from the bottom of the sea to the top of the world

Culture shock in Morocco

trg7 — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 10:35:00 GMT

ferry log: 3 hours tariffa to tangier
bus log: 3 hours tangier to Chefchaouen
           3 hours Chefchaouen to Asila
           5 hours Asila to Fes

Boarding the ferry from Tariffa, Spain, I instantly noticed I was in for quite a different cultural experience. Most on board seemed to be native Moroccans; all others seemed to be just doing the one day 'morroccan experience'. Despite my desperate attempts, I was unable to find other backpackers on board, and couldn't decide whether this made me brave or stupid, but I knew I would find out soon enough.
In Morrocco, the primary language is Arabic, secondary is french; neither of which do I know or have any experience in. I was told that I would always be able to find someone who speaks english and so far that has been true. Spanish has also come in handy more than expected. Imagine being fluent in 4 languages! Someone like that in our country would be considered highly educated and would have no problem finding a prestigious job, yet here, they live in extreme poverty. Anyhow, thank god for my guidebook! without it I would be lost. There are no nice tourist offices here to welcome you, like I had in Spain. No maps to be passed out, and no suggestions on how to get where and what to see. Its truely trial by error, in the hopes that you get to your destination.

I exited the ferry and made a beeline for the bus station which was just outside the ferry port. I'd say it was about a 20 minute walk to exit the port and go through passport control, which really was nothing but for show. I had been warned that the country might not let me in if they saw in my passport that I've been to Israel. Luckily, they didn't check for this or didn't notice, so I was granted admission without a problem. On that 20 minute walk, I was accousted and hassled by taxi driver after taxi driver , looking to offer me a ride. With the border control and guard there though, it felt quite safe. I eventually got pointed in the right direction and found the bus station. CTM is the bus line that I was told to use, because they are a government run bus company, and tend to reach their final destinations more accurately and safely than their private competition, though they are a bit more expensive. There was only 1 bus a day to Chefchaouen, and I was praying that I'd catch it. Obviously I did. I thought I had missed it when they told me the bus was at 1200 and my watch said 1pm, until they pointed to a clock and I realized I apparently crossed a time zone, and had gained 2 hours.
Waiting for the bus, I had already started to get a sense of what was in store for me. I had trouble making eye contact with men, or even getting them to respond to a question. in Islamic culture, women are subservient to men. The y will not aknowledge a woman alone who is not with a man, and some do not believe women should be allowed to speak to men without a 'husband ' present. In very religious households, women are not allowed to leave the home without her husband being present. If she does, it is grounds for divorce, which is basically a scarlet letter and she most likely won't marry again. One other solo female traveler told me that the most difficult thing was just wanting a coffee in the morning, and not being able to order one for herself because she could not walk into a restaurant alone, and if she did, she wouldn't get service. Tangier is a large city, and more European in nature, but I had already started to feel 'less than', which makes it quite intimidating to do anything as a female alone. Women here dress in a variety of clothing types, as do the men: I see everything from traditional Islamic coverings to your basic teeshirts and jeans on the locals, but nothing is above the knees, and no shoulders are bare. I would say most are in some form of traditional clothing, with women being completely covered from head to toe, and some include covering their faces and only have a hole for their eyes to see through. You can imagine that I stick out and attract attention on several accounts: blond hair, blue eyes, wearing shorts and tees and sandals and a baseball cap, and white skin for starters. Even if I dress in their garb, I would still look like a tourist trying to fit in, which I think would attract even more attention.
Something that was advised to me was to buy a fake wedding ring and wear it during my stay. this is because Morroccan men tend to view women from america as though we are all prostitutes, because this is what they see of america in the movies they watch. Atleast with a ring on, I was told I would be treated with more respect, and could have an easy nonverbal excuse to avoid mens flirtations and harrassments; simply by flashing my wedding ring. I paid 7 bucks for it in MA, and it has already been well worth triple its value. More on that later...

The currency here is called Dirham. 10 Dirham= 1 Euro. My hotel is costing me 65 Dirham, which is approx. 6 Euro a night: pretty damn cheap. I have my own room, but share a bathroom. The toilet in the bathroom is 2 planks that you stand on and hover over a hole in the ground. Toilet paper is hard pressed to come by. at least the shower is hot, although when in a desert climate, that becomes less important. A 5 course meal at a nice restaurant cost me 70 Dhm=7 euro.
My bus ticket cost me 45 Dhm. plus a 5 Dhm baggage check fee for a 3 hour trip. I truely began to feel as though I was wearing "less than human". I was getting nasty looks from men and women. Noone sat next to me on the bus, though I was thankful for this. I felt safe on the bus because I didn't have to watch my bags as much, I didn't have to interact with anyone, and I didn't have to worry about attracting unwanted attention.
about half way through the journey, the bus driver saw a street vendor selling hats, decided he wanted one, and pulled the bus over to check them out. Keep in mind that this is like a greyhound bus, full of people, and he decides to go shopping; but noone protested. It took him about 20 minutes before he stopped trying them on and bought one, and then returned to the bus to continue the trip.
The scenary that I've seen so far has been beautiful. The town I was approaching is popular because it is smaller than most touristy cities, and set at the base of a cliff in the heart of the mountains. Once we got out of Tangier, ther was literally nothing for hours but rolling hills that grew into mountains, covered in grassy patches, with desert flowers and cacti all around. Really a stunning topography.
I was also told by other travelers that I wouldn't need to book a hostel or hotel ahead, as their aren't many hostels in this country, and because when you arrive at a bus station, there is always someone looking for business in their hotel, and they attack you as you get off the bus, shouting prices and trying to strike a deal with you, bargaining offers to get you to stay in their hotel. This has been my experience in other countries as well. Actually, I was very surprised to have to be booking ahead hostels for Spain; that was a new travel experience for me. Sure enough, the second I got off the bus, someone was there trying to strike a deal. I've also been told that everything is bargainable here, and that you can easily get people down to atleast half of whatever their inital offer is, be it a hotel room, food, or souvenier. But I think at this point I was so nervous and looking for sanctuary from the onslaught of people that I forgot about this and took the first offer.
upon arriving in Chefcaouen and checking into a hotel, I attempted to navigate the streets and get a sense of direction. Anytime I walked outside my hotel, I was harrassed by another 'unofficial tour guide', someone wanting to show me around, and then expect me to empty my pockets for their services. I went around with one of these tour guides initially, as they pose as being so welcoming and friendly, and they shake your hand and tell you how much they appreciate you coming to their country, and they offer you the customary mint tea, and say it would be their pleasure to show you around and how proud they are of their country, and how wonderful it is, and they lead you around the city, introducing you to their 'partners' who own some of the stores, and then drag you into these shops and expect you to put down hundreds of dollars in their store, because you are a 'wealthy american', and they have children to feed. Moroccans are known as being the best sales people in the world. They can convince a vegetarian to buy a steak. And they all have the exact same tactics, and it amazes me how good they are at targeting the tourists. After I became familiar with their techniques, I'd sit back and watch other tourists fall into their traps and pull out money just to get rid of the 'guide'. I ended up giving my guide ten american dollars , despite his protests that it wasn't enough for the time he spent with me, showing me around, taking me into the shops, and then he yelled at me because i didn't buy a rug or pair of earrings from the shop owners! Which meant he wouldn't get a commission. These men exaust you to the point with their tactics that you become willing to pay them just to get them out of your hair. Once I got rid of him, I retreated to the hotel for a sense of security from the onslaught of men waiting to prey on me outside. After regrouping, I decided to have a go at it again, and swore to myself that I would just walk alone and not take on another 'guide'. within 5 minutes of leaving the hotel, another guide approached me, promising 'no money, no money; just friendship, no problem'. Very convincing... so I said ok, because I noticed that the local men would back off when I was with a local, as far as them sneering at me or making sexist remarks. So he took me around and showed me some other areas in town, then again came the same tactic- "let me introduce you to some friends in their homes, you see real home. no stores, no buy anything. just hospitality." And then after meeting this local family who conviently were holding their crying baby at the time, came the sale. They convinced me to get henna (fake tattoo) done on my arms so that others would think of me as a local and leave me alone, and also that I needed some traditional clothing so that the locals would leave me alone and I wouldn't stick out. I confidently said no many times, which they 'faked' not understanding, to the point that the woman grabbed my arm and was putting the henna on me, while the other guy was shoving a traditional top into my backpack, and then, because they did me such a favor, they were kind enough to give me a discount and only charge me $300Dhm, or about 50 bucks, for their services, which I felt obligated to hand over in order to get out of their home and be left alone....incredible salesmen. The entire family is involved in the kill, and no doubt the 'guide' who took me there got some commission for the sale. And when the whole situation was over, and I had a moment to myself to look back, I realized I had just handed over $50 bucks for a damn tee-shirt that looked NOTHING like what the locals were wearing. And to top it off, none of the locals had henna on them; only the tourists.... UUGH! Morocco is supposed to be a cheap country to travel in, and it is in terms of hotel rooms and food, but everything else about it, navigating, finding your way around, getting suckered by the locals, is soooo expensive! Its to the point now that I don't trust any local, because I've even had the experience where I asked someone directions to something, they told me it was around the corner, escorted me there, and then demanded I pay them for their services!!! I am quickly turned off by this culture and their people.
Anyhow, after these 2 experiences, I was sooo thankful upon retreating to the hotel again, to find another 'westerner' who was traveling alone, a guy whom I befriended from northern Europe, and we spent the next 2 days together. Walking with him around the city, my experiences with the locals were TOTALLY different. No one hassled me, pulled me into their stores, looked at me or made sexist comments when I walked by. I was respected instantly because others thought we were a couple. Its amazing the difference in treatment that I recieved just by being escorted by a male. When we went to eat, he had to order my food for me, or ask questions for me, so that I would get factual answers and the food that I wanted. I felt much safer walking the streets with him, and we had a great time together.
Anyhow, that night, we were walking together, and I noticed a familiar face coming my way.. it was one of the volunteers I met when I did Vaughntown in Spain! Totally random that we would meet up in morocco, but he had recieved a job offer to drive a tour bus around morocco for 20 days, and the tour was currently in the same town. I told him of my experiences thus far, and he offered to let me join the tour on their way up to Fes, which was the final stop of this tour group. For a small fee, I happily latched on to this group of 20 college students from all various european countries, and I had 2 days of "safety in numbers " and ease of transportation, which was well worth the price. Not to mention I got to reconnect with my friend from vaughntown. The next morning, I checked out of my hotel and boarded the tour group bus for a small beach side town called asila, where we camped on the beach at a campground, and spent the day relaxing and socializing. It was a great group of people to join, they had all bonded during the past 2 weeks of their tour, and were sad to be going home in 2 days. They welcomed me very easily into their group, and I had a great time with them and was sad to know they were leaving as well. The next day, we left Asila, and headed about 5 hours by bus to Fes, which is a whole other story in itself, for the next update.

The holy waters of the Gangeis

trg7 — Mon, 1 Oct 2007 10:37:00 GMT

[PHOTO_ID_L=dscf4391.jpg] Varanassi is the one stop in India that people talk about for years afterwords, describing nightmares, fascination, disgust, or any combination of the 3, from their experiences in the city. I had heard what to expect, and felt adequately prepared for what I would witness, though India always has the ability to out-shock your expectations.
The reason all tourists come to varanassi is for shear curiosity and to see the culture at its most raw moments. The reason all Indians come to varanassi is to die and be cremated in the holiest of holy places.
Once getting off the train, I paired up with the 3 other backpackers I had met whom were sleeping in the next 'holding cell' over from mine, and the 4 of us walked out into the line of fire together, thinking our increase in numbers would provide more strength and safety than if we attempted the town alone. The four of us headed out of the station and caught a rigshaw towards a hotel called the riverview. The roads in Varanassi bore a lot of resemblance to the ones in Delhi...overcrowded, dirty, disgusting, cows, feces, horns honking...need I go on??? By the time we pushed through the traffic, the sun was setting, and none of us had a clue as to where we were being dropped off, or how to find the hotel there after. We knew we were trying to get to the Ghanges river, which is where most tourist hotels are located. Unfortunately, the buildings within about 1/4 mile of the river banks are so close together that cars nor rigshaws can pass between the narrow alleyways, so we were dropped off far from our destination. The rigshaw driver, who was hoping to cash in on our ignorance, then followed us as we got lost in the maze of bldgs. He knew we would get lost and hence would need some directions.... a money making opportunity for him. He also knew that if he walked us up to the hotel himself, he'd receive commission. Sure enough, he followed us, though we didn't know it at the time, and sure enough, we got lost and had NO clue as to where we were or which direction the river was. Then, out of the blue, there was our rigshaw driver, willing to reel us in. We were skeptical to trust him, and several times told him to leave us alone, but he wouldn't, and before we knew it, we were encircled by about 8 guys, all hoping to make some money off of the lost tourists. It was like a shark feeding frenzy! We were 2 women and 2 men, all of us telling them (sometimes even yelling at them) to back off and that we'd make due on our own, but eventually, we had to admit that we were totally lost, had no sense of direction in the maze, and truly needed the assistance of a local. The sun had already set as well, none of us had access to a flashlight, and there are no 'street lights' hanging overhead. We picked one guy out from the crowd that had established around us, and as he led the way, the rest of the pack followed. Several times we had to scream at the rest to leave us alone and back up. When we eventually got to the hotel, we had been escorted there by 4 guys, all trying to get the commission from the hotel. We instantly told the hotel that we arrived of our own doing, without the recommendation of the men, and insisted that they did not receive the commission, as they had been very aggressive and had followed us despite our appeals to be left alone. The hotel owner obliged and turned all the men away.
Once we arrived at the riverview, we realized that we had the wrong hotel... we thought we were heading to a nice clean recommended hotel by the tourist office. Instead, we ended up at the riverview that appeared as though it should be impounded and shut down for health and safety reasons. And of course... the roaches were everywhere! After a night on the train, there was no way I was going to stay here, though the other 3 were too tired to continue looking elsewhere. When the owner showed me to my room, I laughed as it resembled the train I had just gotten off of an hour before. I was moving on. I pulled out my guidebook and discovered another hotel just 2 blocks up. I told the owner that I wanted a place with a/c, and since he didn't have a/c, he wasn't offended by my choosing to leave, especially since my 3 friends were staying. I noticed he had a 10 year old boy, and I asked if the boy would escort me to this other hotel, and I would pay for his services. The man was happy to help, and I grabbed my pack and the mans business card- promising to return if this other place didn't have an a/c room - and I headed for what I hoped would be greener pastures. The boy navigated very easily through the maze of alleys, and 15 minutes later, we were at the other hotel. They had 2 rooms available, 1 with a/c, 1 without. The hotel manager explained to me that there is no point in paying for the room with a/c, because the power goes off so much in town that I'd never have a chance to use it. I took the room without a/c, paid the boy 20 rupees, and off he went. This hotel was years away from the other in terms of cleanliness, modern facilities, etc., I ate dinner at the hotel restaurant, took a cold shower, and despite it being unbearably hot and humid without the a/c (and the power was off all night as the hotel owner said), I headed to bed.
I woke the next morning early, partially due to the humidity and heat in the room, partially due to the knock at the door. It was the 3 friends from the train. They left the hotel, having gotten no sleep due to bed bugs and other insect 'experiences', and were on the move in search of another place to sleep. The hotel I was at was full, but I wasn't going to give up my bed, so I stayed put for 2 more nights there, and they headed off. We agreed to meet up later that evening for dinner, so I was on my own for the day.
After a long cold shower (never any hot water in India, not that u really wanted it anyhow), I headed for breakfast and then out to explore the city. I also wanted to check email, and was able to get on for about 20 minutes, until , as I would come to know was more common than not, the power went out again, and would stay off for most of the day. Apparently, the government shuts the power off for extended periods of time, though the reason still alludes me.
[PHOTO_ID_L=dscf4380.jpg] I headed to the river banks, which is the main attraction in Varanassi. The banks are lined with bathing ghats that extend for miles, making it a true obstacle to just stroll down the river, as some ghats are elevated, some lowered, some dismantled, etc. [PHOTO_ID_R=dscf4377.jpg] Walking the ghats can actually be just as challenging as walking through the city streets. Even though you are walking in a direct line along the river, the obstacles that you must cross leave you exhausted. The stairs go up to one level, then you have to walk around a herd of cows, go down 2 levels to the next ghat, where you have to avoid all the boat taxi drivers hassling you for business, then walk up 1 level to get around the cremations and smell of burning flesh, then.... oh yes. The smell of burning flesh is one you don't forget. This is what makes Varanassi what it is. Let me explain:
There are 2 burning ghats on the riverside - so called because at all times, there are bodies on fire, burning, being cremated, out in the open, for all to see. Ashes cover you and stick to you due to the humidity, family members of the dead are engaging in religious rituals, and the smells and thick smoke cause you to choke and gag, especially if the wind shifts in your direction.
As I was saying , there are 2 burning ghats. One large main ghat is specifically only for Hindus, the other smaller ghat which is further down stream, is for all other religious backgrounds, including jews, muslims, christians, etc. The stench of walking by the first, big ghat was so overwhelming that I headed to the smaller one, which is a 30 minute walk. There, I met a local who was in charge of the burning process. Kindly, (though he did later push for a donation to help cremate those whose families can't afford to do so), he explained to me what I was watching. There were 3 platforms. The one closest to the water was elevated and for the most noble cast, or wealthiest. The middle platform was for your average middle cast citizen, and the furthest platform from the waters edge was for the dead who were in the bottom cast, who had no money and couldn't afford the cremation process, and were possibly being burned through donations of others. On each platform were bonfires, the number of fires depended on the number of dead people lying around. Behind the ghats were stacks of different types of wood. [PHOTO_ID_R=dscf4371.jpg] Depending on the money the family of the deceased had, this dictated the type of wood that would be used for the cremation. The man in charge of completing the cremation knew the exact equation of how many pieces of wood it would take to burn an entire body. The families had to pay for each individual piece of wood, which apparently can be quite expensive. Anyhow, let me back up....
So there are 3 platforms, the closest to the water is for the wealthiest, etc. When a person dies, it is tradition to burn them ASAP, meaning hopefully within the hour, so that the family has no time to grieve. Several times, I was walking around the city, and I would see a family carrying the body of a loved one down to the riverside. The dead body is cloaked in a yellow piece of linen (different colors dictates religion and wealth), and then is carried by the male family members to the cremation site. Let me add as a side note here that when people die who don't live in Varanassi, many times, the family makes a beeline for the city if they can afford it, as there is no holier place to be cremated than on the banks of the Ganges river. If a person is terminally ill in the hospital, they will be brought to the river to die. Some people feeling that they are on their last breath will drown themselves in the river, and sometimes bodies or body parts might float by. If a family can't afford to get the body to Varanassi, they will at least bring the ashes to dump in the river.
The body is carried to the river by the men in the family only. The women are not allowed anywhere around the burning ghats. They must stay home. This is because in the old days, it was common and culturally and religiously expected for the grieving widow to throw herself on the fire as well, being burned alive, as a sign of dedication and faithfulness to the departed. Though this tradition is now not followed, in order to prevent women from doing so in the case of extreme grief, they are not allowed at the burning ghats. Also, I was told that crying or signs of being upset at the cremation site interfere with the chances of a body being welcomed to heaven, as death is seen as a good thing and therefore one should not grieve. Rather, a celebration might occur.
Once the body arrives riverside, the family pays for the wood, which is assembled on the ghats, and family members sit around the platform while the cremator prepares for the body. Several concoctions are placed on the wood, and then the body is laid on top, still cloaked. The body is then covered in butter and some other mixtures of holy things, the face of the person is revealed, though the cloak stays on the body, and the family gathers around. Some take pictures with the dead body, holding up the head, proving the body is dead. Then they walk around the body 10 times or so, chanting prayers. The family then goes back to sit down, and the cremator goes to the holy flame...supposedly a fire that never stops burning at the top of the ghat, and takes fire from there to light the fire under the person. As the body begins to burn, the cremator is in charge of making sure the deal is satisfactorily completed. Ashes fly, flames consume the person, and you can stare at the face of the deceased the entire time as the body burns. While the body is burning, any sons or fathers of the deceased must have all their body hair shaved, and then the hair is tossed onto the flames.
The smell is nauseating and reminded me of stories of the death camps of Nazi Germany. The body is burned very precisely with tons of little rituals that I can't recall or explain, but one thing that did fascinate me was that there are 2 bones of the body that do not burn. One being the chest bone of a male, the other being the pelvis of a female. When the body is completely burned, these bones are gathered from the flames and tossed into the river. The idea behind the cremation is that it is believed life is an endless cycle of reincarnation, and that we are made from the 5 elements - earth, wind , fire, water, and wood (I think this is the 5th element??). Cremating the body returns it to its most basic form, and reunites it with the 5 elements so that a new life can be created.
There are some exceptions however, of people who are not allowed to be burned. These include, unborn fetuses (pregnant women who die must have fetus removed before being cremated), a person who dies of a snake bite (snake bites are considered good fortune and holy animals, and if a person dies from a snake bite then they have broken the cycle of reincarnation and get to go directly to heaven), and babies who have not had any food other than their mothers milk (this is holy as well and the child has not taken anything from the 5 elements and therefore does not need to return anything to them)....there are others as well, but those are the ones I recall.
Once the pelvis of a woman or the sternum of a male are tossed into the water, the remains of the fire and ashes are pushed off the ghats into the waters below, and the ghat is cleared for the next cremation. This goes on and on, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
To observe this ritual and to stare into a fire and see a human face staring back at you can be a haunting experience. Its one you can only stomach for a limited amount of time, and once your curiosity has been satiated, it is time to move on. Most only tolerate the city and the constant smells of burning flesh for 2-3 days. That was all I planned on staying for myself.
Later that evening, I met back up with my 3 friends from the train. We headed to dinner, internet, and then back to the hotels.

On the way back to the hotel, 3 of us (one headed in the other direction) were staring up at a street light that stays on at the burning ghat. We were noticing the swarm of bugs surrounding it. It was probably a good 50 ft. above our heads or so, and we were fascinated by the amount of bugs attracted to it. Just in that moment, as we were all staring at the light above, directly beneath it, the electricity in the city was cut off, and all of the bugs that were around the light dropped to the ground, completely engulfing us in giant insects. Myself and the other girl shrieked as we were jumping up and down, with no where to run, covered in grasshoppers and roaches, shaking out our hair and pants and tee shirts, as they continued to land on us. I ran up the nearby steps that led to my hotel, in the pitch darkness as all lights were off, tripping and falling several times as I was also trying to get the bugs off of me. Down below, my 2 friends were stuck, unable to open their eyes, still trying to fight off the swarm. Eventually they found the staircase as well and ran up it. We got to the hotel door, which was locked, as the curfew was 11pm and we were now 15 min. late. Still trying to get the bugs out of our hair, we banged on the door and eventually it opened. Once we got inside and peered in a mirror, we began picking the bugs off of us and out of each others hair, laughing about the experience. It was biblical in nature, like the plague of locusts suddenly fell to earth!
Once in my room, I was still fighting off the grasshoppers (which average an inch in length here), having to kill them before I could safely go to sleep. I left the carnage behind for the 2 chameleons that were occupying my room, and sure enough, by morning, they had cleaned house and had a feast on my killings.
I scrubbed myself in the cold shower before being able to fall asleep.
The next morning, I met up with the others again. We all headed to the train station to make further travel arrangements, and I bought my plane ticket to Kathmandu for the next day. My other option was a 24 hour bus/train combo across the border of india, but I certainly decided that I had had enough of those.
The last thing I wanted to experience in Varanassi was the sunset ceremony at the main ghat. [PHOTO_ID_L=dscf4399.jpg] I watched as I once again saw the same rituals performed that I had previously witnessed in Haridwar and Rishikesh, then headed off to sleep.
My last day in India began the following morning. I was so anxious to leave, and was sooo hot in my unairconditioned hotel room, that the thought of an airconditioned airport sounded heavenly. I was up at the crack of dawn, being unable to sleep due to the heat, and decided to get packing and head out. I hired a rigshaw for the hour ride to the airport. My flight was scheduled to depart around noon...I arrived around 8:30am. To my dismay, the airport was closed! They wouldn't let me in until one hour before the flight! So after all my efforts to get there early, I was stuck outside in the heat anyhow until around 10am, when the doors finally opened.
I had breakfast in the tiny airports cafeteria, endured a VERY long security check and boarding process (which I must say is way more reassuring and safety consciencious than those in america), and by 12:30, I was watching India get further and further away from my window on the plane.

the foothills of the himalayas

trg7 — Fri, 28 Sep 2007 10:46:00 GMT

After leaving my aunt at the airport and boarding a bus for 6 more hours on the road, I finally arrived in Haridwar. It was 3am, and I was exhausted! I checked into a hotel and slept through breakfast the next morning. I had 1 goal in mind for that day - I HAD to buy a train ticket onwards to Varanassi for Sept. 30. I learned that trains sell out fast in India, and the more advanced notice, the better. The odds of finding a seat on a train the day before or the day of that you would like to travel is next to impossible. I headed towards the train station to get my ticket. I was shocked at how difficult the process was to make a purchase. First off, after waiting in line for 20 minutes, I was told I needed to wait in another line... the line for women. There was only one clerk available for women to buy tickets, all others were to service men only. I was shocked to see this type of descrimination at a train station! The line of women wasn't moving after waiting yet another 20 minutes, and I gave up and decided it was worth my paying the 5 dollar commission to get a travel agent to buy it for me. I headed to an agent recommended by my guide book who made the purchase. He explained to me that on the day I want to travel, there are 2 trains - one with a/c, one without. I definately wanted the one with a/c. This train was already sold out, however I could be put on the 'reserves' list. This guaranteed me a spot on the train, though I might have to share my bed, as it was a sleeper/ overnight train, with up to 2 other people! Are you KIDDING! I was going to have to sit on a train for TWENTY hours and share a seat with 2 other people??? He told me that 4 people were on the waiting list ahead of me, and that since my number was 5th in line, the odds were pretty good that I would get a bed to myself, but that I wouldn't know for sure until the day of. I decided to trust in the 'odds' and hope that 4 other people who currently have reservations would cancel their tickets, bumping me up to a private bed just for me. I booked my ticket and headed off to explore my new destination.
The town of Haridwar is one of the most sacred cities in India. The reason being that it is at the juncture of where the holiest river, the Ganges, travels south from Nepal and the Himalayan Mtns. and enters the foothills of the Indian border. This is the sight of the start of the river in India. Over the next 3 cities I would visit in India, I would be a witness to even more of the strange and inexplainable customs of the Indian people. This is because from Haridwar, I was following the river southeast through India, with my final 2 stops in the country both being along the holy Ganges. Indians treat the river as though it is a direct stairway to God, performing rituals from sacrifices to cremations on the banks, praying to the river every sunset, and bathing and drinking in its horribly polluted waters.
To get to the river from Haridwar, I walked through the city streets to the main market area, where one could buy anything from holy herbs and flowers to babys formula and clothes. I wanted to start souvenir shopping, but everything I saw seemed to just be junk that would sit on a shelf and collect dust. Nothing really spoke to me. As I came upon the river and crossed over to the other side via foot bridge, I was surprised at some of the things I saw. The river itself is quite wide, reminding me of the mighty mississippi, being the width of a football field across. The water was rushing under the bridge at a speed that might cause one to loose their balance if they were to try standing in it. In fact, at another section of the river, people frequently raft its rapids. The water appeared thick and dirty, and despite my trying to see through it, couldn't find any translucency to it. I'm told they fish from this river, but I can't imagine anything actually surviving in it. On the other side of the river, the banks were lined with concrete slabs, or bathing ghats, where I watched the locals engaging in every sort of behavior. From bathing with soap, to washing laundry, to going to the bathroom or giving their cow or child a bath, and even using the water for cooking and drinking. It is also considered the holiest place to die, and dead bodies are cremated riverside or sunk into the river whole, but more on that process later. Things frequently floated by in the waters, as the locals also used the rushing flow to take away their trash. I walked up the ghats for a good mile before arriving at the next footbridge to cross back to the other side. Thats when I found the main ghat where a holy ceremony is conducted every evening at sunset. I was looking forward to seeing it that night. On this main ghat, cows were roaming, people were praying, sick were brought to be healed, and it seemed everybody was approaching me asking for donations to some God or to purchase prayer beads or flowers for the river.
After doing some people watching for a good hour, I decided to check out another attraction in town, as the sunset ceremony was still several hours away. I headed to the foot of a hill and caught a cable car ride to the top, where I was granted access to walk around a hindu temple. By this point, I had seen several temples, but the general feel of this one was that it was a joke. The gods and Goddesses are represented by cartoon-like figures that made it hard for me to take anything seriously. The people who were working in the temple certainly did, as I was ushered to take off my shoes, and then the pleaing for donations began. Around every corner was another donation table, and some holy man handing out prayers for those who contribute. The Indians who were visiting the temple, some from very far off places in India, were very enthusiastic and ritualistic about bowing down to certain idols, crawling at times on their hands and knees, touching some and then kissing their fingers, walking around a statue 3 times, buying a handful of flower petals and seeds to lay at the idols feet, etc. Still, after all the time I have been in India, I continue to be baffelled by the way the Hindu religion is participated in, and the extremes locals go through and the superstitions they believe in the hopes their soul will be reincarnated and saved.
I walked outside the temple to take in the views of the city below, and found I was surrounded by monkeys which were all watching me from the surrounding trees. I enjoyed their company for a while before heading back down to the Ganges in time to catch the sunset ceremony.
When I had arrived at the Ghat I was at just hours before, I instantly noticed that the number of people who were there had significantly grown, as the whole town comes out and lines the river banks for the ceremony. I also noticed the increase in security, as I was frisked and my bags checked before I was allowed entrance. I had to hand my shoes over to the 'shoe keeper' (for some reason I wasn't even allowed to put them in my backpack or carry them in), and I found a place with a good view of the river 500 feet below me. the crowds were thick and I was nervous about pickpockets as everyone crowded in for a view of the river. As I waited for the service to start, I noticed i was getting alot of attention. First off, Indians seem to be amazed by blond hair. Several times I've had people touch my hair or ask me if it was natural. 2nd, I had my digital camera in hand, and Indians just LOVE having their picture taken! I had already seen this from kids mostly, but continue to be amazed at how much the adults love it as well! I had an old man that was standing next to me, watching me intently, causing me to feel uncomfortable. Finally, he pointed to my camera. Thinking that he was wanting me to hand it over so he could look at it, which is something I refuse to do, I instantly shook my head and said no in a rude tone, hoping he would back out of my personal space. Again, he pointed at my camera, but this time made the motion of taking a picture. Thats when I understood that he was asking for me to take HIS picture. I obliged and showed him the picture of himself on the digital screen. He stared at it in amazement for 5 solid minutes before bowing to me with a huge smile, saying 'namaste', or thankyou, and walking away. Several times that evening, I had an adult ask me to take their picture, and then show it to them. It was almost as though they've never seen an image of themselves before; they were so mesmerized by the screen. I felt guilty erasing all the pictures of the locals that I had taken, so I tried to do that in privacy later in the night.
The ceremony began, as I watched several bonfires along the river get lit. A ceremonial chant was recited over loud speakers, and then the 1000+ people who were there to bare witness broke out in the most beautiful song, all clapping their hands to the music with happiness and peacefulness. They repeated the song continuously until the sun had set on the horizon. While the song was being song, more individual candles were being lit. The locals had bought little flower boats that they put their prayers into, and then lit a candle inside them as they watch their prayer boats go down the river. It was a very moving ceremony, and every time I would see it thereafter, again and again, I would never tire of it. Before setting their little prayer boats down stream, however, they would be passed around the crowd, hand over head, as everyone who touched the prayer boats waved their hands over the open flame and then ran their hands through their hair, as if they were washing themselves with the fire. To see a massive crowd passing along these prayer boats and then casting them into the river was a beautiful site. The bigger bonfires that were set were used for other purposes, as I watched a crowd of men line up to walk through the fire, shaking hands with those on the other side once they successfully passed through. Within a half hour, the ceremony had ended, and those with prayer boats that were previously too far back from the waters to set them afloat were finally able to make their way through the crowds as people started to leave the riverside. I wasn't able to stay too long after, though, because the 'shoe keeper' closed shop at exactly 7:pm, and the service ended 10 minutes prior to. So if I wanted my shoes back, I had to make a beeline through the crowds, and was in fact able to get there with just minutes to spare. I wonder how many pairs of shoes he acquires every night!
The next day, I took a local bus one hour upstream to the Yoga capital of the world... Rishikesh. It received its nickname due to the amount of Yogis that reside and teach there, in addition to the fact that people come from all over the world to study yoga and meditation under their goru. In fact, there are these places called Ashrams, which are like dormitories, where you can stay for free as long as you abide by the ashrams rules, which at some places are strictly enforced. Rules may include attending 3 yoga classes per day (provided sometimes for free depending on teacher and location), starting at 6am, or engaging in meditation for a certain amount of time, or studying spirituality, etc. They sometimes have a curfew, and accomodations are very basic, though you do get a private room with bathroom. I did pop into an Ashram that a german guy I met was staying at, and sat through a yoga class with him. It certainly peaked my curiousity about trying it out when I get back home, and I've met many who swear by its curitive powers.
When I first arrived to Rishikesh, I hired a rigshaw to get me to the river side where all the action was. One of the most popular sites in town is the giant suspension bridge that spans the river. It was for pedestrians only, but once in a while a cow would wonder across, and monkeys seemed to consider it their playground as they swung across the top of it. On the other side of the river were the majority of guest houses, ashrams, shops, and ghats, including the main ghat where they held their sunset ceremony. I found Rishikesh to be the most peaceful place I had been in india. The hassles were minimal in comparison to other places I had been, though they were still there. Tourists were abundant, all walking around with their yoga mats and hippy clothing. I came to the main ghat, where I decided to sit by the river for a bit and people watch. Within 10 minutes, while I was enjoying just relaxing and watching the strong waters flow by, an Indian family that was on vacation approached me and requested to take a picture with me. I said sure and posed with the large family. Then they got carried away, as I ended up posing for 10 more pics with each individual family member, from grandparents to 10 year old grand son. Once I agreed to one pic, they became very aggressive, but not in a hurtful way. They grabbed my hat and sunglasses off me and used them to pose in pictures, without first asking. They hung all over me in the pics, put there arms around me, hugging me, touching and playing with my hair, grabbing the map out of my hands and the book I had been reading, etc. I was shocked at how quickly it got out of hand, and how they totally invaded my personal space and took my things without asking for use in the pictures. It was bizarre and finally I had to draw a line and rudely tell them to stop and no more pictures. If that is what celebrities go through with their fans, I can understand why sometimes they snap at people and are rude. Shortly there after, the family left and I was alone again. I must say that to them and their culture, they probably don't think they did anything wrong, and they were pleasant enough about it, saying thank you to me afterwards and even asking me to stay with them in their house. I felt a bit offended at how they kept shoving themselves around me, sitting on my lap, posing me, grabbing my personal items. But that is my americanized view on personal space, and social rules about touching people and asking permission to borrow things, which are strictly a cultural value. Not a universal one.
I spent the rest of the day lazily exploring the riverside and bathing ghats, observing the local culture, and checking out some temples. I made it back to the main ghat to observe my second sunset ceremony. This one was even more moving than the previous one. It felt more intimate, even though there were tons of people there. The ceremony went on for more than an hour rather than 30 minutes like the one in Haridwar. People lit candles and joined in song and prayer, with the sound of the roaring river in the background. prayer boats were once again sent downstream. People were putting their arms around each other as they sang, rocking back and forth with the music. There were tons of little kids at this one, who seemed to be given some responsibilities in assisting in the ceremony by singing into the microphone and playing drums and instruments to the music, as if they were in training. Again, it was a beautiful experience to watch.
After the ceremony, I grabbed dinner at a local restaurant, and then headed back to the bus station and caught the bus to haridwar.
When I arrived back at my hotel and turned on the lights in my room, I instantly noticed the herd of roaches that had made my bed their home, and was disgusted. I had seen only 2 roaches in the room over the last 2 previous nights, which is pretty normal for here, so I didn't think anything of it. But this had been a particularly humid day, and the hotels shut off the electricity to the rooms once you leave the key at the desk, so my A\C had been off all day. I went to complain at the desk, and the guy told me that they would change the sheets. I said I wanted a different room, but he told me there was only one other room available, and it didn't have a/c. He followed me up to the room, but of course by this time the bugs had all gone into hiding, so I could tell he didn't believe me and thought I was being a stupid girl overreacting to 1 bug. He humored me and brought someone in to change the sheets, though i still wasn't sastisfied. I wanted a different mattress, as I suspected that they were in the crappy, old foam mattresses they use here. He said ok, and when the mattress was lifted, the nest of roaches went scampering further into hiding. I told him I refused to spend another night there, packed my bag, and said I'd be back for my pack once I found another hotel with a/c. I walked up and down the street, but it was close to midnight by this point, and knew it would be a lost cause, as other hotels were more dirty than the one I was at. I found one hotel with a/c room, but when I walked in to check out the room and turn on the lights, again the roaches went scampering, so I turned it down.
I went back to my hotel and negotiated a price cut in exchange for the room without a/c, he agreed, and so I moved rooms and got a crappy nights sleep b/c it was hot and humid, and I slept with one eye open expecting the attack of the killer roaches at any moment.
The following day was a waste for me, as I had a 10pm train ticket to wait around for. I spent some time online updating my blogs, walked into the markets and bought some souvenirs, and relaxed in my hotel room until 9pm, as I had also negotiated a late check out for a small extra fee. I learned later that day that I had been bumped up the wait list and actually was assigned a bed for the train, which was great news! I was looking forward to a good nights sleep in 1st class accomodation, and learning that I wouldn't have to share my bed with anyone was the best thing I could've been told!
The train ride to Varanassi would take 20 hours via the express train. We were expected to arrive around 4pm the following day. I checked out of my hotel and made my way to the station, which was complete mayhem. people were sleeping everywhere, including inbetween train tracks. I couldn't get information about which track my train would be on, and no one seemed to have a clue as to who I should ask. Finally, I found someother backpackers on the same train as me, and we banned together and figured it out. When the train pulled in and I found my assigned bed, I was shocked at what my first class bed with a/c bought me.
Once again, I was surrounded by roaches. The coach was absolutely disgusting. The smell was hard to take, and the A/C was hardly working. There were food crumbs and trash all over the floor. Sheets and a towel were provided on each bed, but as I later was witness to, they are never washed. Simply folded up again the next morning and left for the next customer to use. Eeww! The bed was small and barely long enough to stretch out on. In my little room were 8 beds. We were packed in like sardines, and I instantly was reminded of readings about the trains that took people to the concentration camps in WWII. And did I mention the roaches??? Once again, I got no sleep, as roaches crawled all over the place. On the walls next to my bed, on the bottom of the bed that was on top of me ( I was the middle of three stacked beds, and watched all night as I anticipated a roach falling on my face), they crawled over my bed sheets, which I had to tuck in tightly despite the heat in order to keep them off my skin. I couldn't believe the conditions of this 1st class accomodation, and it left me wondering what the people were dealing with in the back coaches, that didn't pay for the a/c.
When the morning came, I was thankful as the bugs went into hiding, people started waking up, and food was being brought around, though I was too scared to eat any of it considering the conditions on the train. I munched on a bag of chips and resolved myself to staying hungry until we arrived at our destination. We arrived at Varanassi an hour and a half later than scheduled, getting in at 5:30pm. Walking off the train, I took a breath of air and was so thankful to be released from what felt like a jail cell.
Varanassi would be my final stop in India. I would stay for 2 full days before heading to Nepal, my last destination of the trip.
As I would discover, Varanassi had its share of new shocks and strange rituals that would leave me scrambling to get out of India.

GET ME OUT OF DELHI!!!!

trg7 — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 10:26:00 GMT

So after an odd experience the day before on the tour bus to Agra,
and spending over 14 hours round trip when we had only expected to
spend 6, we knew one thing.... we wanted out of Delhi. The plan was
to head south to the town of Jaipur next, and we had tried to
purchase our train tickets the night before, but were told the ticket
agent office had closed early due to a party where everyone had
passed out drunk, but we could buy our tickets from them the
following morning at 9am - Great! except that our train left at 7am!
After we pitched a small fit, they finally told us that our best bet
was to head to the train station and buy the tickets directly from
the ticket office....Okay. Now we were getting somewhere. For some
reason, the ticket agents lead you to believe that you must reserve
your tickets several days ahead of time and must do so through a
travel agent. No one had mentioned we could just get them at the
train station....I know this seems like an obvious thing, but trust
me, its not. Things don't work the same in India. So after a
sleep-in, since the travel agent had also told us that there was more
than one train per day, though before he had told us the 7am was the
ONLY train, we had a relaxing breakfast and mentally prepared
ourselves for what might happen on the way to the train station,
which was just a 15 minute walk up the road. Now I must preface
this by saying that prior to us leaving the hotel, I read an excerpt
from my guide book that warned that there are people at the train
station who will try to divert you and tell you that the ticket
office has moved or has closed, and lead you to another travel agency
so that they can make commission on your purchase. But the Lonely
Planet guide book states that we should assume that the ticketing
office has not moved, and it remains where it has been for years on
the upstairs level of the station. We thought we were prepared for
this scam and that we wouldn't fall for it. But we were not prepared
for what we encountered that day:
We left our hotel, feeling confident and assertive, and hired a
rigshaw to get us to the train station. We bargained a price
(everything in Delhi must be bargained) and hopped in and gave
specific instructions, "take us to the train station." He headed in
that direction, but didn't stop the rigshaw for us to get out,
telling us that we had to buy tickets at an office down the road
because the ticket office was not in the station.... This was our 1st
scam attempt but we were not going to fall for it. We demanded he
turn around and take us to the station. He refused, continuing on
driving, until we made a bit more noise and he finally gave in and
turned the rigshaw around, dropping us off across the street from it.
Feeling proud of ourselves for not falling for it, we walked toward
the station, stopping at a guard gate at the front of the parking lot
we had to walk across. I confirmed with him that there was a ticket
office inside, and he pointed for us to continue to the station. We
approached the station and the staircase to get up to the office, and
were refused entrance by a guard. This is when things went downhill.
He asked us for our ticket, and said we weren't allowed inside
without a ticket. We explained that we were buying our ticket
upstairs at the office. He told us that there was no office upstairs
and that we had to go to a different office to buy the ticket. We
were not going to fall for it. We persisted and demanded to be let
inside, but he continued to refuse our admittance. He said to us
that he had no reason to lie to us, and that he understands there are
people in Delhi that we can't trust, but he is an official and he
even pulled out his badge to prove it. We examined his badge and ID,
and he explained he works for the train station and that yes, the
office was in deed inside, but they were refurbishing it and it has
been moved up the road. He asked if I had my guidebook on me, and
so I pulled it out, and he flipped it open to the map and pointed to
a location that the guidebook even had highlighted as a
ticket/tourist office. He showed this to us and said that even our
guidebook says that this is the place, and that if we continue to
disbelieve him, he would even take us upstairs to prove that it isn't
there. My aunt and myself began to question ourselves and our
assertiveness and confidence started to wain. We exchanged some
glances and asked if we believed this man or not....after all, he
pulled out an official badge, he had no reason to lie, he worked at
the station, he would know...wouldn't he??? It might be possible
that it closed for refurbishing, wouldn't it?? and he said he would
take us upstairs to prove it, so perhaps its true?? The man
continued as he saw the doubt and confusion in our faces. He pulled
us aside and told us that he has no reason to lie, and that he wants
to help us out so that we don't run into any more hassles or scams.
He was so convincing that by the end of his shpeel, he had us saying
thankyou to him for helping us out!!!! He guided us to a rigshaw and
told the rigshaw driver where to take us. The driver quoted a price
of 20Rp. The guy bargained him down to 10Rp for us, again showing
that he was on our side and we could trust him. Both my aunt and
myself were still hesitant to go along, but were ushered into the rigshaw before we had a moment to think about it and object, and next thing we knew, we were being taken away from the train station to the 'ticket office'. The rigshaw dropped us off in front of the office and we wearily went inside. We were greated at the door and told that yes indeed, this was the official government tourist information office and that they could help us buy train tickets. We sat down with the man inside as he explained to us the process of buying train tickets, also telling us that tickets were not available for the train we wanted, and we'd have to take a later train that evening that would get us in the next morning. Then he threw out a sales pitch of us hiring a driver and car to see India, because since my aunt needed to be back at the airport to fly home in 10 days, we didn't have enough time to travel by train or bus, as we'd spend all of our time in transport and would hardly get to see anything. This sounded logical, and it wasn't the first time I had heard this argument. As a matter of fact, I met a chilean couple in Turkey who recommended just that, because they also had limited time in India, so they hired a car and driver for 10 days to see the sights, and said it worked out great. They even recommended a company for me to go with, whose business card they gave me. They paid 200USD per person. The guy from the office we were at suggested the same thing but was asking close to 400USD for person, and we laughed it off, saying there was no way we would pay that much when this other company would only charge 200USD. He started negotiating the price with us and we got him down to 300USD per person. Thats when my aunt and I started getting suspicious, realizing that the true government tourist office wouldn't be haggling with us. I asked to see his license and proof that he is in deed who he says he is. He showed me a certificate saying he is a certified tourist office, issued by the gov't of India. He continued to maintain his story that he is THEE official tourist office. We realized once again that we were being scammed, and had fallen for exactly what we read about in our guide book! We asked him several times if he was the official tourist office, each time he said yes. Finally, he admitted that he was a tourist AGENT sales office, and that the official office was 10 minutes up the road. We were irate! That was 3 times that day we had been scammed and lied to already in a span of 1 hour! We walked out and were determined more than ever to seek safety refuge at the OFFICIAL Governmen tourist office. We began walking in that direction, when another gentleman noticed we were lost. He walked up to us and asked what we were looking for, and we told him. He said to us that we shouldn't trust ANYONE, but that he knew where it was and we should follow him, and he would get us there. And so we followed him, and he guided us in the general direction we knew we needed to head in anyhow. He pointed down an alley and said the office it there at the end. Again, we followed his directive, and were lead to yet ANOTHER FAKE tourist office!!! Already suspicious, we entered the office and were greated by a man. I asked for proof that he was the OFFICIAL office, and he said yes, of course, and that we could book tickets for the train through him. I asked to see his license and business card, and the address on the business card matched the address for the official tourist info. office that I had in my guide book. This confused us, because it didn't feel right. He even had business cards printed up with a fake address on them, so that tourists would see the address in the guide books matched his office address, and would purchase packages from him!!! We continued to question him and ask for proof, and he maintained that we were in the right place. My aunt still wasn't feeling comfortable with his answers, and asked again... finally, he admitted that he was NOT the official office, and that place we were looking for was 1 street over! Now we were furious! Again, we were lied to and scammed, and frustrated that it seemed that everyone was out for their own good, and that we had continually been lied to directly to our faces!!! Who could we possibly trust in this city???!!! We left that office and headed up the street, where I saw 2 tourist police officers and approached them in desperation. We asked for the official office, and they pointed to the building behind them....finally we had found it! We went inside and knew instantly that we were in the government run tourist office. We sat down with the ladies behind the desk and told them our story, which to them was all too familiar as they'd heard it many times before. They shook their head in disgust at the false claims and hassles we had encountered that day. They did, however, agree with the other travel agents that our best and safest bet was to hire a car, because the distances we were trying to travel and squeeze into 10 days was too great and we'd never get to see anything. Based on their recommendation, they sent us to a trusted travel agent who is approved by the government, and told us that we should hire a rigshaw to get there. They warned us, however, that even the rigshaw driver will probably try to divert us, so we should simply tell him that we are meeting friends there, rather than going to hire a car. We left that office feeling completely exhausted, beaten, and with bruised egos, knowing that even though we had been warned about the scams in Delhi, we couldn't avoid them and had fallen for them over and over again, hook, line, and sinker! We couldn't get over the fact that these people had lied directly to our faces to try and take advantage of the situation! But we had one more hurdle to get through... the rigshaw drive to the recommended travel agent.
We hired a rigshaw and told him to take us to the destination. He began to drive off, when another rigshaw pulled up next to us and asked where we were going. We told him, and he actually told us that the office had BURNED DOWN!!!!! He said that it no longer existed and we should go to this other place.... AGAIN!!! An out and out lie! We told him we had friends that we were meeting so we knew it was not true. The man looked confused, talked in Hindi to our rigshaw driver and questioned us again. We maintained we were meeting friends there and that was where we wanted to go, and told our driver to get a move on, and so he did, and sure enough, he dropped us off right in front of the office and walah! There it was, not burned to the ground as they wanted us to believe! We walked into the hotel where the office was and sat down with the agent, already prepared to hire a car and driver from him, because we didn't want to continue to have the hassles we had already experienced in Delhi. It seemed impossible to get anywhere!
He offered us a nice vehicle and 10 days all inclusive (though we'd have to pay for our hotels and meals) for 300USD/pp. and we took it. Within 15 minutes, our driver had arrived, we examined our very nice airconditioned car, signed the papers, handed over the money, and were off to our first destination, the city of Jaipur. Finally, we felt safe from the onslaught of Delhi, and though we were upset at having to compromise our trip details, we grew to know that we had made the right decision in hiring the car, for safety and security reasons, in addition to having some peace of mind at the end of the day that we wouldn't have to haggle and deal with harrassments anymore.

rubbing elbows with Zeus on Mt. Olympos

trg7 — Thu, 9 Aug 2007 10:31:00 GMT

To get to Litohoro, I took a bus about 3 hours south along the coastline, with ocean on the left side and the mountain range on the right. Litohoro is a small town that tends to draw a different breed of people, due to its location. Everyone who goes to visit the town does so for the towns only draw... Mt. Olympus. I got into town around 1:00 in the afternoon, and figured I'd spend the night and perhaps due a small day hike before moving on. Though I wanted to climb the highest peak in Greece, Mt. Olympus, I wasn't willing to risk it alone, as it was a 2 day climb to the summit. I had hoped to find someone on the bus with similar ambitions, but no such luck; I was on my own. So I walked into the tourist info. office seeking basic town info, and within 20 min., had been convinced to do Mt. Olympus on my own. I learned that 2 canadian girls had left about an hour ago ahead of me, that the mountain was packed with tourists and new people trying to summit every day, and that it was a 3 hour hike up to the refugee, where you stay for the first night. The guy at the info. center called the refugee to see if they had a bed available, which they did, so he booked me in, hung up the phone, and said to me that if I left right now, I could make it to the refugee before sun set. He handed me a trail map, and before I knew it , I was on my way! Just like that! I had to make a split second decision, and was worried if I thought too much about it, I might not go. It would be a great opportunity to break in my new hiking boots. Also, the weather report was favorable, and I didn't want to take the chance of that changing if I were to sit around for a day and wait to hopefully find someone else trying to summit. So I was off!

First though, I needed to eat lunch, change clothes, reorganize my daypack, which was all I needed to bring, and stock up on water and trail snacks, so I told the guy at the info center Id be back in an hour to let him know when i was officially leaving, and hit the town. I bought as much fruit and water as my arms could carry, had a filling lunch, transferred all my essentials into my daypack, including 1 change of clothes, socks, contact solution, and something warm to sleep in. Everything else that I didn't need would stay behind in my big pack, which I would lock up at the tourist info center, free of charge.
The trail to the summit actually starts about 30 minutes out of town, at the entry to the national park. I could've hiked into it from the city I was in, but this would've added 4 hours to my hike time, which, since I was raising the sun, I couldn't afford to do. Honestly, I was okay with trimming 4 hours off my hike time anyhow. Usually, though, people start the hike in the mornings, so there apparently is a small gathering at the taxi stand every morning between 8 and 10 of hikers ready to start their climb, which means 4 can jump into the taxi and split the bill. I was starting late, however, and didn't have that luxury. So it cost me $22euro for a 30 min. taxi ride to the entrance of the NP, where I would find the trail head. I don't know if it happens naturally with age or what, but I notice that I get car sick sooo much more easily than ever before! Its never been a problem for me, but this taxi ride had me wanting to vomit and thankful it was over, as the road was your typical 2 lane-er that weaved and winded across the mountain range, with switchbacks and shear drops on one side of the vehicle. Once the taxi dropped me off, I had to sit for a bit and eat an apple to calm my stomach , but then I was on my way.
It took me 3 hours to reach the refuge, so I was within the estimated time. Its funny that I find myself competing with the given 'estimated time' from the visitor center. when I was approaching 3 hours and still the refuge was far off, I starting getting stressed out, thinking I was out of shape, and began pushing myself to make it within the 'estimated' time. But the 3 hours was dead on. The hike initially was quite lazy and easy and relaxing, past some babbling brooks, through a beautiful forested area and up into the hills. The trail was very well marked, as the tourist info. center promised. to quote the guy, "you'd need to work hard to get lost on this trail." Glad he was right. After about 1.5 hours, I came to the break where you come out above the tree line, and for the first time , was able to view my accomplishments and the scenery. Of course, the view was stunning, I was high above where I started, no sign of civilization in site, and could even see the ocean far off to the east. And if I looked up the mountain, I was able to catch the first glimpse of my destination for the night, the refuge. It didn't look THAT far off, I thought to myself. At this point, I figured I was making good pace and would easily beat the 3 hr. time estimate... Damn those mtns. are decieving! The path and its difficulty level quickly changed once I broke past the tree line, from a gradual climb to a strenuous path full of switchbacks and steep rocky steps to cover. I could look ahead and see others on the trail in front of me, including a father/son duo from england and a young couple from Germany that had passed me about 45 min. ago. I started the ascent to the refuge, which was challenging and deceptively high, but just a preview of what was to come. About 30 min. from the refuge, I stopped some people who were on their way down and asked for a time estimate to the refuge, just so I could keep track of my pace. I was told another hour!!! But it looked like it was right there! and I was quickly approaching the 3-hr. estimate! They couldn't possibly be right! I felt defeated, but within 30 min. had finally reached the last switchback and the refuge was dead ahead! I was sooo glad they were wrong! I made it within the time limit, as if I'd loose points for being over 3 hours! Its funny the mental games you play with yourself and how challenged we can get when told of others accomplishments!
Once at the refuge, I gladly took off my boots and traded them in for slippers, which were provided free of charge by the refuge, got my bunk assignment, and headed into the bathroom to change into drier clothes and warm up. Despite the fact that I had just had a crazy workout, once you get above the treeline and are subjected to the winds that whip around the mountainside, it gets quite cold very quickly! Especially because your clothes are soaked with sweat, so #1 rule is to bring a change of dry clothes to get into ASAP. Once I was able to warm up, the refuge, which I must compliment for being one of the nicest I've been in, had food available so that one wouldn't have to carry meals with them up the mountain. I enjoyed a great bowl of veggie soup, followed by some spagetti to load up on carbs. and energy. By this time, the sun had sunken below the mtn. range, and the colors were painting the sky. I love being in the refuge's, because you meet all types of people, who have just had one shared experience, and who have nothing to do but interact. No t.v., no typical comforts. Just out enjoying nature. Its wonderful! There were some families with young children, several couples, a group of men obviously out on a male-bonding trip, several canadians (they are ALWAYS up for rugged challenges!), and I think I was the only american on that night. Sitting at the table, after everyone had eaten, and conversing about the day and the plan to summit tomorrow, comparing stories and adventures; its just amazing! The atmosphere was mixed with energy and exhaustion. I'm always impressed when I see older people on the trail, and hope when I get to their age (some seemed in their 70's) that I'll have what it takes to do what they were doing. People were excited about the next morning, everyone debating what time to wake up, the 'estimated time' to the summit, etc. Though no hot water, the refuge did have electricity, which was automatically shut off at 10pm....mandatory bed time. It worked well, as most were in bed by 9, including myself. I had brought my sleeping bag, but on top of that, needed 2 very thick blankets, which were supplied by the refuge, to stay warm throughout the night. I actually think it was too much, as I woke in a sweat and had trouble sleeping that night. The cost of the refuge was $10euro/night. My room had 15 beds, in addition there was a top floor with the same # of beds, plus another room or 2 with about 6 beds each, so this was a big refuge. The one bathroom had 3 stalls (no toilet, just holes) and 3 sinks, but it worked out well. Actually, the refuge reported a water shortage, and requested minimal use of water, and no showers allowed, not that you wanted to since the water was freezing.
One canadian girl was sleeping under me that night, who had started the hike the day before, and had summited that day. She reported having severe knee problems on the way down, though, and therefore didn't feel she could make it off the mountain that day after summitting, so she decided to stay for a 2nd night at the refuge. She was planning to wake at 6:30am to start the hike off the mtn, so I asked her to wake me as well, which she did. I was surprised by how many slept in, actually. But I got a late start, and by 8am, as I was leaving, most were up and about. Since I knew I was coming back to the refuge that night, rather than moving on to another refuge on the other side of the summit as some do to extend their hike, I was able to leave some stuff behind, and just take the essentials with me. On a side note, I should mention that I was getting dressed, but hadn't put my contacts in yet, I noticed something crawling on the floor (just as I had thought to myself how clean and bug-free the refuge was!)...I couldn't quite make it out until I ducked down, and then couldn't believe my eyes! It was a scorpion! I've never seen one in the wild before, and this was a big one! about 1.5 inches in length! I watched as it scurried around in and out of peoples shoes, and followed it for a bit trying to get a pic, b/c I knew no one would believe me. I did get a pic, though its a bit fuzzy b/c i couldn't focus the camera quickly enough as I was chasing it,but trying to not wake the others. I thought I should tell someone, so that noone would get stung, which would surely prevent someone from summiting, but ended up getting distracted by the task at hand, and never shared the news.
Anyhow, I was off. The sun was at my back, my pockets were stuffed with 2 water bottles and some fruit and snacks. The 'estimated time' was another 3 hours, with the final 45 minutes to an hour being what is called 'scrambling' to the summit. I had an idea of what they meant by this term, but my idea wasn't even close to what I was going to experience.
The trail for the first 2 hours was grueling. Those of us from the refuge were spread out along the trail, far enough that we couldn't communicate, but close enough that we were within eyeshot, which made me comfortable. A large group was ahead of me that had started together, I was in the middle, and the late-wakers and older people in the rear. The german couple and father/son team were up ahead as well. I quickly realized that I underestimated my need for water, and started having to ration it so that it would last, as I knew the last hour was when I 'd really need it. The trail started with switchbacks, but after the first hour, it shifted to just being straight up, literally. The climb was steep as we hung to the mtn. side; steep enough that a mis-step could be dangerous and possibly deadly. We were now above the clouds, following the ridgeline. Once again, I was being decieved, as I would look ahead at the peak I was on, thinking, this must be the tallest one, and then you get to the summit or turn a corner, and see another peak in the distance that you must move on to. Around every corner and above every high point seemed to be another to climb. By this time, we were far enough in the mtns that the refuge was out of sight, and all you could see were the mountains surrounding you in every direction. The view I had previously had of the sea and small town below were gone. At times, when you can't see the other hikers, its just you on a mtn, and the high you get from that is immeasurable. No other human in site, no means of communication, just nature surrounding you! amazing! Finally, up ahead, I saw the other hikers converging at a point and resting. I knew I was getting close, but not to the summit. To the beginning of the summit. This was the top of the closest peak; the place where you get a view of what lies ahead, and have a decision to make: to go or not to go. And it was not an easy decision. I looked at what was ahead and my gut reaction was that it was crazy! Crazy as in dangerous, stupid, life-risking, intimidating, scary, insane, I can't believe they let people do this without any safety gear, this is what they meant by scrambling...ridiculous! CRAP! What to do... I knew if I looked at it to long, I'd chicken out. Kinda like waiting in line for that extreme rollercoaster, vs. just being able to hop on without watching it over and over again. I tried to stay logical, telling myself that people summit every day, and I hadn't heard of any deaths, and that that candian girl who slept under me the previous night had done it, and they wouldn't possibly let people attempt it if it was too dangerous, right??? hhmmm. I was trying hard to convince myself. I walked over to the father/son team, who were also looking at it and debating. In the end, they chose to not continue. The german couple had chosen to give it a go, and were just starting the trail. I needed to make a decision quick... a large group (8-10) brazilians were just starting as well, behind the german couple. I felt that as long as I was close to others, I would give it a go. I knew if I didn't, I 'd regret it the rest of my life, and that was a worse fate than challenging my fear. To get on the trail from the flat, comfortable summit we were standing on to rest, you must instantly get on your hands and knees , slithering down a near vertical precipice to a miniscule ledge below. This was where the ' scrambling' began. From here on out, it felt to dangerous to stand on your own 2 feet, and you needed as much contact with the mtn. as possible to maintain your balance. I was on the tail of the group of brazilians, who, after about 10 minutes, 1/2 decided to not procede and retreated to the safety of the previous summit. The rest, mostly men, drudged along at a pace I couldn't keep up with, leaving myself and passing the german couple ahead. The german girl was as terrified as I was, and so I latched on to them. They didn't speak good english, but we understood each other enough to say that we were in it together, and would support each other through the challenge. There were 2 aspects of getting to the summit. the first was the physical challenge. Literally , we were hanging off a mtn., with no ropes or safety gear, hovering over a thousand+ foot drop, where any misstep or loss of balence would be guaranteed falling to your death. The rocks that we were clinging to never provided a steady base, most were about 2-3 inches for foot placement, with hand grips where ever you felt you could hold on. Between the safety of the trail we left behind, and the actual summit we were aiming for, we had to cross one more peak, dead in the middle. To get to this peak, we had to literally crawl down the first mtn side, cross over a gorge that was about 5 ft. wide with endless depth from where the path crossed it, crawl back up the next peak, then down and up again. Essentially, this was rock climbing without ropes. The whole time, I had the scene from 'cliffhanger" running through my mind. Those of you who have seen it know what scene I'm referring to. So that was the physical challenge.
The 2nd challenge was all mental. It was balancing fear with logic and rationality. It was seeing that you are hanging on to a sheer cliff, with hardly anything to balance on, and trusting that your feet won't suddenly slip, or that your hands will be able to hold you on to the mtn., that the rock wouldn't give way, or that the german couple would be able to grab me if i fell. It was trying to not let my fear of falling keep me from my goal of summiting. Trying to maintain my balence despite the pit in my stomach, my shaking hands, and the very strong urge to just cry and be frozen by fear. It was not allowing myself to look down, but also not looking up to see what was next. It was maintaining focus on each and every step and rock in front of me that I would put my hands and feet on, testing each one before trusting them with my weight. I was completely terrified, and constantly was fighting off the mental igames of "what if...".
The german couple and myself slowly moved along, following the spraypainted red dots that indicated the best path and most stable places for hands and feet placement. My heart was pounding and I was heavily breathing the entire time. Both the german girl and myself were relying on her boyfriend for support. Every once in a while, I would need a hand stepping to the next ledge, or scrambling up to the higher rock step, or just for an increased sense of security and balence, which he was great for. Every once in a while, the german girl or myself would look ahead, and just keep repeating to ourselves "shit! this is crazy!" But then we'd take one more step. And that was how we did it, one step at a time. At times, we had to encourage ourselves and even count off... "okay. on 3. 1.2.3..go!" as we would be challenged by traversing something where the hand hold was just out of reach, or the foot hold felt too unstable, or there was just literally nothing to hold on to at all!
We reached the middle ground. The final summit before the big one. On top, there was just 1 flat rock, about 3-4 feet in diameter, where one could sit safely and rest their weak legs and hands before continuing on. The german girl at this point decided she couldn't and wouldn't continue. She would sit there until her boyfriend returned. Once I learned that the boyfriend planned to continue, knowing I had already come so far, I wasn't about to stop. So we left her sitting on that 1 stable rock, with deadly drops to either side, as her boyfriend and myself reorganized and began the decent of that peak to get to Olympus.
More of the same manuevering, crawling, fearing, and trusting that we could do it. We had to cross another gorge, straddling to rock faces at one point with nothing inbetween but air, the bottom not really visible. We were officially on Olympus, the summit was a mere 200 feet ahead...and up. As the group ahead of us summitted, we heard them break out in cheers and laughter. So close! The last 100 feet or so were incredibly tricky mentally, always just inches from falling off the mtn. Always stradling a cliff or clinging to an edge, with nothing on the other side. Finally, one last step up, and we made it! A high-five exchanged between us, a sigh of relief, a massive adrenaline rush, a chance to 'shake it off'. There was a book at the top, kept in a sort of metal locker, for those who summit to sign in and leave a comment... My name is now in there. We took pictures holding on to the flag that is posted at the highest point, shook hands with the others on the summit (there were about 10 of us), laughed and took a moment to release the stress of the climb, and admired the scenery. I was told the day before that clouds typically roll into the valley every day by noon. We were lucky, having timed the climb just right. When we reached the summit, there was not a cloud in site. After hanging out there and taking it in for about 15-20 minutes, the clouds began to roll in below us, and within a moment, the entire valley was under clouds. We would have to crawl back down the mountain precipice in the clouds! We had a snack and water, and prepared ourselves to backtrack on the way we came. I took some video footage from the top, and tons of pics for proof! The large group had left ahead of us, and just 2 older men remained. We began the decent, familiar with the terrain, though now doing it in reverse, and struggling to see the red spraypainted dots, as they were below us and in the clouds, rather than above us. I scooted down most of the mtn. side on my butt, but then we had to ascend to reach his girlfriend whom we had left behind. When we got to her, she was frozen with fear, having taken in the view and her precarious situation while waiting for us. She was crying and unable to move, though with some assistance from her boyfriend, she slowly began the crawl back to safety.
When we made it back to the flat safe summit of the nearby peak, where the 'scrambling' ended and the walking trail began, a sigh of relief was shared by all, "congrats!" were heard all the way around, and pics were again taken. Now light on our feet, we began the trail back to our base, the refuge below.
From the refuge, I had another meal of spagetti, rested a bit and exchanged stories with others who had summitted, and then began heading back down the mountain. 3 hours later, I reached the paved parking lot where the taxi had dropped me off the day before. I found a couple with a rental car heading back into town and caught a ride with them into Litohoro, where I found a place to crash for the night and take a much needed shower.

The summit stands at just below 10,000 feet above sea level. My climb in nepal will almost double that to get to Mt. everest base camp. I have to do a plug here for my massage therapists back in Florida. Many of you know that for the last year , I've been struggling with knee and ankle pain that has prevented me from doing things and limited my dancing. I have been to countless massage therapists, chiropractors, drs. and physical therapists in boston, with no relief. I finally bit the bullet and bought a plane ticket out of desperation, just before leaving on this trip, to visit my old therapists who I used after a car accident I was in several years back. After 2 sessions in a row, I am happy to say I haven't had ankle pain since! And this climb was the ULTIMATE test. There was NO WAY I would've been able to do this climb without the group from Structural Energetic Therapy. THANK YOU! (they get this blog) "This summit made possible by SET!"

On a sad note, there was no sign of Zeus in site, or perhaps he was with us all along!

Bull fighting experience

trg7 — Sat, 19 May 2007 10:29:00 GMT

two days ago, I had an experience that I just have to write about, though it might get a bit graffic, so hold on to your stomach. and don´t read this with food. I went to a bull fight, though I knew I wouldn´t enjoy it and didn´t agree with it, I compromised on my own values for the sake of experiencing a piece of their culture here in spain. So let me try to paint a picture of this experience for you:
picture going to your favorite stadium to watch your favorite sports team play. Imagine the enthusiasm, the energy, the popcorn and soft pretzels, the families out with little kids, exposing them to their first baseball/ football game, the cheers from the crowd, the excitment of seeing your favorite player and knowing all their stats, etc. Got the image? Now, put all those things in Madrid, but instead of your favorite sports star, sub. in a matador, and his opposition being a bull. I´m not sure what my expectations were going into this experience, but my imagination didn´t do reality justice. First off, I was late for the first bull fight, so just like at a performance at a theater, they don´t let you in until the fight is complete and they start the next one, so instead I had to wait for them to open the doors and watched the fight from a large tv screen . Again, this is just like any football or baseball stadium you´ve been to where they broadcast the game on tvs while you make a beer and nachos run. So there I am with others who are also waiting to be let in, watching the first bullfight of the evening. Now I knew that the matador stabs the bull, and holds out the red cape and the bull charges the matador and runs through the cape. That was not surprising. What was surprising was I´ve never seen the end of a bullfight. I watched in horror as the entire fight played out. First, 4-6 matadors or ring-clowns like at a rodeo come out to tantilize the bull, disorient it, anger it, chase it around, and even get their shot at stabbing it and marking it with the long knifes with streamers on the end that stay in the animal once they are imbedded in it. After the bull is sufficiently worn and angry and stabbed, these rodeo clowns make way for the REAL matador, the bigshot who is to go head-to-head with the animal. Initially, the matador comes out just with the cape and some long knifes with streamers on the end. And everytime one knife sticks in the bull, the crowd jumps to their feet and cheers on the matador, who takes a bow and turns his back to the bull, as if to show that the animal is completely under his control. Then after planting about 6 of these knifes in the bull, the matador goes to the side of the ring to get his sword. He then teases the crowd a bit, waiving the sword around in front of the bull, taking aim at the bull, but then backing off and just having the bull run through the cape again and again and again until the bull is completely exhausted and hyperventilating. At this point, you already see blood gushing out of the animal. you also notice the animal breathing and shaking and convulsing so heavily that at times it drops to its feet while just standing, but somehow gets up again to fight the matador. Once the matador is ready and feels the bull is sufficiently tired, the matador pulls back his sword like a bow and arrow, and takes aim at the bull´s whithers (the top of his back where his neck and back meet). the bull charges the matador again, obviously tired, but instead of him just running through the red cape, there is a sword waiting for him on the other end. The matador stabs the bull in the back, about 6 inches go deep into the animal. Now blood is being trailed behind the bull as it runs away, but it turns around to face the matador yet again, and again it charges and gets stabbed, and a pool of blood marks his trail. it takes about 3 to 4 times for the bull to be stabbed by the sword before it finally collapses to its knees in pain . At this point, the crowd cheers louder than before, though every time the matador successfully stabs the animal, the crowd is on its feet cheering like someone just made a touchdown or hit a home run. The matador takes a bow with his hands in the air, his sword still sticking out of the animals neck. Then one of the ring clowns walks over to the bull, which at this point is convulsing, and stabs the bull again and again and again in the head until it stops and finally dies. Then, once the bull is declared dead, a team of horses come out with a rope behind them, they lasso the bull, and drag its body around the stadium like a parade, with the matador still being cheered on. the bull is eventually whisked away into the confines of the stadium. Then, a team of maintanence people come out with rakes and cover up the blood and rake the sand so that you don´t see what the animal left behind. The field is evened out and made pretty again, and 5 minutes later, the next animal to be killed is released into the arena, and the crowd cheers and the whole process starts again, taking approx. 20 minutes per animal from start to finish. It by far is one of the worst cases of animal cruelty I´ve ever had to bear witness to, and my heart broke and it brought me to tears watching it. I paid about 50 american dollars to watch this horrific act happen in the stadium, for average seats. better seats could cost over 100 dollars. cheap seats as little as 10. I promised myself I would stay 1 hour. After watching 3 bulls be massacred and tortured in front of me, and watching thousands of people cheering it on, I was completely disgusted to the point of needing to vomit, and I left the arena and made my way back to the city.
There´s not much more I can say about this experience. my stomach turns as I write this, and I feel that I will never be able to get the image out of my head of the bull convulsing at its collapses to the ground, and the blood dripping down its neck and back, pooling under its body.
This experience has definately shown me the ugly side of Spain, and I feel sad to know that people these days know better, but that some customs are so entreched in a society that the obvious is easily overlooked, and things which in any other setting would be abhorable, suddenly become acceptable and even celebrated.

1 week until take off

trg7 — Mon, 7 May 2007 11:53:00 GMT

this time next Monday, I will officially be 1/2 way around the world, hopefully sleeping peacefully awaiting my arrival into Madrid, Spain.