspaper office's sign said "It's unputdownable".
-Number of times my chest was stared at: Seriously? It's not worth trying to count.
-Number of times my face was stared at: Not *quite* as many, but still an awful lot.
-Number of times I smacked someone: Regrettably, none. Although it came close a couple of times.
-Number of times I actually used the tripod I brought: Three. Only three. Each time caused some serious curiosity on the part of the locals-- they were fascinated! And I felt a bit like the intrepid Amelia Peabody carrying it around, as it is rather heavy and weapon-like. This ties in to the statistic above somewhat, as those who are familiar with Amelia Peabody will know.
-Number of times I left something behind in a hotel room: Way, WAY too many. My swiss army knife is gone, somewhere in Sikkim I think. I left my toothbrush, toothpaste, shower gel and shampoo in Delhi (although buying new stuff was a fun adventure), other little aggravating things here and there...
-Number of times I used the mosquito net to go around my bed: 0. As in a big fat ZERO. Lesson learned.
-Number of times I used the rain jacket I brought: 0, although I could have used it several times in London. Unfortunately every time I needed it, I didn't have it with me.
-Number of times I wished I was home: 0, although I did miss my bed an awful lot. And my family and friends, of course. :)

I went, are you happy now??

This is for you, Heather. ;)

Westminster Abbey is perfectly lovely if, well, a bit overdone (to me). It's extremely important historically, and I found it rather perversely funny, given how much they hated each other, that Elizabeth I and her sister Mary are interred together. Forever. Heh. Photography is prohibited but that's not made extremely clear when you first get inside, so I had already popped off a few shots before a guy in a red robe politely asked me to put the camera away. Whoops.

But before I ever made it to Westminster Abbey, I decided to take a peek around an old, ruined, overgrown cemetery in the Stoke Newington/Hackney area near where Naomi lives. I'd seen it in passing on the bus when I was in London before going to India, but didn't have time to properly investigate. I'm fond of old, strange cemeteries and from what I could tell this one looked right up my alley. When I got there today, I was not disppointed-- my god! It's HUGE. I spent about an hour poking around and probably didn't even see half of it. It's a strangely derelict place, all twisted, overgrown ivy on headstones crammed together and falling down and leaning on each other, mixed in with crumbling statues of angels and a few crosses dotted about. There's a ruined abbey in the center which provided a lovely opportunity for some atmospheric, gothy photos. The place is called Abney Park Cemetery if you'd care to google it. Most of the graves seemed to date from the mid-19th century on up to the 60's. At least, the ones that I could read dated from that time. There are also a lot of WWI graves and a memorial near the abbey for the soldiers buried there who somehow didn't merit a headstone.

After leaving Westminster Abbey I headed over to the Tate Britain museum, not to be confused with the Tate Modern. They have a lovely collection of Pre-Raphaelite paintings and historical British portraits. Again, photos prohibited. Fooey. In any case, I saw the famous Waterhouse "Lady of Shallot", which is much bigger than you'd think! It's probably four feet tall by six feet wide, anyway.

Of course, such a day of non-indulgence (the £10 admission into Westminster Abbey not included) required some good, old-fashioned Soho shopping as a reward. I wandered into my absolute favorite trashy-yet-prohibitively-expensive lingerie store, Agent Provocateur, and admired many things that I had no intention of spending upwards of £150 on. Besides that, they didn't have any bras in stock that fit me anyway. Bottoms yes, but tops? Of course not. Hmph. After that I wandered around Liberty, the famous department store, and again sighed over many things I can't afford. It's a curse having such good taste, I'm telling you. I bought a few things here and there and probably blew whatever money I could have used for gas and a lift ticket at Alpental this weekend, but whatever. Oh wait, when I get back I have to sink a ton of money into my car to get the brakes fixed, so I guess snowboarding is out for the next little bit anyway.

I'm still in a very melancholy mood over leaving India and a few other things going on back home, but-- believe it or not, haha-- I'm excited about being able to see all of you when I get back.

London, again

It's going to take me a while to fully compose my thoughts about India, and I'm feeling rather heartbroken at not being there anymore... so I'll entertain you with my (current) thoughts of London instead.

I hate it. I want to be back in India.

I didn't think I'd ever find myself saying that about London. Maybe it's the combination of my melancholy mood of the trip coming to a close, or the extreme climate change-- about 80 degrees in Kolkata, about 40 degrees here-- or maybe it's just the Northern Line (also called the Misery Line) on the tube at rush hour. You try walking around central London at rush hour and just see if you don't get pissed off. In India, the people crushing around me wasn't really a bother, but here for some reason I just want to start elbowing everyone in the ribs to make them get the hell out of my way.

Probably it's just my mood. And no, it's definitely not PMS.

The flight back was pretty uneventful, except for the three-year-old boy in the seat in front of me thrashing and screaming and kicking for the entire flight. Or the baby three rows ahead that Did. Not. Stop. Screaming. Somehow I managed to sleep a bit, but around 5pm London time to Naomi's amusement and pity I was falling face-first into my kosher vegetarian pizza at a nice restaurant in Golders Green. :-/ The plane was full of Brits who had been on a package tour to Bhutan, and I was lucky enough to be seated next to a delightful couple who told me all about it. If I could afford $200 per day, it would be great! Alas, Sikkim was a much better choice for my budget. It was a bit of a shock when I went to exchange the rest of my rupees for pounds and only got £5.80 for an amount that would have lasted me about two or three days in India.

Today Naomi and I took a train ride out to the university town of Cambridge and walked around. It's a nice little town and we explored some of the very pretty gothic architecture of St. John's College and Trinity College. A nice, calm way to pass the day, but I feel rather bored and slightly let down at not having life or limb threatened at any given moment.

It would seem that the major highlight of my time here in the UK before heading home is that I was able to properly wash (and dry)my clothes yesterday!!! My god. The things we take for granted.

I have another full day and a half before heading home-- time that I really resent British Airways for not letting me spend in India instead. Maybe I'll cave to Heather's peer pressure and go inside Westminster Abbey. ;)

The good news about coming home is that I will be able to go snowboarding as soon as I wish. YAY! The bad news is that I'm not sure I can afford it. haha.

And for the record, I was right about the rats-- well, they were actually mice and I only saw one-- in that hotel in Kolkata. Am I crazy for wanting to go back? Probably. Do I care? Not in the least.

Into every happy tale

...a little strife must fall (or however the fuck it goes).

It's not too bad, and it's all worked out for the better, but I had a nail-biting moment in the Middle Of Nowhere, West Bengal, India. Long story short, I missed my train to Kolkata. *sigh* Here's the story of my day...

I woke up early again, which while being a personal habit of mine while traveling, is also unavoidable at the Modern Central Lodge in Gangtok. Everything is concrete and my room had a window looking over the outdoor staircase for the residential building next to it. Result? You can hear EVERYTHING on that side of the building and pretty much everything on the street below as well. A baby started squalling around 4:30 and was still going at it when I left the room at 5:30. I decided to take a taxi out to Tashi viewpoint again to see if maybe the peak of Kangchenjunga was clear instead of obscured by clouds as it was the day before. SUCCESS!! Clear sky, absolutely stunning view, shitloads of pictures.

I went back to the hotel for breakfast-- yummy banana pancakes-- and met up with Caroline and Nick, a lovely and charming couple from the UK (hi guys!!). We had chatted quite a bit the previous two nights and had a great time. I wish I'd been able to spend another day in Gangtok, as they were making their way to Tsomgo Lake, another major thing I wanted to do but couldn't. The reason I couldn't do that was because another permit is required and it takes 24 hours to process, blah blah blah. Oh well, I have lots more excuses to go back now, as if I need any.

As an aside, I have yet to meet a single American person here in India. I've met loads of Brits, a couple of Belgians, tons of Finns, a few French, a smattering of Spaniards, a few Japanese.. but no Americans (to my knowledge). One of the Kashmiri guys I met in Delhi used to live in Seattle though, and his sister still lives there on the Sammamish Plateau. Odd.

So anyway, after my lovely morning of the mountain view, pancakes and chatting briefly again with my new friends, I had about an hour to kill before my jeep left for Siliguri to catch the train. Caroline recommended that I go to the beauty parlor up the street for a head massage, which sounded nice especially since I've started to come down with a bit of a head cold. The beauty parlor was hilarious-- small and narrow, and the lady was wonderfully sweet, but... the pictures of hairstyles on the wall. My god. Straight out of 1986!!! I mean, seriously-- Asian fluffy permed mullets. Weird rolled things on top of the head. I really wanted to grab my camera and take a shot but I didn't want to be insulting either. The head massage itself was nice, in a rather, well, vigorous sort of way. Think of sitting in the bathtub when you were a kid, your mom scrubbing your scalp off as you howl in protest. It wasn't quite that bad, for the most part it actually felt kind of good. She had rubbed some sort of oil in and had to wash my hair afterwards, which was a bit of a shock as the water was freeeeezzzzing cold. Some of it made its way into my right ear as well, which came back to haunt me later. I ended up paying what I suspect was far too much (hello, whitey), but in the end it was only about $7 US, so I can't really bitch about it.

The jeep ride, well... Argh. At least I got to sit in the front this time which was a nice change, but it was still way too crowded. I was next to the door, and kept feeling the fingers of the guy in the middle creeping onto my knee supposedly by "accident", which was irritating but really not of much consequence. The real problem with this jeep ride was that I started to notice that the driver was having trouble shifting. The damn thing didn't really want to go into gear and it kept getting worse. Besides that, the scenery was amazing. We wound our way along the river and this time I was actually able to see everything. It's a weird combination of tropical jungle and alpine forest, with lovely bamboo trees here and there and huge banana trees and ferns and all sorts of other bizarre plants. There are a lot of wildflowers as well, and I saw a lot of red poinsettias growing wild around Gangtok.

As time went on it became clear that the jeep's not-so-trivial clutch problem wasn't getting any better, not that I thought it would. We didn't end up having to evacuate the jeep and hitchhike although in hindsight I think it would have been better if we had. For me, anyway. Instead we limped our way into town at a snail's pace, and by the time we got to the train station and I rushed my way to the platform, the train had just left. I'm sure you can imagine my extreme frustration and pissed-offedness (is that a word?) at that point.

Fortunately the ticket collector's office was right there and after some discussion (I irritated them by repeating "what? WHAT?" because my right ear was completely plugged up and I couldn't really hear very well) they were able to put me on the next train to Kolkata, leaving at 1:00am. That was fantastic, but it also left me with 4.5 hours to sit in the train station. Ack, kill me. I'll spare you the details of my time in the waiting room as nothing of interest happened. Let's just say that I got bored enough to count the moths on the walls (47) and number of times the guy "guarding" the ladies' waiting room hocked up a loogie (about 7). It's mostly better now, but it was a miserable few hours.

After all that, here I am in Kolkata with a bit of a head cold and what promises to be an intriguing journey to the chemist for some medicine. There's a staggering amount of things that you can get over the counter in this country, heh. I decided to shell out for a hotel room mostly to store my backpack and to take a much-needed shower. The room is shit and smells peculiarly of bacon, but I don't give a rat's ass at the moment. (That "rat's ass" part may be a little too accurate... we'll see.)

I've spent a little time wandering around my 'hood, which is full of bazaars. It's crowded, chaotic, noisy and there are tons of beggers, but I kinda like it. There are waaay too many fun, mostly dirt cheap things to buy around here. Thank god I'm getting out quick.

Here Follows the Tale of Jeanie in Kashmir

Please note that this is LONG. And just below this post is a new one about my day in Gangtok today.

Day 1:

I arrive at the Indira Gandhi International Airport Domestic Terminal 1B in Delhi to an impressive traffic jam and only 30 minutes to go before my flight. My driver assures me that no problem, you'll make it. I'm still a bit panicked though, and it doesn't help when the GoAir check-in line for Srinagar was long and not really moving.

India has some odd airport procedures. Before getting in line, you have to put your bag through the x-ray machine and then they give it back to you. After finally checking in, they send you over to the security area, where you put your cabin baggage through the x-ray (again) and the ladies go into a private curtained booth to be patted down by female security personnel. Then you make your way to the departure area-- there are no "gates" as such-- and you have to find the line of people for your plane. Fortunately a nice Kashmiri man I'd met in the check-in line has taken pity on me and waves me over to our queue. Then they make you go over and find your bag in a huge pile and have it verified and checked off a list before it goes on the plane. Unverified baggage doesn't go. (Not a bad idea, that!) Then right before getting on the bus to be taken to your plane that's parked somewhere on the tarmac in a sea of planes, you get another pat-down. Sigh.

The flight could be any domestic flight in the US except that Indian people feel free to yak on cell phones right up until take-off (even when told not to) and wander around the cabin willy-nilly until gently nudged back into their seats. We stop in Jammu and I have my first taste of what was to come: Military, and lots of it. The runway has tents stationed all around it for the army personnel (complete with guns) hanging out guarding the airstrip. We stop for all of a half-hour, let some people off and others on just like a bus, and then take off for Srinagar. Just as we're cresting some of the breathtaking Kashmir Himalayas, the flight attendant announces that we are making our descent. Only 20 minutes had passed. It beats taking the bus though, as the ride from Jammu to Srinagar is about 6 or 7 hours because of the terrain.

Landing in Srinagar is way more of a shock than Jammu, as it really does look like an airforce base and war zone. Razor and barbed wire is everywhere, tons of outbuildings painted in camouflage and stern (or bored?) looking army dudes hang out and stare at all of us. We're channeled into the arrival hall-- really just a shitty one-room building with one counter and one baggage claim operated by a tractor, haha-- and I'm directed over to the foreigner's registration desk. Fortunately my ride to the houseboat is right there with the proper address and other paperwork required (I was starting to get a bit panicky) and we make our way out to the car.

My first impressions of Kashmir are 1. holy shit that guy is hot, wait, so is that guy and that guy and 2. I am in a war zone. The gate we're let out of had a big sign that said "inconvenience regretted". I ponder this and then have the brains to realize that I will probably figure out exactly what that means when I come back to the airport in a few more days. The drive through town is interesting because it's a lot cleaner than Delhi, but the air is smoky because it's fall and they're burning tons of leaves. There are a lot of maple trees in Kashmir which make it lovely in the fall but the burning obscures the view somewhat.

I see tons of stray dogs, lots of people (mostly men), women with various states of hair/head/face coverings ranging from nothing all the way up to a chador (full black veil with mesh over the eyes, not a burqa as those are full-length and this only covers the head and sholders), shitloads of razor wire, soldiers EVERYWHERE... we wind our way through town and finally out to the lake area. I'm feeling a tiny bit of concern at this point because the houseboats on the beginning portion of the lake look shoddy at best. Incidentally, I think I've mentioned this before, some of them have hilarious names like the "New Cherry Ripe", "Richard Green" (huh?), "Fairy Land Delux (sp)"... But my fears were for naught, because we finally arrive at the "nice" end of the lake and I'm ushered into a pretty little canoe with a canopy and rowed across the water to my houseboat, called the Dandoo Palace (the family's last name is Dandoo).

The boats themselves are beautiful, all intricately carved wood. It's quite a bit colder in Srinagar than in Delhi-- about 45 degrees vs. 75, and I think to myself that that the down vest might be the single best thing I've brought on the trip. I'm shown my room, which is lovely with a huge bed and obviously no heat but AH! What's that? Oh goody, an electric blanket. Sweet.

I'm taken into the house to meet the family of the people I met in Delhi. Haji, the grandfather, is very sweet and welcoming. There's a baby, Fahim, who immediately comes over and crawls into my lap and stares at my face for a while before breaking into a huge smile and happy baby gurgles. I'm asked if I would like to eat dinner in the dining room on the boat or in the house with the family, and everyone beams when I say I'll have dinner there.

After dinner I'm taken on a short boat tour of the lake and right then the muezzin calls out the sunset prayer. It's such a bizarre, beautiful experience: the melody is haunting, and what seems like the entire male population of the lake joins in. The sound echoes across the water and the mountains. I have a lovely video of this moment.

The next day I'm scheduled for a sunrise boat ride to the "floating market", so it's off to bed...

Day 2:

I wake up toasty warm and happy at 5:30am. Magbul, my unofficial guide for my houseboat duration, ushers me into the canoe and he rows for what seems like FOREVER farther into the lake. I will admit to feeling a bit concerned at one point, i.e. where on earth is this man taking me and am I a complete moron? But then we round a corner and there it is, the floating market: about 100 or so Muslim men in the typical long wool overcoat and hat, perched on their canoes loaded high with various vegetables, trading back and forth under a still-bright moon and misty pink sky and glassy lake with eagles and hawks flying overhead. It's a great moment and the pictures should be awesome.

Then it's back to the boat for breakfast and the jeep ride into the mountains. I've described jeep rides enough so I won't go into the terrifying cliffs and the glee that my guide and driver got from watching my face as we went 'round them. (For the record they said I had a pretty good poker face, the only way they could tell was my eyes got a little bigger. Hmph.) Oh, and a tank pulls a u-turn in front of us. Ooookay. We stopped a ways from town at the White Mosque (where I believe the bombing was but that happened a few days later). I'm urged by them to go inside, even though it's intimidating as hell as they place is surrounded by razor wire and the only entrance is through a gate manned with about 5 armed soldiers. I put on a big smile ("show teeth" was my only thought) and innocently ask if I can go inside. I'm rewarded with smiles and "yes, of course!" Phew.

The mosque is beautiful, but I'm not comfortable being there for very long even with the welcoming smiles of the soldiers. I take a few shots and then wander back to the car.

We stop again at a little town called Ganderbal, which is basically the last stop of civilisation before the mountains. I take some shots of way too many people inside of, on top of and hanging off the sides of a bus.

The countryside is beautiful with rice fields everywhere, dotted with maple trees, veiled women carrying loads on their heads and a whole lot of bored-looking armed soldiers texting, pissing or occasionally standing at attention.

We're stopped at a checkpoint and the guide and driver are made to get out of the jeep. Uuuh. A soldier leans in and asks me some questions, while another soldier is standing just beside him and I do not fail to notice that his M-16 is pointed in my general direction. Finally satisfied, the soldier gives me a smile and a "welcome to Kashmir!" and we're off.

After a couple of hours we reach our gypsy village, built around two large ancient ruined Hindu temple complexes. It doesn't feel like we're particularly high up, as the sun is out and the temp is still around 70 degrees-- but it's around 10,000 feet. I'm fascinated by the temples (of course) and we make our way to the camp site.

I'm introduced to a local guide named Neesar, who asks if I'd like to take a trek up the big hill. I say sure. Most of it is on a pony, over terrain that I keep asking "are you SURE I should be on this pony right now?!" and he assures me yes, it's fine. After about an hour of climbing up and up, he says it's time to give the ponies a break (finally) and I get off and start hiking up. It's pretty damn steep and after about 15 minutes I'm completely out of breath and dizzy. This pisses me off, so after a couple minutes of rest I insist on pressing on, but nope. No can do. Altitude being what it is, turning back was the only option. We make our way down the hill and I ask Neesar about his plastic shoes, which he wears with no socks. He says yes, they are better with socks, do I happen to have any to give him? Um... no... this will be the first of MANY encounters with the gypsy people who will ask me for all sorts of things. Sigh.

That night I sleep in my little tent under two huge wool blankets that reek of horse. I'm plenty warm, but the ground is uneven and I don't sleep well.

Day 3:

I wake up early again, but decide to hang out in the tent because it's pretty cold. I don't think it got down to freezing, but it was close. I'm supposed to take a longer trek today, but there won't be so much elevation gain. Okay, cool.

After dawdling for a couple of hours, Neesar finally gets a pony ready for our trek. I insist that I'm perfectly capable of walking, but no, they want me to ride the pony. The walk is very pretty, following the river along the main road. Women make their way back and forth carrying firewood on their heads to store up for the winter. I wonder what the men are doing, as even my very-Muslim cook/guide tells me that the women do 99% of the work.

Neesar isn't really interested in going any farther than about 2 miles, so we hang out by the river and chat. A man on the other side carrying a huge load of dried grass on his back waves to us and then climbs up over steep rocks along the ledge to bring the grass back to his house.

I want to walk, dammit, so I decline the pony ride back to the campsite. Neesar shrugs and gets on Lalu (the sweet, skinny pony) himself. I know I'm making him out to seem like an ass but he really wasn't that bad. He does get a bit cheeky though. At one point while I'm walking in front of him he says hey! I turn around and he's sitting behind the saddle and with a wiggle of his eyebrows and suggestive roll of his hips says "you want to sit here?" I shake my head and say you have got to be kidding. He saves face by saying yes, it was just a joke. (Whatever.) He goes on to tell me that the nice, proper hiking boots he has on today (a far cry from the plastic shoes of yesterday) were a gift from a Frenchman who trekked with him and gave him 500 rupees as well, which made him extremely happy. I get the feeling that this is a not-so-subtle hint that I should be giving him a similar gift, which is confirmed when he asks if he can have my down vest. I politely tell him no, I'm very sorry, but it's the only jacket I have for my trip (not to mention I'm not about to give him my expensive vest!).

Back at the campsite there really isn't much to do so I decide to explore the Hindu ruins. I should also mention that out here in the gypsy village, animals are wandering everywhere as they please-- sheep, goats, cows, water buffaloes (all black, some with strange blue eyes!), ponies, chickens... and sometimes people dry their laundry on the ruins. I have a lovely time in the fading sunlight and get some nice shots when a bunch of village kids come over to me. Uh-oh, I know what's coming.

"Hello." Hi there. "HELLO!" Hello. "Hello ME?" [pointing at something I have-- barrette in my hair, necklaces, shoes, down vest] Um... "HELLO ME??" They're pretty insistent little buggers. I give them a couple of pens and some candy in exchange for a few pictures.

Later, after dinner and after dark, a bunch of the kids come down to sing songs and dance for my entertainment. It's absolutely charming and I have a couple of great videos of it. Afterwards I give the kids more pens and candy. I give Neesar a pair of socks and my gloves, and he irritates me by failing to say thank-you.

Day 4:

Slept like shit. Couldn't fall asleep at first so I wandered around in the bright moonlight on the rocks by the river, which would have been fine except for one small bobble which leaves me with a purple bruise on the soft part of my hand below the thumb. Hmph.

After breakfast, camp is immediately packed up and put on the ponies to be taken up to the jeep. Except, well, the jeep isn't there yet: it won't be there for another few hours. So I'm taken to Neesar's house to hang out, which is interesting. Gypsy houses are usually two-story, wood-framed affairs with stones for walls and usually no windows. Or there might be boards. In the winter, all of the animals are brought into the house at night, and most houses have 3 or 4 families living in them.

Neesar's wife is young and beautiful and gives me some tea and chapatis. She goes off to work some more, and Sharifa, the owner of the house, takes her place. She also asks me for my down vest and instead I give her my ancient purple wool Old Navy zip-up cardigan. She's very happy with this and for some reason tells me not to tell the cook/guide that I gave it to her.

There is a tiny, happy little puppy at the house and I'm delighted to play with him for a while. Sigh, puppies... I wander around the yard a bit and a little kid attaches himself to me and won't leave me alone til I give him something. I give him my red wool beanie that I brought, entirely expendable so it's no big deal. Finally the jeep arrives and we load up our shit. I know what's coming, so as I'm sitting there, the cook comes over to me and says um, do you by any chance have anything extra for Neesar? I'd already given him and his entire family a lot and only had an extra 50 rupees to spare. He's visibly disappointed with this amount, but christ, I didn't have that much when I went out there and he never said thank you for the gloves and expensive smartwool socks. I say a somewhat relieved and sad goodbye to the gypsies-- they really are nice people-- and we get underway. A few miles from town I told the cook that I'd fibbed, I did have extra money, but I wanted to give it to him because I'd already given Neesar other things and he never said thank you. The cook thanks me sweetly and says that yes, Neesar can sometimes be a jerk.

The only event of interest on the way back to Srinagar (besides the scenery) is that at one point we were behind a big army truck with two soldiers sitting in the back, facing each other, and one had his gun on his lap. Pointed directly at the jeep. AT MY HEAD. He was picking his nose, gabbing with the other guy, while this huge truck bounces over pot holes from hell and this ancient WW2 gun bounces along with it. I'm sure the blood was drained from my face. Cook and the driver didn't even notice.

Another checkpoint and more questions... I'm always tempted, in Kashmir, to tell people I'm from Canada. Alas, at the checkpoint I was afraid he'd ask for my passport and it's better not to be caught in a fib, I think.

We stop at a Kashmiri rug "factory" for a "tour". Basically, I'm taken into a beautiful showroom and shown how these rugs are made, and then the high-pressure sales pitch begins. It takes a half-hour, but I'm finally able to persuade the gentleman (he was really very nice though) that there's no way in hell I can buy a rug, even if I promise to "send the money from home" (yeah right).

We get back to the houseboat and I'm happy to see Latif, his dad Haji and the baby. We hang out and watch Bollywood music videos for a while til it's dinner time and Haji needs to go to bed. I elect to eat dinner on the boat and this time there are two English girls (Hi Harriet and Claire!) there with me. We stay up for a few hours and chat, they're undecided if they want to go on a trek or not. I show them my pictures and say that yeah, it's maybe a little expensive but I thought it was worth it. I'm not sure if they ended up going or not.

Day 5 (leaving day):

I'm woken early again-- at 5am-- by the muezzin. I'd forgotten about that in the relative silence of the mountains, har. I take a bunch of lovely pictures of the boat and lake, and then it's time to go... around 11am, but my flight wasn't scheduled til 3pm and it only takes 30 minutes to get to the airport. There wasn't much choice though as Latif and his mother needed to go somewhere and that was my only ride.

At the airport, the gate we'd driven through before-- the one with the "inconvenience regretted" sign-- contains a checkpoint where we are made to get out of the jeep. My stuff is x-rayed and all electrical items such as ipod, batteries, cell phone are required to go in the checked bag. I'm patted down by an extraordinarily beautiful girl who looks a whole lot like Ziyi Zhang.

We get back in the jeep, drive about 1km to the airport and I'm told to wait outside because my flight is departing so late and they don't want too many people in the airport at one time. Sigh. I sit and read for a while and it's finally time to go inside, through another security check... then to the check-in gate, where I'm told that my flight is delayed by an hour. Great, another 3.5 hours to go.

The departures area of the Srinagar airport is a lot different than the arrival hall, but there's a part of it that horrifyingly looks like it's been bombed. One guy tells me "no madam, they're demolitioning [his word] that part to build the new arrival hall. That part over there [points] was bombed." Gee, my mistake.

Finally it's time to go through another security check before heading to the gate. (The ONLY gate.) This time, I'm made to entirely empty my bag (argh) and some hidden batteries are discovered and they take the other batteries out of my camera. Okay, they're pretty serious about this. The female soldier, with good humor, takes me over to the mens' desk where my batteries and a rock I'd taken from the campsite are put into a bag and a very, VERY handsome-- and very flirty-- soldier tells me that everything will arrive to Delhi, no problem. [wink]

The only seat to wait ends up being near his chair, so we talk and flirt a bit more. For an airport (let alone an airport in a war zone) the personnel are extremely happy people.

It's finally time to board the plane, verify my bag and go through another security check outside in front of the aircraft. The handsome soldier accompanies me out out and asks me when I'll be visiting Kashmir again. I say I'm not sure, and he says he will be waiting breathlessly. Sweet talker.

On the plane in my window seat (the check-in girl said, with a big smile, "I'll give you one with a great view!" when I asked to sit next to the window. The soldier sees me sitting there and gives me a wave and a wink as the plane starts to pull away. A few moments later I see a bit of a commotion as the soldiers and other airport personnel rush back into the building. I'm perplexed but don't think much of it.

Turns out the girl at the check-in counter was right: I had an absolutely breathtaking view of the Himalayas for the flight. Unfortunately my freaking batteries had been taken out of the camera so I couldn't take any shots. Damn.

It's only when I get back to Delhi that I find out about the bombing that happened while I was sitting at the airport. I'm extremely saddened to hear about it but also guiltily relieved that it happened after we'd already pulled away from the gate, otherwise who knows how long I would have been stuck there...

*sigh*

My only full day in Sikkim

Presumably you're reading this before the Kashmir account (above), but I guess it doesn't really matter.

As I tend to do while travelling, today I woke up early, around 5am, to see the sunrise on Mt. Kangchenjunga. Being somewhat of (not to put too fine a point on it) an idiot, I decided to take the the hike up to Ganesh Tok and Tashi viewpoint instead of a 10-minute taxi ride. I knew it would be long, and I knew it would be steep. And I was right-- about 3.5 miles pretty much straight up a narrow, dewy, overgrown path that in places you need to really pull yourself up with both hands. Parts of it are in the open with beautiful views of all the valleys with blowing prayer flags everywhere, other parts of it are in the forest which reminded me of home. The view at the top was spectacular, if somewhat disappointing in that clouds obscured the main peak of the mountain. A new observation deck and tea stand were being constructed and for about the hundredth time I saw someone welding without a proper welding helmet or even, for that matter, goggles or glasses of any kind. Ah, India. After that I hiked back down and on the way stopped at the pretty Enchey Monastery and said hi to bunches of young, shy but slightly rowdy little monks. A cup of tea later, I moseyed back into town to catch my ride to Rumtek.

Being essentially cheap I decided to go with the public jeep which was less than $1. It was, again, overcrowded-- not to mention tail-bone crushing, bra-testing and tongue-biting as the roads are being repaired from severe wash-outs. Oh well, it was only a buck. Incidentally, three teenage monks were in the jeep as well, chatting on cell phones in their burgundy and yellow robes and shaved heads. Rumtek is on the hillside opposite Gangtok, so the jeeps traverse switchbacks down to the bottom of the valley, then switchbacks back up to the top of the other side. It's about 25km in all which is what, 14 or 15 miles? and takes about an hour (yeesh). The monastery itself is huge and intricately painted with stunning views of Gangtok. I have some fantastic photos but again, no cameras allowed inside the main temple. Unfortunately my enjoyment was somewhat marred by the presence of a bunch of Bengali school girl tourists who insisted on cuttng in front of me to stand in front of the 15-foot high statue of the Buddha inside the monastery. Unpleasant, but not really an uncommon experience in India.

It was around 12pm by the time I was done and I decided to be adventurous: instead of taking a jeep back, I hiked down to the bottom of the valley and hitched a ride back up the hill into Gangtok. Heh. The hike was beautiful, quiet, picturesque, fascinating and exhausting. You experienced hikers know that oftentimes coming down a hill is just as much work as going up. The trail starts and stops and sometimes isn't even remotely visible to the casual observer, so I had to frequently ask "short cut?" and someone would point me the way. That is, if I was lucky enough to come across someone... I was pretty much alone. I'm pretty sure I strayed from the main path several times but as long as I was going downhill I didn't care. (The main path was mostly stairs.) There were many points where I was questioning my own sanity as I had to slide down on my ass and grab something, because a good chunk of the trail is on a nice little precipice with an approximately 200-foot drop into bamboo trees. Wheee! I came upon a pretty meadow where a bunch of monks were playing cricket and it looked and felt like the scene at the beginning of the Sound of Music. Except for the young monks in their robes playing cricket, that is.

About 7 miles straight down (no shit) and maybe a few years off my knees later, I arrived back at the main road. I found a nice little resting area with a small "convenience store"-- i.e. shack selling stuff-- run by a beautiful Indian girl named Durga, who came over and talked to me. She advised me to wait with her and she would flag down a ride, which was a nice help, but mostly she just wanted the company as she was desperately bored. We had a lovely chat for about an hour (it took that long for a jeep going to Gangtok to come by) and we traded email addresses.

By the way, don't think I'm a total moron for doing this-- lots of people do it, the night before I met a couple that was planning to do the same thing. Although I never did see them.

The ride back into town started to get to me because of the exhaust fumes. I'm funny about that sort of thing, especially diesel, because it makes me feel a bit claustrophobic. After climbing way the fuck back up to the hotel from the taxi stand, and then up 60+/- oddly-sized, very tiring stairs, I collapsed on the bed for a few minutes. It then occurred to me that the last time I'd eaten was approximately 7am, and it was now 4:45pm. I'd hiked 15 miles or so on an empty stomach. No wonder I felt weird. :-/

Tomorrow I have to take another sodding jeep ride to Siliguri to catch my train to Kolkata. I'm not looking forward to it, but I may take the guidebook's advice and pay for two seats so I'm not squashed against the window as the jeep nearly careens over a 2000-meter cliff.

Oh, and I recollect some other entertaining signs I've seen along the way: An advert for casual clothing-- think Old Navy-- called "Bumchums"; a sign for a private school called "The Gay Way Academy", and another road sign that said "If you drive like hell, that's where you're going". Hee. Hee hee.

Annoyed today.

Everything started out just fine... woke up early (5:00) to see Kangchenjunga, the third highest mountain in the world, which is stunning... wandered around for a couple of miles at leisure, drank tea, ate momos, purchased a cheap Jeep ride to Gangtok (where I am now), packed up my crap at the charming little hotel... and then came the Jeep stand and it all went to shit.

Please understand that my mood has nothing to do with Gangtok itself, it's a perfectly decent hill town if not quite as picturesque or user-friendly as Darjeeling (so far as I can tell after arriving an hour ago anyway). No, my frustration lies with a few other things.

First of all, the Jeep stand at Darjeeling-- or anywhere in the NE hill states, I suppose-- is an adrenline and diesel-fume potentially confusing rush. I was allotted a seat in a jeep in the middle row of three rows, next to the door. There were about 7 other people in the jeep which was fine. Then came another, and I had to get out to let them in the back. And another. Again, get out. And another. And another. I was getting pissed not just because I had to keep jumping in and out of the friggin' jeep which was parked entirely too close to the jeep next to it, but because there were now 12 people in it and it was crowded as fuck. We finally left to begin what would be an arduous 4.5-hour, 90-kilometer journey. But first, about 5km out of town, we stopped to let one of the guys in my row off... yay! Oh wait. A very large man, a very large woman and a baby took his place. The polite young man in the middle practically had carnal knowledge of me. There were now 14 people in the jeep including the driver and two small children. And I think I've inhaled more diesel fumes in the duration of this trip than I have in my entire life. That's really not much of an exaggeration, I'm afraid.

The drive itself was pretty enough, winding along the pretty milky-jade Teesta river, but the first two hours were steep as all hell and probably would have scared the shit out of me if I hadn't already been completely immune to careening, potentially lethal jeep rides at that point. I now see why all the guidebooks unilaterally advised NOT taking bus or jeep journeys after dark. Oh, and no one puked. Sweet.

I did feel a bit bad when, at the border to Sikkim, being the lone foreigner I had to hold up everyone to go in to the office to fill out paperwork and get my passport stamped and permit and visa inspected. No one seemed to mind though, which maybe isn't too surprising given the no-hurry nature of India. Three passport stamps for this trip so far and by my count I could have anywhere between one and three more...

Gangtok itself isn't really helping my mood as it turns out that if I want to spend enough time at the one thing I want to see-- Rumtek Monastery, about 24km southwest of here-- I'll have to pay about Rs.450 or approx. $10 for a private taxi to get there. If I take the public bus it's Rs.35, or just under $1, but the problem with that is that it arrives around 11am and departs at 12pm, which to me is entirely NOT enough time. Sure, $10 isn't so bad and I'm certainly going to do it, but still. My jeep ride from Darjeeling to Gangtok was only Rs.125, dammit. The third reason for the pissy mood is that the OTHER thing I really, really wanted to do is unavailable: I wanted to take the helicopter from Gangtok back to Siliguri, where I catch my night train to Kolkata (to catch my flight back to London). Unfortunately the flights are full for the next four days. It would be about Rs.2000 or approx. $45, which to me is entirely worth it for a couple of reasons: 1. It would only take about 45 minutes instead of 6 hours in what we now know would be an entirely overcrowded jeep and B. IT'S A FREAKING HELICOPTER RIDE OVER THE HIMALAYAS. *sob* The gentleman helping me at the tourist office was very sweet but rather overly inquisitive. I tried to be as nice as possible but the irritating jeep ride and having my hopes somewhat dashed made me a bit cranky.

One small bright spot is that there are some rather humorous moments on the way up here in the form of road signs warning of danger. These are the ones I remember:

"Donate blood in blood bank, not on this road"

"If married divorce speed"

"Hurry burry spoils the curry" (I'm not sure but I think this is referring to stomach evacuations)

"Be gentle on curves"

You gotta take humor where you find it, I guess.

My hotel room is crap, but at least it's cheap (Rs.100) and I don't plan on staying in there much anyway. So far I've taken approx. 1000 pictures (ha!) and a couple of short video clips. I won't have a chance to upload them until after I get home because these computers are very slow. It would take forever.

Tomorrow I will write out, in its entirety, my Kashmir experience. Until then, I'm off to forage. By the way, if any of you are expecting postcards (that's ONLY if you know I know your address by heart-- very few of you-- or if you've emailed it to me) they'll likely arrive after I get back! They told me two-week minimum at the post office today. Ah, India...

I Love Darjeeling

After taking another purgatorial train ride from Mughal Sarai station in Varanasi and then a bone-jarring, beautiful jeep ride from the plains up into the mountains, I'm here. And I can breathe FOR REAL. It's amazing how much we take clean air for granted. Even the most polluted days in Seattle can't compare to the cleanest day in Delhi or Agra.

The train station at Mughal Sarai is more than just a bit dodgy. I was fortunate enough to stand next to a lovely group of elderly Finnish people, as the staring was really getting under my nerves for the first time on this trip. At one point I put my pack on the ground and sat on it, and a guy with a cart selling newspapers and books decided to move his conveyance right next to me so that he could stare down my shirt. This is when I found the lovely Finns. The train ride this time was fine as I wasn't on the top bunk, but again, the guy in the bunk next to me kept leaning over and stared at me, mostly my chest, for the better part of three hours. He leaned forward to stare even more-- ! -- but I told him to bugger off and put my blanket over me. He looked quite embarrassed at that point and didn't look at me again. Good gad.

At the New Jalpaiguri train station I met up with a nice Aussie guy named Jared who was also going to Darjeeling, so we shared a jeep ride with about eight other people. It was an interesting three or four hours up winding hills with breathtaking views. There were a couple of people yakking on the side of the road here and there, and two people in our jeep had to spew as well. I'm glad I have a very strong stomach. That and the terrifying jeep rides in Kashmir more than prepared me for this (one and a half lanes AND it's paved? EASY! ha).

The Darjeeling hills are stunning and except for a few tropical plants here and there it reminds me a lot of home. Jared and I walked to the Tibetan Refugee Self-Help Center, which was a bit of a hike up and down, and stopped at a beautiful Buddhist monastery on the way there. We were the only ones there and the caretaker was lovely and extremely helpful.

The city of Darjeeling itself is really cool, it's built on a very steep hillside so everything goes up up up or down down down. My hotel room has a pretty view of the valley facing west. There isn't any heat (I'm getting used to that) and the hot water comes in buckets upon request, but things are CHEAP here. I picked up a great Nepali-type wool hat with fleece lining for Rs. 90 (about $1.50). I'll have to be careful otherwise I'll need to start using the extra duffel bag to cover my backpack for souvenirs! The people here are wonderfully... distant. No one pushes anything in your face here, I'm not stared at, it's great. As much as I loved India, the constant staring and pushiness does tend to wear on you after a while. I had some lovely chow mein and momos for lunch, which is a nice change from palak paneer, daal and chapatis.

Tomorrow I'm going to get up early to see the sunrise on Kangchendzonga, the third highest mountain in the world and altogether not very far from here. After that a bit of wandering around, trying NOT to shop and then deciding where to go next... I'll head to Sikkim, but I don't know which part yet. Maybe I'll study my guide book and see what strikes my fancy. From the north side of the ridge, the 41-meter-high statue of Padma Sambhavra at Samdrupste is visible, so maybe I'll head there. Either way it's going to be another couple of hours on a jeep, hopefully not so crowded this time. I had to sit in the back facing sidways on the drive up here and my neck is aching a bit.

I'm a bit abashed to admit that I tried to call British Airways to change my ticket to stay here a couple more days, but my ticket is absolutely unchangeable. I can't even pay a fee, it just cannot be done. The guy on the phone said "I'm very sorry madam, but this was a special fare and that was the rule for this ticket. There were also flexible tickets available." To which I replied that yes, I knew about the "flexible" ticket, but it cost $3500 more, which is absolutely ridiculous. He agreed but he still couldn't do anything about it. Oh well, three days in London won't be too bad, but I really do wish I could spend it here (and it's cheaper).

14.5 hours on the train later...

I arrived in Varanasi yesterday around 12:30pm. The train was about 1.5 hours late getting in to Agra, and then in total about 3 hours late arriving here. Oy. Several people have smiled and told me "India is great, but always late!" Truer words, yeesh... I had a decent compartment with a lay-down berth instead of sitting in steerage, which was nice. The bad things were threefold: One, I was on the top bunk right where the a/c blows. All night. Without stop. The blankets they provide are no help whatsoever, so I froze my tukus off even after roasting in the heat at Agra. Two, the bathrooms... my god. To think I bitched about the other toilets. Basically? It's just a long hole straight down to the tracks. Everything falls down the hole and the stench is even more fun than what I previously described. I will be carefully rationing my intake before and during such journeys in the future, and I have two more. Eeeep. Three, there are no announcements for the stations the train stops at! You have to pretty much guess or leave yourself at the mercy of other people on the train. Or keep staring out the window hoping to catch a glimpse of the sign(and hoping it's not in Hindi) wherever you're stopped. The other bad thing is that there is very little time to get on and off the train. You have to have your shit ready to either jump on or off NOW, DAMMIT. Heh. That part is actually kind of fun. Other than that, it was an interesting experience. OH! And one of the rail employees made a rather crude comment and gesture about my boobs. Sigh. Being stared at is a fact of life here, and I've mostly become immune to it (not unlike the driving).

The Indian people are overwhelmingly nice and kind, ever ready with a smile and tons of questions and compliments. One bad thing is that someone is always trying to sell me something or beg for money, and the pushiness is incredible. My most-common phrase this trip is "no thank you." "NO thank you." "NO THANK YOU!" It's too bad, because I'd love to buy about 80% of the stuff people are trying to sell me, haha. I've seen some Kashmiri carpets to die for-- I could have picked up a $5,000 carpet for about $700, but... yeah right. Here in Varanasi they're known for silk. Last night we made our way in the dark-- did I mention the power outages in India? They happen all the time, no one pays attention, you kind of get used to it-- to a beautiful silk embroidery factory down narrow, twisting, dark, stinky streets. It was fun. When we got inside they happened to have a generator so I could actually see everything. My god, the fabrics made me want to cry they were so beautiful and relatively inexpensive.

Last night and this morning I took a boat ride on the Ganges to see the bathing ghats. I'm going to have to let the pictures describe them because I certainly can't do enough justice to what I saw, but I'll try. First of all, Varanasi is the most important city in Hinduism and it's also one of the oldest cities on the planet. Hindus bathe in the Ganges river (it's actually called the Ganga here) morning and night, but most especially at dawn, for purification and theoretically to cure illness of body/mind/soul. According to Hindu belief, people who are cremated on the banks of the Ganga are released from the cycle of reincarnation, so there are a lot of funeral pyres at two main burning areas. We arrived at one of these two main areas. Yes, I saw funeral pyres. Yes, they had dead bodies in them. The river itself is toxic as hell, not because of the ashes, potential body parts, animal shit and garbage-- although that certainly doesn't help-- but because a few miles upriver are chemical factories and a lot of their waste goes directly in to the river. I did touch the river though, by lighting a pretty little candle in a paper cup with flower petals around it and floating it downstream. Photography is acceptable everywhere except the burning areas, but it somehow felt a little wrong to me to take shots of people while they're bathing-- they're not animals in a zoo, this is their religion, not mine, and I'm funny about intruding on holy moments or places. That said I did get a few shots but they're from farther away than what most people were taking. I hated seeing the boatloads of tourists with their digital cameras flashing as people were praying in the water. Maybe it's a little hypocritical but I can't help it.

I've seen several extraordinarily beautiful Hindu temples, where outsiders are accepted with a smile. I have some lovely shots of the outsides as photography is (in my mind rightfully) prohibited inside. Today I went to Sarnath, a very important center of Buddhism. Sarnath is the place where the Buddha, after attaining enlightenment at Bohdgaya, came to teach his five disciples. It's a really cool place with a HUGE stupa and lots of other monastic ruins and an intact Jain temple, although that was closed. The Indian Archaeological Society is currently restoring the ruins and their methods are, well, interesting. The pictures demonstrate better than I can explain, but let's just say that women in saris hanging off of a 100-foot stupa are quite a sight to behold.

Tonight I'm taking the train to Siliguri, and from there it's on to either Kalimpong or Darjeeling and into Sikkim. I'll be taking another night train from Siliguri to Kolkata to catch my flight back to London.

I don't know if I'll end up getting service for my cell phone or not, so if you've been waiting for me to give you the number I'm sorry! Time has just flown by and it's incredible that my trip (at least the Indian portion) is half-over. I feel like I've barely gotten a tiny little sip and I want to take a huge gulp.

It's hot outside and I don't want to leave the internet cafe, but alas... back into crumbling, molding, fascinating, ALIVE Varanasi I go.

I Am Officially Not Dead

But some of you will probably want to kill me.

I went to Srinagar. In Kashmir.

Yes, as in THAT Kashmir.

But before you jump to conclusions (and if you've been watching CNN), don't worry! My plane left the ground just minutes--literally, about four minutes-- before the bomb went off in Srinagar killing five children. When the plane was just pulling out of the (only) gate, I saw the army guys running back into the building but didn't really think much of it. Kashmir has at my best guess a ratio of approximately 3 people to one armed soldier stationed somewhere. It's pretty serious. There were no fewer than three-- wait, was it four?-- security checks at the airport. Meaning x-ray bag, search cabin baggage, frisking. Yep, three times. The first one is before you even get to the airport, you have to get out of the car, they search the car, they x-ray your shit, you get back into the car, go through another security check at the entrance, then another once inside, then another just before boarding the plane. I didn't mind it at the time and now I see why they do that. If you don't know anything about it do a google search.

Upon arriving back in Delhi I was devastated to hear the news of the bombing. I fell absolutely in love with Kashmir and, most importantly, the Kashmiri people. (By the way? They are incredibly good looking people. And by people I mean the men, because there aren't so many women wandering around.) I took a short three days, two nights trek into the Himalayas and spent time in a very interesting Gypsy village. It was at about 10k feet, so the hiking we did during the day tended to make me a little woozy as we were going up above 12k feet. I stayed on Lake Dal in a beautiful houseboat and made some new friends that I cherish and got my face slapped and scratched (happily) by a beautiful little baby boy named Fahim who took an extraordinarily liking to me for whatever reason. I was one of the family. There is a lot more to say about Kashmir but I'll have to go back to that at a later time as right now I'm in Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, and waiting to catch a train to Varanasi. I arrived back in Delhi last night from Kashmir and just this morning drove (I wasn't driving, GOD) to Agra to see the Taj, the Agra Fort and the Fatehpur Sikri "ghost city". All three were heartbreakingly beautiful and extremely similar examples of medieval Moghul architecture. The Taj, well, I'm sure you've heard about that... What isn't beautiful, however, are the hustlers trying to be my "guide" or trying to sell junk or get me to take a ride in their horse- or camel-drawn carriage. On one hand I know it's just an honest living but on the other hand I just want to be left the hell alone. And the horses were dead lame so I refused to patronize those guys. I'd rather walk, thanks, even if it means having to yell "NO" about eighty times at the top of my lungs. Today at the Taj I was surrounded by about thirty teenage boys-- I coulnd't understand what the heck they wanted at first and then it dawned on me-- they wanted to take pictures *with* me. Um, okay. I obliged but I'm sure my expression is rather bemused in their photos.

The drive down was fairly uneventful as far as death and dismemberment is concerned. The Indian countryside is extremely interesting... round mud huts in the middle of dry fields, people crapping and/or pissing and/or just generally milling around, women in beautiful bright saris carrying improbable loads on their heads, cows, goats, donkeys, ponies everywhere... I saw a lot of this in the Himalayas too. The driving itself is just as nuts, if not worse but I've pretty much adopted a laissez-faire attitude about it at this point, as it's just one endless game of chicken, really. The good thing is that people rarely get angry and even though it seems like utter lawlessness, it has a cadence of its own, and ultimately-- it works. Oh, and I counted 17 people (many of them children) in an auto-rickshaw today. About four of them were hanging on to the sides. This was going down a dual-carriageway at approximately 30mph, which at my best guess is the top speed of one of those things anyway. And a huge "TATA" truck carrying GASOLINE with four dudes sitting on top. This country is fun.

It's also exhausting. I stink, I left my freaking shampoo in Delhi and haven't had a bloody chance to go buy more, and I have to catch an overnight train to Varanasi in about an hour.

OH-- and public toilets (meaning toilets at monuments like, say, Agra Fort-- not to name any names or anything) are wretchedly, inhumanely foul. They don't *look* so bad, but ohmygodthesmell. My advice if you go to india: roll up your pants so the bottoms don't accidentally drag on the floor. You'll thank me later.

I will write more in-depth about my time in Kashmir when I can, but for now it's rushrushrush to the train station. I've written down a lot and India has its own version of "Engrish" that I adore. More on that later...

Oh, and please put your name at the end of your comments, because a lot of them just show up as "Anonymous". ;)

Holy Cow

Sorry, that was inexcusable. But it's true.

First I'll start off by saying: I love India. It's bizarre as hell, crowded, noisy, full of garbage, the poverty is astounding, the stench can be awe-inspiring, the power lines are absolutely terrifying... but I love it. The only downside so far is this shitty internet connection (completely with wobbling screen that makes me feel a bit sick to my stomach) and the pollution. Oh my word, the pollution. Within about two hours I could feel a sinus headache coming on, and the dust and grit sticks to your skin like bug spray. It's gross.

But there are so many beautiful sights! But before I begin with that, I should back up to say that I've met a great temporary travel partner. Her name is Arnika and she's from New Zealand. We met waiting at Heathrow for the flight to Delhi, and I noticed her t-shirt. It had a picture of garden gnomes on it and said "hangin' with my gnomies". I'd seen the shirt in Seattle so I had to say something, and from there we started chatting and each realized that we were flying into Delhi literally by the seat of our pants with no hotel reservation and only a vague idea of where the airport was in regards to the city. Haha. Anyway, we're checked into a decent place in the Karol Bagh area, much quieter than the Paharganj where we were originally going to go. I was able to catch a couple hours' sleep on the flight, so when we arrived-- at freaking 5:30am, by the way-- I felt fine. Arnika wasn't so lucky, so when we got to the hotel she passed out while I had a private car hire to take me around to see some sights.

Delhi traffic is, in a word, frightening. But in some perverse way it's kind of fun as well. There are not really "rules", per se, they're more like guidelines that no one follows. If you drive in Delhi, there are a few rules you must follow:

1. Exhibit a cheerfully careless disregard for life, limb, paint jobs and fender benders.

2. Dodge cows. At high speeds, at low speeds. A lot.

3. Dodge pedestrians. They exhibit the aforementioned careless disregard for life and limb and wander out into the middle of the road with reckless abandon. It's enough to turn your hair white.

4. When in a trafic jam, make sure you leave no more than approximately 1/2 inch from the car in front of you and about three inches and/or the size of your side mirror to the car next to you. I am not making this up.

5. If you're on a motorcycle, please make sure you pack as many people as possible onto it. Including infants sitting on the gas can and ladies in saris and salwar kameez sitting sideways on the back. Oh, and by the way, if you're male, you're allowed to wear a helmet... but no one else on the bike is.

6. Honk. Honk A LOT. Honk incessantly. Honk when you're happy. Honk when you're sad. Honk when you're angry, depressed, irritated, cheerful and any emotion in between. Then honk some more. And when you're done honking, honk again. Repeatedly. Don't worry, no one pays the slightest attention to your honking.

Yeah.

The sights I saw today were amazing, but the one that took the cake by far was the Lal Qila, or the Red Fort. It's absolutely immense. It's from the mid-17th century, I believe, and is a stunning example of Moghul architecture in ruin. The photos truly do not do it justice. I also went to a beautiful Hindu temple for Lakshmi. Alas, my only photos are of the outside because cameras were prohibited inside. I wandered around and swear to god, I got goosebumps. It was that beautiful.

Tomorrow I may be heading to the Ladakh and Leh region of the northwestern Himalayas for a couple of days. After that I'll be heading back to Delhi with a private car hire to Agra to see the Taj. Starting to crash now so I'm going to go hit the sack and hope the skeeters don't eat me too much.

Leaving, again

Here I sit at Heathrow's Terminal 4. For those with money, it's a freaking paradise. The shopping is fantastic, but unfortunately I will not be partaking. The exchange rate is just too outrageous.

The only thing I don't like about Heathrow is that the gates are not stated until about an hour before the flight. I'm sure the shops love that as people tend to just wander around until their gate is announced, but it's bloody annoying unless you want to spend spend spend or drink drink drink. (I do not as yet fall into either category, although a drink is sounding rather tempting.)

Yesterday I wandered around the Kensington/Chelsea/Holland Park area, typically known for being extremely high-rent. It's a lovely area, very quiet and picturesque. As I was walking towards Notting Hill I passed by a real estate/letting agency and caught a glimpse of one of the photos advertising a flat for rent. I didn't look all that close but I think it was a two or three-bedroom flat... for £3,250, or approximately $6400.

Per week.

They might as well take a pint of blood while they're at it, honestly.

Anyway, my flight leaves in about an hour and twenty minutes. I have no idea what time it is in Delhi right now but I'll be arriving at 5:00 in the friggin' morning and this time I'm sure the jet lag will be awesome.

Haha, ironically they're announcing the British Airways flight to Seattle as I type this. Heh.

Oh, and if any of you are interested in receiving a postcard from India, please email me your address because I didn't bring any of them with me. paintedlotus @ gmail.com or lewis.jeanie @ gmail.com :)

And by the way, I'm arriving in Delhi without a hotel reservation-- w00t! (Don't worry, mother, I know where I want to stay, I just haven't been able to contact them is all...)

Yay for no jet lag!

I've figured out a practical use for those back-to-back, one-or-two-hours-of-sleep shifts that I love so much... I'm not jet lagged at all. Fantastic.

The plane ride was uneventful, save for the noxious sleep emissions from the guy next to me. I got some lovely shots of the Scottish Highlands and the north of England, including Blackpool. I'd wanted to get shots of Greenland and Iceland but it was still dark while we were flying over... maybe on the way home.

London feels, well, exactly as if I'd never left (not a terribly big surprise). Besides not really knowing my way around much outside zone 3, I do not at all feel like a 'tourist'-- I'm oddly at home here. After going through customs at Heathrow I headed to the tube station... ah, the tube smell! It's comfortingly familiar, in a very dirty sort of way. I can't really explain it but those of you who have been on it know exactly what I mean. The Metro in Paris smells a lot the same only a little more sulfur-y.

Knowing that I would have about three hours between arriving in central London and when I would meet Naomi when she finished with work, I decided to wander around and take photos. The weather is gorgeous here, about 50 degrees and sunny-- perfect. What wasn't so perfect is that I did all this wandering with my backpack on. After a tiring few hours wandering ALL over Westminster, Piccadilly Circus, St. James' Park, the Houses of Parliament, briefly contemplating and then rejecting the idea of taking a ride on the Eye, briefly contemplating and then rejecting the idea of going inside Westminster Abbey (£10?! No thanks), it was time to figure out how to get to Naomi's house. I was pretty sure I knew which tube station to get off at, and I mostly knew where her place was. Turns out I ended up actually needing the offer of help from a very drunk, elf-like man on the bus. He directed me to the proper street and without his help I would have been wandering around for a very long time. Thank you, Mr. Drunk Elf Man.

Naomi indeed has what she calls a 'funny little flat'. I'll spare you the details but we'll just say that the entire upper floor (the bedroom and bathroom) are painted in a peculiar shade of pink. She said I was being generous calling it 'cheerful' as she thinks of it as 'Screaming Pink'.

Today I think I'm going to hit up the Tate Britain museum and wander around some more. In what could arguably be called the most expensive city in the world, I'm very glad for the free museums.

I leave for Delhi tomorrow afternoon...

PS-- I decided not to get a sim card for London for my phone this time around. For those of you who were waiting for the phone number, I'm not going to deal with it until I get to India.

Leaving

The flight leaves in five hours. I was finally able to check-in online (and pick my seat) but when I tried to print out the boarding pass, the friggin' printer said the magenta ink was out. Magenta. What? Christ. And for the life of me I could not get it to print in black and white, the stupid piece of crap. So I had to go run to the store and get one ink cartridge just to print out one lousy piece of paper. Okay, enough bitching... zen.

It's supposed to be sunny but cold in London for the next couple of days. I can handle that.

This is about the time

...to reflect upon the fact that I really have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.

I told someone today that I have no problems with admitting I'm wrong (providing that I am, in fact, proven wrong). That goes hand in hand with freely admitting when I really don't have a clue as to what I'm getting myself into.

But isn't that why we travel? It's not just to see cool shit-- and I firmly believe that the Taj Mahal falls under the heading of "cool shit"-- but to learn about other people, other cultures... and, theoretically, about ourselves. It's tripe, but it's also true.

The other day for about the hundredth time someone asked me why it is that I wanted to travel to India. He said the word "India" with what seemed like a mixture of awe and disgust, which I guess isn't too surprising in and of itself. He also said "I've heard there are a lot of, um, poverished people there." ......... [blank look]........ Poverished. Poverished? Is that a word? Not wanting to say "do you, ah, mean.... 'IMpoverished'?", I stared at him for a moment trying to figure out whether or not I should correct him-- usually a bad idea, and discretion is as we all know the better part of valor- so I marveled at his ignorance instead. This is someone who makes approximately ten times what I do and belongs to what I guess could be called the "upper middle class". I said yes, there are in fact a lot of poor people in India... and wisely let it go at that. It's the poor people I've met who have offered more to me than I could ever ask for. "Poverished" people are some of the nicest, most hospitable people on earth-- to say nothing of the Indian sense of hospitality, from which I think we could all take a few cues. It's cheesy as hell but I personally believe that money does not have any bearing on happiness... although, let's be honest, NOT having to worry about where the next meal is coming from is a mighty big influence on one's state of mind. Many of the nicest people I've ever met come from and/or are existing in the most humble of circumstances. Which begs the question: Why would I NOT want to travel in such a place? Besides the malaria and dengue fever and chikungunya risk, I mean.

As wonderful and relatively "risk-free" as Europe is, India jumped out at me not just because it's a place I've always wanted to see (it is, for as long as I can remember)-- but because I actually *want* to be pushed out of my comfort zone and into completely unknown territory. I can't claim altruistic motives, because the primary reason I travel is to satisfy my endless curiosity. Does that make me selfish? Perhaps. Do I care? Not really.

To everyone who has asked

...or who has thought of asking:

No, I am not packed yet.

Sigh.

This goes in the department of henna woes.

Caller: Hi, I'm calling about henna tattoos. [aside: for the love of whatever deity, please don't call it a tattoo.] How much do they cost?
Me: [friendly, inquisitive] My hourly rates are [X] per hour for appointments and I have a one-hour minimum for the Seattle area... are you having a party or getting married?
Caller: Really? [X]? Wow, that's really expensive. I just want a little flower on my ankle, can you do that?
Me: Sure, I can do that... but like I said, my rate is [X] per hour, so do you maybe have a group of friends that would like to get together for this so you can all split the cost? I can do a lot of henna in an hour.
Caller: I don't think so, this is kind of a spur of the moment thing for me... So do you think maybe you would give me a discount?
Me: A discount? [baffled] I'm sorry, my rate is [X] per hour...
Caller: [exasperated] Yes, but I can't *afford* that. Can't you give me a deal? I know henna doesn't cost very much and the design I want would only take about 10 minutes.
Me: [incredulous] No, I'm very sorry, but it doesn't work that way. Do you give discounts on your hourly wage when someone tells you that it won't take you the whole hour to finish the project they've just given you?
Caller: [baffled] Um... what?
Me: Thanks for calling. (Click.) [Proceed to give self a congratulatory pat on the back for not reaching through the phone line and yanking the idiotic caller's tonsils out]

Oh well, if it wasn't this it would be something else, eh? I try to have a good attitude about people. By that I do not mean an overly trusting, naive attitude... just that I try not to automatically think everyone is 1. stupid, B. rude or 2. a combination of the two. So when I'm confronted with blatant displays of stupidity or rudeness/meanness--and those three words pretty much encompass a wide swath of bad behavior-- it gives me a shock. It's somewhat dismaying but also somewhat entertaining at the same time. I just try to maintain the mindset that it's not what other people do, it's how I react to it when it affects me that matters... and if nothing else it makes for a good story.

It's funny...

...how wearing a t-shirt that's two sizes too small (instead of an oxford shirt & vest that's two sizes too large) will cause co-workers to see one's self in a whole new light. The choice on sizing is not mine, by the way. Insert eye roll here.

I am not yet convinced that this is entirely a good thing but the co-workers may disagree.

In other news, there are now only 12 days left before I depart. It's only just now dawning on me how much of a bitch this trip is going to be to pack for: cold and wet in London, hot and fucking humid in Delhi, hot and dry in Agra/Khajuraho, cool to cold in Sikkim, back to hot and fucking humid in Kolkata, back to cold and wet in London... bleh. And I've calculated how much air time I'll be racking up on this journey: it's almost 40 hours. To the astute reader, that comes down to 10 hours per day. Not too bad, but the time changes bugger it all up.

I'm going to be a mess on Thanksgiving.

Why?

Why is there a check-in kiosk at your departure gate-- say, Gate 20 at SFO-- if you have to be ticketed, checked-in and holding your boarding pass to get through security to get to the departure gate to begin with?

Why is it that Rockstar caffeinated beverage is approximately $2.29 per can, whereas the same size can of "Rockstar 21", the alcoholic version, is $1.69?

Why do I have to punish myself by waking up at 3:00am when getting out of bed is most assuredly NOT my specialty by any stretch of the imagination? Oh right, because I work at 4:30. KILL ME.

Things I Learned While Obtaining A Tourist Visa

While it's not necessarily a traumatizing experience, it's not terribly fun either. Here. Please learn from my mistakes.

1. Staple the required passport-like photos-- two identical shots, two inches by two inches each-- to your application *exactly* where it says "staple two photos here". Do not deviate from this.

2. When you are stapling the photos to the first page of the application, take care not to staple the second page to them as well. That requires a different staple over in the top left-hand corner. You will be chastised if this is done incorrectly.

3. Try to download the application and fill it out before you go in. It's likely that this helpful bit of information will be nowhere to be found on the website for the consulate/embassy of the country you're trying to get a visa from. I had actually done this already, hoping to save time, but also a bit worried that they might not want that and would make me re-fill out the information in front of them. Turns out I did exactly the right thing and ended up saving myself a LOT of time (compared to the poor sods who hadn't filled out an application when they arrived).

4. When someone hands you a number to wait in line, and you don't notice any numbering equipment displays, keep your number anyway. Keep it handy and do not lose it. You will have to give it back to get your place in line or risk starting over with a new number. (Fortunately I did not do this but I witnessed it.)

5. Perhaps most important (at least if your'e heading to India): KEEP YOUR RECEIPT. It's likely that this crucial information will not be posted anywhere or even told directly to you by the cashier as she/he hands you said receipt. But if you want your tourist visa, snugly stuck to a page inside your passport, you'd better have it. Seriously.

All that aside, it was a much less painful experience than I thought it would be.

Four weeks from today

It's dawning on me how little time that really is, and how many important things-- for example, acquiring a tourist visa, haha-- are still left to be done.

Oh, and because I'm compulsive, I couldn't help checking the price of my ticket again. (Yes, I've already bought it. I said "compulsive" for a reason.) It was about $100 more, heh. I also couldn't help typing in my original itinerary of into Kolkata, out of Delhi... which astute readers will remember was $1575 as of last Thursday, then jumped to $2500 on Friday-- Well. Some serious shit must be going down in that town on the weekend of November 4, because the price jumped to $4900. Forty. Nine. Hundred. Dollars.

To put it in layman's terms: What the fuck?!

Fifteen hundred dollars gone... poof, just like that

I've been waiting for just the right moment. The anticipation has been kept at bay, barely, for months while I sweated (literally) and scrimped (mostly literally) and saved (not quite literally). I'd been price-checking and date-changing and pathologically obsessing over the getting the dates *just* right. And just when I have an itinerary mapped out and the price has been fixed for weeks and weeks, I go to buy the ticket. Only to find that it had all gone kerblewey overnight.

"TWENTY-FIVE HUNDRED MOTHERFUCKING DOLLARS?! ARE YOU SHITTING ME?"

No, unfortunately, britishair.com was not shitting me. From Seattle to London to Kolkata (Calcutta), then New Delhi to London to Seattle had jumped from $1574 as of LAST freaking NIGHT to $2499. Same dates. Same *everything*.

Okay, don't panic, right? Right! Change dates. Change something. Change anything, goddammit!

Fortunately it all ended up ok. Not quite the route I was planning on taking, but it'll work and it was only $1482 instead of $1574. For whatever reason, as of today flying into Kolkata completely buggered everything. The peevish snobbism I had anticipated relishing from arriving into India via Kolkata instead of pedestrian New Delhi has sadly evaporated, but I'll live.

Now my bank account is exactly one thousand, four hundred and eighty-two dollars less than it was about three hours ago. All from a few little clicks on the keyboard. And I couldn't be happier.

Mom, if you're reading this, I'll be fine. Promise.

Although.

Perhaps I would be remiss if I didn't mention that while I'm completely and totally stoked about my upcoming trip to India, neither am I a complete moron. I'm aware of the likely trials, tribulations and, yes, dangers of traveling alone in a culture where women still throw themselves, alive, onto the funeral pyres of their deceased husbands because without a man they cease to exist. (Please note: this is becoming increasingly less common.) I've heard all the stories-- "you won't be able to walk down the street without being groped", "dress conservatively and you'll be treated better", "don't look men in the eye or they'll think you're a whore" and, perhaps my personal favorite: "I know several strong, independent female travelers and they were raped when they went to India alone."

Yeah, thanks, guys. I'm just glad none of you has my mom's phone number or email address, mmkay?

I'm not unaware. I KNOW it's a risk. I KNOW that traveling with a companion, especially a male companion, is far more desirable (in some respects) than going alone. I KNOW I'm going to be harrassed. But christ on a pogo stick, people. I get harrassed almost as bad as that wandering around any major European city or hell, even in Seattle on a night out. (Ok, that last one was a fib. Seattle is pretty tame.) What the hell am I supposed to do? Sit at home and not go anywhere in fear of what *might* happen just because I have a vagina? Sorry, I don't fricking think so. Besides, when I asked them last spring, none of my guy friends were interested in going to India with me. Har.

I'm taking precautions with my personal safety. And I'm traveling to parts of the country that have a more cosmopolitan view of lone female travelers. I'm going to be on my guard and will routinely *expect* harrassment in some form or another. And perhaps most importantly of all: I'm NOT going to be dyeing my hair blonde or red anytime soon, so I'll have a slightly easier time of blending in.

I have recently come to the conclusion that the facets of buying a multi-city plane ticket-- basically amounting to a round-the-world trip-- is a lot like being on drugs. (Disregard the fact that I've never actually done any drugs except some really nasty buggers for a tonsillectomy.) Dates and times and changing dates and changing times and then changing dates again! And changing cities on different dates! And do I really want to fly out of Delhi at 3:30am? SURE!!!! You know why? Because the idea of finding my way and checking in at the airport at 1:00am in Delhi is slightly more palatable than checking in at 4:00am for the 6:00am flight to London. CHRIST. See what I mean?

And the cost. India may not take much out of my pocket but the sodding plane ticket alone is enough to send Chuck Norris into tears. Then there's the whole requesting a month off from work thing. Heh. It's kind of a catch-22, right? I can't request the dates off of work until I buy the ticket (because of dicking around with the aforementioned cities and dates thing) but it's kinda hard to buy the ticket without having the dates approved.

Fuck it.

So I've finally entered the, like, 21st centry and gotten myself a blog I can actually use. Probably I'll end up using this mostly as a way to keep in touch whilst cavorting around the countryside of wherever I happen to be when blogging strikes my fancy. Or maybe it'll be my own private little bitching forum. Or maybe it'll mold and become obsolete in about 5 minutes. Either way you're reading this so that has to count for something.