Vicariously Yours

New pictures!

andrew_and_alexandra — Wed, 2 Sep 2009 17:43:00 GMT

World Nomads failed to mention the limit on uploading photos, which was reached well over a month ago. Most recent photos (i.e. rest of Vietnam, Camdbodia, and soon China) can be found at shutterfly. I will update the links to find the photos and put the most recent pictures at the top of the list. Enjoy!

Cambodia

Siem Reap- Big Ciruit of Angkor temples and Roulous

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=1bd3cfc35c7162e12a944dfefaeb216b&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGTkQ

Siem Reap- Ta Prohm

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=8ff7d34dece928d76d9889752d9a603c&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGTog

Siem Reap- Banteay Srey

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=4cf8e631a160f724bcfd7207a7b1fe91&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGTqo

Siem Reap- Beng Mealea

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=64a6a9c6129325dc0031ecd658bfd733&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGTsw

Phnom Penh

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=c8f30d828d7f194a3315f89dbf2f35f7&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGTxA

Vietnam

Mekong Delta

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=7dc27fb6464f6eb15b2f2841c4d4a52e&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGTzI

Saigon

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=9dc061b481f370902a944dfefaeb216b&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGT1Q

Dalat

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=4f703471fea1c4046d9889752d9a603c&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGT5g

Hoi An and Champa Ruins

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=45905661f08c69fdbcfd7207a7b1fe91&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGT7o

Hue

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=dd8738510b1aa85f6276141d224b0f78&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGTu4

Dong Ha- The DMZ

http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/welcome.sfly?fid=6959b6199a65d7de5b2f2841c4d4a52e&sid=0AYtmbRw2aOGTmY

Books Books Books! - updated

andrew_and_alexandra — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 15:30:00 GMT

Our goal is to read 1 book a week and, every so often, write a short review of each book and post it to our blog. So, here is our current list of have-reads. We’ll update every so often. Oh, and instead of writing reviews, we’ll just rate them from 1-10, 10 being must read and 1 meaning, turn on the tube.

In no particular order

Alex:
The Beach - alex garland – 8.0
The Game - neil strauss - 4.0
Vanishing Act - jodi picault – 2.0
New moon - stephanie meyer – 1.0
twilight - stephanie meyer – 1.0
Eat, Pray Love – -2

The Good Rat – Jimmy Breslin – 9.2
Losing Gemma –Katy Gardener - 3
Memoirs of a Geisha – 7.0

Dancing girls: a collection of short stories – Margaret Atwood – 6.8 (depressing but good writing)

Girl With a Pearl Earring – Tracy Chevalier 5.1 (kinda boring)

Mr. Nice – howard marks - 7.3

Still life with woodpecker – tom robbins – 8.5

First they killed my father – 8

reading; anna karenina

Andrew:

Life of Pi - Yann Martel – 8.4
Blink - Malcolm Gladwell - 7.6
When Elephants Weep – 8.5
The Beach - Alex Garland – 5.1 – but fun
Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie – 4.2 (but very well written and literary)
The Testament – Grisham - 2
A Time To kill – Grisham - 3
The Game - Neil Strauss – 4 unless u want to learn to pick up women (then read the first half only)
The Jungle Books - Rudyard Kipling 8.2
The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett - 6.5 (children’s book but nice read)

Special Topics in Calamnity Physics – I think I’ll review this. Well written and clever but way too pompous – ill give it a 6, out of spite, to start
Sailing Around the Room - Billy Collins 9.0 - poetry

Around the World in 80 Days – Jules Verne 6.5 (fun, read it in 5 hours)

Portrait of an Artist as a Young man - Joyce 8.3 (interesting insight into catholic schooling)

Mr Nice – howard marks – 5 for writing 8.5 for story (true story about weed trafficker)

Brother Number 1: Political Biography of Pol Pot – David Chambers – 6.2 (but informative)

A wild sheep chase – murakami – 8.2

still life with woodpecker – tom robbins – 8.5

Burmese days – Orwell – 8.6 (great book. his first novel)

the phantom tollbooth – norton juster - 3.5 (A kids book i read once. for the age was great)

A wrinkle in time – Madeleine L’Engle – 7.6

Next: no logo or crime and punishment

A Po-em - because, I'll Procratinate Discussion of my Dengue Fever Just a Bit More

andrew_and_alexandra — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 12:57:00 GMT

Beach Bumming

Without a Good Book

Beneath 3 breeds of palm trees
Sand, towel, ants and breeze
I prostrate myself for want of excitement.
Thoughts abound
Like British vacationers on Khao San Road:
Raw, collared, tattooed, pedigreed,
inebriated, window-shopping, mangy, mute.
What if I envision the consequences of Alex and my sudden nudity:
Parts flapping haphazardly, flippant
We skip and flop
Some staring
Mothers rushing to shield their children’s eyes,
Who struggle against their wicked censorship.
Shark Attack? I ponder, anxious for an elevated heart rate
Calamity
Anything that would alarm
these subdued tourists, couples, families…
Quiet, boring me with their relaxing and comfortable do-nothingness malaise.
Even the slack jawed dogs look annoyed;
They relate.
We share a glance.
I open Billy Collins – witty, poignant-every-day-ness, uneventful
It captures the mood precisely
As if this was his poem, “Listless in Koh Phangan”.
Then, serendipity acts,
A storm rumbles, “hello” just on the horizon
(How polite to alert us to her arrival)
Vegetation attempts flight, kids mimic leaves
Restaurants batten down the hatches.
As I bound for cover I catch the Dog’s eye,
Gleaming with mischief
Just before he leaps
Greeting the wind with a chomp and a twist
And somewhere a shark hunts bathers in a warm lagoon.

Playing catch up...Ko Pha Ngan

andrew_and_alexandra — Sat, 4 Jul 2009 06:12:00 GMT

While on Ko Pha Ngan we stayed in a bungalow on Ko Mah beach which is the place travelers come to for snorkeling and quiet relaxation. The sunsets were gorgeous- hot pink streaks across shades of blue and purple, melon orange pouring out dusty blue grey. The water was as warm as the days making it somewhat difficult to cool off. The reefs cover the majority of the ocean floor near the water's edge so in order to enter cooler waters one must very cautiously navigate through the reef out into the deep. The ocean was also incredibly calm, more like a bay. From the shore we could view a neighboring, much smaller, island which was connected to Ko Pha Ngan by a narrow land strip. On two occasions we hiked to see waterfalls and to our disappointment they were completely dried up. We arrived to find just a trickle into some stagnant water- hello malaria.

We needed some excitement, Ko Mah beach was super super quiet. So, we took out motorbikes. It was both our first time out on a motorbike and I have to say the bikes provided some great laughs. They were not as easy to drive as anticipated but eventually we both got the hang of it with some close calls in the process. Bikes are a great way to explore the island. Unfortunately, we made the mistake of using this opportunity to drive into Haad Rin- hairpin curves and incredibly steep hills all with traffic. One hill was so steep that even when completely flooring it we had to help our bikes along with our legs- no exaggeration. Add to that I could not make right hand turns so this presented problems, a couple of times I was driving on the opposite side of the road. Then we ended up getting lost on the drive back and none of the streets were lit so I was driving in the pitch black choking down bugs. The time spent on the island was really relaxing. Every evening around 6:00 pm a thunderstorm would roll in and last maybe an hour. It made the sky look dramatic and the breeze would pick up cooling down the shore. I mostly read, wrote in my journal, and ate fresh fruit salads (french fries shared with Ans when the rain came in). The fruit has been unbelievably sweet and ripe ever since I have been in Asia, such a treat.

After so much relaxation I was excited for the Full Moon Party. After being packed into a pick up truck with a bunch of other Europeans we were dropped off in the center of Haad Rin- craziness on night of the full moon. The entire beach is one massive party with huge speakers blaring out all sorts of different music and people dancing everywhere on every surface. The sand was the softest I've encountered while in Thailand, cool and slippery under my feet. Buckets are the main beverage. You select your hard alcohol of choice, mixer of choice, and a can of red bull mixed in for good measure. We both got painted up in neon and danced danced danced. The next day was spent just laying on the beach dozing in and out of sleep. The weather started to increasingly get worse, perfect timing as we needed to head back up to Bangkok to meet Peter (Andrew's friend from NYC) in Hanoi.

Koh Phi Phi and the Dengue Fever

andrew_and_alexandra — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 04:08:00 GMT

We arrived at Krabi from Bangkok by way of bus. this bus wreaked to high hell, so much so that Alex couldn't sleep, consequently nor I ( i was recruited for entertainment purposes). it's amazing what kind of bodily outrages people can commit in the most unseeming of places.

Krabi, a climbing mecca of sorts, is located a few kilometers frmo the pier. There's always a catch. We found the cheapest means of transprotation and made our way by back of a truck to the pier, just in time for the last boat to the island. the boat ride lasted a few hours, some of which was fairly standard harbor viewing, but the last leg of which was beautiful blue coastal waters punctuated by the occasional green-hooded mountain-top, peaking out of its quilt of waves. as we pulled into the harbor, we snapped a few shots and had bandit-like smiles on our faces as if we had just robbed a bank and were crossing state lines.

we were accosted by numerous sellers of things immediately upon setting foot on the pier. we dodged and denied and made our way down the planks to the town which, conveniently, began immediately - no extra jeeps, taxis or tuk tuk's necessary. we spoke with a few travel places, procured a map and headed to the beach front. we explored a cheap place first, but Alex wanted to be by the beach so we ventured further on. finding everything to be quite expensive, we gave in and rented a beach bungalow for a week for about 12 dollars a night.

the main beach of the island, in fact the entire development, is located on an isthmus that connects 2 mountain peaks. the peaks curve in to create a bowl shaped, nearly enclosed bay. it seems that the infrastructure and beach makes up the relic of a volcano caldera. we climbed up one peak for some spectacular views and photos. we also boated around to another island, the island that was used in movie "the beach" with DiCaprio - we read and watched said book and movie while here.

the sand is not as soft as one would like and the bay water way too warm. it was a bit dirty as well with no real waves. sun bathing was the primary use during the day and beach parties by night, every night. the town was really a British getaway, somewhat like paradise island although not nearly as built up, but definitely as drunk. tons of vacationers and college students out to get drunk and hook up. great if you like that sort of thing. we settled into a routine of eating at a local place - we quickly realized that, not only did it have the best food, but it was also the cheapest. so far, best fried rice of the trip.

things to do: there was some snorkeling around, which we did a little of, but nothing too great. on our boat trip to the "beach" island we visited a few others as well, the last of which we were nearly left behind. we kayaked to shore and took a walk down the beach, perhaps a little longer than wold be wise but certainly not longer than the time allotted. when we returned to find our kayak gone we grew worried. looking out to sea, about 200 yards off shore, our boat was turning to leave as it unmoored. i tried to swim out a bit and wave my arms and shout. al waved and shouted and recruited some locals to help us from the safety of the sand. we were spotted, luckily. someone stole my sunglasses that my dad gave me the loss of which annoyed. the boatmen denied. they obviously lied. i cried and died a little inside. someone also may have accidentally swapped sandals with me because, i realized back on shore, my feet were too big for them. oh well.

scary incident: we went for a walk into the locals part of town, found a soccer court and kicked the ball around. we took some photos. we saw some snails and lizards. then we spied a troop of monkeys. they were with their young feeding in between some local houses. we saw the babies first with their mothers, but soon became dangerously aware of a patrolling male. he looked mean. he showed me his teeth and moved toward me aggressively, i quickened my pace and looked ahead, not wanting to make eye contact and provoke him. he turned back and we were seemingly in the clear until he suddenly about-faced and made the same motions at alex. alex stared him down, an act that which must have really aggravated the guy because he took off at us, bearing the long sharp teeth that evolution saw fit to extract from us. "Run! Al Run!" i yelled, as i motioned forward and high stepped it out of there. "ans!" a pitiful scared voice called after me, "ans!". I looked back: the monkey had chosen to lunge for al, scaring the shit out of her so much so that she turned randomly to run and collided, after 2 steps, into a tree. i ran back aggressively and the monkey backed off. it seemed to have been satisfied with scaring the wits out of al and once she fell, it lost interest. Al had a good cry then, after we were safe and things were put into perspective, she and I had a hardy laugh. scary business, but, in retrospect, it was one of the funniest things that happened.

Mosquitoes: The night after the island-hopping boat ride I fell ill. The next morning, i could hardly move; i was achy and feverish, somewhat delirious as I lay contemplating the fever-induced hysteria evidenced in my dreams the night before. I managed to get some food, but i was miserable, so I left al and went back to the squalid smelling bungalow where a weak fan barely pushed stale hot air through the mosquito netting. I had a high fever. higher than i've had in a long time, perhaps only once ever. It felt around 104F. After taking the medicine that Al thankfully procured, i felt much better, my fever reduced to an only simmering 102. Later, it increased again and showed no signs of weakening, even after more pills. I decided to visit the island hospital. Al walked with me the 1.2 km and, soon after arriving, I was examined and given a preliminary diagnosis: Dengue.

the doctor examined me and gave me the preliminary run through of the disease and what I could expect. He sent me to lie down in the patient section so the nurses could care for me in the immediate before we discussed our options. he left to eat pizza. it smelled better than it probably tasted, but the smell reminded me of my lack of appetite and in me awoke an intense nausea. I barely held down the medicines provided and standing was a risk. With an IV in my arm the doctor returned to discuss my options, at which point the nausea had temporarily abated. I could stay here over night or go back to the bungalow. I elected to stay to be on the safe side. Dengue sounded bad. It is a virus contracted through mosquito bites with an incubation period of 3-14 days. It is passed by the Aedes mosquito that bites during the day - the bastards. Once the fever begins, it is important to be monitored closely from day 2 to day 7, after which the fever breaks and the white blood cell count begins to return to normal. In addition to a drop in white blood cells (the most dangerous aspect of the fever, distinguishing it from malaria) the symptoms include: fever, severe headaches, joint and muscle aches, rash, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, lack of appetite and more. Info here. The diagnosis depends on blood tests, so it's not always easy to confirm.

Secondly, we spoke of moving me to hospitals on the mainland where they were supposed to be better equipped to handle dengue cases. looking back, i think the doctor was just lazy or didn't want to waste his resources on me. in addition, i think he was connected to the private hospital in Phuket, since he lauded that one and denigrated the public option. Needless to say, when the doctor says go to the private hospital you go. when he suggests you jump through hoops with marmalade on your head wearing a tutu, you do it.

The next morning, i was well enough to travel. A nurse accompanied me and Alex on a boat to Phuket where an ambulance picked me up. I had never ridden in an ambulance so it was somewhat exciting despite the circumstances. i think it was a bit overkill, but it was allegedly free so i consented to it. At the hospital, i was placed in quarantine for over an hour where a doctor dressed in outbreak gear examined me to check for swine flu. Finally i was brought to my room that resembled that of a really nice hotel. IN fact, the hospital was basically a glorified hotel for the recently sliced and diced, for plastic surgery patients. The hospital served mainly westerns at a fraction of the price of their own countries. It was well known for sex alterations. Because of this I feared the wrong diagnosis by a lazy nurse. No worry, Alex was their to fight for my interest and yell at everyone, keep them on their toes and keep chance in my favor. She also brought me somewhat edible food as the hospital food was atrocious when they listened, and full of fish when they didn't. It didn't matter too much since i couldn't eat, but i ought to have edible food if I'm paying a lot for it. Despite being a fraction of the cost of western hospitals, it was 6 times more expensive than the public option. 2 days of private hospital was enough for me when i saw the bill. I paid and requested a transfer to the public one. They transferred me for free.

I cant laud the service and care i received at the public hospital enough. Maybe they were excited to show off for a westerner - the public relations manager visited me daily after all. Nevertheless, at a fraction of the cost of the private institution, i was cared for with much more concern by nicer staff who spoke better English. The room was not nearly as nice, but it was clean enough, private and air-conditioned. The tv only had one movie channel and a few less English-speaking channels. It's ok. i occupied myself with playing scrabble against myself and watching every movie that there was to see. I spent 6 days in the public hospital and 2.5 in the private. The bill for those 6 days did not exceed the cost of one day at the private. At the hospital, my state remained the same, mild fever, low platelets, little to no appetite, IV in arm, fatigued when standing, but otherwise lucid and not in too much pain.

After the 7-10 days of fever, dengue sufferers recover slowly but steadily for a month. We rested in a resort at Patong Beach, Phuket, passing the time watching more movies and reading on the beach. By the end of the week I was well enough to travel and we left for Koh Phangan.

Thanks to Al for taking good care of me and to my parents for calling every day, sometimes twice.

Bangkok! Also known as..

andrew_and_alexandra — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 16:13:00 GMT

Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Ayuthaya Mahadilok Phop Noppharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasit

Well we went from being often times the only Westerners in a room to being surrounded by tourists on Khao San Road. If you have read The Beach by Alex Garland he aptly describes Khao San as the main stop over hub for travellers to the southern islands of Thailand who stay in Bangkok before heading South. It is spring break 24/7- I felt like I was in Mexico circa my freshman year of college. We ended up staying in Bangkok just over a week and really loved the city. During that time we became savvy with the public bus and discovered all the different facets of Bangkok- there is much more beyond Khao San.

First night we head out to Chinatown which is land of the food vendors. I thought at first Khao San had a ton and I was mistaken. Foods you never even thought existed (dried shredded pork on top of shrimp crisps) could be found on the main Chinatown strip. I learned within 24 hours in Thailand how much the Thais love their meat. All types of meat products in different forms are constantly being grilled and skewered. The variety of fruit also blew my mind- each kind more beautiful to the eye than the next. Hot pinks, greens, and lychees the size of plums!

On Saturday we went to the Chatachuk market (only open on Saturdays) and for anyone who loves to shop this is a MUST. The shopping options were crazy, you name it they had it. I thought to myself this would be perfect to have in the states when shopping for gifts. It would be impossible not to find an item here that someone would want. All sorts of odds and ends as well as one little boutique clothing vendor after another. This is where I caught my first glimpse of how great the Thai girls pull themselves together. Everything from small accessories adorning their hair to high heels perfectly coordinating with the hair accessories. The guys and girls have edgy haircuts that look stellar with their intricately assembled clothing and shoe ensembles.

Everyone knows that Thailand is notorious for the sex tourists and we had read you must go to the two main locations, Nana Plaza and Silom, for no other reason than to gawk at the awkward old white guys. We walked into a couple bars and the scene was a bunch of pathetic looking guys sipping on beers as the young Thai women and ladyboys ( Thai boys who dress like women or undergo sex operation) flirted with them. Needless to say, we beelined out of their pretty quickly.

Jim Thompson's home right in the center of the city was gorgeous. Thompson dealt silk fabrics during the 1900s until he mysteriously disappeared in Malaysia. Most believe he vanished due to foul play. His house was built the way Thai houses used to be constructed in Teak fashion and it sat right on the canal. The wood of the exterior of the house was painted a deep red and was enveloped with lush palm trees and tropical plants. He also had a small but gorgeous art collection, some beautiful Buddha sculptures which had been collected from other parts of Southeast Asia. All of the doorways had high lips you needed to step over in order to enter each room. Our guide told me the Thais believe this keeps out the evil spirits and it is considered bad luck to step directly on the lip. The house was really breezy because of huge windows which were cut out of the wood. In classic teak constructions doors and windows are always wider at the bottom and narrower at the top.

Near the end of the week we visited the Royal Palace which is now only used for meetings and ceremonies. Occasionally when diplomats and foreign dignitaries are in town they stay there but the King and Queen live north of Bangkok . The perimeter of the palace is delineated with a surrounding wall which encapsulates several different buildings. The palace is lavishly decorated inside and out which vibrant colors. The decor includes rich colors of gold, royal blue, deep reds, and silver- a variety of jewel tones making the palace look like one massive piece of jewelry. In the main temple, which houses the Emerald Buddha, visitors are permitted to sit down but you must not point your feet towards the Buddha. This is considered incredibly disrespectful. Outside of the temple there is holy water and large peonies are used to drip the water on the top of your head as a blessing. Afterward we took a boat ride along the canal and this was how I had envisioned Thailand. Houses were teetering over the murky canal water and nestled in long grasses and palms. We were excited to have spotted a monitor lizard and a massive snake. It was really nice getting a feel for the "old" Thailand after spending so much time in the fast paced and globalized center of Bangkok. I was happy that while in Bangkok I simultaneously had a taste of the booming modernity which was pushed right in your face with the massive shopping centers (Siam and Paragon shopping malls are 10+ floors) but I also got a feel for the classic ideals and culture (like the Big Buddha covered in gold and Teak houses on the canal).

Kolkata was once Calcutta

andrew_and_alexandra — Mon, 25 May 2009 03:25:00 GMT

Dear Readers,

we hope to get the writing portion of our blog up to date some day. I think we will be back in the states for a month before we finally finish it. Nevertheless, I beg you please keep reading as it gives us much pleasure to write and we feel a great sense of purpose in doing so. Much like my school days, I give to you my Kolkata entry, albeit a bit late though none the worse for having been delayed.

Al and Andrew

Calcutta! The name strikes fear into the hearts and souls of decent western folk. The name, Calcutta; it carries with it, nay, projects into the future before it, numerous prejudices. It embarrassingly precedes itself. Calcutta...

But, what of Kolkata, a teaming city of 20 million plus people, an old colonial capital, home of mother teresa, a relatively large christian population, and a more European city layout and liftstyle. This place, where I was anticipating stark, stark poverty, palpable overcrowding, hellish circumstances, really, has been the most comfortable, navigable city thus far. Entering Delhi, I expected something nicer and more 'city-like'. entering calcutta, I expected the worst. My subsequent dislike of the first and esteem of the latter might be explained by the contrast in expectations. I grant that possibility, but evict it forecfully from likelihood so that it now dwells in the realm of rather unlikely. Despite being a person of prejudices, expectations, disappointments and anticipation - things contributing to my like and dislike of these places - I can also be level-headed and fair, a person willing to be proven wrong and willing to change his mind to accept another reality, willing to ignore first-impression-prejudging-syndrome despite reveling in the disease on many occasions. Therefore, I believe my like and dislike to be justly experienced, based on the 'facts on the ground' so to speak and not simply because of unmet/exceeded expectations. In Summation, Delhi bites and Calcutta is great.

Delhi seems to me to be very much a driving (or some sort of mobile transport) city. It is spread out and set back. Because of this divisions of wealth and status are more obvious, to the point of taste, not just observation; and what an acrid taste it leaves. In kolkata, you can walk. There are almost always sidewalks and, when there are, other people often walk them. Not only are there other people, but they are the type that which walk with, near, and in opposed directions to you on any crowded day in NYC; you feel amongst peers, amongst other people living urban lives, accustomed to and happy to be walking. In Delhi, if you are walking, you are at the bottom or you are a peddler of sorts stalking tourist cash. A walking city makes for a more democratic city. in addition, public transportation is well established, navigable and cheap. The subways, if you happen to be going in either of the 2 directions, work great and are clean, friendly and safe. I am a man who can appreciate a good subway, and I like Kolkata's.

Kolkata is a city with multiple storied buildings, commercial and residential and friendly people. In enough areas for it to become characteristic to some extent, the buildings are maintained. There are easily entered store fronts just off the street, unlike Delhi. People here have been very friendly as well, approaching us to speak, find out information, tell us their stories and to take photographs. They are very intrigued, but much more polite. Concerning intrigue and manners, despite our obvious rarity in their eyes, Kolkatans do not stare so brazenly as in other parts of the country. Of course, some people are culprits, but often I find the staring to be quite minimal comparatively, unless I am simply coming to ignore it. When I say minimal, however, it is entirely relative and at no point would even Kolkatan staring be considered normal by western standards. I am certainly relieved to be dealing with less stares, particularly from men, stares that anywhere else I've been would be considered aggressive, interpreted as sinister or an upfront challenge. Stares like these in NYC might elicit the response, "Eyy! What the fuck you lookin' at?" or "hey buddy, what's yo prblem?" or the more efficient, "you gotta problem?" add to that as thick of a ny accent as you feel comfortable with. I would go to the extreme end of the spectrum to discover what voice comes to my mind. But really, if people look at you this much, so unabashedly, you get pissed off. It's an aggressive provocative thing to do with most members of the animal kingdom ( a bit of foreshadowing here, this later becomes a problem with the native monkies of Koh Phi Phi). Returning to the niceties, we were welcomed to kolkata no fewer than 5 times our first day. Mind you, when I recorded this note, I had half a day under my belt. The Bengali hospitality has upstaged that of their western countrymen. But, do to the walking, heterogeneity of the people, there was much more occasion to meet nice folks in kolkata. I'm sure there are plenty of english speaking, worldy people in Delhi - i happen to know at least one great one - but, who has the occasion to meet them, zipping around safe and cool behind internal-combustion-propelled heaps of glass and metal.

Kolkata seems to have 1 or both of 2 things: regular garbage collection and or a culture of non-littering. The streets and walkways are much cleaner and in the busy parts of town than anywhere else I've been in India, even in the tourist/backpacker neighborhood where things are cheaper/dirtier/dingier/neglected. It's hard for me to believe there are more people in this city. There's even more well organized traffic obeying more laws of the road. There's less honking as a result, it seems.

As a tourist, there has been much less pressure on us to buy, do, go, give, take, trade, stay, sit, taste, show, accept, listen and otherwise dance. The scheming exists in Kolkata, do not be fooled, but it is of the more manageable type. At the train station, the trickery began immediately. Cabbies, rickshaw drivers and kids, whose allegiances were indeterminable - nonetheless they went after us as if they had things to sell, perhaps working on commission, but I wouldn't be surprise if they didn't simply enjoy the sport of it - all went after us, promising this and that, cooing, enticing, and ultimately cursing when we pushed past them and joined the prepaid line with the locals. But, all the harassment was mild compared to Varanassi and Delhi. These guys just didnt have the same taste for trickery, for the hunt. These guys had some sense of shame, however minor. We paid 60 Rupees to get to Sudder St.. We were offered "great deals" and "cheapest price" the lowest being 100, the highest 500. We met a few con artists on the streets, from one of which I purchased some silly souvenir booklet about places to eat and drink, but that was the extent of our troubles.

KOlkatans seemed to be interested in worldly news, tastes and trends. They have their own strong culture, art, culinary, music, etc, but there was a cosmopolitan sense to the city that I didnt feel elsewhere, certainly not varanasi. In microcosm, perhaps mentioning the many, many movie theatres, few prominent malls, well visited museums, bookstores, and parks supports my claim.

Perhaps the name change cured it of its nasty, gangrenous reputation. Perhaps with the name change came a concerted effort to fight poverty or, at least, push it to the outskirts, away from the gazing worldly eye, just as Juliani had all of the homeless evicted from manhattan or otherwise fed to the sewer gators. Kolkata is a huge sprawling city, so we did not make it everywhere and ventured not to far from the beaten path. I think, though, that things have changed enough so that, where it was once Calcutta, soon it will come be known as Kolkata.

Varanasi- long overdue

andrew_and_alexandra — Fri, 22 May 2009 08:06:00 GMT

So how frequently this blog is updated is mostly contingent on how pricey
the internet is in whatever location we currently plant ourselves. Arriving in Bangkok we were disappointed to learn it was more expensive than India. We thought we would hold off until the islands, but learned in the islands (we are now in Ko Phi Phi) it is double! Anyway, we apologize for the delay...we do have the best of intentions with keeping up on this blog. Onto Varanasi!

6am on the train from Tundla I get my leg frantically pulled on from
below and an equally frantic "We're here! We have to get off!" Now, our
train had left no less than 2 hours later than scheduled which would mean we should not be arriving at Varanasi until 9am. Andrew and I literally jump off the train while it is pulling out of the station, not a moment to spare. This is so strange to us... we think maybe the guys on the train played a prank- why would we arrive here so early? We do realize shortly we actually are in Varanasi. Yet another aspect of India which confuses me- trains leave late but will in fact arrive early. After purchasing our prepaid taxi ride to our hotel a tall Aussie approaches us asking us where we are staying. Apparently some kids had asked to borrow his Lonely Planet and then they "forgot" to give it back. He has no idea where to go and wants to jump in our taxi with us. Ans and I both think privately to ourselves, "Is this another scam?" He is a legit guy though and he starts asking the taxi driver where he can go for a good morning run around here. Is he serious? Not only is it 107 degrees but there is no room to walk in these windy streets let alone run. I do spot him a couple mornings later running along the Ganges as Indians take a morning swim, do laundry, yoga, or begin to sell their goods of the day. Our driver all of the sudden pulls over and tells us we are at our hotel Palace on Steps. There is no hotel in sight so we ask him to please lead us to the proper hotel. He then proceeds to take us down the most absurd maze which we never in a million years would have found our way through on first arrival in Varanasi.

Yes, our room overlooks the Ganges perched up on the steps. No, this is not a palace. The room technically was part of a palace back in the 1600s. I think the room does have good bones with a quaint little balcony where I can look down on the murky water. Ans tells me after I place myself out there with a book I had better come in, the balcony looks like it is about to crumble. We head down to walk along the river which is seeing action nonstop. The people of Varanasi do everything in this river. You name it: shower, laundry, swim, go to the bathroom, drink from it, eat from it, burn bodies in it, dump animal corpses, dispose of rubbish, wash dishes, the list goes on and on. Our boat driver one of the following evenings, born and raised and will never leave Varanasi, explained that since they believe the river is holy they also believe it will always be pure and clean. Our first evening in Varanasi we witnessed the vibrant celebration of the Ganges which takes place every night. I saw during my week stay in Varanasi that there are plenty of people who attend this ceremony each night, never an empty audience. The ceremony consists of eight dancers total brightly swathed in orange and pink fabric. They make slow movements to the music which sounds like a hymn in Hindi. Incense is burned and music increasingly gets louder as the ceremony proceeds lasting a total of an hour and a half. At the end people rush down to the Ganges to bless themselves and men walk around with red paint to mark your third eye between your two eyebrows. Andrew and I had this quickly placed on our faces after one evening's ceremony being told "You live long and prosper." I liked the sound of that. Oh, he then asked us for money.

Back to our first walk along the Ganges. We meet a young couple from Holland immediately and they rave to us about this restaurant Mount Fuji with live Indian music every night so we arrange to meet them for dinner at their guest house so we can all walk over to the restaurant. Another girl from Holland comes along to dinner and I learn she is studying theater in Southern India after she leaves Varanasi. She is totally decked out in sari, bindi, bangles, and thick black eyeliner. Maybe I should pick up a sari afterall, she does have quite the look going. I really enjoy chatting with her and she tells me that Andrew and I need to chill out, stop moving every 2 days, just plant ourselves. A couple of travelers we have met now have told us to do this and we finally do in Varanasi. What was supposed to be 2 nights turns into 7 nights. The following morning we switched hotels to where there was much more action, not so far down the river and it had lot's of other travellers.

Our third night we went on a boat ride along the Ganga as the sun was setting. During the ride we went down to the burning ghat where bodies are constantly being cremated up to 15 at a time maybe even more. Many Indian people, especially those living in Varanasi, wish to have their bodies burned and then placed into the Ganges. Family members all travel to Varanasi to witness the burning of the body a very holy tradition. During the celebration of the Ganga which we viewed from the boat this second time around we lit a lotus candle then placed it in the river where the flame floated for quite some time. The following days were spent wandering the narrow streets which are more like passageways and walking along the river which was blazing hot during the day. I never tired of seeing old men dressed in brilliant shades of orange with long white beards. After plenty of exploring we decided to go to Saranath for the day.

Saranath is one of the main sights where Buddha spoke. There was not much in the way of interesting ruins. The ruins consisted of scattered piles of bricks. There was a museum which housed some beautiful Buddha sculptures from the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd century AD. More thrilling was the extremely bumpy rickshaw ride out to the ruins when I thought the rickshaw would tip or stall out. The dust and pollution blowing in our faces was intense- I had to tie a bandana on my face to have some sort of barrier from breathing in the dust. I also saw two grown men randomly walking around buck naked. In the middle of a busy village in between Varanasi and Saranath with hustling and bustling of cars, bikes, people. These two men were just naked. Andrew asked me, "Did you catch that? What was that about?" All I could do was laugh and say, "That's India! Nothing suprises me."

The Tumdla Train Station

andrew_and_alexandra — Wed, 20 May 2009 13:45:00 GMT

Never heard of this place? that makes three of us; you, me and God. Now, we all know God is a busy, perhaps anthropomorphic entity, perhaps nebuluous shaped diety, who takes its time in returning messages and, of course,rarely picks up when you really need to talk, a god who overlooks much chaos and occasionally responds to crises when god is in our neck of the universe - it has much business elsewhere since we know from science that the universe is expanding and we know from religion god created everything thus we can deduce that god is off in other parts creating more parts for us to later find and categorize and potentially explore and potentially use to reproach religious folk for believing in god since we used science and only science to discover everything about the world and unverise, but the religious folk cite our unknowingness of whats beyond the universe and why its expanding and how it expands and, for that matter, how we can't discover an elemental partical and all we can do is hypothesize about string theory - oh yes, and how did eye's come about? - to prove that there must be a god, and, im now lost. Anyway, in his haste, with broad brush strokes, God sent someone a vision of how to create this town and how to build its train station. God overlooked a few details or perhaps expected his will's recipient to fill in the rest. Perhaps god misfired and sent the idea for this Tumdla to a lazy person or a dyslexic or a cow for that matter, they are sacred. The person or people or cows responsible for this place forgot to give it a soul. Every good architect and designer of sorts must make sure to instill soul into his or her creation less it be seen as monstrous, less it have no energy, no self, no appeal. Whether it was God's omission or misfiring or human omission, this train station lacked a soul; to compensate - it must have been a film enthusiast in a past life - it borrowed from hitchcock, heavily. It had no soul. Instead, it was filled with birds.

Hundreds and thousands of birds. If I could imbed pictures into this blog more easily, i would happily do so in order to convey this fact more quickly into your brains. Alas, you will have to click on the album to see. I took a very shaky and poor quality video and managed to capture, in miniature, the essense of the station, the droaning on and on, the moving walls, the stained white floors. This station was a monstrosity. It must have been built by something monstrous to serve it's monstrous purpose and monstrous angst since no human could have created a beast of steal-exposed guts, rotting, infested, colonized. I bet the facade, the exterior, what gives things their pleasantness - the skin - melted away, liquidy with the first monsoon rains like the deliquescence of the Wicked Witch of the West, leaving only hat, cape and broom, in this case only tin, steal and concrete. It was quite an inhospitable place, yet the locals braved it with quiet bravado. they seemed accustomed to its gape, its bulging now-exo-skeleton, its massive belly filled with birds, and then the occasional late train.

Late the train was. Hours. We found one room, one comfort, the last uncancered organ of this wheezing beast. The first class waiting room where all lizards and a few people took refuge. 1 hour. we waited. 2 hours. we waited. 4 hours later, our escape arrived, but not before we witnessed an indian man, accustomed to the heat and humidty, the torment of the birds, shower no less than 4 times. Had I known the train would be 4 hours, I might have showered bi hourly. But, information was scarce, perhaps hijacked by the birds, so we only knew every 15 minutes that the train was late and would arrive in the next ten. Always coming in 10 more minutes. the birds did not care. they chirped and sang and chirped and sang and chirped until nothing filled our heads but bird calls and day dreams of freshly uncovered worms.

The birds cawed and stirred and swooped and squacked and hopped and chirped and pecked and squeecked and fluttered and cawed again. Every 25 minutes or so when the power drained out of the complex slowly until there was dark, the birds grew silent. maybe all they wanted was darkness, was some rest? perhaps this was the insomniacs convention and we were the ones intruding with our lights and bags and restless shuffling to and fro. WHen the lights went out, the birds went quiet, daring only occasional peeps and whispers less the beast be disturbed. a few laxatives and the beast might hve been a little more spritely. the birds seemed to intuit this and quieted when the lights went dim, when the beast focused inward. Then, whooosh, the lights flickered back to life, the beast was distracted, and the uproar began again like applause after each act of a play.

Oh the heat. the humidity. the birds! alex was being driven mad with angst and worry. I began to bark and growl ferociously at the voeyeurs who became hyenas before my eyes, waiting for the moment when we were distracted to rob us of our meat, our bags and their innards. I growled and barked at the friendly old man who asked one too many questions, wondering when i would be done grazing and whether i always kept such a watchful eye on my yung fole. Actually, he asked which car I was on and what my seat number was. this made both Al and i suspicious, so we moved down the platform to get away; the old man had seemingly brought over a few young lads, all of whom were circling us, watching, seemingly waiting for a moment to strike. "what is goin on here>?" I wondered aloud to alex, completely taken in by my story of robbery and betrayal i erected starring the characters around us as bandits and we as hapless tourist dupes. we moved down the platform to get away. they followed. I flipped out. caused a scene. yelled at each person. made it know that i wasnt to be robbed of my belonings while asleep on the train. and what about those damn birds!? "why dont you people do something about these birds?" i asked rhetorically, gesturing wildly in no particular direction - in ever direction, really, since birds oocupied all available unused space - after chasing away the hyenas with a gnashing of my teeth and bucking of my hind legs. Relative, im a rather big zebra, elephant like in stature next to the thin, half starved, indian hyenas. they miscalculated. I drew sympaty from some onlookers. made allies. the hyenas moved down the platform, acting indignant like they had no idea wht set me off. no idea? the birds didnt tell you? had you no idea you wre circling us and staring? asking probing unecessary questions? didnt you hear the incessant cawing of black, beastly birds, dinosaurs with feathers, posed terribly with beaks agape, wings half spread, claws crooked and sharp? a near miss from a dropping and a wondering roach moved us again.

The train finally came. We were soaked to the bone with our sweat. we left the birds behind and settled in to a mostly sleepless 14 hour train ride filled with waking life moments as every 20 minutes or so I stirred in anticipation of catching one of the hyenas attempting to make off with my bag.

The birds. The birds. Did the convention end? do they still nest there, endlessly talking, day in and ou? Was that station a rip in space time fabric through which souls left this phase en route to the next? The birds were perhaps undertakers, transporting and readying the dead's old energy. A train station seems a befitting place for such a portal, particularly one of such ferocity. Come to think of it, it may have been a gateway to the underworld. black birds to us, common folk, demons to visionaries and the charmed. Whatever it was, it acted also as train station for us, propelling us forward to our next destination. Varanassi.

caw, caw. nevermore.

Taj Mahal Painted Pink

andrew_and_alexandra — Tue, 19 May 2009 12:12:00 GMT

The Taj Mahal is a monument I did not even try to conjure up how would look in person. Similar to before I saw Machu Picchu, I knew what to expect but I also did not. You never know how a monumental piece from history will deliver in peron; on a visual level as well as how it hits you personally. Similar to before a person sees the Eiffel Tower, Empire State Building, Ancient Pyramids and so on. Through the years you come across many images of these special places but it is not until it is right in your face are you given the opportunity to internally react.

Well the Taj Mahal certainly delivered. We received a wake up call for 5:30 am so we could see the Taj in the early morning light. There are pros and cons to traveling on the off season. This morning in particular highlighted one of the pros- less people. We entered from the east gate with only a couple other people trickeling in. As we turned right we saw the main entrance. The dark entrance served as a bold frame encapsulating the dusty pink Taj set back in the distance. It was almost as though I had this magnificent site all to my own, only to be shared with Andrew. At 6:00 am it was already hot and my skin wass sticky with the humidity, but only one of my senses seemed to be working. My vision was hauling, going 120 mph, taking in as much as possible not to miss a beat. The smooth curves of the building and surrounding mosques to me reflected a woman's physique. Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan started the building of the Taj in 1632 as a mausoleum to his wife Mumtaz Mahal. The mausoleum was not completed until 1653. The female presence was overwhelming and I could envision how Emperor Shah Jahan would be able to come to the Taj and find solace on the grounds. He no longer had his wife in body, but definitely in presence with this large yet delicate edifice.

Immediately an Indian man with hair died orange (a current fad in India) said he would start snapping pictures of Andrew and I. We happily took him up on his offer and proceeded to have many pictures taken of us in front of the Taj from all angles. The reflection of the Taj in the pools which are an extension of the landscape offer a perfect mirror image. The marble platform the Taj is built upon sets the mausoleum afloat. The monument is practically skimming the ground and there is nothing in the distance behind the Taj obstructing the perfect periwinkle and rose colored sky which looks like a painted canvas. Before walking up onto the marble platform we are instructed to take off our shoes. The marble feels cool beneath my feet not yet having warmed up from the sun now starting to show its face. The intricate detail spent in the exterior carving of the mausoleum was unexpected. Up close I realize the majority of the surface is carved with different white marble wild flowers. Small pieces of marble inlay in red, brown, green, and orange also carved into vines and delicate flowers have been placed around these carvings as a border. As we walk into the main building, with the tomb of Mumtaz Mahal, we are not allowed to take photos. It is dark inside, but I can still see that not a trace of the interior has been left without some feminine and floral decoration. Her tomb itself is on the small side but something bigger is not needed. The entirety of the Mausoleum is what holds Mumtaz Mahal.

After exiting from the back an Indian family watches me snapping photos. They then ask for me to take their picture so that they can then look at it. This is something common in India. We walk over to the neighboring mosques which were carved from red sandstone. The walls and ceilings in both buildings were also carved intricately as well as symmetrically. The surrounding grounds of the Taj consist of lush green gardens with wild birds chirping. Ans and I are both reluctant in leaving this vision behind, pausing several times at the exiting gate and snapping a couple more photos (as if we had not already taken plenty) just for good measure.

I then suggest we head into the town of Agra for some food and Ans is hesitant as we already drove through the previous evening from the train station and it was dirty, smelly, and difficult to find our way. I don't want to eat at the hotel and Joney's came recommend, let's go! The nice thing about Joney's is we can see where the food is being prepared and the man who seems to be the owner is incredibly friendly. I have my first Indian breakfast consisting of hot chai, potato curry, and roti (bread). Ans has his usual- veggie omelet. The cook urges us to have a mango juice fresh squeezed. This mango juice was so packed with flavor and body we immediately order a second. This begins our mango obsession as we continue to travel throughout India. Picking up mangoes wherever we can, they are in peak season and always perfectly ripe!

To Live and Learn: The New Delhi Train Station

andrew_and_alexandra — Mon, 18 May 2009 10:10:00 GMT

Eleven days into my journey and I've just started to comit something to writing. Finding time is somewhat the issue, but finding energy is the primary matter. There is so much calling one's attention, so many smells, sounds, and sights that it is difficult to muster the drive to begin. To write is to record all that is important. On a normal day, only very little remains important, "outstanding", worthy of discussion, of mention. I use quotations since using that particular word as a descriptor for things simply 'non-normal' or just 'noteworthy' lessons the significance of the word ultimately. I would like to retain meaning in superlative words, or do my small part - memetically. Perhaps 'mentionable' would be a better choice in that case. Concerning my main point, nearly all of my experiences these 11 days have been mentionable; oustanding; superlative. Thus, writing, recording is a daunting task.

This is how I begin my journal/blog entry on the train from Delhi to Agra. I decided to write my "blog" entries into a journal so that I could just transfer them when I did have time. Nine days, 3 cities, and 30+ hours logged in sleeper trains after commiting the above to ink and paper, I have time. What I wrote contines:

While writing, I am listening to Ghostland Observatory. The band works well on this train, passing fallow farmland pockmarked with an occasional tree. No music previously assopciated w/ other experiences could work right now. Surely not the Beatles (too many varied experiences including bed time listening and car rides as a child). No Turn on the Bright Lights, Interpol (Summer 2003). No cutcopy (dance parties in DC). No Brazillian Girls (2000-2002 at Nu Blu with Bro). No Scott Walker. No Chilli Peppers. No U2, Knife, Grizzly Bear, Green Day, Van, etc. New music is for forging new memories.

Just now, the train stopped. We seem to be yielding to a freight train. This pause gives me occasion to think about what awaits us in Agra. We must find the bus terminal, so that tomorrow we can get to another town, Tumdla, in order to make an 8:30 train to Varanasi, or somehow change our train ticket to depart at a later date. Ugh. Transport in India is chaos - so much so that I am sure there will be a post entirely dedicated to the topic at a future date. No other word describes it so thoroughly. Finding a bus in Mcleod Ganj? Chaos. Getting a tazi...anywhere? Chaos. The New Delhi Train Station? Absolute. Fucking. Chaos. Hell, really. And no, I don't regret overspeaking (although, there's always that very small twinge of regret with every action in general that one feels on account of having made any decision in light of how little time there is - how wasteful to breath and not chose correctly - of how few the number of predetermined available heart-beats we have and in light of how many just went by). Try this for yourself.

And here, for the more sensitive of my readership, for the politically correct and or for Indians, I must say that I was quite worked up about the whole matter. It was my first experience with the trains, so, really, all of this can be avoided and it was my fault for jumping right in. Nonetheless, I'd like to preserve the underlining current of exasperation in my writing. It makes for more fun, to say the least, and does really capture what an outsiders first impression might be. So, I am not culturally insensitive. I am not racist. I do like India and Indians. Much of these details apply universally in a general sense to all crowds. So, I submit a mild disclaimer.

The people offend. they are rude, loud, dirty and too smelly, clean and too smelly, too close, too pushy, too unhelpful, too bold, too many! If you make it to the station at all, avoiding a car/rickshaw accident or just avoid being taken to the incorrect destination, you will be accosted by tourist/travel agency agents, who skulk around travel depots and other areas likely to house or usher by tourists. They are relentless, these agents, and have no shame. They will lie insistently and become indignant if you all them on it or turn them down - something you must learn to do. Out-maneuver one, and you are faced with more. Let me just say, it's not easy to get by. They move in cells, communicate via satellite - instantly and often - and probably track your specific heat signature for all I know. You pass the first one and a new one attacks, pretending to be helpful this time. While they offer some useful information, they do so to use the good will earned to manipulate you when you are unsuspecting. They are quite good at it. Impressively so. Defeat this minotaur, and you just have the multitudes to deal with, and all that which accompanies crowds; clustering, pushing, odors, spittle, inappropriate proximity, pick pockets etc.

I caught one such bugger with his hand in my pocket as he pressed himself up against me inappropriately. Mind you, the line between inappropriate and ok hardly exists in the Indian line waiting culture. I guess I just sensed something off about this guy. Needless to say, I was furious. Have you ever seen "True Lies"? There's one sequence in the film when Arnold is riding w/ a car salesman who pretends to be a spy to lure in lonely housewives, bored, scared, uptight, living in the burbs (if you have every lived in DC, you know how not far fetched this is, hehe). In the sequence, the salesman is talking unknowingly to Arnold about Arnold's character's wife while they drive in one of the auto-lot's corvettes. Arnold plays a character named Harry. Here is the transcript:

Harry: So who are you working on right now?
Simon: I always got a few on the line. But there's this one chick I got right now. I got her panting like a dog. Its great.
Harry: What does she do?
Simon: Some sort of legal secretary. Married to some boring jerk.
Harry: Married to some boring jerk.
Simon: Aww, but she could be so hot if she wanted to. She's like all these babes, you get their pilot lit, they could suck start a leafblower. And she's got the most incredible body too and a pair of titties that make you wanna stand up and beg for buttermilk. Ass like a ten year old boy!...

At that moment, the camera cuts to a furious Arnold, his face contorted in rage, the sort with which a man defends his wife's - their family's - honor. Cut to his arm and fist quickly, in one swift motion, bashing the salesman in the face, hilariously killying him immediately. This clip (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3YJ71gdoy8 this is a bad clip, but it was the best i could find with little time), which I love to discuss, is so fulfilling on so many levels that I am not sure where to begin my explanation. Perhaps, I'll save it for another time. Anyway, that sequence explains exactly what went through my mind when I turned and confronted the perp. Secondarily, I envisioned strangling him, crushing his larynx in front of so many Indian voyeurs. "here's something to stare at!" Before any of that could unfold, my Fieldston Lower Ethics pedagogy swoops in like cupid, shooting me with, instead of a love arrow, a tolerance and mercy syringe. Then, I notice the kid's lopsided, lazy and otherwise slothing eyes. Despite hypothesizing that the kid made his eyes like that for sympathy, I give him the benefit of the doubt. I do, however, consider snatching the bill he's waving around, regardless of whether it's mine, just to teach him a lesson. "Perhaps I should just down right and blatantly demand all of his money. Rob him blind (or cross-eyed)" I chuckle. I tell him that I will get the police (I hadnt seen cops nearly my entire trip). I let him go like a caught spider released to the outisde. Delhi really tests a man's patience - a vegan, no less, was ready to asphyxiate a deformed, vertically challenged thief. I now know how Monsieur Meursault in Camus' "The Strager" must have felt momentarily when he shot the Arab in essentially cold blood. Really, it was the heat that got to me.

(I switch artists now to Gang, Gang Dance - it fulfills the soundtrack vacancy in much the same way as Ghostland)

The twerp turns and runs. I, Westley, have defeated the third torment of the fire swamp! Actually, I think the thief did swipe a few rupees. Fuck em. In the land of Karma, no one seems to be much concerned with it. In a city with 17 million mostly poor - like homeless poor - humans, everyone is getting fucked so hard no one has time to care about paying it forward, ironically since so many of these men appear to be leading sexless lives.

So, we have contended with the masses, the con artists, the thieves, and now we have the lines, the public facilities, the lack of professionalsim of those meant to facilitate travel and transport for the people, their bosses, whoever controls these railways - the gov't? Some descendant Mugal emperor? I wouldn't be surprised. The lines: if you waited as one does in DC, you would end up at the back permanently. As a new yorker, perhaps you would make it to the front eventually. At least a New Yorker has the tools for aggressive line waiting. This new sport is full contact. It takes physical as well as mental cunning. Or, if you are Me and Alex, two huge bags to place at your side. You really must use force to push your way up and keep competitors frmo blatantly pushing around you. Even if you are at the till, talking with the attendant, someone will stick an arms around you, magically through you. They will come from the side, pracitcally from the air to get their facein your way. "at last. I can be seen by thi attendant," I sigh after 10 minutes of applying my basketball boxing out skills (those which I never quite used to full effect until now). Now, you've made it to the window, but, will this person help you? No. Can she? Probably not. Are you in the correct line? Who knows. The labeling and directions of the train statio, to putit in the parlence of the American 90s youth culture, SUCK. There's no direction. The signs are too old, too dirty to read or non existent. You will not, despite what lonely planet claims, get on a Wait List. You will not get on your train that day using this method. You must go to an advanced tourism booking office - the legitimate one - to book at least 4 hours in advance.

How do you learn this? Luck if some fellow travelers from the States do not happen by you and share their experience. By the way, make friends w/ these people wherever, whenver, however you can. They may have been competitors in the States, but here, in India, any and all such people are your friends, your resource, your savior. Our saviors lead us to the tourist office upstairs away from the mass of humanity, the heat, the thieves, the chaos to a more familiar scene, that of the overcrowded bearaucratic office with underpaid people doing their moderately important jobs half heartedly, except for the one guy who happens to love his work, who smiles and who is helpful; the guy every person in need of assistance wants, who I inevitably will not get after waitng on some slow moving line with slow moving people watching slow moving time drive through congested rush hour traffic, while talking on a cell - driving and talking is not illegal in Delhi. Nevertheless, you will be happier here.

There are a few fans blowing cooled, (not to be confused with conditioned) air arond an otherwise stuffy and dingy office. "sigh. What a relief. Now to figure out how this bureaucratic maze works and by what rules I must play," I instruct myself. Almost certainly there are rules and an order of operations not to be skipped over. You cannot possibly tell the agent what you want. You must fill out this sheet of paper, 75% of which carries useless info. You must first go to the info guy so he can look up the train for you despite the other agests being perfectyl capable of doing this. If you dont' figure this out, you will have wasted a lot of rush hour driving time on line only to be told to do it all over. I watched a few people suffer this fate. Wisely, before jumoping in, I watched the other rats to learn which way to head for the cheese. "It would be gosh darn swell if they posted the office procedures for all to see and know," I editorialze.

"Hey Al?" "deed, I feel nauseous. I can't wait on these lines,: quips Al, hinting that I should take care of the cheese gathering. She guards the bags while I engage. I manage to get a ticket 4 hours in advance for the 5:30 train, the one in which I now sit. Sweet. We can now spend 4 hours looking up info about Agra, eating an dplaying a few turns of travel scrabble. (quip as well as larynx are great words I decide). I might as well get the next ticket I need - Agra to Varanasi - as well. I run through the maze again. It's then that I realize we could have came here our first day and planned out and purchased all of our trains travel, essentially all of India. Alas. Ntohgin that I have experienced this far exemplifies the saying "live and learn" more than traveling in India. India, the style of existing, must be "learned", else, take an organized tour.

The Tourist Agency and Disputing Charges

andrew_and_alexandra — Fri, 15 May 2009 12:54:00 GMT

So, the letters below that we sent to our respective banking and credit institutions, will mostly outline the scam and what we went through. rather than type everything out again, i figured the letters would suffice and save me some time. The scam, the surveiling, the angst and feeling unsafe, the dealing with increasingly hostile staffers while we were also beholden to them for protection defined the 3 days we were in Srinagar, despite there being real beauty to behold and some down time with other travelers that was a lot less fear ridden.

These tourist agency guys were real sleezy and would say anything and admit to nothing. I mean real sleezy. THis guy Nazir, it became clear, loved to prey on the women his agency brought to Kashmir. He would come by the house boats in the evening, provide beer for the guests and presumably get drunk himself. He was all puppy dogs and iced cream to the majority of his captors, creating the illusion that he was their friend, there to help, to guide and that he was a resource. This was all a facade, but it definitely worked on some people. And I cant blame them. I made decisions there that I would never make otherwise. The stress one feels when isolated and out of ones element is real. This sort of stress can influence your decision making significantly, and, evidently, it did for a few women. I overheard the staff bragging about the women they've hooked up with. They men were allegedly married and supposed to be devout Muslims, yet they drank and committed adultery.

Each morning, we awoke to find ourselves locked into the house boat. this only added to our suspicions of the tourist agency people and increased our resolve to leave asap. It became clear early on that Alex and I were 'troublemakers' from their perspective. For whatever reason, the other visitors hadnt really aired their grievances with each other; they hadnt really connected, or shared experiences. Everyone there had been scammed. Alex and I bridged these gaps and forged these connections. we got people talking. dissent grew. the staff noticed this and new it was Alex and I who were responsible. Only after a day, we were treated differently. For instance, my breakfasts were less well cooked and less elaborate. We were not offered 'free' beer. the staff was less responsive to us, but also creepily omnipresent whenever we walked from one boat to the other, outside or anywhere. It became clear that we were being spied on. The owner, Nazir, began to use more methods of coercion, like calling us out in front of the group. His attitude changed drastically, though he kept a friendlish facade. I could see through this easily. The disdain he had for me grew and i could sense it easily. From my point, my dislike for him was hardly a secret. Though, i had to keep everything civil, and as friendly as possible. I did not know the guy or really what he was capable of. I needed him to get us out of there as well.

It turns out, though, that he's essentially a coward and a cry baby. He was so enraged when I explained to him over the phone when safely in Dharamsala, that we were leaving, that we had consulted with lawyers and our creditors, and that we would be requesting a refund. He called the hotel staff where we were staying and had them put me on the phone. i hung up on him and he kept calling back. he called 10 times or more. The threats he made against me ranged from karmic to physical violence. Essentially, he was throwing a tantrum. I found it humerous, but also disconcerting. We were pretty far away, but I didnt know how things worked in India. Perhaps he has thugs around that would try to intimidate me or rough me up. How mafia-esc was his opperation?

We left the hotel (which was connected to the tourist agency) in quite a bit of panic. for the first 50 yards someone followed us until i ducked down an alley and through a store as an evasion tactic. We hailed a cab, pretended to get in, then left it abruptly. We waited in an obscured spot for a few minutes, than made our way to a guest house we had explored earlier. We were a bit shaken so I called my friend Eisha in Delhi to see if there was anything she could do for us and also to see if she had heard of any scams like this turning violent. It seemed we had been a bit panicked, but I dont think we were wrong to be scared based on the information we had.

Things settled down at the new place, though I was still wary of being followed. We ran into some new yorkers there, one who I had played little league baseball with (random) and so their words and presence helped soothe us.

We are currently still dealing with the CC company and we are not sure if we will win the dispute and get our money back. Here are the letters we sent out:

Essentially, I was a victim of a "bait-and-switch" scam. I would just like to reiterate the conditions of my case.

Unfortunately, my boyfriend and I were misinformed and lied to, about what and from whom we were purchasing. We were brought to a tourist agency by random street operatives under the pretext of being taken to a government tourist office where we could obtain free maps and travel advice. Under the guise of a government bureau, the tourist agency took advantage of us and sent us to Srinagar, Kashmir to a houseboat hotel that they owned and operated. The agent told us we were purchasing (in a separate and previous purchase that which my boyfriend is also disputing) a package trip to Daksum (Dacsum) in Northern India (not Kashmir). A copy of said dispute email is attached to the bottom of this email. I was given my ticket the next day on the way to the airport, so I did not have time nor the ability to double check the flight destination. The timing of this made it very difficult to turn around and cancel the trip. Besides, we were under the mindset that we should trust these people, these "govt officials". Mid flight, while looking at the journey progress map, I realized that we were actually headed to Kashmir. At that point there was nothing to be done.

Upon arrival, it was clearly not safe. There was an extraordinarily strong military presence in the city and we were instructed to tell anyone who might ask that we were from Canada, rather than the USA. None of the things that we were supposed to have been provided or that were supposed to have been going on actually were (please see attached email for further information regarding these points). We requested to leave soon after arriving (a fact that the owner will surely dispute), but were told we could not leave for at least a few days. We were not permitted to leave the house boat without an escort. Presumably, the reason for this was to keep an eye on us - restrict our movement and freedom - but also because it was unsafe to be in a predominantly Muslim community with serious anti-American sentiment. Essentially, we were held captive and coerced into spending more money. Before we had eaten and were given a chance to speak with or connect to anyone outside of their control, we were accosted by the owner and operator, a man named Nazir, who pushed another travel package on us. He was polite and inviting as one would expect, but it was clear that we had no power in this place. When discussing the package, the owner responded sharply and decisively to prevent us from buying less, negotiating or asking enlightening questions. Furthermore, he downright bullied us with cleverly disguised threats and enticements; he held out carrots, but clearly brandished a stick.

In order to leave, we felt as though we had to make whatever purchase that was recommended to us. Once away from their influence, we planned on canceling and going our own way. We did not feel safe openly defying the people responsible for bringing us to a location that which we were not prepared to visit, the people that lied to us but who were also responsible for our safety and well being. They had us isolated, with no access to Internet or a phone. In fact, I requested Internet access immediately and my request was rebuffed. They did, however, after I made the purchase, permit me to call my mother for mother's day. Despite this seemingly friendly gesture, they did not allow me any privacy. I did not feel comfortable criticizing the agency and requesting help in front of them. In addition, we were constantly being surveiled when outside of our room by the owners workers. Even in our room, we were routinely interrupted with puposeless intrusions and requests. The workers acted as spies and relayed any information they could to their boss, Nazir.

As mentioned, I could not dispute the charge until leaving Kashmir. Once away from their direct influence and out of their control, my boyfriend called repeatedly attempting to cancel. When he finally reached Nazir, the man screamed at my boyfriend and would not entertain a cancellation discussion. Nevertheless, we decided to leave the tour with or without his 'permission' as we did not feel safe. Immediately after the call to the boss, we made a few other calls to our parents and to family friends for legal advice. During this time, the boss called the hotel and instructed one of its staffers to stand outside of our phone both and eavesdrop. This only added to our sense of urgency to get away from these people. The next day, we filed a dispute verbally over the phone with an American Express fraud department representative. Following that discussion, as advised, my boyfried attempted to solve the matter with the agency. Again, he was screamed at, but this time the yelling took on a more aggressive form; he was repeatedly threatened and intimidated, with legal and financial action as well as physical harm. The hotel staff was instructed to not permit us to leave so that Nazir could continue to call and verbally abuse us.

It is because of these conditions and stresses put on us to purchase something unwanted that I would like to dispute and reverse this charge. We were harrassed and threatened and fearful for our safety. In addition, every attempt was made to cancel peacefully and responsibly; we returned all of the travel vouchers given to us and called the agency repeatedly. We were met with increasingly harsh responses, including threats.

Thank you in advance for your help and consideration. I look forward to your reply and await further instruction.

Yours Sincerely,

Alexandra M. Kislevitz

The following is the email of dispute that my boyfriend has filed with his creditor:

re: PURCHASE MADE ON 05/09/09 AT CENTER TOUR & TRAVELS

Dear Fraud Department Representative,

Greetings and thank you for receiving my charge dispute.

I am writing to dispute a recent charge to my account as I was the victim of a "bait-and-switch" scam. Unfortunately, I was misinformed, essentially lied to, about what and from whom I was purchasing. The agency represented itself as an arm of the Indian Government Tourist Bureau, whose mission it was to encourage and facilitate safe travel to northern India. The agency went out of the way to validate it's credentials, claiming to be non profit, showing me fake credentials and fraudulent documents. The scam was serious and very well rehearsed.

Concerning what I purchased. I was told I was purchasing an all inclusive package to the location Daksum (Dacsum) in Northern India, where I would be staying on a pristine lake in the mountains in a house boat. The package was to include 4 days, inclusive of an overnight camping trek. It was important to sign up quickly because I was told there was a festival going on and that the Dali Lama would be there to speak. I was put on the phone with people posing as current guests as well as someone posing as a Jet Airways travel agent in order to assure me that the location was safe and that the cost of the flight legitimate. Neither turned out to be true. I was given my airport ticket the next day on the way to the airport, so I did not have time nor the ability to double check the flight destination. The timing of this made it very difficult to turn around and cancel the trip. Besides, we were under the mindset that we should trust these people, these "govt officials". Mid flight, while looking at the journey progress map, I realized that we were actually headed to Kashmir. At that point there was nothing to be done.

Once we arrived we were picked up and whisked away quickly. It did not appear to be safe. There was an extraordinarily strong military presence in the city and we were instructed to tell anyone who might ask that we were from Canada, rather than the USA. As per the receipt I can send, I had paid for a trek and 4 nights. As per the agent's words, we were to be in Daksum on a pristine lake. Instead, we were housed on a putrid lake in a dingy houseboat in an unsafe environment. There was no festival. There was no Dali Lama. Once there, we were informed that we had to pay extra for a trek. We requested to leave soon after arriving, but were told we could not leave for at least a few days. Essentially, we were held captive and coerced into spending more money. We were not permitted to leave the house boat without an escort. Presumably, the reason for this was to keep an eye on us - restrict our movement and freedom - but also because it was unsafe to be in a predominantly Muslim community with serious anti-American sentiment.

In addition to being lied to, we were not even provided the service promised and paid for. I could not dispute the charge until now, as we are now far enough away from the agency's influence to take the appropriate actions without feeling threatened (In order to leave we were essentially obligated in no uncertain terms, though not explicitly, to buy another tour package through the agency, a charge my girlfriend is disputing with her card company as well). I would like to reverse the charges to my card and take whatever action possible against the agency. I hope you can help me with this endeavor.

Thank you in advance for your help and consideration. I look forward to your reply and await further instruction.

Yours Sincerely,

Andrew H. Sullivan

Dalai Lama and some momos on the side

andrew_and_alexandra — Thu, 14 May 2009 12:29:00 GMT

Long last, arriving in Dharamsala felt sooooo good. After twisty turny roads up and down and all around through the mountains just standing stationary felt excellent. Immediately upon pulling up to our hotel we ran into the other Irish kids who also had been staying on the houseboat and were now staying at Hotel Mount View in Mcleod Ganj as well. We all headed for a late dinner on the roof of Carpe Diem where our new friend Mark made a great point with me. He had ordered a piping hot personal pizza and it smelled divine. After my mentioning that it looked great he told me I should order some. I immediately said I could never let myself eat Italian in India. I think I should only eat the local food of the destinations I travel to so I can fully take advantage of the experience and authenticity of the location. Mark then said, "Yeah, when you are traveling for a week or so. But when you are traveling months on end, let yourself get what you feel like eating!" Good point Mark, good point. Although, (I'm playing catch up currently writing this in Calcutta) Ans and I just attempted an Italian meal at a restaurant dubiously named Moulin Rouge and we are pretty positive the tomato sauce was ketchup. This conversation did remind me of the fact that my approach to traveling this time around would be different. I am living while simultaneously traveling nonstop, different than study abroad in Seville where my friends and I took off every weekend to sample a different member of the EU. This time around I do not have an apartment to return to during the week. No home base. My home base is a backpack which is already racked up and Ans.

Our first morning we woke up later than usual and headed out to a sub par breakfast which was included with the hotel. I miss having maple syrup with pancakes. The meal was very doughy, I had some dough with my dough. Banana pancake and some Tibetan bread (tasted like the rolls my college dining hall used to serve). After breakfast we ventured out eager to explore this new town enveloped in the mountains. Mcleod Ganj is home to primarily Tibetan refugees. Walking up the steep hill people are selling shirts, bags, bracelets, you name it with "Free Tibet". The smell of this town is one of the first aspects which took me off guard. I had assumed, as others would, that this would be a pristine little enclave which would enable me to breathe in and taste some fresh mountain air. Well, no. I would definitely not want to taste this air. The town is charming, but they basically have an open sewage system with gutters carved out on the side of the road. Dirty water and trash are constantly traveling through these channels down the mountain.

After wandering around the hill we found ourselves at Tsuglagkhang which comprises the official residence of the Dalai Lama. The temple was scattered with other tourists, Tibetan monks, and Westerners who looked like they had come to find themselves and decided to practice Buddhism. It was interesting to see people who you would least expect practicing, one girl looked like she had previously been a Suicide Girl and had escaped Brooklyn to come to terms with her spirituality in Mcleod Ganj. Prior to going to this temple Ans and I went to the Tibetan Museum which was primarily about how the Tibetan political system is structured but the museum also featured some heart wrenching pictures. The takeover and persecution the Tibetans have gone through hits much harder when you are living amongst them surrounded by their sincere and peaceful faces. Monks strolling one of the 3 main streets draped in their deep red robes contributes to the soulful atmosphere of Mcleod Ganj and I definitely felt more at peace.

That evening we went to Taste of India. The meal was pretty tasty- mushroom curry, nan, chana masala, vegetable biryani. I wish that cottage cheese (paneer) was not included in most vegetarian dishes in India. It just does not appeal to me. I have been eating vegetarian ever since I arrived in Delhi so not to get sick from the meat. Most of the meat is not kept cold, often sitting out in the sun. The nan that I have had so far in India has also been somewhat of a let down. More like a flattened out cold pita than a hot fluffy utility to sop up some curry with. That being said the spice factor in everything we order is definitely present. I can be guaranteed with each Indian meal that arrives before my eyes my taste buds will be thoroughly stimulated with the variety of spice which occurs in each dish: cardamom, cinnamon, curry, green chili, ginger, coriander, cumin, nutmeg, saffron, and masala! With that list of spices we are just getting started to begin the sensory overload the curries, gravies, and chutneys provide. After drinking plenty of water post dinner to cool our palate we headed to bed early as I had signed us up for an early cooking class the next morning at Llamo's Kitchen where we would learn to make momos!

We woke up extra early because we wanted to see the sunrise. Unfortunately, it was too cloudy. Partly because we were so high up in the mountains. I decided to crawl back into bed and read until it was time to go to breakfast then the cooking class. Our cooking class took place up the hill in what I believe was Llamo's home as well as his kitchen. He ushered us in to take a seat with the four other students. A man and woman from Israel (not sure how they were related) and a young couple (girl from Canada, guy from Sweden). Llamo was teaching us how to make three different types of momos.

First I should explain about these momos. From the moment I arrived in Dharamsala I saw men and women on the side of the street selling "veg momos." They appeared to be plump little dumplings stuffed with a morsel of your choice. I had wanted to taste one, but was hesitant. So this cooking class presented the perfect opportunity to sink my teeth into one of these babies. The three different types we made were the following:

1) veggie- cabbage and carrot

2) spinach and cheese (it doesn't matter what type)

3) cooked sugar and sesame seed

After Llamo mixed up the ingredients in three different bowls he called on me to knead the dough. We then spent the majority of the class learning to make the three different momo shapes out of the dough so you could tell the three different types apart. Ans and I got into a competition about who's momo was better and who Llamo would say "very good! perfect!" to first. At the end of class we all sat around and ate the momos together. The spinach and cheese seemed to be the favorite among the group. The sweet momo was adorned with a thick honey afterward making it incredibly sweet. The filling was crunchy since it was mainly hardened sugar. For the two savoury momos Llamo showed us how to mix ketchup, soy sauce, chili, tomatoes, and cabbage to eat with the momo as a type of elaborate condiment. After class Ans and I had decided to go check out of the Hotel Mount View and move to the Green Hotel up the road.

Escape From Kashmir

andrew_and_alexandra — Tue, 12 May 2009 20:00:00 GMT

It went as follows:

Lucy, knocking once, twice (short grumble), three times finally rouses me enough so that I can respond. "Okay. thank you. I'm up." MY head collapses back into my pillow. 'The silk sleep sheets we purchased were great buys,' i muse in a pseudo dream state. And it's true; they are light and extremely comfortable, just don't report me to the vegan police. It was silk or cotton made by child slaves. Besides, this is a must have for traveling cheaply.

It's 5am. we are scheduled to leave at 630 after breakfast but we need to get up and pack first. Breakfast is a mediocre omelet again of presumably chickens' eggs, though, based on the scam and lies, I wondered aloud to the other captives if we were not eating pigeon eggs - there seemed to be a more than a plethora preening, roosting and scratching around overhead atop the thin tin roofs. who needs a wake up call when the pigeons gladly do it with so many clicks, flutters and Kashmiri coos. We eat as much as possible to keep ourselves filled for the 13 hour ride ahead of us. for Al, that consists of barely half of her food. for me, that consists of my food plus as much of Al's as possible. Finally we leave, with much tip groveling and with very little fanfare as, since we arrived, we began to stir up seeds of doubt and discontent in the other travelers. leave it to the new yorkers to get somewhere and encourage everyone else to complain rather than bear their anxieties and disappointments quietly.

The driver speaks very little English. we cast off in a jeep, the 3 of us, Lucy and Al in the back, and I'm in the front. Lucy is another captive, having been tricked into going to Kashmir just the same. She is traveling alone and had already been to a few places in India as well as Nepal. She is in her 40s and is from Canada. She is very sweet and helpful and laughed at my jokes, so I liked her.

With each rotation of the wheel, each passing moment the dark cloud above our heads begins to left and we begin to feel free. We make a few turns and i recognize we are well on our way, about to cross the bridge out of town. then, BAM! roadblock. 'are you serious?' I ask rhetorically. the driver attempts to answer. the military turns us around. "don't worry. there's another way," answers the driver who senses our collective dismay. we turn another corner after backtracking a bit to meet a similar fate. "now what? did those con artists mastermind this traffic boondoggle in order to keep us here still longer? will they force us to visit the carpet store again and force us to buy?" I must have said some of this out loud because Lucy and Al laughed uneasily and the driver answered that he knew another way out of town. the long way. the long, long way. around the 8km long Dal Lake, 45 minutes out of the way. no matter. as long as we get the hell out.

three quarters of the way around we hit a wall of traffic. there;s been an accident. "damn you travel agency!" I curse, shaking my fist at the heavens. "have you really gone this far?" no. it seems legit after a few conversations with the driver. he knows yet another way. we make a serious 3 pt turn, pissing off everyone in the process and back track half a mile to a dirt road. it leads us down some back lanes by farm plots and stone quarries, past oncoming tractors and surprised common folk. after snaking our way through some tight back alleys, once getting stuck due to an oncoming donkey drawn cart, we make it on to the main road ahead of the traffic. finally. we can breath another sigh of relief.

we are moving now. we pass farmland with small identical townships in between. the townships inevitably consist of the exact same shops, raw materials for building, snack shops, hole in the wall eateries and the standard shop of miscellany. Lucy regales us with stories of her travels. we soak up as much info as possible, though i leave most of the note-taking to Al at a certain point, since after an hour or so, we are driving up hills into the mountains, making one hair raising turn with nothing but the air space between our road and the ground 100ft below to stop us from unexpectedly careening off a ledge. we are headed toward 1 of 2 mountain passes, 1 of 2 escape routes by road
out of the kashmiri valley. One twisting ascent leads us to another twisting descent, to another twisting ascent to a tunnel, the other side of which leads us to an even more twisting and sharp descent to another ascent. the mt. driving is a harrowing experience, particularly for the front seat passenger. driving in this land is already chaotic and nerve racking, but add to that the constant fear of plummeting off the roads, lanes too small for 2 way traffic, cheddar sharp turns and you've come close to describing this experience. it takes us hours to go only a few km since we are driving up one hill side, back and forth, round and round, only to cross to another to do the same. there are markedly few protective rails and in some cases, where there is only 1 lane, there is still 2 way traffic. there are long landslide zones through which we must navigate replete with large rocks in the road, huge trucks to pass, oncoming traffic with more trucks and a menagerie of wildlife to dodge; birds, cows, sheep, goats, camels, monkeys, dogs, cat, people, lizards, yaks, mongooses and more. at some points there are rock outcroppings the way under which was too dangerous to pave - yet we still drive on.

one of the more interesting things about our trip thus far is the simultaneous existence of the modern and the old fashioned. despite the ubiquity of internal combustion chamber automobiles, there are still gypsies and other local folk moving about with animals as their conveyance, or with their feet as conveyance animals in tow. the herders, mostly gypsies, walk long the same roads on which we drive. they move their flocks this way, walking along as if they don't see the cars - indeed, they might not. some of these folks live a very isolated life, in every sense. i cant think of them off the top of my head or find them with a quick google search, but i remember reading about the Tainos, the native population in the Bahamas when Columbus first visited. It has been suggested that the ships may have been docked for weeks, or visible for weeks, but that the native peoples could not see them. that is, they saw the ships with their sails and mass as clouds or some other thing. this is a blindness to the unknown the existence of which i found quite interesting due to its potential applications to our culture, space and other scientific research. anyway, perhaps these gypsies did not see these cars. they sure acted like it. even if this is not the case, these people seemed oblivious to the engines roaring by dangerously so. to the point where they seemed immune to the dark puffs of diesel engine waste, feared not the proximity to massive speeding automobiles whose momentum could crush the people and their entire flock.

the roads snaked their way up and down, but also in and out. imagine a sin curve with length and height. now rotate it in the z axis dimensions 90 degrees. the roads followed this shape as well. at the inward apex of the curving roads there were often waterfalls and natural streams cascading down off cliffs, but also over lesser precipices, crossing over or under glacial boulders and rock slide debris. at many of these points there were formed impromptu rest stops, primarily by truck drivers in need of a water break, bath or a clean windshield. herders and gypsies too, utilized these 'stations' some of which were dammed so pools could form. there were many of these that we passed, providing us opportunity for sightseeing. at one such stations, we stopped to let monkeys pass (hopefully i have a picture here)

the ins and outs, ups and downs besides being dangerous, provided us incredible vistas of white capped mountains competing to be the tallest and equally compelling green valleys and rocky waterways and channels. the terrain ranged from coniferous forest to subtropic to arid and back again. the flora seemed to change from one mountain to the next. it was incredible. no matter where we were were and in which direction we looked, we managed to spot at least someone making a home at an unthinkable altitude or inhospitable bit of rock, in a dry valley or near the top of a seemingly insurmountable mt. peak. how and why would people live there in those conditions?

the whole trip, 13 hours, was navigated without air condition. the majority of the trip i tied my bandanna around my face like a bank robber to filter the terrible air whenever possible. we crossed paths with buses so filled they teetered to one side, yet they climbed the slopes and cornered without hesitation.

out of the main hills we traveled through some very dry towns where dust abounded, the rivers were near or completely dry and the people were somewhat sullen, desiccated like the terrain.the dryness and the cracking affected the roads which were pot-holed and cracked worse than any you might encounter mid winter in the Bronx. that is, when there were paved roads. we crossed bridges that used to be 2 lanes, used to be paved, whose skeletal structure used to be hidden beneath concrete and stone. this was a major route on the map. i cannot conceive of the state that the 'back roads' might be in. then again, if the locals used them frequently the roads might be just fine - they tended to fix their roads.

random observations: whereas in the US we use flares to signal an accident or a car stopped near or in the side lane, in Kashmir and elsewhere, they use stones.

13 hours, including a few stops, though less than one might expect considering we had only 1 driver. others slept, i could not. someone had to keep an eye out to anticipate and warn the others of imminent crash or sudden departure from the course (as if i would have even been able to tell) whence we might be brought to Pakistan and sold as sex slaves, well the women at least; i would be shot and thrown from the moving car off a cliff. thankfully, my imagination, per usual, exceeds the creativity of actual things.

just one more narrow ascension to Dharamsala and we would be done. though, this mt. driving was in the dark. the roads upward at this point were truly one lane - one lane in the cooper mini sense. again, tons of people and animals on the road, bikes, rickshaws, auto's, more animals, motorcycles and even horse drawn carts. we made it. it was a beautiful ride filled with new experiences and information. never again would we make such a ride we told each other. though, i would highly recommend it as a 1 time experience.

So we ended up in Srinagar...

andrew_and_alexandra — Mon, 11 May 2009 09:56:00 GMT

Stepping off the plane Andrew says, " I didnt realize we were going so close to Islamabad." "What?!" I exclaimed. He then tells me he was looking at the in-flight map, I had been engrossed in my book and ipod, and that on the map he saw we were flying up into Kashmir. Walking into the airport there is a strong Indian military presence. All uniformed men with guns in hand. My heart immediately starts pounding and I hear my mom's voice before I left, "I do not want you going anywhere near the border of Pakistan." Well greeaatttt and it just so happens today is Mother's Day. We are the only foreigners there and immediately are ushered over to the counter to declare whether we have any symptoms of the swine flu. Ans whispers that he has had a cough to me. I tell him he better not say a word or else we may end up in some cell. One man working at the airport comes up to us and before we even say anything starts assuring us we are safe in Srinagar. Really? Why do I feel so unsafe? And I have not even left the airport. I see our packs on the conveyor belt and hastily walk over there ready to find our airport pick up and be swept away to the mountains where I would feel at ease.

Naz, from Centre Tour and Travels, quickly approaches us as we exit the airport with all the others. We stand out so much we might as well be wearing oversized sombreros on our heads. I start the interrogation..."so are there other tourists currently here? are there people staying on the houseboat with us? is it actually safe here?" Naz assures me over and over how safe Kashmir now is and there are TONS of tourists. I later learn he is so full of BS. As we drive through the town part of me is tempted to duck down in the car so no one sees me through the windows. I know Ans probably thinks I am overreacting, but he is not a blonde freckled girl who does not own a burqa to cover herself. Driving through Srinagar there is military everywhere I look. All men and women are completely covered. Unlike Delhi the town appears monochrome- grey, brown, black. Except for the bright blue sky and snow capped mountains adding some cheer way off in the distance. After driving for about twenty minutes the car abruptly pulls off the road down to a small little lake with some dodgy old houseboats. They are reminiscent of trailors on water. "We're here!" Naz informs. "Uhhhh we are????" Please tell me this is not for real. I am on a mosquito infested lake covered in algae. There is one small mountain which is close to the lake where a fort is perched. Other than that, the other tall mountains are too far off in the distance to see with the cloudy skies. There are also a bunch of pigeons. I could get this in NYC. I didnt fly all the way over to India to get some Kashmiri pigeons.Some other smaller birds are perched on lily pads which add charm to the lake. Unfortunately, when we look closer down at the water we see the floor of the lake is covered in trash. Youseff, who we are told is our cook, brings us out Kashmiri tea and biscuits. The tea is delicious- similar to a black tea and naturally sweet. We sit out on the lake for a little to take it all on in and it is interesting watching the men in their boats pulling weeds from the lake for compost. Afterwards, we go check out our room (one of two) on the house boat we are also sharing with Mark from Ireland. The place has never seen a duster let alone a good vacuum, but that is the least of it (I later get electrocuted while taking a shower holding the detachable shower head). Looks like another night sleeping in the silk sleep sheet- such a great investment. We are also told that we can't leave the houseboat without an escort. So basically we are stuck on this boat until we leave for a trek. We go sit down with Naz on the other boat where Ron (from Quebec/Nevada) and 3 other Irish girls are staying. Naz then tells us the only way to leave is a 10 hour drive through the mountains to Dharamsala. I basically want to leave ASAP but Naz proposes we go on a trek. Ans and I decide to purchase this tour package through India from him just so we can be assured we get out of there since he is the one who arranges the jeep out of Srinagar to Dharamsala. That night we have dinner with Mark who is a young guy and has been traveling for 3 months throughout the Middle East. He tells us he was also misled into coming to Kashmir and he went on a trek because there was nothing else to do being stuck up in Kashmir. He is scheduled to share a jeep with the 3 Irish girls leaving the next morning at 7am. All I could think was- is there room for me on this lifeboat? After dinner we go over to the other houseboat and drink some Kingfishers with the Irish girls, Ron, a Canadian lady, and Rami who is Kashmiri and one of the guides for trekking. Ans is so exhausted he literally is sleeping on my shoulder. We head off to bed early planning to catch the sunrise and see about getting in the 7am car.

5:30 am- wake up. Actually have been awake on and off all night because of the ominous sounding calls of prayer which happened throughout the evening. Despite the initial unnerving feeling the prayer delivered, it was interesting to hear an entire city praying in unison. As Ans said, "It was like everyone was casting a magic spell- an aura that rose above the city and seemed palpable." Ans and I then climb to the roof of the houseboat where we are clearly intruding on all the pigeons who are in the middle of carrying on with their morning routine. There is no sunrise, we are surrounded by clouds, very overcast. We go back downstairs and go to the door leading to the sitting room to get out but it is locked. Why are we locked in? Ans opens one of the windows and we see we can crawl out. Mark then wakes up and we tell him we are locked in. We then discover after climbing out the window that Rami is passed out on the floor in the sitting room. He sleeps soundly while we have breakfast and talk. When he wakes up we tell him he locked us in and we could not get out. He says he was really drunk so must have locked us in and he is now suffering from a raging hangover. I soon discover there is no room for us in the jeep and we cant leave until the next morning. Ans and I then walk over to the neighboring houseboat and Ron tells us he is driving to a mountain to see K2 and that Lucy who has been staying at Naz's house is also going. I jump at the opportunity to drive away from Srinagar and be with other travelers.

Well I was wrong about this drive taking me out of Srinagar. Instead it consisted of driving through all of Srinagar and Gulmarg for around 3 hours, each way. Throughout the drive everyone had nervous laughter especially at military check points. I ask about halfway through "So which way are we headed to see K2?" Ron says, "Towards the border of Pakistan!" It's then decided among everyone in the car- Ron, Lucy, Rami (way in the back still with a hangover), and Kashmiri driver that Ans and I from now on should say we are from Canada. Need- cocktail- now. Need- any sort of anti anxiety pill- now. As we approach the mountain another man missing all teeth but one hops in the car because he is the only one who is permitted to show us the mountain, neither one of our two Kashmiri guides. Driving through the hill I can spy army men in their fatigues perched in the trees either sitting or standing holding their guns. As we pull up into the little mountain community a huge group of men are gathered and yelling and we can barely drive the car through. We are told they are going on strike which is a pretty regular occurrence. Once we purchase our tickets (of course they cost double the price bc we are foreigners) we all pile into a gondola. During the gondola ride up we can look down on sporadic gypsy communities whose homes constructed of wood and mud clutch onto the mountain's side. Once we arrive to the top it is much colder and there is a good amount of people. Lot's of Indians from the South make the visit to this mountain to see snow for the first time. All of the Indians are jumping onto wooden sleds but the snow is icy and brown from all the dirt. We unfortunately cannot see K2 because it is still overcast so we all plod back to the jeep ready to return to the houseboat.

On the way back Ron wants to stop in Srinagar to see where Jesus is rumored to have been buried. We turn down a little alley and all get out of the car with Rami. There is a commotion with two Muslim men who are very angry he had brought tourists. Rami told us they would have fought him and broken our car if he has insisted on us visiting the site and has not left immediately. He informs us he cannot stand up to them because he is Kashmiri and he does not want to start trouble with these men. Once we arrive at the houseboat Lucy and I confirm with eachother we are getting a car to leave at 7am the next morning. She has been in Kashmir for 10 days and is really ready to leave. She also does not feel safe. That evening we all have dinner together with 2 British girls who had just arrived after a 26 hour bus ride. We share some good laughs as we all were tricked into heading up to Kashmir (except for the Brits). Heading to bed I feel relieved to be leaving in the morning. However, I am not completely at ease as Rami told us the town is going on strike the next day so roads will be shut down. If we do not get on the road early enough we might have to stay longer in Srinagar. Well here's to another sleepless night...

1 Day in Delhi and 1 Giant Swindling

andrew_and_alexandra — Sun, 10 May 2009 02:46:00 GMT

A shower. A nap. A map. A bite. At our quick breakfast nosh (as Alex likes to call a small bite) we met two Parisians; two girls that spoke English well and had been in India for 1 month already. A plan was drafted: we would meet later for dinner or to check out the nightlife. We left the hotel to walk around and take in the city. At this point it was around noon. We headed to an area that which tourists typically go to check out. Connaught Circle.

On our way we were accosted again and again by anyone with a product or service to pedal. After turning away, with some difficulty I might add, several of these types, we found ourselves on a more lonely strip without shops and with few pedestrians. A man approached us. He seemed quite friendly. We were hoping to meet some nice people and, really, we let our guard down after the gauntlet we had just barely escaped. "Oh Connaught Place. Yes. You must go there. There is a Govt tourist office where you can get free maps and advice. You have lonely planet?" That struck me as odd that he would ask that. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He pointed us to a certain tourist office, hailed an autorickshaw, negotiated the price (a very low fare) and sent us off. Oh, and he flashed some credential earlier in the convo saying that he worked for the transit authority at the train station, which was across the way.

We thought we were going to a government tourist office the likes of which many cities have to help tourists navigate their way. Under the this mindset we entered. We were ushered to a fast talking salesmen named Guy...Actually, his name was Moustafa, but he liked to refer to himself as 007. His email address stated as much. This should have been a warning sign I suppose. But, after he flashed another credential (now assumed to be a forgery), showed us some success stories, assured us he worked for the govt and that his office was nonprofit - he did his work for the joy of helping people (hey, it's india, the place of Karma and great yoga teachers. How could this guy be lying?). He then proceeded to show us a bunch of song and dance, got us some free waters, had a driver waiting to take us around Delhi at "no cost" and promised to quit his job if we were not satisfied. He had a 'recent customer' get on the phone with me to assure me it was legit (now known to be Moustafa's cousin faking an identity). He showed us pictures of where we would be staying, thank you cards from happy people served. He even put the airlines agent on speaker phone to get a price quote (now known to be another fake call). What didn't this guy do or promise?

He sold us on this idea of getting out of the hellish city to a mountain town called Dacsum, where we would stay on a pristine lake with a bunch of other travelers, breath the fresh air, enjoy a Cherry festival (taking place in 2 days) and possibly catch the Dalai Lama (the very next day, though we now know the Dalai Lama was nowhere near there). I mean, it was a perfect storm. We were in a daze of sorts. Delhi was a bit crazy: The heat, the traffic, the shouting, the humidity, the pollution. Maybe we should start our trip in the north, get acclomated and then return.

But, we had to book NOW. There was no waiting because planes had to be booked, cars reserved, mountains moved. Now now now! Ugh. Like a mesmerized Charlie Bucket in a candy shop, I handed over my last farthing expecting to win. We were then whisked to the car, driven around to various sights in the city - The Lotus Temple, Katb Minar, and the ruins of a Mughal Fort and Burial Site. It was all very interesting, but we were very ill at ease. We were having doubts about what we had just done. We were worried. Not that we were simply scammed. no, no. My imagination conjured an entire conspiracy of upfront hostpiality used to wow us into dull complacency at which point we would be shipped to Pakistan for ransom, I would be sent to a labor camp and Alex sold into sexual slavery.

Despite our suspicions, we reasoned that we were most likely over reacting and that we should see this out. We were returned to our hotel, late, with little time before bed. We didnt think to get on the internet to double check the prices and the agency - afterll, it was nonprofit and part of a govt bureau whose mission it was to promote and encourage safe tourism to the North. Seemed reasonable enough. Maybe INdia was trying to improve it's image abroad by helping foreigners. We packed, slept and left the hotel early.

Our driver was there waiting for us. For some reason he couldn't pull up in front of the hotel. hmmm. He at first refused to show me the tickets. I insisted to make sure they were real. It seemed real, however, our destination as listed was Srinagar. I asked about that. Srinagar was the airport outside of Dacsum the driver explained. Ok. That seemed legit. So many times when flying on Ryan Air in Europe I landed at nearby airports with obscure names and then drove to the city proper. All was well on the abduction front it seemed. We left. We boarded.

I realized mid flight, while watching the flight progress animations that we were headed 120 KM away from Islamabad, to Kashmir.

"you dumn fuck!" I grumbled to myself, upset that my knowledge of geography and state capitals did not include the name of the Kashmiri Capital city, Srinagar. "um, Al?" I ventured meekly. "we are headed to Kashmir, not this place Dacsum." "what!?!?!"

yeah....

One Way Ticket to Delhi

andrew_and_alexandra — Sat, 9 May 2009 05:40:00 GMT

The flight over from JFK went smoothly and Etihad turned out to be excellent, not some rando no-name airline. The flight attendants were gorgeous. They wore great form fitting suits, little red leather gloves, head coverings, and perfectly applied red lipstick throughout the flight. We lucked out and had an entire row to ourselves and I was happy to discover the flight was only 12 hours...not 18 as I had thought initially. It seemed as though we were in Abu Dhabi in no time, could have been a simple flight to CA. However, stepping off the plane I quickly felt worlds away. The heat was immediately oppressive even though we arrived at 10pm. I also had my first introduction to being surrounded predominantly by men in the airport. The Abu Dhabi airport had a beautiful large tiled centerpiece which extended to the ceiling in the main terminal and all of the duty free shops were exceptionally high end. Waiting for the flight to Delhi was when I started to feel really out of it and 3 other planes happened to board at our gate prior to when we were expecting to depart. Finally, our flight was called. This wait seemed to be longer than the flight over.

If I rated the first leg of the journey a 10, I would give the 4 hour flight to Delhi a 2. The turbulence was INSANE. I got up to use the bathroom truly at my own risk, it was a full body work out in that little container being tossed around in the ass end of the plane. One lady came running to the bathrooms when I exited exclaiming, "This is the worst turbulence I have ever had!" I tried to chat up one of the attendants, "So how much longer till we land, some turbulence huh?" I wanted to gauge how scared he was but I quickly was yelled at by a crotchety attendant- "Get in your seat!"

Arrival in Delhi- 4am...surprisingly our bags came through and the airport pickup I had arranged was patiently waiting! Walking out of the airport the streets were packed with people. There was such a pulse I had forgotten is was 4am, thought maybe it was only 8pm. The air in Delhi is thick, smokey, fills your lungs...incense burning, rubbish torching, food cooking..all melding together creating an unforgettable scent.

During the half hour drive to the Hotel Godwin in the Paharganj section, I had a brief introduction to the driving in Delhi (literally an inch within hitting various rickshaws, people, animals, and cars). We sleep for all of 3 hours then decide to venture out...where this day would lead us, we never would have expected.

Se Fue

andrew_and_alexandra — Thu, 7 May 2009 04:10:00 GMT

Then there was light. And, sometime soon thereafter, we found ourselves in an airport, having just checked our bags, assaulted with duty free enticements - and other familiar airport experiences - roaming around with the important task of locating gate number 31. We walked, and turned, and stood on moving walkways, walked some more and finally found our designated gate, at the ass end of some terminal where a never-before-known airline, Etihad, rented docking space. After locating the gate, we wisely purchased a few bottles of water and had a snack. It was late and things were closing. ETD 10:50 PM. We ate, drank perused lonely planet. With half an hour to spare, we endeavored to locate a few seats near our gate. Seated happily, the decision was made, unanimously, to chronicle our journey from the beginning with a picture under our gate number '31' as per the instruction on our tickets. A quick favor asked of a neighbor, 2 takes, and we had the desired photo. Sweet. Just then, it occurred to Andrew that there was no activity at gate 31. Nothing. He looked over and saw gate 32. There, people had gathered, things were happening, attendants attending, checkers checking and security securing. "Uh, excuse me. But can you tell at which gate flight 118 is supposed to board. Because, I was under the impression it was gate 31, as per the writing on my boarding pass. you see?" The taller of the two travelers inquired with a tinge of annoyance, just enough to be perceived but not enough to insult (he reasoned that the marginal emotive edition to his tone would encourage more rapid and serious responses by the busy looking flight people). "Why, yes sir. It does say that. But there has been a change. You are now boarding at gate 32." "Oh I see. Thank you." To himself, "nice of them to make the anouncement. I could have been sitting here for hours trying to convince Al to play the travel Scrabble my mom forced me to pack while the plane had since been long gone." No matter, we could simply request that a flight attendant take our picture under gater '32'. To no avail. No such actions were permitted, that is, photographing gates. I thought they were kidding so asked again. They meant business. Apparently, this was some sort of security risk, documenting gate numbers. Should I be happy that they were taking such proactive measures to ensure no photo terrorism in their terminal? Should I be happy that my local gov't had installed an anti-dragon missile defense shield? However happy you think I should have been, then to that degree I was. And so, perhaps what would later become the microcosm that described the whole rest of the trip - that is, misinformation, absurdity and random changes of plans - came to pass. Minutes later, the gate opened and first, then 2nd and the our class was summoned. Someone smelly looking was sitting in my seat. Thus began our journey.