Reporting from our room in the 59th street abode, it seems like there's not much more we can say aside from "can't believe it's over!"
The last leg of our trip panned out perfectly. We had the foresight to leave our big backpacks at the cloakroom at the Delhi train station, which seriously reduced the hassle of transit (including that which comes with visibly not having lodgings planned out yet, which rickshaw drivers tend to take advantage of). We also had the opportunity to ride the trains, which we had done only once in India before this last week. In most ways the trains are about what you'd expect: somewhat rickety compartments equipped with vinyl-upholstered beds stacked 3 high up the walls. What makes the ride worthwhile is experiencing the joining of people from all walks and endless opportunities for 5 rupees worth of chai in disposable terra cotta cups.
Our first stop was Varanasi, which is the holiest city to die in/ be cremated. Varanasi was surprisingly peaceful and certainly thought provoking. We had been warned of relentless touts and scams but, in our experience, the warnings themselves were the only hassle we encountered there ("I am not a guide, but beware, there are many guides who will take your money." Where were they? The only person who was even remotely guidelike was a 9 year old kid who followed us into a restaurant, where we bought him a banana lassi. He then walked us to the train station, for 45 minutes, as a favor, asking people in Hindi for directions for us along the way). The city is one of the oldest continually inhabited places in the world, so the streets are narrow and mazelike, and are made up of an amalgamation of buildings from a seemingly endless timeline. Our time there was spent strolling along the praying ghats, observing the cremation ceremony, and on a boatride on the Ganga, from which we watched the nightly pooja ceremony.
Then, in a blink, we were off to Agra, to see the Taj Mahal. Our train had arrived early in the morning, at about 7, and since we weren't planning on staying the night, we went straight there. Agra, which was supposed to be another major hassle zone, was pretty quiet at this time of day, and so aside from the absurdly inflated amount they charge foreigners as an entry fee to the Taj (750 rupees versus 20 for locals), it was an easy visit. As expected, the Taj Mahal is pretty amazing: intricately designed with marble inlay, marked with beautiful arabic caligraphy, surrounded by lush gardens and other equally impressive structures. Since we were early, we got the chance to take the quintessential "we're in India!" photo with the Taj backdrop and not too many tourists standing around behind us. Moments after that mission was accomplished, the monsoon kicked in full power. We enjoyed walking along the wet marble, barefoot, and admiring the iconic (and, by the way, ENORMOUS) structure from all of it's perfectly symmetrical angles. And then, once again, we were off.
Our experience in Delhi was markedly different from that of any other city, completely due to the fact that we were with my friend Yasha, who grew up in the nearby city Meerut. Yasha and her family's driver picked us up from the train station and took us to her apartment in an area on the outskirts of Delhi called Noida where her family sometimes stays if they want to be closer to the city. Yasha, with the expert help of her mom's phoned-in directions, took us on what was basically the shopping tour of Delhi (we had a lot of last minute purchases we wanted to make), which included everything from fly-covered street markets to gargantuan shopping malls to hip little alleyways with cafes and clothing stores. All the while, Yasha shed light on a lot of the cultural questions that arose, both about Delhi and about India in general (random tidbit: apparently like 90% of Bollywood songs from the 1960s-1980s were sung by either of two sisters. crazy!). Our experience of the geography of the city was a bit strange, because as it turns out, ALL of the city is under construction for the upcoming Commonwealth Games. This means that the roads are all at least partially blocked, and every walkway includes a few men on the floor laying tiles or new concrete. It's hard to say what it will look like when they're finished, but if the turnout reflects how major the demolition looks, it should be pretty amazing. Even under construction, Delhi is like any super metropolis, with a really nice subway system, fairly organized traffic, fancy areas and less fancy areas. Since we didn't have to deal with all of the language barriers and technicalities of getting from one place to another (once again thanks to our lovely hostess), it was a really easy place for us to be.
And then, suddenly (well--not SO suddenly considering the 30 hours we spent in transit) we were home! As this random Berkeley hippie at Kinko's said to me when I was getting my passport picture taken "the real culture shock is when you return." While I wouldn't describe what we felt last night, hanging out with our housemates like any usual night, as "culture shock," there was a certain strange feeling of how normal everything was. Where will we have to pack up and run off to tomorrow? Nowhere. Yotam put it most insightfully as we arrived at SFO; that returning from a trip is like changing from a cold room to a hot one. You will remember being cold, but you don't feel cold anymore. India was so many things, it's impossible to really sum up. The feeling of being there, our senses constantly bombarded from every angle, disappeared as soon as we left the Delhi Airport. What we're left with is a memory of an amazing (unforgettable, lifechanging, etc etc etc call it what you will) journey.
So, that brings us to the end of this blog...Namaste!
Friday, July 23, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Spiti Valley + Sprint to the Finishline
First: let me note that this is one of those posts written on a computer more ancient than some of the monasteries I'm about to describe, so I apologize for any typos or whatever.
The only way to describe the last five days is by calling them epic. I know that word is terribly overused these days, but seriously, you be the judge:
Where we last left off, we had no idea if we would make it to Spiti at all: we didn't know if we had anyone to go with, and more importantly, we didn't know if the Rothang pass, which is the only road into the Himalayan Valleys, was open. The former problem was solved the old fashion way: with a note left at our hotel reception by two other bay area-travelers, one of whom we had met in Jaipur, Jodhpur, AND McLeod Ganj (India's really just a small town, apparently). They're some really nice folks, and we were relieved to hear that they wanted to come with us. So then there were four of us, which is enough to fill a jeep. But we couldn't get a straight answer from anyone in town about whether or not that jeep would be able to get us across or not. Yotam and I obviously don't have much time to spare and we were sick of Manali from the start, and Christian (one of our new friends) had a flight to consider as well.
So it came down to the morning of: we were to wake up at 5am, meet our jeep driver, drive three hours to the pass, and see if we could cross. If we could, we still had an 8 hour drive on mostly unpaved roads ahead of us, and it would mean crossing two rivers that rise steadily over the course of the day.
We made it to the pass at 8:00 am. There were about ten vehicles ahead of us in our direction, and an endless line of trucks stacked up in the other. The pass, at this time, was closed: blocked by a huge boulder and made trickier still by periodic landslides. So there we sat while like five government workers blew up the boulder with some dynamite and about a hundred other travelers and drivers crowded around to watch. Also, did I mention at this point we were at 3900 meters above sea level? On a very narrow, muddy, unpaved road? With no barricade? Please don't tell my mom.
Ten mind-numbing hours later (10!) it was our turn to cross the pass. The car in front of us slipped across the mud to the other side of the blockage. A huge boulder flew down the hill, and the workers gave us a signal to stop. But only for like one second and then before we knew it we were also sprinting across. We barely had time to realize that what we had done was somewhat stupid, and somewhat dangerous, but at that point we started to enter the mountain range and so we really didn't care.
The parts of the Himalayas we had seen before were covered with Alpine flora, a lush deep green. As we rose above the treeline, they took on a completely different character, and then another, and then another. The Himalayas look almost like the Grand Canyon at points, and then like the Swiss Alps, and then like a completely different planet. Fuzzy green mountains dotted with colorful wildflowers gave way to silver lakes with paisley-shaped grey islands. Red and black boulders met with glacial snowcapped behemoths. It's impossible to capture all of its character in one picture. Which is why all four of us nearly constantly snapped photos, each one as postcardy as the next (the mountains are very photogenic). And, since the ride is nearly all switchbacks, if you missed the perfect photo the first time, you had many, many more chances.
Night fell before we made it to Kaza (the capital city where we had planed to stay the night), so we stopped in one of the roadside towns (this one caleld Chatchru, population 120 though that seemed unlikely since there were only three large tents in sight). We slept in the restaurant-tent that we also ate dinner in, hosted by a Tibetan woman.
And this was only the BEGINNING of our journey! The next few days we visited a few monastaries all over 1,000 years old, some literally jutting out of the sides of mountains, and some of the highest cities with working electricity (though "working" is a loose term in Spiti). We had to catch our breath every ten minutes hiking to a nearby lake, where appropriately, the views were breathtaking.
It was hard to leave. Literally and figuratively, but on our fifth day we hopped back in the jeep and with a heavy dose of luck made it back through, bumping along the way we came.
Now we're in Delhi, which in the few hours we've been here has already been a pretty crazy adventure, but we'll write more on that later. Or when we're home, because we have the next few days JAM PACKED with travel: tonight we leave for Varanasi and arrive in the morning, stay for one night, leave for Agra to see the Taj Mahal on another overnight train, and then arrive back in Delhi with only two days before we board our 24 hour flight back to California. Phew, right?
The only way to describe the last five days is by calling them epic. I know that word is terribly overused these days, but seriously, you be the judge:
Where we last left off, we had no idea if we would make it to Spiti at all: we didn't know if we had anyone to go with, and more importantly, we didn't know if the Rothang pass, which is the only road into the Himalayan Valleys, was open. The former problem was solved the old fashion way: with a note left at our hotel reception by two other bay area-travelers, one of whom we had met in Jaipur, Jodhpur, AND McLeod Ganj (India's really just a small town, apparently). They're some really nice folks, and we were relieved to hear that they wanted to come with us. So then there were four of us, which is enough to fill a jeep. But we couldn't get a straight answer from anyone in town about whether or not that jeep would be able to get us across or not. Yotam and I obviously don't have much time to spare and we were sick of Manali from the start, and Christian (one of our new friends) had a flight to consider as well.
So it came down to the morning of: we were to wake up at 5am, meet our jeep driver, drive three hours to the pass, and see if we could cross. If we could, we still had an 8 hour drive on mostly unpaved roads ahead of us, and it would mean crossing two rivers that rise steadily over the course of the day.
We made it to the pass at 8:00 am. There were about ten vehicles ahead of us in our direction, and an endless line of trucks stacked up in the other. The pass, at this time, was closed: blocked by a huge boulder and made trickier still by periodic landslides. So there we sat while like five government workers blew up the boulder with some dynamite and about a hundred other travelers and drivers crowded around to watch. Also, did I mention at this point we were at 3900 meters above sea level? On a very narrow, muddy, unpaved road? With no barricade? Please don't tell my mom.
Ten mind-numbing hours later (10!) it was our turn to cross the pass. The car in front of us slipped across the mud to the other side of the blockage. A huge boulder flew down the hill, and the workers gave us a signal to stop. But only for like one second and then before we knew it we were also sprinting across. We barely had time to realize that what we had done was somewhat stupid, and somewhat dangerous, but at that point we started to enter the mountain range and so we really didn't care.
The parts of the Himalayas we had seen before were covered with Alpine flora, a lush deep green. As we rose above the treeline, they took on a completely different character, and then another, and then another. The Himalayas look almost like the Grand Canyon at points, and then like the Swiss Alps, and then like a completely different planet. Fuzzy green mountains dotted with colorful wildflowers gave way to silver lakes with paisley-shaped grey islands. Red and black boulders met with glacial snowcapped behemoths. It's impossible to capture all of its character in one picture. Which is why all four of us nearly constantly snapped photos, each one as postcardy as the next (the mountains are very photogenic). And, since the ride is nearly all switchbacks, if you missed the perfect photo the first time, you had many, many more chances.
Night fell before we made it to Kaza (the capital city where we had planed to stay the night), so we stopped in one of the roadside towns (this one caleld Chatchru, population 120 though that seemed unlikely since there were only three large tents in sight). We slept in the restaurant-tent that we also ate dinner in, hosted by a Tibetan woman.
And this was only the BEGINNING of our journey! The next few days we visited a few monastaries all over 1,000 years old, some literally jutting out of the sides of mountains, and some of the highest cities with working electricity (though "working" is a loose term in Spiti). We had to catch our breath every ten minutes hiking to a nearby lake, where appropriately, the views were breathtaking.
It was hard to leave. Literally and figuratively, but on our fifth day we hopped back in the jeep and with a heavy dose of luck made it back through, bumping along the way we came.
Now we're in Delhi, which in the few hours we've been here has already been a pretty crazy adventure, but we'll write more on that later. Or when we're home, because we have the next few days JAM PACKED with travel: tonight we leave for Varanasi and arrive in the morning, stay for one night, leave for Agra to see the Taj Mahal on another overnight train, and then arrive back in Delhi with only two days before we board our 24 hour flight back to California. Phew, right?
Friday, July 9, 2010
Himalayas
Our trip is soon coming to a close and we really have no idea what the last leg of it will look like! Last night, in a desperate attempt to fit everything in, we called the travel agent at North Berkeley Travels to see if we could afford to extend our trip by a week. He laughed at us. So, we'll have to make do with the time we have.
Right now we're in a touristy town called Manali. It's all beautiful mountainscapes, lakes, waterfalls, and a LOT of hotels: most people use it as a gateway to the more remote areas Leh and Spiti Valley. Our original plan (before we left the States) was to go to Leh, but it's a two day journey just to get there, so we had to rule it out for lack of time. Spiti, on the other hand, is only 10 hours away, and is supposed to have the same Alpine desert landscape (crazy, right?) as Leh (it's in the same altitude, ~3500mtrs) while being less touristy and cheaper, too. We made friends with a couple nice bay area folks (one of whom we actually have seen in Jodhpur, Jaipur, AND McLeod Ganj) who want to split a jeep with us for the five days we'd be in Spiti.
At the moment however, NO jeeps are leaving Manali: not to Leh, not to Spiti, because one of the passes is closed due to a mudslide. So EVERYONE is stuck here. We'll only find out in the morning whether or not we'll be able to go.
Manali is nice enough, but it isn't the place we want to be right now because we just left Upper Bhagshu, which is, we think, our favorite place in India to date.
Bhagshu (also called "upper McLeod Ganj") is located above McLeod Ganj (also called "Upper Dharamsala), which is loacted above Dharmasala, one of the larger cities of the Himalayas. Upper Bhagshu is located above all of these places, and is a very, very small place that feels essentially like being in a treehouse. To get from one place to another (and, to just give some scale, most days we went to Upper Bhagshu, Bhagshu, and McLeod) meant just to walk up and down: literally, there is no going left or right in any of these places. Even to get to our hotel, which was located in what we called "Upper Lower Bhagshu" we had to take a 10 minute hike through unlit, unpaved switchbacks. Except when we would take the shortcut, which involved walking six stories through another hotel and exiting out the back onto the hill. Though we were eventually asked by reception to stop: ("Friend! This is not a common walkway!" he said).
McLeod, beacuse it is a major city for Tibetans, has more of a town-like vibe, with a lot of Indian tourists and small shops and restaurants. While there, we went to the Tiebetan museum, where we saw a very sad but informative movie about the Tibetan refugees in India, and visited the Buddhist monastary where the Dalai Lama lives.
Bhagshu is somewhat similar to McLeod, though smaller stil, and still has a few bigger hotels. There, we made friends with some young shopowners, who we would watch the world cup with while drinking chai, surrounded by blacklight posters of Shiva. We also visited a little waterfall with one of the Israeli friends we made in Upper Bhagshu, Yiftach.
Upper Baghsu is the Israeli hangout, so much so that all of the signs are in Hebrew, every restaurant serves Israeli food, and many of the Indian people there are fluent in Hebrew. It's composed of only about a dozen cafes/guesthouses, a few places to do yoga, take music/cooking/macrame/whatever classes, and that's just about it. There is no road, just rocky pathways. Walking up and down, we would see the same group of people on a daily basis. In fact, we ran into Yiftach easily twice a day without ever making a plan. Every night, one of the cafes would have some people playing music, and that would be the place where everyone would gather and drink chai. Everyone has at least 6 cups of chai a day in Bhagshu.
It's pretty hard to describe the feeling of this place; it was even difficult to photograph in any descriptive way because of how it is laid out, vertically and hidden under trees. But suffice it to say we had a wonderful time in a beautiful place. And we got to see the Dalai Llama, in the pouring rain, on his 75th birthday.
Right now we're in a touristy town called Manali. It's all beautiful mountainscapes, lakes, waterfalls, and a LOT of hotels: most people use it as a gateway to the more remote areas Leh and Spiti Valley. Our original plan (before we left the States) was to go to Leh, but it's a two day journey just to get there, so we had to rule it out for lack of time. Spiti, on the other hand, is only 10 hours away, and is supposed to have the same Alpine desert landscape (crazy, right?) as Leh (it's in the same altitude, ~3500mtrs) while being less touristy and cheaper, too. We made friends with a couple nice bay area folks (one of whom we actually have seen in Jodhpur, Jaipur, AND McLeod Ganj) who want to split a jeep with us for the five days we'd be in Spiti.
At the moment however, NO jeeps are leaving Manali: not to Leh, not to Spiti, because one of the passes is closed due to a mudslide. So EVERYONE is stuck here. We'll only find out in the morning whether or not we'll be able to go.
Manali is nice enough, but it isn't the place we want to be right now because we just left Upper Bhagshu, which is, we think, our favorite place in India to date.
Bhagshu (also called "upper McLeod Ganj") is located above McLeod Ganj (also called "Upper Dharamsala), which is loacted above Dharmasala, one of the larger cities of the Himalayas. Upper Bhagshu is located above all of these places, and is a very, very small place that feels essentially like being in a treehouse. To get from one place to another (and, to just give some scale, most days we went to Upper Bhagshu, Bhagshu, and McLeod) meant just to walk up and down: literally, there is no going left or right in any of these places. Even to get to our hotel, which was located in what we called "Upper Lower Bhagshu" we had to take a 10 minute hike through unlit, unpaved switchbacks. Except when we would take the shortcut, which involved walking six stories through another hotel and exiting out the back onto the hill. Though we were eventually asked by reception to stop: ("Friend! This is not a common walkway!" he said).
McLeod, beacuse it is a major city for Tibetans, has more of a town-like vibe, with a lot of Indian tourists and small shops and restaurants. While there, we went to the Tiebetan museum, where we saw a very sad but informative movie about the Tibetan refugees in India, and visited the Buddhist monastary where the Dalai Lama lives.
Bhagshu is somewhat similar to McLeod, though smaller stil, and still has a few bigger hotels. There, we made friends with some young shopowners, who we would watch the world cup with while drinking chai, surrounded by blacklight posters of Shiva. We also visited a little waterfall with one of the Israeli friends we made in Upper Bhagshu, Yiftach.
Upper Baghsu is the Israeli hangout, so much so that all of the signs are in Hebrew, every restaurant serves Israeli food, and many of the Indian people there are fluent in Hebrew. It's composed of only about a dozen cafes/guesthouses, a few places to do yoga, take music/cooking/macrame/whatever classes, and that's just about it. There is no road, just rocky pathways. Walking up and down, we would see the same group of people on a daily basis. In fact, we ran into Yiftach easily twice a day without ever making a plan. Every night, one of the cafes would have some people playing music, and that would be the place where everyone would gather and drink chai. Everyone has at least 6 cups of chai a day in Bhagshu.
It's pretty hard to describe the feeling of this place; it was even difficult to photograph in any descriptive way because of how it is laid out, vertically and hidden under trees. But suffice it to say we had a wonderful time in a beautiful place. And we got to see the Dalai Llama, in the pouring rain, on his 75th birthday.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Food post #2
We're blogging on two computers at once to save some time since we have a lot to catch you all up on.
I'll cover some meals that pop out in my mind that we enjoyed in the past few weeks:
5. The meals that we had at the free kitchen at the Golden temple in Amritsar were pretty amazing, not necessarily the food itself, but the overall experience. Attached to the temple is a kitchen that gives free food to anyone who wants 24 hours a day; all of the servers, cooks, and dishwashers are volunteers, and all of the food is bought with donations. They feed over 10,000 people a day. We were ushered into one of two large halls and seated in lines on the floor next to a few hundred other diners. Volunteers walked by carrying buckets of rice, lentils, veggies, and chapatis that they would shovel onto our plates. The food was simple and spicy. We had to eat quickly because they were eager to mop the floor and bring in the next group of hungry guests. Later we took a tour of the kitchen and saw many volunteer chefs stirring humongous colanders and a mechanical chapati machine that makes 10,000 chapatis an hour.
4. I just ate four warm, doughy momos outside the Tibetan temple here in Dharamasala, and enjoyed it so much that i'm putting it on this list. Three were filled with a spicy potato and one with some leafy greens.
3. In Udaipur we ate at a fancy restaurant called Ambrai on in island in the would-be lake. The food was really good: some curry, naan, and biryani, and the view of the lake palace and the city palace lit up at night was really nice also. In the dark at night, you could almost pretend that the lake was filled with water.
2. While on the camel safari, our guest family cooked us three great meals. All were carefully prepared by the two women of the house over a small wood fire that they kept hot by constantly blowing on it through a metal rod. We had some really good food, among them were some spicy fried onions, many carefully rolled chapatis, and a tangy yogurt and vegitable dish made from yogurt that they made from their goats' milk and stored under a basked outside so that they birds couldn't get to it.
1. The best meal that we had was the dinner from our cooking class in Udaipur; I think that things taste better when you cook them yourself. We made okra cooked in onions and spices, biryani with potatoes and zucchini, dahl, chai, and chapatis and parantha (stuffed chapatis). The food was surprisingly simple to cook, the only secret to making it great was the loads of fresh spices. Though we'll have to work on our chapati rolling technique, and maybe after making chapatis for every meal for the next 20 years we can be as good at rolling and kneading them as our cooking teacher.
All this food talk has made me pretty hungry.
I'll cover some meals that pop out in my mind that we enjoyed in the past few weeks:
5. The meals that we had at the free kitchen at the Golden temple in Amritsar were pretty amazing, not necessarily the food itself, but the overall experience. Attached to the temple is a kitchen that gives free food to anyone who wants 24 hours a day; all of the servers, cooks, and dishwashers are volunteers, and all of the food is bought with donations. They feed over 10,000 people a day. We were ushered into one of two large halls and seated in lines on the floor next to a few hundred other diners. Volunteers walked by carrying buckets of rice, lentils, veggies, and chapatis that they would shovel onto our plates. The food was simple and spicy. We had to eat quickly because they were eager to mop the floor and bring in the next group of hungry guests. Later we took a tour of the kitchen and saw many volunteer chefs stirring humongous colanders and a mechanical chapati machine that makes 10,000 chapatis an hour.
4. I just ate four warm, doughy momos outside the Tibetan temple here in Dharamasala, and enjoyed it so much that i'm putting it on this list. Three were filled with a spicy potato and one with some leafy greens.
3. In Udaipur we ate at a fancy restaurant called Ambrai on in island in the would-be lake. The food was really good: some curry, naan, and biryani, and the view of the lake palace and the city palace lit up at night was really nice also. In the dark at night, you could almost pretend that the lake was filled with water.
2. While on the camel safari, our guest family cooked us three great meals. All were carefully prepared by the two women of the house over a small wood fire that they kept hot by constantly blowing on it through a metal rod. We had some really good food, among them were some spicy fried onions, many carefully rolled chapatis, and a tangy yogurt and vegitable dish made from yogurt that they made from their goats' milk and stored under a basked outside so that they birds couldn't get to it.
1. The best meal that we had was the dinner from our cooking class in Udaipur; I think that things taste better when you cook them yourself. We made okra cooked in onions and spices, biryani with potatoes and zucchini, dahl, chai, and chapatis and parantha (stuffed chapatis). The food was surprisingly simple to cook, the only secret to making it great was the loads of fresh spices. Though we'll have to work on our chapati rolling technique, and maybe after making chapatis for every meal for the next 20 years we can be as good at rolling and kneading them as our cooking teacher.
All this food talk has made me pretty hungry.
Punjab
As I write this, we're taking shelter from a sudden downpour in an internet cafe in Dharamsala, the Tibetan colony in the Himalayas where the Dalai Lama lives. We plan to stay here until the 6th, which is the Dalai Lama's birthday and would give us the opportunity to see him speak at the central Buddhist temple. But, before I get to writing more about that, I have to explain the excellent time we've had for the past few days in the Sikh state, Punjab.
Our first stop was Chandigarh, which is the joint capital of both Punjab and the neighboring state Haryana. Chandigarh was one of those last minute decision places: our choice to go relied on a few intriguing things we'd read in the guidebook and a heavy dose of whim.
The city is, by definition, an artificial one: it was designed by Le Corbusier in the 1950's in an ultramodern, eerily utopic style. It's divided into neat sectors of similar sizes, connected by long strips of green walkways and wide streets. In it's center there's a promenade, which is for pedestrians only, and an enormous manmade lake. It's also completely spotless. In short: it's nothing like the rest of India, at all.
Our first stop there was to the architecture museum, which told us much about the original design plans and had some fabulous early sketches by Le Corbusier and his team. The museum itself was pretty dated, which I actually enjoyed: seeing the fifties through the lense of the seventies is pretty intellectually stimulating, and the information was still accurate and informative. It was a great place to visit at the beginning of our journey, because it gave us insight into the layout of the city, including delightful details to look out for, like the relief carving of the city plan on every manhole cover in Chandigarh.
But far more informative than any museum the friend we made outside of it, the unofficial (but also pretty official) tourist reception chair of Chandigarh, Narinder Singh. Mr. Singh, who found us having a sit at the museum snack shop (hilariously named the "Stop and Stare"), is 73 year old man who at one point was on the staff of the former chief minister of Chandigarh. In 1959, he was assigned to give a group of America Peace Corp volunteers a tour of the city, and immediately became hooked on the activity. It was hard to believe at first that this man was for real: is kind of a bumbling old guy with a dusty brown Sikh-style turban who carries around two shopping bags of junk at all times. But he had the paperwork to back his story up: photocopies of a few newspaper articles about him, and--get this-- a guestbook, which he promptly had us sign after allowing us to flip through and see messages from visiting folks of all nationalities--some that had even been dated that day. After signing his guestbook and showing us the articles, he presented us various gifts (including some fruit, a garland, and a pamphlet about Chandigarh) and had us take photos of him presenting them to us, for which he would put on a pair of glasses that he did not seem to ever wear, otherwise.
Mr. Singh is surely eccentric, if not flat out crazy, but most definitely harmless, and extremely knowledgeable about his city, so we let us guide him around for the next five hours ago. During this time we learned that he thinks he has about 5,000 notebooks filled with signatures (not surprising since we saw him collect at least four while we were with him) and that he believes he meets about 25% of foreign visitors of Chandigarh-- including Le Corbusier himself, who he met many times while he was working in the chief minister's office. The man is truly a legend.
Mr. Singh took us through various parks, a couple clean bathrooms (remember he's 73), and a few government establishments for tea/mangoes, all the while teaching us random Hindi phrases and inquiring every few minutes if "everything was very good?". Our favorite stop by far was to the Nek Chand Fantasy Rock Garden, which is a huge art installation made by another eccentric Chandigarhian who was once a road inspector but decided one day to begin to create this garden out of interesting rocks and figurines made of found objects and recycled waste. He had begun his project on government land, but, in the interest of the beauty of the city, government officials allowed him to continue--eventually taking it on as a government project. It is now an enormous labyrinthical complex with multiple waterfalls, walls made of mosaiced dishwear, small animal sculptures of broken glass bangles...really, only pictures can do it justice, but those will have to wait until we return!
At the end of the day we bought Mr. Singh dinner, and then he guided us to (of all places) the town KFC (which he called "KCF"), where he spoke to someone behind the counter who gave him a fee balloon, which he then presented to me as a gift, which he, of course, requested we photograph.
After Chandigarh, we head off to Amritsar, the city of the holiest Sikh temple, the Golden Temple. The temple itself was very impressive-- a bright gold structure in the center of a lake, surrounded by a marble promenade and other marble buildings. But what was most moving to us was not the structure itself, but the environment that it created. Thousands of Sikh pilgrims sat around the lake praying, some bathing in the water. Beautiful music for tabla, voice, and harmonium was projected through the complex. People shuffled around barefoot, heads covered with either turbans or scarves, smiling at us and saying hello and wandering in and out of the temple.
The interior of the temple matches the opulence you'd imagine from a 24 karat structure-- filigreed ceilings, intricate marble inlayed floors. As we entered we realized that the music that was being projected was being played by musicians inside, on (not surprisingly) golden instruments. On the top level of the temple, behind a pane of glass, sat an old, old man flipping through the pages of a giant, giant book, the Sikh holy book. The original copy of the book is housed in the temple, and we were fortunate enough to see the ceremonial transfer of the book from the temple to one of the other buildings in the complex, where it stays for the night (for some reason...)
As night fell, sleeping people took over the temple: the entire complex was literally covered with sleeping folks, some just passed out directly on the marble. The complex even housed us (in a dorm for foreigners) and fed us in a large dining hall that served food 24-hours (I think Yotam is blogging about that right now so I'll leave it to him to explain the ingenuity behind the dining system). Not to mention, all of this was free of charge.
The rain outside has stopped, so it's time for us to continue our adventure. We're starting to feel pangs of reality that our trip will soon come to an end, and want to get in as many more wonderful experiences in as possible!
Our first stop was Chandigarh, which is the joint capital of both Punjab and the neighboring state Haryana. Chandigarh was one of those last minute decision places: our choice to go relied on a few intriguing things we'd read in the guidebook and a heavy dose of whim.
The city is, by definition, an artificial one: it was designed by Le Corbusier in the 1950's in an ultramodern, eerily utopic style. It's divided into neat sectors of similar sizes, connected by long strips of green walkways and wide streets. In it's center there's a promenade, which is for pedestrians only, and an enormous manmade lake. It's also completely spotless. In short: it's nothing like the rest of India, at all.
Our first stop there was to the architecture museum, which told us much about the original design plans and had some fabulous early sketches by Le Corbusier and his team. The museum itself was pretty dated, which I actually enjoyed: seeing the fifties through the lense of the seventies is pretty intellectually stimulating, and the information was still accurate and informative. It was a great place to visit at the beginning of our journey, because it gave us insight into the layout of the city, including delightful details to look out for, like the relief carving of the city plan on every manhole cover in Chandigarh.
But far more informative than any museum the friend we made outside of it, the unofficial (but also pretty official) tourist reception chair of Chandigarh, Narinder Singh. Mr. Singh, who found us having a sit at the museum snack shop (hilariously named the "Stop and Stare"), is 73 year old man who at one point was on the staff of the former chief minister of Chandigarh. In 1959, he was assigned to give a group of America Peace Corp volunteers a tour of the city, and immediately became hooked on the activity. It was hard to believe at first that this man was for real: is kind of a bumbling old guy with a dusty brown Sikh-style turban who carries around two shopping bags of junk at all times. But he had the paperwork to back his story up: photocopies of a few newspaper articles about him, and--get this-- a guestbook, which he promptly had us sign after allowing us to flip through and see messages from visiting folks of all nationalities--some that had even been dated that day. After signing his guestbook and showing us the articles, he presented us various gifts (including some fruit, a garland, and a pamphlet about Chandigarh) and had us take photos of him presenting them to us, for which he would put on a pair of glasses that he did not seem to ever wear, otherwise.
Mr. Singh is surely eccentric, if not flat out crazy, but most definitely harmless, and extremely knowledgeable about his city, so we let us guide him around for the next five hours ago. During this time we learned that he thinks he has about 5,000 notebooks filled with signatures (not surprising since we saw him collect at least four while we were with him) and that he believes he meets about 25% of foreign visitors of Chandigarh-- including Le Corbusier himself, who he met many times while he was working in the chief minister's office. The man is truly a legend.
Mr. Singh took us through various parks, a couple clean bathrooms (remember he's 73), and a few government establishments for tea/mangoes, all the while teaching us random Hindi phrases and inquiring every few minutes if "everything was very good?". Our favorite stop by far was to the Nek Chand Fantasy Rock Garden, which is a huge art installation made by another eccentric Chandigarhian who was once a road inspector but decided one day to begin to create this garden out of interesting rocks and figurines made of found objects and recycled waste. He had begun his project on government land, but, in the interest of the beauty of the city, government officials allowed him to continue--eventually taking it on as a government project. It is now an enormous labyrinthical complex with multiple waterfalls, walls made of mosaiced dishwear, small animal sculptures of broken glass bangles...really, only pictures can do it justice, but those will have to wait until we return!
At the end of the day we bought Mr. Singh dinner, and then he guided us to (of all places) the town KFC (which he called "KCF"), where he spoke to someone behind the counter who gave him a fee balloon, which he then presented to me as a gift, which he, of course, requested we photograph.
After Chandigarh, we head off to Amritsar, the city of the holiest Sikh temple, the Golden Temple. The temple itself was very impressive-- a bright gold structure in the center of a lake, surrounded by a marble promenade and other marble buildings. But what was most moving to us was not the structure itself, but the environment that it created. Thousands of Sikh pilgrims sat around the lake praying, some bathing in the water. Beautiful music for tabla, voice, and harmonium was projected through the complex. People shuffled around barefoot, heads covered with either turbans or scarves, smiling at us and saying hello and wandering in and out of the temple.
The interior of the temple matches the opulence you'd imagine from a 24 karat structure-- filigreed ceilings, intricate marble inlayed floors. As we entered we realized that the music that was being projected was being played by musicians inside, on (not surprisingly) golden instruments. On the top level of the temple, behind a pane of glass, sat an old, old man flipping through the pages of a giant, giant book, the Sikh holy book. The original copy of the book is housed in the temple, and we were fortunate enough to see the ceremonial transfer of the book from the temple to one of the other buildings in the complex, where it stays for the night (for some reason...)
As night fell, sleeping people took over the temple: the entire complex was literally covered with sleeping folks, some just passed out directly on the marble. The complex even housed us (in a dorm for foreigners) and fed us in a large dining hall that served food 24-hours (I think Yotam is blogging about that right now so I'll leave it to him to explain the ingenuity behind the dining system). Not to mention, all of this was free of charge.
The rain outside has stopped, so it's time for us to continue our adventure. We're starting to feel pangs of reality that our trip will soon come to an end, and want to get in as many more wonderful experiences in as possible!
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
24 Hour
So, our plan was to leave Jodhpur two days ago, but, as I write this, we're still here. Jodhpur in our experience was nowhere near as nice as Udaipur, where we felt very at-ease with the small community-vibe of the old city and made two amazing friends (Akshay and GG, who both had very inspiring life stories and were extremely warm to us).
In comparison to Udaipur, Jodhpur is more crowded, less friendly, more polluted, and much hotter. We thought after seeing the fort, which--for good reason--is the main attraction, we would be ready to leave. But as we were planning how we'd get to Jaiselmer over breakfast at the rooftop cafe, I browsed through the comment book about one of the activities the hotel coordinates: a camel safari into the Thar desert.
At first we were hestitant; both of us had ridden camels before in Israel and thought that voyaging through sand in the high desert heat on one would be less than pleasant (most people don't even visit Rajasthan at all in the summer bc of the weather). But the guests' comment book showed that the safari aspect was the less interesting part of the journey: we would be welcomed by a Rajasthani village family who would feed and house us for the night. This sounded worthwhile enough, and we rationalized the heat when we saw that some people from the guesthouse had gone just days before, so we postponed our plan to take a bus to Jaiselmer and signed up for the so-called safari.
Shiba, the cook/driver at our little blue guesthouse, drove us two hours into the Thar desert in the house jeep. The ride, we thought, was bumpy and hot, but nowhere near as bumpy and hot as on our next vehicle (the camels!). A man named Gangaram, wearing all white--including a large, Rajasthani-style white turban)--met us with his two gurgling camels and his ten-year old son. Shiba left with the jeep, we mounted our camels, and off we went for an hour and a half long ride through sand, shrubs, dried-out farmland, and the occasional straw-thatched hut, with Gangaram and me on one camel, and Yotam and the boy on the other. The ride itself was okay: I struggled to make small talk with Gangaram, who knew only very basic English, while Yotam bumped along uncomfortably while being blasted in the face with minute long camel farts. The boy kept falling asleep during the ride, knocking his head against Yotam's back, saying "oh sorry, oh sorry" and then nodding off again. Shows how exciting he found it!
When we arrived at Gangaram's home, which is a square stone structure with four small rooms surrounding an open area, his wife had prepared us a delicious thali. We ate on the floor of one of the rooms, surrounded by posters of Indian gods and handmade trinkets. Little birds who had nested in the center of the home flew in and out, chirping loudly.
So far so good, but after lunch, I started to think that coming on the safari may turn out to be a bit of a bust: Gangaram fell asleep on a cot, and after the little boy finished showing us a few post cards and pictures other visitors had sent, he disappeared. Shiba (the jeep driver) was supposed to have shown up shortly after us, but was no where to be found either. Gangaram's wife (who was also dressed traditional Rajasthani) had introduced herself (her name is Tipa) but also seemed very busy. I would have liked to ask her what we should do but she didn't speak any English so I thought it best not to bother her. Another woman was in and out, but her face was covered by her veil and we weren't sure if that meant we shouldn't talk to her. So Yotam and I were basically left to ourselves. We didn't want to leave the house because there was nothing else around except for a few far off huts, and so Yotam followed Gangaram's lead and tried his best to nap through the heat while I wrote in my journal.
A few hours later, Gangaram woke up from his nap and took us back out on the camels for a ride around the surrounding areas up to a high dune where we could watch the sunset. We spotted a few other animals (an antelopeish thing, a deer thing, some heards of sheep and goats), and enjoyed the desertscape, which was hardly a barren sand-only thing one imagines but instead was spotted with the occasional unusual tree or spiney shrub. This time, Yotam got to ride his own camel, but Gangaram shared with me again (which, actually, I was glad for because my camel was somewhat unruly, letting out belchy roars every time he was given a tug at the reins). Gangaram himself had adopted many ways of the camels--burping, farting, and spitting nearly constantly--but he was a nice man nonetheless and did his best to answer my questions about his lifestyle and the desert area. Gangaram told us that in the desert people grow lentils, millet, and (strangely enough) watermelon. He had four sons and one daughter; by tradition his daughter had moved in with her husband's family, and they were joined by the wife of his oldest son (who was the veiled woman from earlier). I asked if the women ever rode camels, which gave him quite a laugh. ("Not even just once?" "No, no, no.")
After a few hours we dismounted on a high dune to watch the sun set. There, we were approached by three kids who were hearding some grazing goats. Two of the smaller goats climbed up the dune with them, and we did our best at communicating while the goats did their best at eating various items of our clothing (thankfully to no avail). The kids seemed mostly to be making fun of us (they would whisper to each other--even though we didn't understand anyway--and then uproar with laughter) but we enjoyed their company anyway.
The dune was near Gangaram's home so we decided to forgo the camel-mounting process (which is pretty trecherous because of the way camels stand up: hind legs and then front legs). When we arrived, Tipa was milking her goats (she hid two baby goats under a basket so they wouldn't disturb her) and she invited us to come watch her. Then we entered the house where Gangaram's daughter in law had made a small fire on the floor under a pot in the open area of the home and was cooking dinner. We watched and took a couple pictures, and she asked if she could look through my camera, which she seemed to really enjoy doing. Eventually Tipa also appeared, and she began to make chapatti bread, which is kind of similar to a tortilla in that it is a simple dough that is rolled out and fried (unlike naan, which is baked) and is eaten with most every meal. As I watched her knead and ball the dough I couldn't help but think how many times in her life she must have done this and how automatic it was to her. It reminded me very much of my Grandma and Tantie making spanakopita or bourekas; each one identical, like they were from a little factory. Tipa invited us to help her, so we both joined her on the floor and rolled out dough into circles as she blew on the fire through a tube to keep it going. Ocasionally, the two baby goats would clumsily find their way into the house and try and eat some of the food, and Yotam would do his best to shoo them away, which Tipa thought was pretty funny.
When dinner was prepared, Shiba arrived, explaining that the jeep wouldn't start because of the heat (or something?) and that's why he was late. While we ate Shiba told us a little bit about himself: he is 23 and has been working since he was 12. He never went to school, but learned English from working with tourists. He is from a village outside Jodhpur, but lives at the guesthouse to work to support his wife and 14-month-old daughter, who still lives in the village. Apparently he really likes working for the guesthouse, and between that and being a private driver from time to time, he makes enough money and is able to give 20% of his tips to charity ("for good karma") and added that most drivers he knows do the same. He told us some random proverbs he knows or made up. "24-hour, no bathroom, no shower." was what he had to say about visiting the desert. He also bestowed upon us some other wisdom: camel milk will prevent mosquito bites and malaria but is too hot for women to drink, village people have guests eat first, then men, then women (children kind of just eat leftovers through the day), chapatti when made of millet has to be flattened by hand, and the daughter-in-law wears the veil when other men are present, for modesty's sake. He also told us that we'll get hassled a lot in Jaiselmer (by tourist shops and the like) and that we're better off going to Pushkar, which he said is way more laid back.
After dinner, we head up to the roof of the home where the little boy had set up two mats for us, and struggled to sleep through the heat, but enjoyed the stars in our insomnia.
At dawn a peacock crowed from a nearby tree, and the two baby goats found their way to our mats and one hopped right on top of me. For breakfast we had porridge, chai, and onion chapatti, then we said our goodbyes to the family, and head off with Shiba in the jeep, feeling dirty and sore (but still stopping at a couple pretty impressive temples that on the way--one that is said to be 2,500 years old). We felt anxious to get back to the little blue guesthouse but glad that we had this experience, and maybe just as glad that we weren't headed towards the bus to Jaiselmer but instead towards a cold shower and a blissful, 4-hour, air-conditioned nap.
And if all goes well with bus booking, tomorrow we'll be off to Pushkar!
(**actually though, but the time i've posted this we've come and gone from Pushkar: we're now in Jaipur, with our next destination in Chandigarh, Punjab.)
In comparison to Udaipur, Jodhpur is more crowded, less friendly, more polluted, and much hotter. We thought after seeing the fort, which--for good reason--is the main attraction, we would be ready to leave. But as we were planning how we'd get to Jaiselmer over breakfast at the rooftop cafe, I browsed through the comment book about one of the activities the hotel coordinates: a camel safari into the Thar desert.
At first we were hestitant; both of us had ridden camels before in Israel and thought that voyaging through sand in the high desert heat on one would be less than pleasant (most people don't even visit Rajasthan at all in the summer bc of the weather). But the guests' comment book showed that the safari aspect was the less interesting part of the journey: we would be welcomed by a Rajasthani village family who would feed and house us for the night. This sounded worthwhile enough, and we rationalized the heat when we saw that some people from the guesthouse had gone just days before, so we postponed our plan to take a bus to Jaiselmer and signed up for the so-called safari.
Shiba, the cook/driver at our little blue guesthouse, drove us two hours into the Thar desert in the house jeep. The ride, we thought, was bumpy and hot, but nowhere near as bumpy and hot as on our next vehicle (the camels!). A man named Gangaram, wearing all white--including a large, Rajasthani-style white turban)--met us with his two gurgling camels and his ten-year old son. Shiba left with the jeep, we mounted our camels, and off we went for an hour and a half long ride through sand, shrubs, dried-out farmland, and the occasional straw-thatched hut, with Gangaram and me on one camel, and Yotam and the boy on the other. The ride itself was okay: I struggled to make small talk with Gangaram, who knew only very basic English, while Yotam bumped along uncomfortably while being blasted in the face with minute long camel farts. The boy kept falling asleep during the ride, knocking his head against Yotam's back, saying "oh sorry, oh sorry" and then nodding off again. Shows how exciting he found it!
When we arrived at Gangaram's home, which is a square stone structure with four small rooms surrounding an open area, his wife had prepared us a delicious thali. We ate on the floor of one of the rooms, surrounded by posters of Indian gods and handmade trinkets. Little birds who had nested in the center of the home flew in and out, chirping loudly.
So far so good, but after lunch, I started to think that coming on the safari may turn out to be a bit of a bust: Gangaram fell asleep on a cot, and after the little boy finished showing us a few post cards and pictures other visitors had sent, he disappeared. Shiba (the jeep driver) was supposed to have shown up shortly after us, but was no where to be found either. Gangaram's wife (who was also dressed traditional Rajasthani) had introduced herself (her name is Tipa) but also seemed very busy. I would have liked to ask her what we should do but she didn't speak any English so I thought it best not to bother her. Another woman was in and out, but her face was covered by her veil and we weren't sure if that meant we shouldn't talk to her. So Yotam and I were basically left to ourselves. We didn't want to leave the house because there was nothing else around except for a few far off huts, and so Yotam followed Gangaram's lead and tried his best to nap through the heat while I wrote in my journal.
A few hours later, Gangaram woke up from his nap and took us back out on the camels for a ride around the surrounding areas up to a high dune where we could watch the sunset. We spotted a few other animals (an antelopeish thing, a deer thing, some heards of sheep and goats), and enjoyed the desertscape, which was hardly a barren sand-only thing one imagines but instead was spotted with the occasional unusual tree or spiney shrub. This time, Yotam got to ride his own camel, but Gangaram shared with me again (which, actually, I was glad for because my camel was somewhat unruly, letting out belchy roars every time he was given a tug at the reins). Gangaram himself had adopted many ways of the camels--burping, farting, and spitting nearly constantly--but he was a nice man nonetheless and did his best to answer my questions about his lifestyle and the desert area. Gangaram told us that in the desert people grow lentils, millet, and (strangely enough) watermelon. He had four sons and one daughter; by tradition his daughter had moved in with her husband's family, and they were joined by the wife of his oldest son (who was the veiled woman from earlier). I asked if the women ever rode camels, which gave him quite a laugh. ("Not even just once?" "No, no, no.")
After a few hours we dismounted on a high dune to watch the sun set. There, we were approached by three kids who were hearding some grazing goats. Two of the smaller goats climbed up the dune with them, and we did our best at communicating while the goats did their best at eating various items of our clothing (thankfully to no avail). The kids seemed mostly to be making fun of us (they would whisper to each other--even though we didn't understand anyway--and then uproar with laughter) but we enjoyed their company anyway.
The dune was near Gangaram's home so we decided to forgo the camel-mounting process (which is pretty trecherous because of the way camels stand up: hind legs and then front legs). When we arrived, Tipa was milking her goats (she hid two baby goats under a basket so they wouldn't disturb her) and she invited us to come watch her. Then we entered the house where Gangaram's daughter in law had made a small fire on the floor under a pot in the open area of the home and was cooking dinner. We watched and took a couple pictures, and she asked if she could look through my camera, which she seemed to really enjoy doing. Eventually Tipa also appeared, and she began to make chapatti bread, which is kind of similar to a tortilla in that it is a simple dough that is rolled out and fried (unlike naan, which is baked) and is eaten with most every meal. As I watched her knead and ball the dough I couldn't help but think how many times in her life she must have done this and how automatic it was to her. It reminded me very much of my Grandma and Tantie making spanakopita or bourekas; each one identical, like they were from a little factory. Tipa invited us to help her, so we both joined her on the floor and rolled out dough into circles as she blew on the fire through a tube to keep it going. Ocasionally, the two baby goats would clumsily find their way into the house and try and eat some of the food, and Yotam would do his best to shoo them away, which Tipa thought was pretty funny.
When dinner was prepared, Shiba arrived, explaining that the jeep wouldn't start because of the heat (or something?) and that's why he was late. While we ate Shiba told us a little bit about himself: he is 23 and has been working since he was 12. He never went to school, but learned English from working with tourists. He is from a village outside Jodhpur, but lives at the guesthouse to work to support his wife and 14-month-old daughter, who still lives in the village. Apparently he really likes working for the guesthouse, and between that and being a private driver from time to time, he makes enough money and is able to give 20% of his tips to charity ("for good karma") and added that most drivers he knows do the same. He told us some random proverbs he knows or made up. "24-hour, no bathroom, no shower." was what he had to say about visiting the desert. He also bestowed upon us some other wisdom: camel milk will prevent mosquito bites and malaria but is too hot for women to drink, village people have guests eat first, then men, then women (children kind of just eat leftovers through the day), chapatti when made of millet has to be flattened by hand, and the daughter-in-law wears the veil when other men are present, for modesty's sake. He also told us that we'll get hassled a lot in Jaiselmer (by tourist shops and the like) and that we're better off going to Pushkar, which he said is way more laid back.
After dinner, we head up to the roof of the home where the little boy had set up two mats for us, and struggled to sleep through the heat, but enjoyed the stars in our insomnia.
At dawn a peacock crowed from a nearby tree, and the two baby goats found their way to our mats and one hopped right on top of me. For breakfast we had porridge, chai, and onion chapatti, then we said our goodbyes to the family, and head off with Shiba in the jeep, feeling dirty and sore (but still stopping at a couple pretty impressive temples that on the way--one that is said to be 2,500 years old). We felt anxious to get back to the little blue guesthouse but glad that we had this experience, and maybe just as glad that we weren't headed towards the bus to Jaiselmer but instead towards a cold shower and a blissful, 4-hour, air-conditioned nap.
And if all goes well with bus booking, tomorrow we'll be off to Pushkar!
(**actually though, but the time i've posted this we've come and gone from Pushkar: we're now in Jaipur, with our next destination in Chandigarh, Punjab.)
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
First Day in Udaipur
Sarah and I will double up on blogging right now since we have so much to catch up on.
After leaving Goa, we had a few days in transit, going through Pune, Ahmedebad, resting at Mt Abu for a short while and eventually arriving in Udaipur, Rajasthan two days ago.
We arrived around 2 in the afternoon after a long bus ride through some scenic desert terrain. Our hotel is a cute place in the old city directly outside of the City Palace walls; you can literally touch the wall from the back yard of the hotel and we saw the roof of our room when we visited the palace the next day.
Down a small, hilly street from us is what would be a lake if there was any water. The lake, as you may have seen in Octopussy, has a beautiful and very expensive restaurant in the center, the Taj Lake Palace. Because the monsoon hasn't hit this area yet, and because of recent droughts (global warming) there is only a few drops of water in this lake which are used to shuttle visitors to the Taj restaurant. The rest of the lake is empty and occupied by cows and kids playing Cricket.
We walked around the empty lake for a short while before hearing some drumming at a temple. We were invited in to join 5 men inside a small, roadside Shiva temple. Since it was Monday, and Monday is Shiva's day, they were sitting in the temple singing and chanting his praise. We joined them for some tea and listened to them sing for a while. It was a nice break from the outside world where the majority of the people who talk to us are only after our money. They surprisingly declined the few rupees we offered them.
After this temple party broke up, we headed across the lake for some more wandering, which is our favorite activity to do in India. We heard some fireworks, and a young man told us that people are celebrating someone's birthday (though I don't remember who, he was apparently a very rich and important man that lived sometime ago). We watched a scooter rally drive by while we joined this friendly guy for our second chai of the day. This man, Shiam, had a story that seemed too good to be true that he explained to us over tea.
He owns a spice shop and an art gallery down the street from each other. His art gallery is dedicated to preserving the traditional miniature painting style of Udaipur. He teaches free painting workshops, and sells his own and other artists highly-detailed miniature paintings. Almost all of the money from the sales go to the artists directly, except for a small portion which goes to feed children in impoverished areas. He also teaches cooking classes with his sister. We signed up for some cooking classes for the next night.
Leaving Shiam's gallery looking for somewhere to eat dinner, we found the finishing point of the scooter rally that we saw earlier. In celebration of this important guy's birthday, they were putting on an extravagant, and somewhat reckless fire show for a crowd of a few hundred. There were fire spitters, fire dancers, and some sword and weapon shows accompanied by some low and loud fireworks. They performed some amazing things with disregard for their own and the audience's safety. We were starving and found a rooftop restaurant where we could see the entire thing from above (though the fireworks were exploding that much closer to our heads) .
This rally was in front of the Jagdish temple which is a very old, white marble temple known for a statue of Shiva with a large diamond in his chin. The drummer from the other temple had mentioned he was playing later at this temple, so we decided to stop in and say hi. We said hello to our drummer friend, paid our respect to Shiva, and I offended some ladies with my powerful foot odor.
Walking back to the hotel, we were stopped by some guys hanging out by a well. One asked if we remembered him from earlier; it took us a second, but Sarah remembered he asked us in french if we wanted a tour of the city palace when we were there. Since Rajasthan is popular with European tourists, many people speak French, English, Spanish, and Italian pretty well. And they often assume that Sarah and I are French for some reason. We ended up chatting with these guys who seem to be the city jokesters and making plans for coffee the next day before going back to our hotel.
It's a good day for us in India when we meet so many friendly people who just want to enjoy our company and not our money (as if we have very much).
After leaving Goa, we had a few days in transit, going through Pune, Ahmedebad, resting at Mt Abu for a short while and eventually arriving in Udaipur, Rajasthan two days ago.
We arrived around 2 in the afternoon after a long bus ride through some scenic desert terrain. Our hotel is a cute place in the old city directly outside of the City Palace walls; you can literally touch the wall from the back yard of the hotel and we saw the roof of our room when we visited the palace the next day.
Down a small, hilly street from us is what would be a lake if there was any water. The lake, as you may have seen in Octopussy, has a beautiful and very expensive restaurant in the center, the Taj Lake Palace. Because the monsoon hasn't hit this area yet, and because of recent droughts (global warming) there is only a few drops of water in this lake which are used to shuttle visitors to the Taj restaurant. The rest of the lake is empty and occupied by cows and kids playing Cricket.
We walked around the empty lake for a short while before hearing some drumming at a temple. We were invited in to join 5 men inside a small, roadside Shiva temple. Since it was Monday, and Monday is Shiva's day, they were sitting in the temple singing and chanting his praise. We joined them for some tea and listened to them sing for a while. It was a nice break from the outside world where the majority of the people who talk to us are only after our money. They surprisingly declined the few rupees we offered them.
After this temple party broke up, we headed across the lake for some more wandering, which is our favorite activity to do in India. We heard some fireworks, and a young man told us that people are celebrating someone's birthday (though I don't remember who, he was apparently a very rich and important man that lived sometime ago). We watched a scooter rally drive by while we joined this friendly guy for our second chai of the day. This man, Shiam, had a story that seemed too good to be true that he explained to us over tea.
He owns a spice shop and an art gallery down the street from each other. His art gallery is dedicated to preserving the traditional miniature painting style of Udaipur. He teaches free painting workshops, and sells his own and other artists highly-detailed miniature paintings. Almost all of the money from the sales go to the artists directly, except for a small portion which goes to feed children in impoverished areas. He also teaches cooking classes with his sister. We signed up for some cooking classes for the next night.
Leaving Shiam's gallery looking for somewhere to eat dinner, we found the finishing point of the scooter rally that we saw earlier. In celebration of this important guy's birthday, they were putting on an extravagant, and somewhat reckless fire show for a crowd of a few hundred. There were fire spitters, fire dancers, and some sword and weapon shows accompanied by some low and loud fireworks. They performed some amazing things with disregard for their own and the audience's safety. We were starving and found a rooftop restaurant where we could see the entire thing from above (though the fireworks were exploding that much closer to our heads) .
This rally was in front of the Jagdish temple which is a very old, white marble temple known for a statue of Shiva with a large diamond in his chin. The drummer from the other temple had mentioned he was playing later at this temple, so we decided to stop in and say hi. We said hello to our drummer friend, paid our respect to Shiva, and I offended some ladies with my powerful foot odor.
Walking back to the hotel, we were stopped by some guys hanging out by a well. One asked if we remembered him from earlier; it took us a second, but Sarah remembered he asked us in french if we wanted a tour of the city palace when we were there. Since Rajasthan is popular with European tourists, many people speak French, English, Spanish, and Italian pretty well. And they often assume that Sarah and I are French for some reason. We ended up chatting with these guys who seem to be the city jokesters and making plans for coffee the next day before going back to our hotel.
It's a good day for us in India when we meet so many friendly people who just want to enjoy our company and not our money (as if we have very much).
Pune, Ahmedabad, Mt. Abu
Between Goa and Udaipur, where we currently are, we made three main stops: a day and a half in Pune, a day in Ahmedabad, and three days in Mt. Abu. Here are quick summaries of our impressions of each of those places.
Pune seems like a cool place to live, but wasn't that great of a place to visit. It's metropolitan, has a relatively large international population, really nice restaurants, and good shopping. It's also home to the internationally renowned ashram of Osho (he's also subject to parody in that Mike Myer's movie "The Love Guru"). Unfortunately, the ashram was expensive (and not to mention eerily cultish) so we only enjoyed it from afar, and spent the rest of our time wandering, making one stop in the old-city to see a fabulous curio museum that featured classical Indian musical instruments.
Ahmedabad, on the other hand, was far less international, to the extent that we were the only non-Indians to be found. People had given us attention for being foreigners before, but in Ahmedabad we could hardly make it a few seconds without a "Hello" or "Which country?" People on scooters would shout "nice to meet you!" as they drove by. While this can be exhausting, it's mostly fun and friendly. In Ahmedabad we did our usual wandering-through-markets routine, and also stopped at the Ghandi Ashram to pay homage to the country's beloved founder. And, it's confirmed: Ghandi is tight.
After all of the running around, we decided that we needed to take a breather at our next stop, which was Mt. Abu in Rajasthan. Mt. Abu, which we picked because it is supposed to have nice weather at this time of year, was nothing like I had imagined it (I had made a huge error of conflating "hill station" and "base camps"). The city is an oasis situated between dried out hills, centered around Nakki lake. I guess when I describe it that way, it sounds obvious that it is a huge tourist attraction, mostly for Gujarati families (usually from Ahmedabad, specifically) and honeymooners. Considering the cloyingly warm greeting we had in Ahmedabad, it's no surprise that Mt. Abu has been the height of our celebrite: literally droves of people would approach us, mostly kids who wanted to shake our hands, speak a little English, and take a picture. Mt. Abu is where we decided that whenever people randomly ask to take a picture with us, we will also take a picture. So, look forward to dozens of pictures of us with Gujarati families!
That decision, actually, was somewhat representative of our overall philosophy that weekend, which was: when in Mt. Abu, do as the Gujaratis do. We went paddle boating two times, got our photos taken dressed up as a Rajastani King and Queen, visited a beautiful Jain temple, and played air hokey. Every night.
Overall, we achieved what we wanted to in Mt Abu (not hard, when the goal is to relax and you happen to be in a resort town), but I'm glad we left when we did, because Udaipur, so far, is really, really wonderful.
Pune seems like a cool place to live, but wasn't that great of a place to visit. It's metropolitan, has a relatively large international population, really nice restaurants, and good shopping. It's also home to the internationally renowned ashram of Osho (he's also subject to parody in that Mike Myer's movie "The Love Guru"). Unfortunately, the ashram was expensive (and not to mention eerily cultish) so we only enjoyed it from afar, and spent the rest of our time wandering, making one stop in the old-city to see a fabulous curio museum that featured classical Indian musical instruments.
Ahmedabad, on the other hand, was far less international, to the extent that we were the only non-Indians to be found. People had given us attention for being foreigners before, but in Ahmedabad we could hardly make it a few seconds without a "Hello" or "Which country?" People on scooters would shout "nice to meet you!" as they drove by. While this can be exhausting, it's mostly fun and friendly. In Ahmedabad we did our usual wandering-through-markets routine, and also stopped at the Ghandi Ashram to pay homage to the country's beloved founder. And, it's confirmed: Ghandi is tight.
After all of the running around, we decided that we needed to take a breather at our next stop, which was Mt. Abu in Rajasthan. Mt. Abu, which we picked because it is supposed to have nice weather at this time of year, was nothing like I had imagined it (I had made a huge error of conflating "hill station" and "base camps"). The city is an oasis situated between dried out hills, centered around Nakki lake. I guess when I describe it that way, it sounds obvious that it is a huge tourist attraction, mostly for Gujarati families (usually from Ahmedabad, specifically) and honeymooners. Considering the cloyingly warm greeting we had in Ahmedabad, it's no surprise that Mt. Abu has been the height of our celebrite: literally droves of people would approach us, mostly kids who wanted to shake our hands, speak a little English, and take a picture. Mt. Abu is where we decided that whenever people randomly ask to take a picture with us, we will also take a picture. So, look forward to dozens of pictures of us with Gujarati families!
That decision, actually, was somewhat representative of our overall philosophy that weekend, which was: when in Mt. Abu, do as the Gujaratis do. We went paddle boating two times, got our photos taken dressed up as a Rajastani King and Queen, visited a beautiful Jain temple, and played air hokey. Every night.
Overall, we achieved what we wanted to in Mt Abu (not hard, when the goal is to relax and you happen to be in a resort town), but I'm glad we left when we did, because Udaipur, so far, is really, really wonderful.
Goan, Goan, Gone!
(this is a late post about our last day in goa,which i wrote but didn't get the chance to type up and post)
Goa has been great so far, and we've come to the conclusion that off-season Goa is more up our alley anyway. Where season-Goa is huge crowds, big spending, non-stop parties, and hoards of foreign tourists, off-season Goa is where Indian families come to relax and cool off in the ocean before monsoon time. In that spirit, we decided to spend the day lounging on the beach, people-watching, and making our best attempt at being inconspicuously American.
That didn't really work. As soon as our umbrella was pitched, we were attacked by junk-hawkers, of all sorts: a few 12-year-old kids, old ladies, teenaged boys, all selling miscellaneous junk like beaded necklaces, henna tattoos, paper fans. As I politely denied the products they were pushing each of the peddlers would kind of coyly walk away and say "okay maybe later?" and of course, to this i'd say "okay, later" thinking it was an empty promise just for laughs, on both sides of the conversation.
The 12-year olds, a boy and girl, were the first to return. "You said later" the girl said, who was all smiles and really pleased with the trick she had pulled. "Oh, well later again!" I said, and this kind of back-and-forth play went on for a few minutes until they left to bug some other people.
Next came a woman of about 30. "You said later!" I wasn't about to play the same later-game I'd played with the kids, so I said "really I don't want anything" and then she asked where we were from, and eventually she just sat down under our umbrella with us and we talked for about a half hour. She knew nearly a dozen languages (both Asian and European)--most of which she had picked up entirely from chatting with tourists during peak season. This, despite the fact that she said she doesn't know how to write in any. I asked her what business was like here and she said generally good, but that the past few days hadn't been so good since it was almost the monsoon and not even Indian tourists were coming anymore. She said that during monsoon season, she goes back to Karnataka, the southern state where she is from, with her family of five. During the peak season, she owns a shop instead of selling jewelry on the beach, and her two girls are very good at school and her son is "very naughty."
During this conversation we were met by other folks we'd said "later" to: an 80-yr old woman from Rajasthan who makes & sells peanut butter during the season, a man selling flutes who said he had to leave his native Mysore because there are "too many flute-man" there. Each of them had a basically similar story: selling things on the beach is what they do towards the end of the season, that business was bad right now because the monsoon would be coming soon, and that they'd rather sit and chat than try and sell things to people who don't want to buy. It was really a good time, and interesting to hear everyone's stories.
As the sun started to set, everyone started to leave. Instead of "later" they each said "tomorrow, okay?"
"Tomorrow, sure."
"Remember my face okay?"
"Of course."
The monsoon came that night, and the next day we decided that we would also leave Goa.
Goa has been great so far, and we've come to the conclusion that off-season Goa is more up our alley anyway. Where season-Goa is huge crowds, big spending, non-stop parties, and hoards of foreign tourists, off-season Goa is where Indian families come to relax and cool off in the ocean before monsoon time. In that spirit, we decided to spend the day lounging on the beach, people-watching, and making our best attempt at being inconspicuously American.
That didn't really work. As soon as our umbrella was pitched, we were attacked by junk-hawkers, of all sorts: a few 12-year-old kids, old ladies, teenaged boys, all selling miscellaneous junk like beaded necklaces, henna tattoos, paper fans. As I politely denied the products they were pushing each of the peddlers would kind of coyly walk away and say "okay maybe later?" and of course, to this i'd say "okay, later" thinking it was an empty promise just for laughs, on both sides of the conversation.
The 12-year olds, a boy and girl, were the first to return. "You said later" the girl said, who was all smiles and really pleased with the trick she had pulled. "Oh, well later again!" I said, and this kind of back-and-forth play went on for a few minutes until they left to bug some other people.
Next came a woman of about 30. "You said later!" I wasn't about to play the same later-game I'd played with the kids, so I said "really I don't want anything" and then she asked where we were from, and eventually she just sat down under our umbrella with us and we talked for about a half hour. She knew nearly a dozen languages (both Asian and European)--most of which she had picked up entirely from chatting with tourists during peak season. This, despite the fact that she said she doesn't know how to write in any. I asked her what business was like here and she said generally good, but that the past few days hadn't been so good since it was almost the monsoon and not even Indian tourists were coming anymore. She said that during monsoon season, she goes back to Karnataka, the southern state where she is from, with her family of five. During the peak season, she owns a shop instead of selling jewelry on the beach, and her two girls are very good at school and her son is "very naughty."
During this conversation we were met by other folks we'd said "later" to: an 80-yr old woman from Rajasthan who makes & sells peanut butter during the season, a man selling flutes who said he had to leave his native Mysore because there are "too many flute-man" there. Each of them had a basically similar story: selling things on the beach is what they do towards the end of the season, that business was bad right now because the monsoon would be coming soon, and that they'd rather sit and chat than try and sell things to people who don't want to buy. It was really a good time, and interesting to hear everyone's stories.
As the sun started to set, everyone started to leave. Instead of "later" they each said "tomorrow, okay?"
"Tomorrow, sure."
"Remember my face okay?"
"Of course."
The monsoon came that night, and the next day we decided that we would also leave Goa.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
We haven't had the internet for a few days, we've been in a city called Pune near Mumbai but are leaving for Ahmedabad, in Gujarat, on an overnight train tonight.
Also: due to some weird paperwork business, the service on our phone has been cancelled. We'll probably have a new phone number within the next week or so-- though it's easier said than done. In the meantime: we're doing alright!
Also: due to some weird paperwork business, the service on our phone has been cancelled. We'll probably have a new phone number within the next week or so-- though it's easier said than done. In the meantime: we're doing alright!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
As requested: Food Update!
A few of you have been asking us what the food has been like here. To answer generally, it's been consistently fairly good, and consistently really spicy. Even on the plane ride over, on which we had ordered the "Hindimeal," our mouths were a little on fire. At some point, I had to tell Yotam that saying "this is really spicy" during every meal was no longer necessary.
Ordering food has been an interesting experience initself. Thinking that as frequenters of Indian restaurants, we'd be somewhat informed about Indian cuisine was a misguided assumption. While every menu includes the standard Indian-American restaurant fare, they also include about forty items we've never heard of. And no descriptions. We basically just pick our food completely at random, and almost always end up ordering too much. Which, aside from the guilt we get from wasting, is kind of okay since an enormous feast is rarely over $5 total.
Despite our unfamiliarity, our meals do usually consist of two curries, rice, naan, and a Kingfisher, soda in a glass bottle that look like it's been in circulation since 1970, or an "iced coffee" (which is this kind of gross drink of instant coffee, cream, and ice cream).
There have, of course, been some outstanding meals, however, which has encouraged us to make a Biweekly Top Five Meal List EXXTRAAVAGANZATHON! Here we go:
5.The meals at Honey Valley Dining Hall in Coorg were, in most ways, not that different from what we fix over at 59th street: Cooked veggies like okra, beets, and greenbeans tossed up with some spices and served with rice. Most often they were cooked with (what we think) were mustard seeds and coupled with some kind of fried sweet things and tiny bananas. What made this food special was that all the produce was organically grown on the property, and cooked using a generator that was hidden a short walk into the woods. One of the banana trees was right outside of our hut!
4. Before we boarded our bus to Mysore, we decided to stop for a quick bite at the second-floor restaurant at the bus station. Considering our locale, our expectations were low, but our minds were quickly changed when we saw how crowded the restaurant was. We both ordered the South Indian Thali, which is an all-you-can-eat meal usually consisting of rice and three or more curries or other spreads. One of the best things about thalis, though, is that because it's prepared en masse and most people order the thali, it's not usually more than an dollar. This thali was the usual unidentifiable spicy goop, but the whole thing was served up on a giant banana leaf, true Karnatakan style.
3. Another bus experience, and another thali makes it on this list, this time during our stop in Udupi on our way to Goa. Even though we only had about five minutes to scarf this one down, it was seriously delicious. We had heard that Udupi was known for it's vegetarian cuisine and with the sweet chana masala, fluffy naan, and four other tasty dishes we were not disappointed.
2. Dinner on the beach in Goa is literally on the beach. Like, sand under our chairs and beach dogs and cows roaming around. This setting was really romantic (there's just no other way to put it!). Each table was lit with a candle and we were able to see some spectacular sky stuff, including a few huge shooting stars. The food was pretty salty, but it went well with our big bottle of Kingfisher. We had veggie curry, potato-stuffed paratha (which is like naan), veggie pulao (which is rice and veggies and we're still not sure how it differs from biriyani exactly), and deep fried veggies. There were a few mishaps, however: we couldn't tell what was what inside the breading and Yotam and I BOTH ended up eating a super, super spicy chile. Like, the spiciest thing imaginable, straight to the dome. And then a dog peed on me.
1. What gets the number one slot for the past two weeks is actually also what we suspect made us sick. Our aim was to go to the highly recommended restaurant Maiyas, in Bangalore, for the unlimited thali. We weren't as hungry as we had anticipated though, and noticed that next to Maiya's there was a super long line (or, actually more of a clump, since it's rare to find and actual line in India) of men in business attire drinking out of tiny white cups. There's nothing more that Yotam and I love than standing in a good line, so we hopped on and were immediately directed by two or three people that we had to buy a ticket and then trade the ticket for a cup of coffee. While waiting for the coffee, we saw a cook throwing together at least two dozen ingredients into a bowl-sized fried dough puff. And it looked fucking delicious. We tried to order one but another one of the suits told us that "it is impossible to have both at the same time." So we decided to momentarily forgo our coffee for the puff. And it was, by far, the best thing we've eaten in India. As far as we can tell, it was a flakey bread filled with one layer of toasted soy beans, rice noodles, spices, some kind of sauce, pomegranate seeds, diced tomatoes, a bunch of other savory crunchies, a layer of creamy yogurt, and then a second layer with all of the ingredients again, topped with some fresh cilantro. It was simultaneously all flavors and textures possible. After finishing, we got back in line and enjoyed the only really good cup of coffee that we've had in India. If this is was in fact what gave us a week of stomach problems, it was by all means totally worth it.
Runners up include: Fresh Pressed Cane Juice with Lime/Ginger, Capsicum Baji, Jackfruit.
Ordering food has been an interesting experience initself. Thinking that as frequenters of Indian restaurants, we'd be somewhat informed about Indian cuisine was a misguided assumption. While every menu includes the standard Indian-American restaurant fare, they also include about forty items we've never heard of. And no descriptions. We basically just pick our food completely at random, and almost always end up ordering too much. Which, aside from the guilt we get from wasting, is kind of okay since an enormous feast is rarely over $5 total.
Despite our unfamiliarity, our meals do usually consist of two curries, rice, naan, and a Kingfisher, soda in a glass bottle that look like it's been in circulation since 1970, or an "iced coffee" (which is this kind of gross drink of instant coffee, cream, and ice cream).
There have, of course, been some outstanding meals, however, which has encouraged us to make a Biweekly Top Five Meal List EXXTRAAVAGANZATHON! Here we go:
5.The meals at Honey Valley Dining Hall in Coorg were, in most ways, not that different from what we fix over at 59th street: Cooked veggies like okra, beets, and greenbeans tossed up with some spices and served with rice. Most often they were cooked with (what we think) were mustard seeds and coupled with some kind of fried sweet things and tiny bananas. What made this food special was that all the produce was organically grown on the property, and cooked using a generator that was hidden a short walk into the woods. One of the banana trees was right outside of our hut!
4. Before we boarded our bus to Mysore, we decided to stop for a quick bite at the second-floor restaurant at the bus station. Considering our locale, our expectations were low, but our minds were quickly changed when we saw how crowded the restaurant was. We both ordered the South Indian Thali, which is an all-you-can-eat meal usually consisting of rice and three or more curries or other spreads. One of the best things about thalis, though, is that because it's prepared en masse and most people order the thali, it's not usually more than an dollar. This thali was the usual unidentifiable spicy goop, but the whole thing was served up on a giant banana leaf, true Karnatakan style.
3. Another bus experience, and another thali makes it on this list, this time during our stop in Udupi on our way to Goa. Even though we only had about five minutes to scarf this one down, it was seriously delicious. We had heard that Udupi was known for it's vegetarian cuisine and with the sweet chana masala, fluffy naan, and four other tasty dishes we were not disappointed.
2. Dinner on the beach in Goa is literally on the beach. Like, sand under our chairs and beach dogs and cows roaming around. This setting was really romantic (there's just no other way to put it!). Each table was lit with a candle and we were able to see some spectacular sky stuff, including a few huge shooting stars. The food was pretty salty, but it went well with our big bottle of Kingfisher. We had veggie curry, potato-stuffed paratha (which is like naan), veggie pulao (which is rice and veggies and we're still not sure how it differs from biriyani exactly), and deep fried veggies. There were a few mishaps, however: we couldn't tell what was what inside the breading and Yotam and I BOTH ended up eating a super, super spicy chile. Like, the spiciest thing imaginable, straight to the dome. And then a dog peed on me.
1. What gets the number one slot for the past two weeks is actually also what we suspect made us sick. Our aim was to go to the highly recommended restaurant Maiyas, in Bangalore, for the unlimited thali. We weren't as hungry as we had anticipated though, and noticed that next to Maiya's there was a super long line (or, actually more of a clump, since it's rare to find and actual line in India) of men in business attire drinking out of tiny white cups. There's nothing more that Yotam and I love than standing in a good line, so we hopped on and were immediately directed by two or three people that we had to buy a ticket and then trade the ticket for a cup of coffee. While waiting for the coffee, we saw a cook throwing together at least two dozen ingredients into a bowl-sized fried dough puff. And it looked fucking delicious. We tried to order one but another one of the suits told us that "it is impossible to have both at the same time." So we decided to momentarily forgo our coffee for the puff. And it was, by far, the best thing we've eaten in India. As far as we can tell, it was a flakey bread filled with one layer of toasted soy beans, rice noodles, spices, some kind of sauce, pomegranate seeds, diced tomatoes, a bunch of other savory crunchies, a layer of creamy yogurt, and then a second layer with all of the ingredients again, topped with some fresh cilantro. It was simultaneously all flavors and textures possible. After finishing, we got back in line and enjoyed the only really good cup of coffee that we've had in India. If this is was in fact what gave us a week of stomach problems, it was by all means totally worth it.
Runners up include: Fresh Pressed Cane Juice with Lime/Ginger, Capsicum Baji, Jackfruit.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Go Go Goa!
After another epic journey—this time, an all night bus ride that was truly nauseating (barf)--we have arrived in Goa. Goa is an anomaly in India; the state, which is known for its beach towns and legendary parties during the peak season (which, with our luck, is of course December) has a heavy Portuguese influence from colonization in the 1500s, and a heavy hippie influence, from colonization in -1960s. Goa boasts dozens of churches, which like Indian temples, range from grandiose structures to tiny road-side stalls consisting of a string of fresh flowers, a place to light a fire, and a depiction of the god being worshiped. Really the only thing indicating that these praying stalls are Christian is that instead of Shiva or Ganesh there's a little shrine for Jesus. Goa is also the first place we've seen non-Indians in any significant numbers.
The first town we stopped in, called Panjim, felt a lot like many of the other cities we've been to with one striking difference: there were like, no people, anywhere. This is a rarity in India. As our friend from Mumbai put it (when asked why so many people showed up to the Bluefrog on a Sunday night to see a band as crappy as Split Unplugged): there are just a lot of people in India. But not in Panjim! Or at least, not in the off season! We head out towards the water (Arabian Sea!!!) for lunch and some ice cream coffees (a popular ice-free alternative to iced coffee) and found ourselves to be virtually the only people at an enormous waterfront restaurant that, with little stretch of the imagination, seemed like it would be a pretty hopping place during the peak season.
Even before we got to Goa, the mythical Goan “peak season” seemed to haunt us with any mention of the state. The group of wedding-goers we had met in Coorg ubiquitously responded to our plan to go to Goa by saying “It's the off season. But you'll still have a good time.” Now that we're here, I completely understand this reaction. The number of swanky bars, nice restaurants, aryuvedic spas, and shopping centers outnumber those of any other city we've been to. Though, in the off season, they also seem to vastly outnumber people.
While this is obviously a detriment in some ways (many things are closed, there aren't the infamous all-nighter trance parties, and, uh, there aren't as many folks around to meet) it's so far had it's advantages. For one, to get from Panjim to Calungate (which is where we are now) it can take up to three hours by bus during peak season. It took us about twenty minutes. It was also really easy to find a place to stay: we're at a really adorable little hotel that's all mosaic of mismatched ceramic bits and decorated with little windchimes and brightly colored tapestries. It has a cafe with tasty food, nice rooms, and a pool (!). It also rents us out a scooter for Rs. 200/ day (that's like, $4). And, thanks to the off-season, the roads are empty enough that we rode up and down the coast with very few other vehicles to deal with. Considering how insane Indian-style driving is, light traffic is practically a gift of the gods. Plus this made it a little safer for Yotam (who is driving) to get used to the whole left-side-of-the-road thing.
We've spent our first day here scootering (scooting?) from beach to beach. The landscape here is beautiful: tiny gulfs of water dotted with strange trees; mangoes, coconuts, jackfruit, and oft-unidentifiable other things growing all around. Little palm thatched shacks (that are actually, really palm thatched) line the beaches. Our first stop, Baga beach, was surprisingly pretty crowded, and bikini-clad Westerners were swimming alongside Indian ladies who-- I kid not-- go in the water fully clothed (in flowy Indian attire, even!). Yotam and I stopped to put our feet in the water when my favorite interaction of the day happened: A boy of about 13 approached us to try and sell me some junky jewelry. He quickly understood I wasn't interested but stuck around and looked at us. You could tell this kid had some attitude: he had kind of longish sticking-up hair and a muscle tee and kind of squinted up at us. After a moment he turned to Yotam and said “You're so white! You look like a chicken.” Perfect, haha.
Anyway, my chicken and I didn't stay long because we hadn't brought any sunscreen with us and preferred our scooting adventure anyway,enjoying the freedom to go long distances without having to worry about negotiating fares or whether or not we would like where we were to end up (though, most of Goa seems pretty reliably enjoyable). When we got back to the guesthouse we met some of the other residents: two Canadian girls, two Norwegian guys, and an Australian. We all swapped India stories of various sorts: about beautiful places we've been, trains that were missed, Indian toilet dramas, getting ripped off, times we've been met with disarming kindness. Eventually we all went out to dinner together and had a pretty good time. Even though it's the off-season.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Coorg
First-- let me apologize in advance for the poor typing that is about to ensue, we're in a really janky internet cafe in a tiny town called Madekeri on our way to Panaji, Goa, and the keyboard is in really bad condition.
We spent the past five days in a region of Karnataka called Coorg, on a coffee/tea/honey/pepper plantation called Honey Valley. When we last posted, we really didn't know anything about Coorg, or where we would be staying. In fact, three hours into our busride, we still had pretty much no idea what kind of place Honey valley would be. Every time we drove past a scenic spot, we'd cross our fingers in hopes that this was where we were headed. The bus ride itself was beautiful; we saw three elephants (two wild, one being used for labor) and the smell of tea came through the bus windows.
When we got off the bus, the sun was begining to set, and we had missed our connecting bus to Kabenakab. We had a taxi take us, which was a Rolls Royce-esque car that is actually unbelievably common hery, though rickety and old, and they often come decked out with colored headlights or other gaudy decor. Yotam called the owner of the plantation to find out where we should meet him in Kabenakab, who in response, told us, "Kabenakab is a very small place."
Once again, we had no idea how far of a journey we were on, and the sun was really going down. We drove farther and farther into the wilderness, again imagining at each lit area we passed that this must be it, this must be Honey Valley. After about an hour, we were let out of the cab at a three way stop with a single shop, the shopkeeper's house, one other structure, and a bustop with a sign reading "Kabenakab Junction." It was completely dark, except for a few candles on. After some confusion, a jeep came down the hill. Yotam looked at the driver and said "Honey Valley?" and the driver said yes and we got into the jeep.
Some people drive jeeps because they've seen Jurassic Park, and some people drive jeeps because there is no road, straight up hill, on uneven terrain in remote areas. This jeep ride was the latter sort. But also it was kind of like Jurassic Park.
Two separate jeep rides in, and we were finally in Honey Valley. We were shown our hut, which was a 10'x10' space with two beds and a table. we roomed with a mouse (or possible bat) which we named George Also (we had already named a cow George). It would be morning when we would finally see our surroundings, but from the smell of the air we could already tell that our journey was worthwhile.
When we woke up, we weren't disappointed. Foggy hills surrounded us, covered in coffee plants as well as other lush fauna, most of which was new to us. Cows and friendly dogs roamed around the premises (we even saw a puppy playing with two calfs and almost died of cute overload).
We spent most of our time there hiking, reading, playing cards, and relaxing. We also got the chance to make some friends with a group of young Indians on their way to a wedding, an Indian family on vacation, and an American couple living in Mumbai, who were very surprised to see us.
We've got to go to the bus station now for our overnight to Goa. For the record, we still plan to upload those videos we made (despite their untimeliness at this point) as soon as we find fast enough internet connection. Which at this rate, looks like it may be a while.
We spent the past five days in a region of Karnataka called Coorg, on a coffee/tea/honey/pepper plantation called Honey Valley. When we last posted, we really didn't know anything about Coorg, or where we would be staying. In fact, three hours into our busride, we still had pretty much no idea what kind of place Honey valley would be. Every time we drove past a scenic spot, we'd cross our fingers in hopes that this was where we were headed. The bus ride itself was beautiful; we saw three elephants (two wild, one being used for labor) and the smell of tea came through the bus windows.
When we got off the bus, the sun was begining to set, and we had missed our connecting bus to Kabenakab. We had a taxi take us, which was a Rolls Royce-esque car that is actually unbelievably common hery, though rickety and old, and they often come decked out with colored headlights or other gaudy decor. Yotam called the owner of the plantation to find out where we should meet him in Kabenakab, who in response, told us, "Kabenakab is a very small place."
Once again, we had no idea how far of a journey we were on, and the sun was really going down. We drove farther and farther into the wilderness, again imagining at each lit area we passed that this must be it, this must be Honey Valley. After about an hour, we were let out of the cab at a three way stop with a single shop, the shopkeeper's house, one other structure, and a bustop with a sign reading "Kabenakab Junction." It was completely dark, except for a few candles on. After some confusion, a jeep came down the hill. Yotam looked at the driver and said "Honey Valley?" and the driver said yes and we got into the jeep.
Some people drive jeeps because they've seen Jurassic Park, and some people drive jeeps because there is no road, straight up hill, on uneven terrain in remote areas. This jeep ride was the latter sort. But also it was kind of like Jurassic Park.
Two separate jeep rides in, and we were finally in Honey Valley. We were shown our hut, which was a 10'x10' space with two beds and a table. we roomed with a mouse (or possible bat) which we named George Also (we had already named a cow George). It would be morning when we would finally see our surroundings, but from the smell of the air we could already tell that our journey was worthwhile.
When we woke up, we weren't disappointed. Foggy hills surrounded us, covered in coffee plants as well as other lush fauna, most of which was new to us. Cows and friendly dogs roamed around the premises (we even saw a puppy playing with two calfs and almost died of cute overload).
We spent most of our time there hiking, reading, playing cards, and relaxing. We also got the chance to make some friends with a group of young Indians on their way to a wedding, an Indian family on vacation, and an American couple living in Mumbai, who were very surprised to see us.
We've got to go to the bus station now for our overnight to Goa. For the record, we still plan to upload those videos we made (despite their untimeliness at this point) as soon as we find fast enough internet connection. Which at this rate, looks like it may be a while.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Leaving Bangalore
Bangalore was really great. We made a video blog about it, but couldn't find a reliable connection to upload it.
We're leaving for Mysore in a few minutes, and from there heading to Coorge, which is known as the Scotland of India (though we have no idea what they mean by that).
We're in a rush now and we'll update later.
We're leaving for Mysore in a few minutes, and from there heading to Coorge, which is known as the Scotland of India (though we have no idea what they mean by that).
We're in a rush now and we'll update later.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Bye Bye, Mumbai!
Left Mumbai this morning for Bangalore via Spicejet (yes, it's really called that). Very sleepy, so I'll get to explaining Bangalore tomorrow.
Our last day in Mumbai was a varied experience. I had a really hard time sleeping the night before and so our plan was to take it easy. We started out trying to go to the big museum in Colaba thinking it would be air conditioned, and it wasn't, so we didn't. Instead we spent the day wandering around south of Colaba, through some busy side streets. A few of you have requested more picture posts, so here is what the area we were in looks like:
and here is a man sharpening a knife using the power of a bicycle:
After hours of wandering we turned in to the hotel for our regular midday strip-down-and-hang-by-the-air-conditioner session. Since it was our last night, and Mumbai is one of the few cities we're going to that has a real night life, we decided to do our best to take advantage. It was, however, Sunday, so that made it fairly difficult.
Eventually we found some club through a website called burrp (Indian Yelp, basically) that was hosting a free show of a local band called Split Unplugged (or, the band was called just Split and this was their unplugged set --- we're still not quite clear about it). The bar, called the Bluefrog, seemed touristy from descriptions (and from the fact that it was listed in the Lonely Planet Guide) but we hadn't really met anyone at all in Mumbai and figured that if nothing else it would be nice to get some feeling of youth culture and the local music scene.
The Bluefrog is in an area called Lower Parel, about 20 minutes north of Fort. The journey there has been one of the most memorable so far. As always, getting into a cab in Mumbai is reliable brush with death (or, at least that's how it seems, though the drivers apparently all have fairly good track records). On the ride we passed through some of the slums of Mumbai, which are sprawling networks of shacks built from corrugated scrap metal and other reused materials. We also had some very intense encounters while stopped at intersections. One man, an older man, held a baby's gangrened arm into the cab, inches from Yotam's face. We had encountered begging people before, but this instance was particularly horrific. The situation of the poor in Mumbai is difficult to describe, especially when coming from our stance as tourists and I'm not sure that anything I could write here could convey the visceral reaction that interactions like this one produce. I think, after spending only four days in Mumbai, it would be irresponsible of me to give my uninformed explanation of the issue of the slums or the street people. Still, it's important to note poverty is an ever present and emotionally stirring aspect of India, and I'll leave it at that for now.
We got out of the cab to find ourselves in a somewhat seedy area, and we were both feeling pretty solemn, and the night was starting to look like a failure. But we had already gone all the way out there, and were starting to get hungry, so we decided we'd find the Bluefrog and stick it out.
After much searching we arrived. The place was an abandoned warehouse, converted to an ultramodern lounge with an enormous soundsystem, six projectors, and not a soul around. The menu was all American style food, and corny classic rock was being blasted at us. It looked like it could have been a bar in California-- a bar that we would be very unlikely to visit. To top it off, it was also expensive, and not just by Indian standards. But we were hungry, and held out hope that if we stayed we would at least meet the musicians, which would satisfy our thirst for some interaction.
The food, while presented beautifully, tasted really, really bad. We would have left, but other people-- young, Indian people--started to trickle in ,which renewed our hope and helped us ignore the strange discomfort caused by being Americans in an American-style bar. By the time the band came on, it was an impressive crowd for a Sunday night. And while Split (unplugged?) played a pretty offe set consisting of badly played Metal, a basically arhythmic cover of a Police song, and an endearingly delivered yet downright awful Pearl Jam song, the night didn't turn out to be a total failure: as we were leaving, we made friends with an Indian guy named Rahul, who, like me, had quit his job to travel around India. He has hopes of going to grad school at USC. He was friendly, and funny, and told us some stuff about India, and thanks to him our night turned out okay. So we stuck around for a bit longer, and drank a round of Tuborgs, because the Bluefrog most certainly does not sell Kingfisher.
All in all, an odd day, and when we woke up this morning, I think we were both ready for a change of scene. And Bangalore--wow--it's different.
Our last day in Mumbai was a varied experience. I had a really hard time sleeping the night before and so our plan was to take it easy. We started out trying to go to the big museum in Colaba thinking it would be air conditioned, and it wasn't, so we didn't. Instead we spent the day wandering around south of Colaba, through some busy side streets. A few of you have requested more picture posts, so here is what the area we were in looks like:
and here is a man sharpening a knife using the power of a bicycle:
After hours of wandering we turned in to the hotel for our regular midday strip-down-and-hang-by-the-air-conditioner session. Since it was our last night, and Mumbai is one of the few cities we're going to that has a real night life, we decided to do our best to take advantage. It was, however, Sunday, so that made it fairly difficult.
Eventually we found some club through a website called burrp (Indian Yelp, basically) that was hosting a free show of a local band called Split Unplugged (or, the band was called just Split and this was their unplugged set --- we're still not quite clear about it). The bar, called the Bluefrog, seemed touristy from descriptions (and from the fact that it was listed in the Lonely Planet Guide) but we hadn't really met anyone at all in Mumbai and figured that if nothing else it would be nice to get some feeling of youth culture and the local music scene.
The Bluefrog is in an area called Lower Parel, about 20 minutes north of Fort. The journey there has been one of the most memorable so far. As always, getting into a cab in Mumbai is reliable brush with death (or, at least that's how it seems, though the drivers apparently all have fairly good track records). On the ride we passed through some of the slums of Mumbai, which are sprawling networks of shacks built from corrugated scrap metal and other reused materials. We also had some very intense encounters while stopped at intersections. One man, an older man, held a baby's gangrened arm into the cab, inches from Yotam's face. We had encountered begging people before, but this instance was particularly horrific. The situation of the poor in Mumbai is difficult to describe, especially when coming from our stance as tourists and I'm not sure that anything I could write here could convey the visceral reaction that interactions like this one produce. I think, after spending only four days in Mumbai, it would be irresponsible of me to give my uninformed explanation of the issue of the slums or the street people. Still, it's important to note poverty is an ever present and emotionally stirring aspect of India, and I'll leave it at that for now.
We got out of the cab to find ourselves in a somewhat seedy area, and we were both feeling pretty solemn, and the night was starting to look like a failure. But we had already gone all the way out there, and were starting to get hungry, so we decided we'd find the Bluefrog and stick it out.
After much searching we arrived. The place was an abandoned warehouse, converted to an ultramodern lounge with an enormous soundsystem, six projectors, and not a soul around. The menu was all American style food, and corny classic rock was being blasted at us. It looked like it could have been a bar in California-- a bar that we would be very unlikely to visit. To top it off, it was also expensive, and not just by Indian standards. But we were hungry, and held out hope that if we stayed we would at least meet the musicians, which would satisfy our thirst for some interaction.
The food, while presented beautifully, tasted really, really bad. We would have left, but other people-- young, Indian people--started to trickle in ,which renewed our hope and helped us ignore the strange discomfort caused by being Americans in an American-style bar. By the time the band came on, it was an impressive crowd for a Sunday night. And while Split (unplugged?) played a pretty offe set consisting of badly played Metal, a basically arhythmic cover of a Police song, and an endearingly delivered yet downright awful Pearl Jam song, the night didn't turn out to be a total failure: as we were leaving, we made friends with an Indian guy named Rahul, who, like me, had quit his job to travel around India. He has hopes of going to grad school at USC. He was friendly, and funny, and told us some stuff about India, and thanks to him our night turned out okay. So we stuck around for a bit longer, and drank a round of Tuborgs, because the Bluefrog most certainly does not sell Kingfisher.
All in all, an odd day, and when we woke up this morning, I think we were both ready for a change of scene. And Bangalore--wow--it's different.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Colablog
We spent the last few days exploring South Mumbai, splitting our time between the areas called Fort and Colaba.
Our hotel is in Fort, so day one was spent wandering around our neighborhood. After the aforementioned film mishap, we found ourselves in a labyrinthic bazaar, stretching easily six miles each way. The bazaar was partially indoor, partially outdoor, with aisles of every good imaginable-- spices, produce, chocolates, toys, stationary, machine parts, textiles. Yotam and I had a running joke about the fact that each road was basically all one type of product; we referred to them a the lace district, the key district, the rubber tube district, etc. The entire market was an assault on the senses: smells both good and bad, penetrating heat and humidity, people of all sorts approaching us to buy things we most definitely don't need (most everyone who caught me even glancing at their goods would greet me with an enthusiastic "yes, madame"). Everything is riddled with complications; language barriers have surpassed our expectations, we apparently suck at not getting ripped off, we don't know where anything is really. Exhaustion overcame us, and we came back to the hotel and took a euphoric, air conditioned, three hour nap.
Today was a lot more successful. As Yotam puts it, the learning curve is high. We even smell like curry already. Our morning was spent doing some intensive people watching from our window, which is in a pretty commercial part of town. We spent a lot of time watching this little boy pedal strung-up flowers to taxi drivers and storefronts, many of whom gladly bought and hung them.
Then we head out for the Gateway of India, which we were misdirected to and instead found ourselves at a strip of fancy banks. Eventually, we figured out where we were, which happened to be near one of three synagogues in Mumbai, a bright blue building with a handful of police officers on guard. We went in and found a man sleeping on one of the pews, and out of curiosity asked him if there would be a Friday night service. He kind of laughed and said we should come back at 7:30. Why not, right?
After wandering around for a bit longer, we found some men playing cricket in the park and sat down to rest and watch. Neither of us really understand cricket at all, but some British guy happened to come sit next to us on the tree trunk we were on and gave us a very, very convoluted explanation. I kid you not, he began by saying "well, when you're in your out, and when you're out your in." It only got more confusing from there but it was nice to chat with someone who spoke the same language as us, even though it was basically a lot of mumbo jumbo.
Back on the hunt for the Gateway of India, we were lucky enough to be sidetracked by three smallish art galleries, one of which had an apparently notable cafe called Samovar, at which we stopped for lunch and met a very, very loquacious movie producer who told us what was essentially his life story. Anyway, the galleries were really lovely to see, and were in many ways like galleries in Oakland (except way hotter). Stylistically there are similarities between Contemporary Mumbai art and certain American art, but to see these styles depicting Indian topics was definitely a pleasure.
Finally, just as our clothes were basically entirely soaked through and our feet throbbing from walking and heat, we found the Gateway of India, which is a magnificent structure similar in style to the Arc de Triomphe. The area was really touristy and people were really aggressively trying to sell us stuff (our favorite attempt was a guy trying to sell us postcards, maps, or "maybe a different kind of map" as he pulled out a bag of weed from an envelope). Nonetheless it was worth seeing and we headed home to de-moisten ourselves before going to temple.
At 7:30 we arrived back at the synagogue. The policemen were still there, and as we walked in we were given the official security questionairre (which was, "You am Jewish?"). The synagogue was organized Sefardic style with the bima in the middle, and orthodox style with the women separated from the men. I watched Yotam from the balcony, among a few Brooklyn chabadniks, an Israeli or two, and a few Indian Jews. The service was pretty casual considering the people in attendance, with the men kind of chatting and wandering around during the service. It was interesting to see a culture we're more familiar with in a country we're so foreign to, but as non religious Jews we didn't exactly feel at home. It was definitely worth experiencing, though.
At the end of the service, I said Shabbat Shalom to one of the women I was standing with. She corrected me by saying Shavua Tov. This is how, eventually, Yotam and I pieced together that it is actually Saturday, not Friday. Talk about being disoriented.
Oh! One last thing to add to this long long post. We finally, after much difficulty (because for some reason you're not supposed to issue sim cards to foreigners) got our phone to work . If you need to reach us for some reason, our number is +917738651722.
Our hotel is in Fort, so day one was spent wandering around our neighborhood. After the aforementioned film mishap, we found ourselves in a labyrinthic bazaar, stretching easily six miles each way. The bazaar was partially indoor, partially outdoor, with aisles of every good imaginable-- spices, produce, chocolates, toys, stationary, machine parts, textiles. Yotam and I had a running joke about the fact that each road was basically all one type of product; we referred to them a the lace district, the key district, the rubber tube district, etc. The entire market was an assault on the senses: smells both good and bad, penetrating heat and humidity, people of all sorts approaching us to buy things we most definitely don't need (most everyone who caught me even glancing at their goods would greet me with an enthusiastic "yes, madame"). Everything is riddled with complications; language barriers have surpassed our expectations, we apparently suck at not getting ripped off, we don't know where anything is really. Exhaustion overcame us, and we came back to the hotel and took a euphoric, air conditioned, three hour nap.
Today was a lot more successful. As Yotam puts it, the learning curve is high. We even smell like curry already. Our morning was spent doing some intensive people watching from our window, which is in a pretty commercial part of town. We spent a lot of time watching this little boy pedal strung-up flowers to taxi drivers and storefronts, many of whom gladly bought and hung them.
Then we head out for the Gateway of India, which we were misdirected to and instead found ourselves at a strip of fancy banks. Eventually, we figured out where we were, which happened to be near one of three synagogues in Mumbai, a bright blue building with a handful of police officers on guard. We went in and found a man sleeping on one of the pews, and out of curiosity asked him if there would be a Friday night service. He kind of laughed and said we should come back at 7:30. Why not, right?
After wandering around for a bit longer, we found some men playing cricket in the park and sat down to rest and watch. Neither of us really understand cricket at all, but some British guy happened to come sit next to us on the tree trunk we were on and gave us a very, very convoluted explanation. I kid you not, he began by saying "well, when you're in your out, and when you're out your in." It only got more confusing from there but it was nice to chat with someone who spoke the same language as us, even though it was basically a lot of mumbo jumbo.
Back on the hunt for the Gateway of India, we were lucky enough to be sidetracked by three smallish art galleries, one of which had an apparently notable cafe called Samovar, at which we stopped for lunch and met a very, very loquacious movie producer who told us what was essentially his life story. Anyway, the galleries were really lovely to see, and were in many ways like galleries in Oakland (except way hotter). Stylistically there are similarities between Contemporary Mumbai art and certain American art, but to see these styles depicting Indian topics was definitely a pleasure.
Finally, just as our clothes were basically entirely soaked through and our feet throbbing from walking and heat, we found the Gateway of India, which is a magnificent structure similar in style to the Arc de Triomphe. The area was really touristy and people were really aggressively trying to sell us stuff (our favorite attempt was a guy trying to sell us postcards, maps, or "maybe a different kind of map" as he pulled out a bag of weed from an envelope). Nonetheless it was worth seeing and we headed home to de-moisten ourselves before going to temple.
At 7:30 we arrived back at the synagogue. The policemen were still there, and as we walked in we were given the official security questionairre (which was, "You am Jewish?"). The synagogue was organized Sefardic style with the bima in the middle, and orthodox style with the women separated from the men. I watched Yotam from the balcony, among a few Brooklyn chabadniks, an Israeli or two, and a few Indian Jews. The service was pretty casual considering the people in attendance, with the men kind of chatting and wandering around during the service. It was interesting to see a culture we're more familiar with in a country we're so foreign to, but as non religious Jews we didn't exactly feel at home. It was definitely worth experiencing, though.
At the end of the service, I said Shabbat Shalom to one of the women I was standing with. She corrected me by saying Shavua Tov. This is how, eventually, Yotam and I pieced together that it is actually Saturday, not Friday. Talk about being disoriented.
Oh! One last thing to add to this long long post. We finally, after much difficulty (because for some reason you're not supposed to issue sim cards to foreigners) got our phone to work . If you need to reach us for some reason, our number is +917738651722.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Mumbai is hot, cool, and hot.
Wow. Day One. I'm not going to make a full post until tomorrow, because in all honesty we didn't do much today (so hot, tired, and disoriented) BUT if there's one story worth telling, it's this:
Yotam and I, while walking over to the Victoria Terminus this morning, happened upon a crowd of people struggling to see some goings-on at a park across the street. We figured that, Mumbai being the film capital of India, we should check it out, so we made our way to the other side of the road (not a simple task, mind you, in a city with nearly patternless traffic) to find Mumbai's School of Art and Architecture, where there appeared to be some kind of film-shoot going on. There was a separation between the onlookers and the crew, but there didn't seem to be anything enforcing people from moving in closer, so we did, and found ourselves standing next to a young Indian couple. Yotam asked
"What's going on here?"
"Filming."
This was obvious to us already, because of the lighting set up, the woman giving orders through a megaphone, a food van, and a couple trailers. So Yotam wanted to know a little more
"What's being filmed?"
"A movie."
The woman with the megaphone directed her voice towards us, though she was speaking Hindi. The guy we were talking to, who now seemed like he was probably an actor in the film, turned to Yotam nonchalantly:
"We're filming a movie. And you're standing in the frame."
Whoooops!
Yotam and I, while walking over to the Victoria Terminus this morning, happened upon a crowd of people struggling to see some goings-on at a park across the street. We figured that, Mumbai being the film capital of India, we should check it out, so we made our way to the other side of the road (not a simple task, mind you, in a city with nearly patternless traffic) to find Mumbai's School of Art and Architecture, where there appeared to be some kind of film-shoot going on. There was a separation between the onlookers and the crew, but there didn't seem to be anything enforcing people from moving in closer, so we did, and found ourselves standing next to a young Indian couple. Yotam asked
"What's going on here?"
"Filming."
This was obvious to us already, because of the lighting set up, the woman giving orders through a megaphone, a food van, and a couple trailers. So Yotam wanted to know a little more
"What's being filmed?"
"A movie."
The woman with the megaphone directed her voice towards us, though she was speaking Hindi. The guy we were talking to, who now seemed like he was probably an actor in the film, turned to Yotam nonchalantly:
"We're filming a movie. And you're standing in the frame."
Whoooops!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Arrived!
We just got the hotel in Mumbai. We're both very exhausted from the flight, but excited to finally have a tangible experience of India and what lies ahead for us.
Mumbai is like no city I've ever seen. Our only impression of the city so far is from the window of the tiny taxi cab that we got at the airport driving across the city to the hotel. It's 4am, there are people sleeping all over the streets. Young men sleeping shirtless on small towels on the sidwalk. Entire families sleeping in the same way. And cab drivers strewn over their hoods and windsheilds as if they were hit by their car and fell asleep there. Storefronts, shacks, and buildings of all sorts are pushed together on top of eachother. It's warm and humid even at this hour. My glasses instantly fogged when I stepped out of the airport doors.
We're at the hotel now, which seems nice enough: air conditioner, wifi, two clean beds, bottled water. It's located in a part of the city called Fort, which we think is near quite a few things that we want to do and see.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Video Blog!
We haven't left for India yet, as you can see, but we're posting a test video for the blog because were so excited. I'm even dressed in my India clothes already.
More to come from the subcontinent...
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Preparing for India
I think it's fine time we get this blog on the roll. Our flight date is May 19, so we have just about two weeks to go.
Planning the trip is a pretty integral part of the whole experience: even though we're not there yet, it's obvious that our heads have been in India since we bought the tickets. Beyond spending like, 99% of the time daydreaming about what it will be like, we've also had a lot of logistical things to take care of. We've spent weeks laying out different possible routes, reading up on customs, sights to see, doing some Hindi Rosetta Stone, renewing passports, getting vaccines, obtaining visas, making lists, and (Yotam's favorite part) buying gear. Yet somehow the date approaches and I feel like nothing we can do will actually prepare us at all. So late last night Yotam and I brainstormed some possible measures we can take to get us ready for how generally intense this experience is going to be. Some of these include:
1. Eating food that looks delicious but will surely make us feel sick. For us, that means either Chipotle, or chopped liver with nacho cheese and raisins, frosted and baked in a cupcake tin.
2. Trying to navigate places we've never been to with only a map. If forced to ask for directions, we'll do so in broken English to account for any language barriers we may encounter.
3. Speak broke English to everyone now is good idea in general.
4. Sleeping with ninety blankets and a humidifier. And a sweatshirt.
5. Every once in a while, with no warning, one of us will pour an enormous bucket of water on the other to simulate the monsoon rains.
6. Carrying two months worth of stuff with us wherever we go. And sleeping with our backpacks on. While in a moving vehicle.
7.The rupee is used in pretty high denominations (Rs 45 = 1 USD), so from now until we leave we'll be paying for everything in coins.
8. Bargain practice. The best way to practice for bargaining is by trying to cut a deal with someone who is not trying to cut a deal with you. This can include attempting to negotiate prices at a grocery store, for instance, or simply trying to buy something off of someone who isn't selling anything. ("How much did you pay for that laptop? I'll give you $45 for it. Okay, $50. No deal. No deal. Okay $100 and that's my final offer. Will you accept payment in coins?")
9. In order to get used to people staring at us at all times (which everyone we've spoke to has said, as Americans, is unavoidable) Yotam and I will dress in the most outlandish way possible. It isn't easy standing out in the East Bay, so Yotam will have to wear a sequined navy uniform, and I will wear a dog costume.
10. In addition, since we'll have to get used to changing our clothes less often (or at least, I will... Yotam's already an expert at that) we've decided to wear these aforementioned items daily until we leave. I anticipate that Yotam's professors will think he looks beautiful during his music jury today.
That's all for now, but, yes, welcome to this blog. We're going to do our best to keep it updated during our adventures.
Planning the trip is a pretty integral part of the whole experience: even though we're not there yet, it's obvious that our heads have been in India since we bought the tickets. Beyond spending like, 99% of the time daydreaming about what it will be like, we've also had a lot of logistical things to take care of. We've spent weeks laying out different possible routes, reading up on customs, sights to see, doing some Hindi Rosetta Stone, renewing passports, getting vaccines, obtaining visas, making lists, and (Yotam's favorite part) buying gear. Yet somehow the date approaches and I feel like nothing we can do will actually prepare us at all. So late last night Yotam and I brainstormed some possible measures we can take to get us ready for how generally intense this experience is going to be. Some of these include:
1. Eating food that looks delicious but will surely make us feel sick. For us, that means either Chipotle, or chopped liver with nacho cheese and raisins, frosted and baked in a cupcake tin.
2. Trying to navigate places we've never been to with only a map. If forced to ask for directions, we'll do so in broken English to account for any language barriers we may encounter.
3. Speak broke English to everyone now is good idea in general.
4. Sleeping with ninety blankets and a humidifier. And a sweatshirt.
5. Every once in a while, with no warning, one of us will pour an enormous bucket of water on the other to simulate the monsoon rains.
6. Carrying two months worth of stuff with us wherever we go. And sleeping with our backpacks on. While in a moving vehicle.
7.The rupee is used in pretty high denominations (Rs 45 = 1 USD), so from now until we leave we'll be paying for everything in coins.
8. Bargain practice. The best way to practice for bargaining is by trying to cut a deal with someone who is not trying to cut a deal with you. This can include attempting to negotiate prices at a grocery store, for instance, or simply trying to buy something off of someone who isn't selling anything. ("How much did you pay for that laptop? I'll give you $45 for it. Okay, $50. No deal. No deal. Okay $100 and that's my final offer. Will you accept payment in coins?")
9. In order to get used to people staring at us at all times (which everyone we've spoke to has said, as Americans, is unavoidable) Yotam and I will dress in the most outlandish way possible. It isn't easy standing out in the East Bay, so Yotam will have to wear a sequined navy uniform, and I will wear a dog costume.
10. In addition, since we'll have to get used to changing our clothes less often (or at least, I will... Yotam's already an expert at that) we've decided to wear these aforementioned items daily until we leave. I anticipate that Yotam's professors will think he looks beautiful during his music jury today.
That's all for now, but, yes, welcome to this blog. We're going to do our best to keep it updated during our adventures.
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