I Think You Have Too Much Tension in the Morning

So said a tuk tuk driver to Francis yesterday. He stopped us on the street to warn us that the road was closed for a political rally. "You can not go that way. It's not safe." He turned us around and sent us in another direction - only to pull up alongside us a few minutes later to tell us we were still headed in the wrong direction and the park we were going to was closed. Francis called BS, so the driver said "Get in & I will take you there. I will show you. Then you will believe me. Lucky money. Only 10 rupee. You must relax. I think you have too much tension in the morning." He drove us in a circle, pointed to a gate and said "See, closed." We smartly got out, paid him the 10 rupee and walked away. The park wasn't closed, and the political rally was far from dangerous. There were noise makers and peanuts and face painting and much laughter and happiness. Too bad Mr. Tuk-Tuk driver wanted to prey on the fears of Westerners and make baby Krishna cry. Good on Fran for listening to his BS detector.

The "It's closed" scam is something the travel guides warn about. However, there are many other important things they fail to mention or don't properly explain.

Spitting. There's a lot of spit in India. At least they provided a spit bin at the Botanical Gardens. Notice my sweet action shot.

Mothballs. Almost every bathroom is "freshened" with mothballs in the sink. I'd rather smell urine.

The Beds. Indian beds are hard - I mean really, really, impossibly hard.

Public urination. You're not supposed to smoke in public, but if you're a man you can whip it out pretty much anywhere and whiz on a wall.

Other Ways to Mark Your Territory. Take note of the last picture in this post. People's names, initials, etc. are carved into most every tree, monument, wall, bench, statue, immovable object in India.

Pollution. Not sure why I bothered to quit smoking when I'm inhaling just as much carbon monoxide simply by breathing the air. The pollution turns your skin a lovely shade of grey. I almost puked when I washed my clothes. Which brings me to...

The Laundry Situation. I have yet to see a washing machine or hear of one being used in India- anywhere. Laundry is hand-done and relatively expensive (25-75 cents or up to $1 per piece). I suppose the high cost is due to the labor intensiveness. And it's rather humid in India, so it takes at least 2 days and sometimes 4 to dry anything. A bit of a predicament for the migrant monkeys who must now plan the migrations around laundry and clothes drying.

Proper Attire. No joke. No one wears shorts or tank tops or skirts above the ankle. The guide books claim the same about SE Asia, but it's just not true. And man oh man the sweater vest is alive and well in India.

Gender Issues. I'm not sure where they're hiding the women. There seems to be 20 men for every woman you see on the street. And although I seemed to draw some attention the first few days of the trip - now I'm mostly ignored. No one really speaks to me. Questions and comments go straight to Francis. This means he has to work a little harder than I do.

These are some of the things about India that give me tension. And then I sit down with a cup of chai or pass a monkey on the street or exchange a head waggle with an Indian woman or catch a whiff of nag champa or experience some yummy food like dosa - and the tension melts away.

Randomnettes

We've heard from a handful of folks wondering about the food in India. We're only just now getting to the good stuff. During our travels with Kala he took us mostly to dingy, overpriced tourist stops where the ambiance was bleak (dead flies all over the floor, ancient cobwebs, and greasy hand prints on the walls illuminated by angry fluorescent light bulbs) and the food mostly mediocre.

We've had a few pretty great meals. The first was in Jaipur - room service at the hotel - a pretty tasty dal made of tiny dark lentils and some malai kofta. The second great meal came from a roadside stop where Kala ordered for us and I chanted under my breath "I won't get Hep A. I won't get Hep A." He ordered some dish that wasn't on the menu - made of mustard greens and chillies with lots of nan and another bread made from corn to stifle the heat. We've also enjoyed thali - a bottomless pit of vegetarian awesomeness. Two days ago the wait staff patiently explained that you eat thali from a banana leaf that then gets thrown out -whereas when you eat northern Indian food you eat it from a plate that gets washed and reused. Thank goodness they clarified that. Thali generally includes a dal, an okra dish, a fried veggie dish, a potato dish, rice, and more dal. You're supposed to eat thali with your fingers. But we're from the West, so forks and spoons are acceptable. Here you see me somewhat nervously enjoying my first Indian thali as the wait staff stood around and watched us eat -quick to add more rice and dal to our leaves the moment it looked like we might run out. (Pretty much every business in India is frightfully overstaffed with minimum 4-6 employees for every customer).

Today we went out to visit Joe & Shikha about 25 km from the heart of Bangalore - a trip that took over an hour by car. (Indian traffic makes I5 at rush hour seem like mere child's play.) Shikha treated us to our second Indian thali - more lavish than the first. Then for dinner we had masala dosa - a pancake filled with potato heaven. All in all a marvelous eat-so-too-much kind of day.

We've been to three malls so far (that's where Fran spied the Santa) because I didn't quite pack right. This trip was initially planned for August when the temperature is in the 80s-90s. I assumed that like SE Asia India would be only slightly cooler this time of year. Wrong. The temperature feels like Seattle in May/June with highs in the upper 60s and lows in the 50s. I needed one more pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt to get me through the next 3 weeks.

Fran, on the other hand, plans ahead. He made sure to buy a laptop bag even before we bought the laptop. I kept pretty quiet about the bag at first. Eventually I had to tell him that frankly the bag is a little douchey. Enit? I mean even douchey IT guys carry laptop bags less douchey than this douche bag.

Anyway - there are prettier things to consider. I'm amazed by the lotus flowers and their incredible will to bloom in even in the most polluted of waters. Truly inspirational. We're finding the south to be a little cleaner and more organized than the north. And we give mad props to Shikha who is the least insane Indian driver we've encountered thus far. We'll be traveling with them in about 10 days when Joe gets some well deserved time off of work for the holidays.

We have a day and a half left in Bangalore - then we head to Mysore by train. From Mysore we'll dip down to Ooty for some super-chill tea-in-the-hills time. More thoughts and pictures soon to come.

The Meanings of Om

We've been on the move the last three days - a whirlwind tour of India's Golden Triangle - Delhi, Jaipur & Agra. We left Delhi early Friday morning - putting ourselves in Kala's capable hands for the long, long drive to Jaipur.

Along the way we saw some monkeys, lots of lorries, and dozens of small villages. At one point we drove behind a "mosquito-control" truck for a few minutes, and I'm pretty sure I inhaled a good bit of DDT. After hours of staring out the window I'd concluded that India isn't beautiful - that in fact India looks like God scooped it up in handfuls, shook it around, and then let it fall back through his fingers down to Earth - leaving dusty little clumps of trees, dirty bundles of firewood, mangy bunches of monkeys/pigs/dogs/camels, piles of rubble & dung, and a kaleidoscope of garbage - plastic heaps of every imaginable color.
It made me want to take a giant bucket and some soap and give India a good bath. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and isn't that om?

As soon as I resigned myself to the ugly dirtiness of India we came to Jaipur - a little gem in the hills with the most magical moments waiting for us. And here India transcended the ugly, dirty, stinky of it all. Transcendence is om.

We took a tour of the Man Singh Palace - crawling through the centuries-old nooks and crannies, towers, and rooms. The photos on the right show the view from inside and from atop the palace. Notice also that little graffiti pearl of wisdom - "F" the fear, drink the bear". Uh, OK. And sort of om?

From the roof of our guest house we watched the sun set over Jaipur as the evening call to prayer sang out over the hills and small boys throughout the city stood on their roof tops flying kites. Imagine - dozens of kites dancing across the sky - a backdrop for laughter and prayer. Laughter and prayer belong to the many meanings of om.

The next day was early to rise again with a few more sights in Jaipur. First stop the observatory - where a couple hundred years ago some guy measured the crap out of the stars and left behind some crazy park more reminiscent of a modern sculpture park.

It was very quiet and peaceful there. The right kind of setting for om.

And here we pay homage to Taurus & Scorpio.

Then the City Palace in the Pink City before another stop at the Monkey Temple. So many monkeys. Many, many mangy monkeys. And the monkeys had one of the best views in Jaipur.
Lucky monkeys.

Agra almost turned out to be little more than an aggravation. We weren't able to make it to the hotel we'd booked. The road was closed about a kilometer away due to a fatal auto accident and not likely to reopen for several hours. So, we never did get to see the sun set on the Taj from the roof of the Taj Heritage. Kala found us another hotel and finagled some sort of upgrade. Mind you - I use the term upgrade loosely.

So we missed our chance to gaze upon the Taj and sip gin and tonics. But we did share a bottle of whiskey with Kala under a torturous fluorescent light bulb in a hotel restaurant. And that is how we spent our last evening together- discussing family, life, religion, and the meaning of om.

The next morning came early and with a bit of a hurty head and enough stomach for some toast (which was good because that's all the hotel was serving for complimentary breakfast). We rushed off by 7 am hoping to see enough of the Taj before it closed at 9am for a private tour for President Sarkozy. We waited impatiently in a kilometer-long queue just to get through security. TSA's got nothing on the Taj security. I dare say I was molested, but it was worth the humiliation of public groping. The Taj Mahal is om to the enth power - a remarkable spectacle, but about an hour and a half visit will do.

It was a sleepy but restless drive back to Delhi. We made one final tourist stop at Akbar's Tomb (those are the final 2 of 3 photos in this post). We arrived back at the Delhi airport with lots of time to spare, and so I did some more thinking, but I will save those thoughts for another day and another post. Namaste, dear friends & loved ones.

Delhi Doesn't Disappoint

This post is some hot mess of formatting. I promise it will get better. I'm just out of practice and slightly delirious with jet lag.

The photos are our day in reverse - starting with Qutub Minar.

Below and right is the Lotus Temple - a

Sanctuary for the Bahai Faith.

And now we're back to Humayan's tomb.

The Migrant Monkeys landed softly in Delhi just before midnight on Wednesday. We were nestled in our twin beds at Apartment 52 Hotel by 2:00 am. Despite less than five hours of sleep we sprung into action by 7:00, hitting the dusty streets of Connaught Place. Today's mission was procuring train tickets to Agra - to visit the Taj Mahal.

We got a little more than we bargained for - and after some shrewd negotiations at the Department of Tourism we found ourselves the proud renters of one car & driver for four days. It's a good bit more bougie than we've ever traveled before, but the trains are booked until 9th December. Having Kalla and his car around is saving us immeasurable time and aggravation. Today he drove us to Delhi's beautiful tourist destinations. He assured us he had the three essential ingredients for any good Indian driver - a sound mind, good brakes, and a working horn. He also amused us with little quips like "No hurry, no worry - chicken curry."

We started our tour at India Gate, India's National Monument. Then it was off to Humayan's Tomb, Delhi's first Mughal Mausoleum. If the photos look fuzzy- that's not our camera. True to wunderground.com the weather in Delhi is indeed "smoky". I'm pretty sure they're burning garbage, and our clothes are going to smell like campfire before we get to Bangalore.

At Humayan's Tomb a crowd of school girls shoved each other mosh-pit style so that I would "Take a photo, please." And in turn I found myself yet again the subject of curiosity in a foreign land - having my picture snapped time and again by the natives. (It's the hair.),

Tomorrow Kalla will drive us to Jaipur where we'll spend one night before heading on to Agra. Then it's back to Delhi to catch our Sunday flight to Bangalore.

Shake Off the Dust and Exhale

It's time to shake the dust off our inflatable pillows, back packs, sleep-sacks, that box of Imodium, and our beloved blog. In less than 48 hours the Migrant Monkeys are bound for India.

Friends and family keep asking "So, what are you going to do in India??" We've mapped out only a loose itinerary - letting the trip take us where it may. Mostly we're going to read the novels we've miserly collected for the trip, ride planes/trains/buses (maybe boats), visit ruined things, eat amazing veg food, meet people, and absorb as much Vitamin D as we can.

The other thing - the most important thing is - re-learning how to breathe. Last week a wise woman said to me, "Amy, I hope you get on that plane and exhale. I think you're one of those people who goes through life always holding her breath." So, I'm counting on India to challenge me, to teach me, and inspire me. I suspect she'll rise to the occasion.

Home Sweet Home

One last trip post... coming from the homestead. We wanted to share a shot of Ko Phangan (first shot) as it looked there our last two days and a shot of our lovely friend, Uli.

As you can see, our last days of the trip involved some shenanigans.

We treated ourselves to a boutique hotel in Bangkok, The Dream, where we powerwashed three months of sweat from our grimy bodies, watched countless (terrible) horror films, and slept in 1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.

Home never looked, smelled, or felt so good as it did when we crossed the threshold yesterday morning. Erica took incredible care of our house and beloved Pig. We spent a jet-lagged day of delirium dealing with little chores and reminding ourselves of the myriad things there are to be grateful for as an American and a Seattle-ite.

As our parting words Francis would say... "The best thing about Thailand is the people. The worst thing about Thailand is the people." The paradox is difficult to translate into words, but this seems to sum it up. I would say that I did not find my zen. No matter how much peace and beauty I am surrounded by - it will never be quite enough to quell my inner bitch. And I'm okay with that.