Some Final Thoughts On India

I had a nondescript day of hanging around a tourism office with a bunch of Kashmiri men. What can I say....I ate an uttapam and paneer tikka, I had a lot of tea, and I got flirted on by a bunch of Indian men who seemed quite taken by me. I was offered a tourism job with the whole lot of these men when I'm done with my studies, and I danced to a bunch of Bollywood songs before a Muslim "baba" came into the office and I was swept away by a friendly driver to the airport.

I am waiting in the airport for my plane back to the US, and I've decided this is the best time probably to try to put a few reflections together from my 6 weeks in this massive India. I do not say that I will be making any revolutionary discoveries, or anything completely unique, but for myself I feel the need to express my impressions of India.

According to my incredibly brief trip, what is India? A lot of things; every region, every state you cross here is like going to a completely different country in itself. How can I package this place into a simple blog post? By my favorite things: lists... India, to me, is:

• Inconsistent - People will tell you one thing, and do something else. People here are so determined to please (and appease) everyone else, that they'll tell you "yes, of course" or give you an answer to a question that, though pleasing, is never going to happen or not true.
• Extreme - How was this place not extreme? Extreme rain, extreme heat, extreme noise, extreme meals... things are done here in such a way that it's typically blown up. Highly charged, even. Take, for example, our village meetings; men were yelling and shouting at each other across the room while we were reassured that it was as normal conversation. Everyone wants to be married off (or marry YOU off) as soon as the age 20 is hit.
• Contrary - Similar to inconsistent, only worth being iterated independently. You've got so many people doing so many different things that matters are bound to be clashing with each other. And people will tell you when they do not agree with you, in conversation at least.
• Not concerned with perfection, or details - Signs with names of villages or titles of shops will never be 100% the same across the board. For example, there are probably 5 different ways to spell half of the villages we worked with in Orissa; and each time we were working on organizational spreadsheets, we would have to look for all of the diverse names and piece-by-piece discern village names and numbers. Also, most English signs were incorrectly spelled, or said things that made no grammatical sense. On trucks, "We are, too" was spelled "We our two" and one sign explained that "Tyres will be flattered".
• Racially sensitive - I have never been so aware of my skin color than I was here. People stared at me because I'm white. People gave me royal services because I'm white. People charged me triple because I'm white. Even Indians discriminate among Indians because of what tint of brown they are. Skin-bleaching lotions are top beauty products around here, apparently; it seems no one wants to be brown anymore.
• Hyper-religious - There are so many temples and mosques in this country that it could make your head spin. I wouldn't necessarily say spiritual... there are many, many religions working around these areas: Sikh, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Baha'i, Christianity, etc. But as most people talk the talk here, I would not claim that people here all walk the walk. There is a lot of materialism oozing into cultural values here nowadays, which makes many of these temples seem more commercialized than they should be.
• Colorful - What can I say? Bollywood exaggerates none of the colors of India. There are more vibrant colors here than I can count.
• Funny - People here are funny. English attempts by most are funny. Situations are always slightly odd, awkward, or even "off". The hilarity of India and the strange instances that everyone accepts and writes off as "understandable" makes me still cock my head in amused bewilderment.
• New in sanitation - This is, after all, the core reason for my coming to India, isn't it? I've seen people defecate, urinate, bathe, and wash clothing in places that seem way more than precarious...
• Uncomfortable - Squat toilets are still hard for me. The temperature is sweltering. In monsoon season, either you are water logged by the rain, or constantly dripping with sweat. Mosquitos and flies are taking over the country, and your skin. Men in shops will never stop tugging at your attention with consumables. And the abject poor will tear at your heartstrings while walking down any road.
• Magnificent - Because it just is.
• Highly charged - The energy here is dynamic and intense.
• Complicated - I will let my previous blog posts speak for themselves. That, and the processes needed to get anything done is comparable to the French system.
• Huge - Both in size, heart, population, poverty, and culture.

I'm still digesting most of what happened to me on this trip. Even without the reflection I know that a whole lot happened to me in a very short time span. I have learned a lot of lessons about myself, and the world.

I know now that I truly want to work in the developing world, at least for an indefinite period of time. I really have enjoyed the people, the foods, the experiences... everything here. And I know now that I feel a much larger sense of need - and accomplishment - while working with these people. Even doing the fieldwork made me feel more accomplished than 6 months at an office job. That said, I don't believe a career in pushing papers is up my alley; in fact, I think I will try my hardest to avoid these type of career moves like the plague, at least for a while. I'm young, and I can handle the extremities of fieldwork and development.

Would I live in India? Yes. Probably not Delhi, and probably NOT EVER Bhubaneswar. But I do like the rural areas, and I have made a lot of nice friends in my travels here. Maybe Himachal Pradesh. Maybe rural Orissa. Maybe Rajasthan. Maybe even Punjab (though it's really dry and hot...). I feel like I would be able to handle the heat, the humidity, and the people. Everyone kept on asking me when I'd come back, and I kept on answering, truthfully, that I might try to work here after my studies.

See you in America...

Reunion and Farewell

The last full day I have had in Delhi was yesterday. Maulin and Tara had really long layovers before their flights to NJ/Bangalore, respectively. So they took a cab to my hotel and we hugged and talked all about our weeks alone, wherever we were. Apparently Maulin's family took him in and kept him locked away in their houses of Gujarat, while Tara experienced Mount Everest and Katmandhu in Nepal with plenty of stories to share. I, of course, told them about my interesting travels.
So we ate a nice little meal at some nearby shop, Sudh. It is one of those places you pick up your meal from a counter, but again my whiteness singled me out in the crowd. Some man took my order for me, and served me my food at the table without me barely having to me. Meanwhile, Tara and Maulin were told to get their meals themselves, it was self-serve after all. It is slightly discomforting, having these special services all of the time, but I'm not sure how to stop this all.
Tara had an earlier flight to catch, leaving Maulin and I plenty of time to hail a cab and go to the relatively new, hand-made, massive and awesome Akshardham Temple. The line to get into the temple was simple because we were not allowed to bring in any purses/bags/electronics, so we waited for 30 minutes in line to drop off our things. We also had to go through a security check, where ladies and gents were separated into opposite sides. I am still not sure why it seems that there is a disproportionate amount of men at all temples or sites in India than there are women, but I got through quickly and had to wait for Maulin for about half an hour - I have had to do this for him at almost all of the places we have visited. While I waited for him, I was stared at by all of the waiting women and a few men. I was still the only white woman around. But for some reason Maulin couldn't locate me in the crowd, as I stared at him coming out of security. "You must be blending in!" I doubt it.
The temple was still a bit under construction, but it was still a sight to see. There are massive manicured lawns and gardens that surruond the temple area, full of statues of historical Indian figures. Pools of water hug the temple on three of its sides. And the carvings are incredible. The entire place is hand-carved pink sandstone, with intricately detailed images of deities. Life-size elephant carvings are on the bottom of the temple, and we gawked at the unbelievable craftsmanship and labor put into the temple. It didn't feel like a religious site, but it was still an amazing place with quite a lot going on. Maulin and I pointed and oohed and ahhed for about an hour, looking up at the soft stone and the stories etched into every square inch.
The site was really crowded, so we didn't manage to see any of the exhibits, but we did manage to inch our ways into a prayer service. We were given directions from a kind worker while we sat in the back, placing the water in our palms, mumbling some Hindi after the orator, and pouring water on the swami/deity that we were praying to. I received a bindi and a bracelet to wear for protection and good luck - or so I gathered. It was an interesting experience, and at the end we were given a nice box with a sweet in it for Maulin and I to munch on as we exited the temple. Maulin approved of his cap to the Indian trip, and I agree; that temple was a great way to finish a long voyage.

We had a calm last night together in a restaurant. Sadly, we had managed to find the only restaurant in the area where all of the white people eat. So were surrounded in this nice restaurant with tables of 16-peopled white parties, as we took a simple meal with some send-off wine for Maulin. He left me around 9pm for his morning flight, and I am left here alone for another 20 hours in Delhi before my flight.

I woke up today to have breakfast with the tourist guys, and tiredly attempted to respond to the nice men about whatever they were talking about. One wants to go out to coffee with me, but I'm not sure if I'm up for more travel than I will have to make tonight already. I checked out of the hotel, and am going to hopefully relax most of my remaining day here in the office before I get into a cab to go to the airport.
I would do more while I'm here, but it's Independence Day in India, and most things are closed. Many people are roaming around the main streets, and I would rather not get caught in a crowd before having to make a plane. There will be traffic, I'm sure. It's raining, too.
I'd rather take it easy and reflect on the last 6 weeks while in India. I know I'll have a lot to say later.

Delhi Movies

I ended up my first-last night in Delhi eating Indian-style on the floor with a bunch of the Indian guys in the back of their tourism office.

They then brought me to the cinema so I could see the Bollywood film I've been hoping to see, "Love Aaj Kal" (Love Nowadays). The cute guys came, two of them. One of them translated the movie into English for me the entire time. It was actually a really good film, and I could have watched it again, if given the chance. Great romance.

I ended the long, long day speeding down the road with two cute Indian guys in some kind of car, with blaring Indian music pumping out of the speakers. I went to bed laughing about the ridiculous events that make up my life.

Leaving Dharamsala...or, How I Almost Didn't Make It To Delhi

My last day in Mcleod Ganj was a bittersweet day of goodbyes and good food.

I woke up, still a bit sore and tired from the mountainous trek the day before, to have one final morning yoga with the class I found a few days before. It was a great class, with a bit more intensity than the class I had had before with the same woman instructor. We did more stretching, sweated a bit more. Maybe it was because her yoga teacher had come to the class that morning to evaluate her. In any case, I was satisfied for the 2 hours of class. I rather like that length of yoga class; you can get a lot more out of it than the hurried one-hour classes we have in the city.
Some odd things happened during the class. Firstly, phones were ringing during our sun salutations, jarring us from the serene flow that normally happens during yoga. Then, two Indian policemen came banging on the studio door as we held a downward dog position. The teacher's teacher left to deal with them, so I'm not sure what happened, but it was very bizarre to happen. Lastly, one of the women in class had brought her dog to wait outside during our class. The dog disagreed with waiting and decided to walk in during warrior pose to look for his owner.



The goodbyes began early. I went to First Cup to have my last good porridge in town with Tal and Hasina. We talked for a while, and Tal (being extremely tall and lean) ate about 3 meals in roughly an hour. Hasina and I went for some final errands for me and left Tal at the cafe, to only come back an hour or so later and find him still sitting there. It's really amusing to sit with Tal, because he seems to know everyone in the area; while sitting with him, people kept on coming over to talk to him, and others in the cafe would wave him over for a chat. When we came back to him, we found another Israeli talking with him. We rejoined the table and ended up reading for a few hours, ordering more drinks and food, until we went over to the English conversations with the Tibetan refugees.

I couldn't find Nyiga at first in the conversations, so I was placed in a room with a Buddhist nun. I didn't catch her name. She was very sweet, though, and though her accent was a bit too thick and her English was a bit too rough to hold a flowing conversation, I did manage to get some kind of information out of her about Buddhism life and the different sects of Tibetan Buddhism. She is what she called "Neehma".
Then Nyiga found me, talking with the woman! It was great, and we ended up stumbling through a conversation of three. It seemed that their English was better together, though, because they could talk to each other in Tibetan and make a team effort to explain things to me. Nyiga and I joked around a bit, and when it was time for me to leave and them to have dinner, he draped a white silk cloth on my shoulders, gave me a hug, and we talked about emailing each other still. When I come back here, Nyiga, I'm serious about trying nomadry with you. Get the yaks ready.


I walked over to get some momos to-go for my long trip back to Delhi at Peace Cafe. When I walked into the restaurant, I found the original group of British guys I hung out with on my return trip from Amritsar! I hadn't seen them since the first day, but here they were, ready to leave for Manali in a few hours - much like how I was leaving for Delhi in a few hours. It was like a small reunion, only their group had about doubled/tripled in size. They had me join their dinner party, though, and I rounded the number up to 12 English-speaking folk, essentially filling the whole restaurant. I had my final authentic Thentuk dish. We talked about what we had done in town so far, and I encouraged them to come to NYC so I can show them around. They seemed to be seriously interested in my offer, so we'll see how that goes.
And I left with a bag of momos.


I came back to Pink House and spent my final evening hours in the lounge with Javid and his Indian friends, along with some of the guests I had befriended during my solo stay there. We ate coconuts and danced to some Indian music. We laughed for a few hours, and the Indian men all seemed quite taken with my Indian-influenced conversation and dance. I did not tell them my marital status.
Finally, at 9pm, my driver came to bring me out of my little idyllic town to the Pathankot train station (2.5 hours away) for my 1am sleeper train to Delhi. It was sad, leaving this place that I felt so comfortable in, with all of my new friends. I fell asleep in the car in no time.
The first time I woke up in the car was when the driver stopped for a dinner/coffee break somewhere in the crevices of the dark mountain side. I wobbled in and out of consciousness for about 30 minutes before we started driving again, and I promptly fell fast asleep again.
The second time I woke up in the car was when I felt the car quickly slowing down and making dying noises - you know, the clanking sound of a dying engine should always be able to wake up us sleepers. The driver got out of the car to open the hood and prod away at the engine and battery, poking at parts that he seemingly hadn't seen much before this trip. I look around us, and we are in the middle of nowhere. I think the town was probably rural, and the main street we were on was very much closed and empty of people. I saw a sign for some hundred kilometers for a town I didn't know, but no signs for Pathankot. I called Maulin in a slight panic, wondering where I was, why I was alone with a strange cabby in the middle of nowhere, and how I was going to make my train. It was 11:45pm. I call Javid, who soudned distressed when he said to me, "Yeah, you're not near Pathankot..."
Then men started coming out toward our car. Slowly, villagers were looking at the car, and talking with each other. More and more men came to join the pack, and even a few Indian officers came over to look at the stranded American girl and driver. Though, no one seemed too interested in trying to get the car started; they were all enjoying each other's conversations too much. I started to panic more. In my non-existent Hindi, I started trying to beseech these men that I had to go, simply shouting out words "Pathankot" and "ehck (one)" while motioning me having to go. Of course no one knew English, either... "Acha, acha" was the response I got from all of the men, simply telling me to relax. No problem.
30 minutes go by, and it's 12:15am, and I am now very restless, and on the verge of throwing a fit. By this time, there are a few other cars parking nearby to look at what is going on. All of them tourist cars. Why, I was wondering, was I not in one of those FUNCTIONING cars, driving away?! The men all conversed as I looked around to soak in the lunacy in front of me. I am more urgent in my motions, and finally someone calls my driver to tell them to get me to my bloody train! After some issues with money and me begging a man with a car with more rupees to get me to the train, I am transfered to another tourist car and sped down the road.
As it so happens, we were 30km from the train station, which normally takes 40 minutes. I had 25. We sped a lot, barely missing cows and dogs and other cyclists.
At 12:55am the cabby stops at a slight blockade in the road. The train tracks' blocks were down. He looked at me apologetically and says, "You will not make your train. This is your train..." I look up, and there a big sleeper train steadily passes our car, to the VERY nearby station. I get out of the car to watch it in the quiet darkness, and begin to swear profusely. I am not much of a swearer, but I decided that this was a time of urgency, and the only thing I could do was swear. And swear I did. Here I am, watching MY train go by, with MY seat, and MY only way to get to Delhi for a very long time. I almost prepared my bags so that I could run onto the tracks and garb hold of the train before it leaves me completely behind. The driver said it wasn't a good idea, so I looked at him and said "You're getting me to that train."
The blocks went up, and the cab slid through to the train station. The train was still holding there. I threw some money at the cabby, and with my bags already on me, I ran to the train, yelling, "Delhi?!" As the train started blaring its horns and preparing to move, I threw myself into a car with my luggage.
The controller looks down on me on the floor and says, "You are Kimberly?" How did he know?
It so happens that the car I threw myself into was the car I was supposed to be in, serendipitously. So he showed me my sleeper bunk, and I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow, sweating through my clothes and sheets. But it was not real sleep, because I was too hot and tired and stressed out from the experience.

At 8am I got out of my bunk and read utnil we arrived at Delhi, two hours later. It was very humid and hot, and I was exhausted in so many different ways. The new challenge: finding my guest house/hotel. I slid into a cab that got lost for about an hour in Karol Bagh. I was sweating profusely, but more upset about not being asleep in my hotel room. The cab driver finally looks behind to me and says, "Ma'am, it is a house....not a hotel."
It can never be easy, can it?
So I haul my luggage up the stairs of an apartment complex until I reached the roof, hoping to find the manager that would bring me somewhere sane. Instead, I landed on a roof in some man's apartment, who looked at me a little bewilderedly, but then invited me to sit down and have a tea. Alright, no problem, he says. He knows the guys who were supposed to get me my resting spot, I'll get a hotel through them, no problem. Did I know what was going on? Absolutely not.
Some guy grabs my bags and brings me all the way back outside, for me to run into a very attractive Kashmiri, Zahid. Tired though I may be, I am still female, and I was taken aback by this guy. I blushed as he exlpains to me that I was going to have a hotel room nearby, and he showed me my room and gave me his mobile to call when I was down settling in. So I napped and showered. And found myself in his tourism office. A very nice group of guys have apparently taken me in and adopted me in this tourism office, and I get to use their internet as they serve me meals and tea.
So I decided to walk to Karol Bagh market and walk around. I went to a fast food joint, Raffles, for lunch, but the heat and exhaustion and constant hassle on the streets made me kind of sick, so I went back and took another nap.

Longest Day of Trekking

So last night I came into the Pink House to talk to Javid about my coming back to Delhi, while there was a group of other guests in the lounge with him. Javid looks at me and goes, "So I think you should go with these 3 tomorrow on a trek up to Triund. You say that you are a lucky girl, and I think this is your luck of the day; to go on a trek to this big deal Triund."

Triund is a mountain here in the Himalayas that holds a very small village before the Himalayan snow line begins. It is a 4-hour hike up to this town. I said, "Alright, Javid, I'll go because you said it's a good idea." I was tired and sore from yoga, and I knew none of these people going, but why not... I was not planning on doing anything spectacular that day, anyways.

At 7am I woke up and had breakfast on the roof with these guests. We talked groggily about the trek, and what we were bringing. I didn't really understand the word "trek", so I was planning on only bringing a back with water, camera, and maybe a snack.

Let me introduce you to the players of the trek, aside from me. Hasina is an Indo-British 36 year-old teacher who just got to India for 5 months to visit some family while vacationing all over the place. Eva is a Slovakian in her mid-late 20s who is in the middle of finishing her massage therapy in Ireland. Tal is a 28 year-old Israeli guy who has been a modern dancer, but is currently traveling around.

Now that we have the introductions out of the way, I can get in more depth about the very difficult day we had. We began the hike around 9am at the base of the mountain, giggling and talking about how we had no idea what we were expecting from the hike. And then the terrain revealed itself to us...a steep climb of jagged boulders and rocks on a narrow path without much designation of direction. It was also raining for about half of the way up, so our rocks (and even the soil terrain that happened occassionally) became slippery and more precarious. Climbing up the mountain felt like a crapshoot at times. It was a bad time to be afraid of heights, which I admittedly am.

My backpack was not helping my case; I was carrying a few full water bottles with some canned jam and peanut butter so we could picnic on the top. I also had a stowaway coconut. Though I am glad I got the extra workout and calorie expulsion...

So it took us 5 hours to climb and heave and pant and crawl and sweat and whimper up to Triund. Luckily, there were little rest stops on the way up, every 2 kilometers or so. We would usually sit down and rest for a few minutes, and snack on some moong dal or other bagged treats while we sat and discussed our awe towards the mountain men and goat herders that clearly lived at these tea shops halfway up the mountains. They walked up and down the steep inclines like it was nothing, and some would even run around, passing us on our trek up. Were they THAT used to the thin air up there?

We got up to the top of Triund right around the time I felt I was going to cry and/or pass out. Our clothing was dripping with dew and sweat, and our bodies were crying for a break. The grass up at the top of the mountain was ultragreen, and almost mossy. Really beautifully laid out in front of us was the little village of Triund. Population 7, always. Nestled in this village was a 3-room guesthouse for trekkers who would brave a 2-day trek up to the snow line on the Himalayas. The quietness was shocking. And it was definitely cooler up there. I went to the tea shop on the hill for a cold drink, and they simply pulled a drink off of the shelf, explaining to me that the high altitude had naturally fridged the drinks. Amazing.

Too bad it the top fo the mountain was hidden in a thick soupy fog. We were unable to see any of the view down, which was actually the reason we hiked up in the first place. Apparently you can see most of Himachel Pradesh there. And you're also supposed to be able to see the snow line on the Himalayan side of the moutnain. I'm sure it's great, but we didn't see any of it.

So we ate peanut butter and jam sandwiches for an hour or so, and then started our trek down. The trek down only took 4 hours this time. We were so sore from the hike up that it made the hike down (what with gravity and all) a bit difficult, and the rocks going down growled viciously at me and my healing ankle. It also poured on us on the way down, so we had to take a 45-minute break at a tea shop, where we watched the pouring rain as we sipped some ginger tea and watched the mountain men play cards.

At the bottom of the hill, we eagerly yet sluggishly made our way to a restaurant and ate quite a lot of Tibetan food. Was it good food, I regret to say no, but it filled us. We grabbed some brownies and brought them back to Pink House to hang out tiredly with Javid in the lounge for the rest of the night. The rest of the night, I must add, was maybe 2 hours more; we were all so tired that we didn't make much of a party and went to bed early.

Making Friends

I started a book, "The White Tiger", yesterday. I finished it this morning. That's how much free time I've got now. And I'm enjoying it!

So today I woke up pretty sore from the yoga class I took yesterday. Though, I'm not sure what else I was expecting, considering I've been able to do little body movement that matters for the last few weeks. Oddly enough, I really relish in the soreness. It means I must have done something right.
Being determined to get back on track in my athleticism and spiritual-bodily oneness (which in certain cultures can be coined as masochism) I decided to start the morning fresh with another 2-hour yoga class. This time it was more Vinyasa with the Hatha, which I really appreciated.
The class was all women, which was a big of a change from classes I normally take in the city, but I enjoyed it and felt alright with grunting and struggling in my positions. Part of the struggle was because I was tired, part was because I'm out of shape, and part was because of my soreness from yesterday.
I always forget how difficult yoga REALLY CAN BE, if you do it correctly. Tailbone down, breathe in NOW, lengthen that arm, spread your toes, breathe out SLOWLY... Realizing I had not been as diligent and well-disciplined in my yoga practices at home has really slapped me around a bit, and I am understanding the value of having a teacher with me as I try to master a real, meaningful down-facing-dog. I have a reborn interest and respect for yoga, and I hope to get more serious with it sometime soon, while in the city.
The space I went to, at the Himalaya Valley Yoga Center, was really breathtaking. I found myself on a yoga mat in a very serene yoga studio, with little else but yoga mats, a picture of Gandhi, and a seated Ganesh in the front of the room. All of a sudden I was in warrior pose, staring through large windows that looked right on the Himalayas. Birds flew through the nearby trees. The sky was blue at the time. If only there were no walls or roof to the studio, it may have been the exact formula for a real nirvana experience. I concluded that I would be able to happily stay here and do this morning routine for quite some time.
Too bad I have a meager 3 days left here.

Today has been a day of reading. I read one book, finished it, and continued on with another, slightly denser read. I am attempting to rack up my peace and quiet days here before the bustling semester begins in less than a month.
I was running around doing some errands for my Christmas gifts (and for Maulin) when I found myself suddenly staring out of the shop window as a flash flood happened on the road in front of me. It does rain here daily, but I have never seen the rain pound so fiercely that the gutters and septic systems overflowed onto the streets, magically making the roads fast rivers. I stayed put for a while until the rain calmed down a bit, and slid back to the hotel room.

This evening I went to speak with Tibetan refugees (aka exiled political prisoners) so they could help improve their English. I didn't really know what to expect, but I found myself in some kind of dormitory walking aimlessly until a pleasant Tibetan guy in a blazer came over to me and led me to the roof. Meet 29 year-old Nyiga (though I'm probably not writing it correctly). Nyiga is an English student here in Dharamsala. Four years ago he was a political prisoner for 6 months in Tibet for distributing some controversial cassettes around his area. They didn't treat him nicely in the prison. Originally a nomad, Nyiga was a Tibetan monk for 5 years of his life, until he found the lifestyle with the Chinese occupation not pleasurable, and he went back to being a nomad. His family has about 3000 animals, including yaks. He eats yak butter by the stick.
A tangent: How on earth do these little skinny people eat such fatty foods all of the time!? This is not the first time I have been told stories of little Asian folk eating mounds of highly saturated foods. (Also, please refer to my past experiences with Rimi in France.) I want THOSE genes.
Nyiga's English was not that great, but we could have a somewhat functional conversation, and he pulled out a notebook, which made our mis-communications a lot easier to fix. For two hours we talked about a bunch of different topics, including his escape from the Chinese and my love of Hindi films. By the end of the session, we exchanged numbers and emails and I promised him - after him looking up at me with somewhat eager eyes - I would come back to talk with him tomorrow. I think we shall go get momos.

Yoga and Toast

Today, Sunday, I woke up to start my yoga practices finally while here in India. For the last 2 weeks I have been unable to perform any athletic movement, except for the rock scrambling a week ago. There has not been any time for me to try, firstly, and also the amenities have not been available while traveling in cities. I am not going to try to jog around Mcleod Ganj on their cobbled streets and sprain my ankle again, no sir.
So, one of the benefits of being alone while here in Mcleod Ganj is that I can make my agenda without worrying about other people’s agendas. I can go out and eat breakfast after 10am, if I so choose. I can even miss a meal! And I can stay in my room and read and/or write these lengthy blogs for everyone’s enjoyment.
Anyways, I woke up to try one of the morning yoga classes up and down the hill. Problem, I was ignorant to think that Sundays would have normal schedules for yoga here. Nothing in India works that way; Sundays are the day off for even the gods, I believe. Maybe not for the Sikhs, but for everyone else it seems so. Anyways, I scaled the hill and went to every studio to find no morning classes being held. So I grabbed the schedules, and decided to settle and try again for a later Hatha class at Universal Yoga.
I went right to First Cup and started reading a book that I stole from their shelves, “The White Tiger”. I will give it back to them when I’m done. I took my time, and finished my tea and porridge a few hours into my book.
And then I came home and began retyping all of the blogs I lost.
So at 2pm I took the Hatha Yoga class. Classes here tend to be about 2 hours long, and it was a really excellent class. It was slow moving, but I really had time to work on my positions and make sure that I was aligning my body properly and safely. Let me tell you, I hadn’t realized how hard the right positions could be until this class! Maybe I just hadn’t had the right kind of classes, but I was breaking a sweat 10 minutes into the class, and we were only working on positioning the tailbone down. I also forgot how much harder the positions can be, and yoga in general can be, when someone is telling you when and how you can breathe. That alone made me start to pant a little bit.
The class ended, and I rewarded myself with a cheese tomato toast and momo while reading at Peace CafÈ.
And now, I have successfully finished filling in over a week of travel in this blog! Who knows what the night will take me now! Probably back to the books…. I think I’ll make my daily call to Maulin now.

Back to the Mountains

In Amritsar, after our morning engagement at the Golden Temple, we took a nap before my bus back to Mcleod Ganj. We had suffered a really poor breakfast from the hotel, and needed to sleep it off. Though, when we woke up and went to the bus station, we suffered another not great “tiffin” (aka snack) at another hotel. I am not sure why we keep going to hotel restaurants, but they seem to almost always be at least somewhat disappointing and not pleasurable.
We had to navigate our way again through another bus station, this time in the Punjabi afternoon heat. The Amritsar bus station is loud and noisy, and reminded me of the Stock Exchange with the men yelling and shouting out numbers and names of buses for people to clamber onto before departure. The bus for Dharamsala was tucked away in the corner of the station, and full of foreigners.
This is where Maulin, Tara and I parted ways. It was not initially going to happen this way…Maulin and I were going to trip around a bit more together. However, his grandmother in Gujurat had fallen and broke her hip, and he was to go see how she was fairing for the family. Because we had found such a safe area of India in Mcleod Ganj with yoga and ashrams and people with whom I had become friendly, we agreed that I would go back there until we would meet up in Delhi before going back to the US. And so, after 5 weeks of seeing Maulin every single day of my life, we promised to call each other daily to double check and said goodbye.
The busride took 8 hours. We were stopped by a lot of railroads in Punjab, which means I dripped a lot.
For a few hours, a pleasant Indian guy named Manjit befriended me and talked to me in extremely broken English about India, the US, almonds, and relationships. Being exhausted and a bit baked from the hot bus, I found it extremely difficult to hold a smooth and comprehensible conversation with him, but it seemed to all work out. And after he asked me if I was married, I told him that I make only friends and he agreed to be friends with me. He was a bit upset when he realized I was getting off of the bus earlier than he thought, and I gave him a quick handshake as I ran out of the bus to catch the transfer before it left without me.
There was also a group of British college guys on the bus, and I ended out helping them find a place to stay on their stay here, near my hotel. One of them is particularly cute, but anyways… There is another American girl who joined up with them in Amritsar, and we ended up having a good night as I showed them around the town and went to dinner at one of my favorite little spots for momos. I slowly realized that I was paying forward to this group of 5 the help that Josh gave us 5 before coming to Dharamsala. Only this time, they know where I am staying and my phone number, so maybe I will be seeing those kids more often while I finish my stay in India.
I got back into the Pink House and Javid welcomed me back while we talked about the trip. It was nice to see a friendly face that I know after 8 hours in a bus.
It is really good to be back in Mcleod Ganj.

Day Trip: Amritsar

We packed up and made an early day trip to go to Amritsar in Punjab to see the Golden Temple, which is the main Sikh pilgrimage.
The carride took 7 hours one way, which actually isn’t too bad in India. Most trips anywhere seem to take at least 4 or 5 hours in this country. I think this is because of a handful of reasons:
1 – The cars are not typically top-notch quality
2 – No one really goes over 40 km, it seems
3 – All of the roads go through cities and towns, so even if you are not far away from your destination, you will probably get caught in traffic somewhere
4 – Cows
5 – Poorly paved or completely dirt roads that are waterlogged or full of potholes
6 – Rickshaws

That said, the carride was not great. The driver refused to put on the AC while in Punjab, unless we paid another 500 Rs. We refused, and while the temperature crept with the humidity we begrudgingly sweat more bullets. Might I add that Punjab is essentially desert, which is a great difference from the Himalayas in all possible ways. Finally the driver relented halfway through the trek and put on the AC for only 200 Rs. He then did not take us directly to the Golden Temple; instead, he plopped us inside of an arbitrary parking lot a 10-minute rickshaw ride away. Let’s just say that, with all of Maulin and Tara’s luggage in tow to haul all the way there, we were not very happy with him.
So we got into the Golden Temple a bit late, and missed the last available beds they were going to have for us in their temple’s dormitory. We were frantic. So we found ourselves running around with luggage to all of the nearby hotels to find a good deal for a night room while we stayed in town. We ended up ushered into a hotel (CJI) where they showed us many rooms and bargained the price with us. We were in a rush and did not want to meddle too much with rooming, so we hastily picked a room and dropped our luggage only to run right out, dripping with sweat.

Why were we running, you might be wondering.
To go to the India-Pakistani border, of course.
Now, parental units, before you scream and pull hair, I must emphasize that everything I did was completely safe and actually really enjoyable. What happens on the border of the two countries (in Atari) every evening at dusk is what they call the Border Crossing Ceremony. The guards on both sides of the country perform something like a dance on either side, and the border gates open up for about 5 minutes and they do a militaristic dance with each other (rifles, sabers, and all). Music plays, people sing and chant, and people dance everywhere on the street. Each side has a set of stadium seats, where people cram in to watch and cheer on the spectacle, shouting with love for their designated country.
It reminded us three of a football game, really. Cheering sides for “opponents” during they have a shout/dance off. Popcorn and drinks were shelled out, pictures and shouting were constant, and everyone’s shirts are clinging onto dripping bodies from the body and outside heat in the desert land. What was really interesting about the different sides, when comparing the two, was that the Indian side had FAR more people on its side than the Pakistani side. The Pakistanis were segregated on opposite sides of the bleachers: men on one side, women on the other. Also, India was playing cheerful Bollywood pop songs for people to dance, while Pakistan was playing propaganda-like government nationalist jingles while designated flag holders danced for everyone else to sit and watch.
We were really lucky to be a white foreigner that day, too. We got there just before the event began, and a bunch of little kids dragged us to some guard on the side to show us the “Foreigner VIP Seating” section. That’s right, the Indians had to sit in the back of the bleachers while all of the foreign “white” folks got front row seats to the whole spectacle. We were late enough that they actually planted us three on the street curb, and I was so close to the event and border that I was sitting right behind the rear of a very sweaty guard.
Maulin kept getting yelled at by the guards because he kept standing up to take pictures with his massive camera. The only problem is that Maulin looks – well, in fact, he is - Indian, and they kept yelling at him in either Punjabi or Hindi and trying to get him to go to the Indian section. He had to pull out his passport a few times and yell “NO HINDI! ENGLISH!” before they got the point.
After the event, I got right to the gates and took a picture. I was literally spitting distance from Pakistan, or even sweating distance (which was actually happening quite a bit). If I had fallen, my head would have been in another country.

Completely riled from the event, we got back in Amritsar to eat dinner at The Brothers, which is apparently this really famous Punjabi diner with Punjabi dhaba. We had really large Thalis, and I excitedly sucked down papri chaat for the first time since I landed in India.

We got back late to the really magnificent Golden Temple to look at the grounds while the temple was lit up. As a note to those who wish to come to this place, please note that walking into this place with a tank top and short shorts is an OK thing. I was fully covered, with pants and a long sleeved kurti. And you must enter the temple with a head covering. I had bought a shawl before arriving for this matter, and even Maulin had to buy a bandanna to wear into the temple. Also, you cannot come in with shoes (which they actually have a safe depository for you to place your shoes), and before walking up the steps, there’s a pool where you must wash your feet.
Even though there are very strict rules to this place, the Sikhs (particularly at the temple) are super gentle people, and incredibly kind. They serve free food and chai all day and night to pilgrims and visitors, regardless of whether or not you are Sikh. In fact, anyone can also help and volunteer at the temple. You can help clean dishes, serve chai or food, make the food, or help clean the premises. All you have to be is respectful, and they will take you in as one of their own.

There is a man singing live that is aired on the speakers throughout the temple 24 hours a day. This gives the whole place an incredible energy and sacredness to it. The actual area is mostly white marble and a kind of fortress wall that encloses all of the Sikhs in a large courtyard. In the middle of the courtyard is a very large pool with big fish swimming in it. People are bathing in the pool, and praying. People are praying everywhere, nonstop.
In the middle of the pool is the actual Golden Temple. It is a small, but still breathtaking, golden-laden building with Middle Eastern influence. People line up all throughout the day to walk in and pray for a few minutes in the temple. Around the pool is where the sacred texts are put in rooms, where men sit and read all day long. At night, the edges of the pool and fortress walls are lined with pilgrims sleeping on the marble floor in clumps, regardless of religion, sex, or race. The whole energy of this place is super intense, and the constant worship that goes on here humbled me.

We took a nap and woke up just after sunrise to go back to the temple to see morning prayers. The quiet, solemnity of the temple at night was replaced by overwhelming solemn, pious praying by thousands of Sikhs. Everyone is praying, kissing the ground, singing, praying, and praying. We walked around and saw the Golden Temple glitter and glisten in the new sunlight, and I sat down to watch the lines of people pray in the temple.
I was overcome by the experience and energy of the whole place that I began to cry under my shawl. It was not an uncontrollable cry, and it was probably aided by my lack of sleep, but tears streamed down my face for a little bit, while I sat alone and explored the vibes radiating all around me.
As I sat alone, a very tall, large Sikh man dressed as a guard (staff in hand) came to me and peered down to ask, “Punjabi?!” No, I’m not a Punjabi, as I wiped away tears. “No Punjabi? Hindi…?” Another man comes over to peer with him and ask again, “Hindi?!” This was the first time I had ever in my entire life been asked if I was Indian. Nayee, I’m no Indian, nor do I look it. But they were very friendly and asked me where I was from, and if I liked the temple. I loved it.

And Then There WereThree

We all woke up for breakfast at Nick’s once again. We actually have been there every day we have been in Mcleod Ganj. The reason has been due to this elusive dessert we have been waiting for: banoffi pie. Now, it’s not really that big of a deal…it’s simply banana coated in toffee/caramel, and dished out on a dessert crust. But since the first day we have been here, and Hanan made a comment about how banoffi pie is (and since every time we have gone to Nick’s they’ve been out), we made it a mission to get this pie once and for all. We ended up buying an entire round of banoffi pie and downed it in 5 minutes flat, with mixed reviews. It was all right, but my favorites are still coconut-chocolate dishes.
We broke up after wards to get some last minute shopping for Hanan and Amber. I helped Hanan select three handmade singing bowls with good tones, which was actually a lot harder than it may sound. We had to try every bowl in the shop and see which sounds suited our fancies, and then retry the other bowls to see if we really didn’t like them, and once again try to the bowls to double check if they sounded good. I, personally, am one to think that if you like the sound, you like the sound, but Hanan is meticulous in his purchases and wanted just the right sounds.
We met up for lunch at Peace CafÈ before sending Hanan and Amber off in a Jeep back to Delhi for their flights. It was bittersweet to send them off; our group of five was so much fun and worked so well together. But we parted smiling, saying, “See you in New York! Get ready for class!”
Tara, Maulin and I were left watching their Jeep ride off, and wondering what to do now for the rest of the day. Being all so easy going, we actually struggled a bit with making plans: I don’t care, what about this?, sure I don’t mind, what do you want to do?... So we walked around and landed in an Internet cafÈ to check out our emails. I am always amazed at how much can pile up in the course of a few days without having email access. In the states, I often feel like nothing happens and that I get no emails. Here, I’m still plowing through tons of emails, professional and personal.
We came back to the hotel to figure out a day trip in a few days with Javid. To put a plug out there for Pink House, Javid is incredibly helpful! He has really great advice about where to eat, what to do where, and what is the best way to get around to areas outside of tiny Mcleod Ganj. He also has been able to do the booking for us in our day trips and departures from the area. And he will also continue a nice conversation with you about your life, his life.
While talking about our day trip, Javid put out some whiskey for us to taste with him as we talked about his experiences in the business, and about his life in Kashmir. It is one thing to read in magazines about what certain areas of the world are like and the dangers of being there, but it’s a completely different experience when someone you are sitting in front of you tells you their story. He was telling us stories about certain militants doing really awful things to him and his friends as students, being locked in campuses while other areas are gunned down, friends whose whole families would be slaughtered by a group of men, and real terrorism. He spoke with such honesty, and his tales of growing up as a Kashmiri, as well as his struggles being Kashmiri and Indian, spellbound me.
We left a while after our talk with Javid, stunned silent, to have a simple dinner at Norling before everything in the area closed. Most things in this town close around 9pm, it seems. Early nights and early days seem to be the Indian way. At least we have balconies on our rooms to sit out and talk on after hours.

The next day we experienced the massive pancakes as Peace CafÈ, with a very large banana layer on top of the cake-depth of the pancakes. It was kind of like giant sweet Tibetan bread, which reminds me of an English muffin to a degree, only with a sour taste and slippery outside.
We failed at finding astrologers to read our charts, and succeeded in finding another street that we had yet to scale the days before.
We found ourselves going to the Tibet Museum, where we learned all about the basic history of Tibet and the tragic stories of them and the Buddhist monks’ experiences of being controlled and abused by the Chinese occupation, as well of their incredible stories of exile. Some of the pictures were hard to see, and often I found myself feeling a sense of hopelessness while reading some of the terrible things that they had to incur. But then I would try to remember that these people survived, and are living now safely in India where they all seem to be picking up the pieces from shattered Tibet. I am in awe of what they have been through, and how strong they are to hike all the way here to find better, peaceful lives for themselves AND STILL have the hopes to return to an emancipated Tibet.
The Buddhist monastery has a cafÈ attached to it to help teach some of the refugee youth some skills that they can use; cooking is a useful tool, and serving helps them build social confidence as well as math and listening skills. They also have the best pizzas in town. The three of us ate two of them, and brought back half of the “Pizza Much Too Hot” (it was much too hot).
Another relaxing day passed while rain pelted the buildings. We sought refuge in a nonprofit cafÈ, Rogpa, and had some tea and chocolate goodies. I ended up getting into a conversation with the woman who was working there as a volunteer about yoga. My next task at hand in this town is to land a good yoga class that I can go to daily, and (as a yoga teacher) she had some good tips of the yoga.
And then Maulin, Tara and I ate a pretty good Tibetan dinner at Yak Restaurant while discussing politics, as any good policy students should before bed.

Day of What?

By the third day we had stuffed ourselves silly, and had shopped around quite a lot. We all picked up our Christmas presents for the year, that’s for sure. But I am unsure about what exactly went on one of our days. I know it rained, as it does everyday. I know I finished reading another book (“The Blind Assassin”) while in a coffee shop. And I know I chit chatted with Maulin while in the coffee shop as well.
I think I skipped dinner to read, but I don’t remember if that was on another day. I also think I went to bed early, but I’m still unsure.
This is the issue I’ve been dealing with since my laptop croaked on my file brimming with my trip’s details.
I wish I could remember if this day happened at all…

Trespassers on Tea Gardens

We woke up one morning with a Jeep waiting for us to go to the tea country, Palampur. This is exactly how it sounds, the area where tea gardens and factories are. The roads to the country are windy and bumpy, and our driver was not merciful on these roads for us foreigners, making us all quite a bit carsick.
No matter, we ended up trespassing into the tea factory and the manager found us as we edged closer to some drying green leaf crops. Instead of kicking us out, he gave us a tour of the grounds and showed us the methods they use for making tea. The tea odor was pungent, but still really good to smell, especially after our joyride.
We walked around the area a bit more and found ourselves in a very pretty garden with tea plants and flowers in co-habitation. Thinking it was a state forest of some type, we relaxed on the path and ate a few biscuits. A car with an older man came down the road, however, and we quickly realize we are actually chilling out on a family driveway. The man insisted on us coming to his house for tea, so we quietly and apologetically made way onto his balcony, overlooking a beautiful meadow and forest. While his English wasn’t good, and we couldn’t really talk much with him (basically, we sat in silence), his hospitality was great, and we were given chai tea with little cakes to munch on before heading back to our Jeep.
We road further in the Jeep until we arrived at an old resort (Taragarh) to lunch. Apparently this used to be the palace for some big hotshot way back in the days. When we got there, we were the only people around, safe some groundskeepers and scant staffers roaming the grounds. We ate a really delicious Kashmiri meal in eerily silent and fancy restaurant (with linen napkins), and decided to scale the hotel to see what it was like.
The hotel was creepy. Very creepy, and might I dare say extremely haunted. There were no hotel lodgers there, and everything was laced with cobwebby antiques. The rooms were old and musty, though lavish in their old trinkets and beds. Animal hides lined the hallways with very old portraits of kings and other royalties, and sculptures of lions and other exotics sat staring at you as you walked down the hall. Up the narrow stairs you find a dark spa area with angled ceilings and signs for stone massages.
Tara made a good comment that we were like the grad student grounds in movies that land themselves on abandoned plots of land and play around there with an air of self-entitlement, only to run into some kind of doom. Luckily, we made it out all fine, but it was still a creepy experience.

When we came back to Mcleod Ganj, we opted to go to the local theatre and watch a 2 USD screening of The Darjeeling Limited. I am glad that I saw the film while in India because I have a completely new idea of what India is really like, and I could pick up a lot more in the film and its portrayal of India.

Trekking

Our group woke and ate breakfast on the roof of the hotel, overlooking the Himalayan peaks. It is odd, but I have noticed that everytime I look out at the mountains surrounding us, I end up drizzling tears down my cheeks. I am not really sure why that happens (I don’t feel like I’m crying), but it doesn’t really bother me. Anyways, I ate up a muesli joy for breakfast. After eating only Indian breakfasts for the last month, the honeyed muesli was a blessing to my tastebuds.
We decided to hike to a nearby waterfall during the day, called Bhagsunag. Javid told us it was an easy 45-minute hike, and we were eager to move our bodies after the long haul to Dharamsaala. So we grabbed some water and our raincoats and headed that way.
And then the skies opened and poured on us. For about an hour or two, the rains came down on us while we slid up (and down) slippery dirt roads and rocks to the waterfall. I will be writing a complaint to the manufacturers of my “weaterproof” jacket when returning to the US; after 30 minutes of rain, my entire body under my jacket was sopping wet to the point where you can ring it out and have a stream come out.
We still felt like hiking, so we trudged through the rain and found ourselves at the mountain crevice with the waterfall tumbling down the side. It is really a pretty waterfall, though small. I am afraid of heights a bit, so I didn’t dare look down the cliff drop of our hiking route, but I’m sure the look down was very pretty as well.
The rain finally began letting up, and we found ourselves at a little restaurant nestled on the waterfall, away from the path. It was kind of an odd place to find a restaurant, but there it was. We were not hungry yet, and we decided to take a path less traveled. That is, we decided to rock scramble the waterfall. For those who don’t know the term, it is exactly as it sounds: you scramble up rocks, usually up a mountain. I have done this before while in New Pawltz once, but I still made the boys in our group spot me while we climbed up the mountain. It actually was a really enjoyable hike, and we got to be creative as to where to place our feet, how to cross certain water streams, and how to climb up large slippery rocks. We worked very well together while we scrambled up the rocks, actually. Everyone supported each other and no one got upset if someone needed extra time to haul him or herself up. Bags were shared between everyone, and when Amber found two leeches on her, Maulin gallantly helped her take them off as she shrieked and Tara laughed. We joked about how we had to go back to Wagner and make a pitch that all incoming students need to go on a rock scramble to teach great team building.
In retrospect, I believe that the best connections made (whether it be personal or professional) usually come about after the people experience something where petty arguments and silly tensions are prohibited. For example, rock scrambling…where teamwork is needed for the sake of life’s safety.
The sun came out, and we settled ourselves right near the very top of the precipice, completely alone from any form of civilization. We relaxing and dried off as the rocks below us dried in the warm sun with us. We chewed on some nuts and lay around while the green shrubs and trees completely surrounding us glistened with fresh virginity. Water pipes lined parallel to the streams – which I gather to be water gravitational flow energy methods. Once dried, we descended the mountain cautiously, and totaled our hike for about 4 hours! We celebrated back at Nick’s for some more momos.

We came back and relaxed in our rooms. I watched the fog roll in over the mountains, slowly blanketing the entire area in a thick white coat.

We made our way finally to the Tibetan Buddhist temple complex, Namgyal Monastery. For those who still don’t know this area well, Mcleod Ganj is (again) where the Dalai Lama and Tibetans have sought refuge after the siege of Tibet by China.
We walked into the complex and found ourselves surrounded by monks paired up in twos, rambling to each other in Tibetan while slapping their hands. Apparently, in the evenings, the monks get together for debate, as part of their studies. We are still unsure about what they were possibly debating, but some monks looked serious while others laughed with each other.
The temples in the complex are really beautiful. The Buddha shrines have Tara and other deity gold figures accompanying them. The walls are covered in colorful murals of Tibetan/Buddhist deities and priestly figures. The offerings on the shines where that of Oreos, Nutella jars, Chocopie boxes, and honey; these are, after all, the standard food offerings of our generation.

After eating a Tibetan dinner at Shambala and sneaking in a Tibetan coconut-chocolate brownie dessert, we went back to our rooms and played another night of Uno.

Arrival in Dharamsala

The bus to Dharamsala was a rickety skeleton of a bus. The bus was completely full, and our luggage lined the aisle of the bus. These buses make local stops while traveling long distances, so we were never at a realy full-throttle pace. However, our bus seemed to take longer than usual, and our 4-hour trip on the bus ended up taking 6 hours uphill. The ticket man on the bus was obnoxious and always yelling at someone. I found it very funny when the bus driver tried abandoning the ticket man on the side of the street at one of the stops we made.

I napped as we craweled up the Himalayas to upper Dharamsala. We ended our bus at Mcleod Ganj, and owner of the hotel we were staying at, Javid from Pink House, met us and led us through the town to drop off our bags and rest.

Mcleod Ganj is absolutely amazing! We are at the top of a large chain of mountains and can see the clouds hanging on top of the mountain tips. Hawks sway around the hotels in our area (which are all on the slopes of the mountains). The air is fresh and cool. The actual town is very, very clean (even on American standards). There are Tibetan monks roaming everywhere on the streets. Did I mention that there are Aryvedic-Yoga-Massage-Reiki-Healing centers every 2 feet here? And with that comes a whole lot of white people and tourists; most of the people here are either Tibetan or yogi/New Age/hippy/backpackers seeking refuge in the tops of the Himalayas. A lot of little shops sell hippy outfits and Buddhist books and organic/healthy restaurants crowd the 3 main streets here. It's actually really easy to forget completely that this is actually a place in India, to be honest. We have been joking constantly that we are in the middle of some chasm of the world, not clinging to any specific country identity. We are in the middle of monsoon season here, so it rains at least once a day, and the fog rolls in over the mountains all of the time.

After getting our nice rooms set up for our stay here, and a cup of Kashmiri green tea with Javid, we went to Nick's Italian Restaurant for a large lunch. We hadn't eaten dinner or breakfast because of the travel, so we were all pretty ravaged by the time we got here. Entering this clean shop, we noticed that most of the people here were tourists (aka non-Indians), which is a complete turn around from the last few weeks in India. But we ate, and we ate a lot. Lots of food, and that means 5 desserts. We have been filling ourselves silly while we have been staying in this utopian town. We really like the momos here, which are basically simple dumplings. We eat them daily.

We shopped around in the cute shops and green markets a bit in the main roads before heading over to the town "club", Xcite, for some aperitifs. This place was hilarious....they only had 2 things: one type of beer, and one type of fruit wine. Both of which were really awful, particularly the plum wine I ordered. And they didn't do alcohol by the glass, but rather by the bottle, meaning that we were stuck with large jugs of bad wine and beer. The place was very sticky and the menus had bad English and bad humor rolled together, making our whole experience hilarious and very enjoyable.
We ate a Tibetan dinner at Mount View, which was not great. At every restaurant we have gone to, they don't have half of what we try to order, which makes our experiences even more enjoyable and humorous. Really it doesn't bother us, but it always brings us a bunch of laughs.

We ended the night joking around and playing Uno in the hotel rooms until later in the evening.

Delhi – Agra – Dharamsala

Bleary eyed and fuzzy brained, the 5 of us (Tara opted out of the trip) took a cab to the New Delhi RR Station to make our 3-hour train ride to Agra. Having heard horror stories of the Indian railway system, I was nervous, but found myself pleasantly surprised at the easiness of hopping a train! Maybe it was just because we were up so early…
We got into our AC Chair Cars, which were really nice! These cars are very comparably to the Amtrak trains we have in the US, and the AC was well accepted in our group (since it is unbelievably hot in that area). There was even a Western toilet with toilet paper in the back of the car, for our foreign conveniences. We were given a complimentary Indian breakfast – cleverly coined by the train as Meals on Wheels – that was actually quite tasty and held us over for the few hours on the train. All of this on a train, for roughly 8 USD.

Getting off at Agra was another story. The packed station was shuffling with foreign visitors confusedly looking up at hopeless Hindi signs, hoping for signs that would bring them to the safety of the Taj Mahal, away from the station’s lepers and loud noises. Our group of 5 grumpily pushed through over to the tourist booth in hopes to make train reservations back to Delhi later the same day, as well as a fast driver who’d show us the Taj and get us to a lunch stop before running to the train. We only had 4 hours available to tour the area before having to get back to Delhi; Tara, Amber, Maulin and I had a 9pm overnight train to Dharamsala that we couldn’t dare miss.

While in line, we met a guy named Josh who had the same kind of agenda as us for the day (he had a 9pm flight to Sweden he had to get back for in Delhi). And so he filled out our 6-some. Josh was a really fantastic 29 year-old Canadian eco-engineer who had been in India for 2 months already, and was on his last day in country before moving back to Canada with his Australian girlfriend. He had spent his time in Dharamsala, interestingly enough, and had a lot of pointers and tips for our vacation in the mountains. He was our miracle savior of the day, and he led us through the train system with a lot more ease than we could have without him. Without him, we probably wouldn’t have been able to get back to Delhi on time.

So we grabbed two government cars and drove to the Taj Mahal. Our driver was extremely helper, and told us to avoid guides and souvenir people while on the grounds, since they would swindle us out of oodles of money and it would be better for us to get the full experience of the site without anyone telling us what to look at and ushering us hastily out. We got to the grounds and walked through security to the Taj.

And now I will write an ode to the Taj Mahal. I don’t mean to sound clichÈ when I talk about World Heritage Sites, however I feel it necessary for such a monumental structure in our world. There are few places on Earth, I feel, that actually live up to such massive amounts of hype and make you feel like it is worth the trip, and I can honestly say that the Taj Mahal is one of these rarities. The real beauty of the whole place is in its simplicity. There are no gaudy decorations glued onto the sides of the walls or at the base of the structure. It is just all white marble. Granted, it is a bit gaudy in terms of burial grounds, but the simple architecture and immaculate symmetry makes the place feel pure and serene, much like a calm lake might be. The veins of the marble give the illusion that the Taj is always in subtle movement. The marble is soft to the touch. There is a certain quiet solemnity emanating from the Taj, making a relaxing buzz of someplace sacred. Indeed, though not a temple, I feel that the Taj is a sacred place. I felt an excitement that put me beside myself that was smoothed over with the serenity. Josh put it well while we were walking around; he said with a slightly freaked out tone, “It is so peaceful here!!!!” Well said.
I imagined that the Taj Mahal site would be this highly packed, busy and noisy spot with scores of tourists walking around talking pictures. Maybe it was because August is the off-season (think monsoons), or maybe because we were at the site early in the morning, but the Taj was not really that crowded, to my relief. They gave us footies to put over our shoes, but I opted for the barefoot option with the Indians, and waded the grounds on the cool marble for over an hour, soaking it all in through every pore.

We regrouped and left with two hours left before catching our train. Despite our best attempts at pleading for a local food join, our driver dropped us off at a very touristy restaurant, Indiana Grill. I hope you saw the pun in the restaurant’s name. Though disappointed with the tourist prices and lack of Indians in the place, the food was satisfying. Though I was sad that my aloo chaat was nothing yoghurty but something with a lemony zest.

When we arrived with our unreserved car tickets for the 4-hour Delhi train back, we were shoved into a sleeper car. The sleeper cars on trains are everything you’ve ever heard about for Indian transportation. There are 2-3 bunks hanging clumsily on the walls of the narrow cars. There is no AC in the cars – which was especially hard in the sweltering heat. Instead, three meager fans on the top of the cars sadly attempt to whir around warm air in the compartments, while an open window supplies the hot oxygen to breathe. Large families come onto the trains and fill all of the upper bunks and floor space with scores of suitcases and luggage (to go where, I am still unsure). The stenches of the cars are of bodily functions usually kept in the comforts of home, while the Eastern toilet broken stall door swings open during the ride. Men walk around with chai and samosas during the trip (though I’m unsure who’d eat such hot foods at these temperatures), while others walk around with buckets full of precarious vegetables, swarming with interested flies.
We walked on and found ourselves piled into our area. It felt like the longest ride back to Delhi. We simply sat on the benches and waited to get into Delhi, while looking through the barred windows and feeling the sweat slide down our backs nonstop. The heat made us quiet, and the smell outside made us even quieter.

We ended up getting slightly lost 17 km outside of Delhi for about half an hour, not really sure where we were or why we weren’t able to get into Delhi on our train. We quickly hopped onto another local sleeper train and got into Delhi with two hours to spare before our next train ride.
We finally thanked Josh for all of his help, wished each other luck, and Josh walked into the crowd, never to be heard from again. We didn’t exchange contact information or last names; he was just a travel buddy for a day. It was really quite a romantic situation, come to think about it. Wherever you are now, Josh, I only wish the best.

And Molly and Hallie parted ways with us in the hotel. They were not continuing on with us. After our 4 weeks of fieldwork together, we split in half, and Maulin and I joined up with the other two and sprinted to Old Delhi RR Station (quite different than the New Delhi RR Station) to find our 11-hour overnight train.
We met up at the station with another Wagnerite who was traveling with us, Hanan.
While running to our train, one of my tennis shoes apparently fell out of my bag, and a very nice Kashmiri guy ran over to me to give it back to me. The situation was a little bit reminiscent of Cinderella, though I am well aware that a tennis shoe is far less attractive than a ballroom shoe. He was very sweet, and was interested in why I was in India, where I was going, and where I was from.
We got onto our train to find we had found the wrong car, and were actually placed on the opposite side of the train in another tier car. Frantically (and with 10 minutes before leaving) we jogged over to make our chairs in time. We were in AC 3rd Tier Sleeper Cars. There was a lot of confusion about who really were the holders of our chairs, and after finding a conductor; we ended up pushing out a bunch of people for our chairs. Ironically, the man who found my tennis shoe was the man I had to push out of my chair.
Though an upgrade from the sleeper cars back to Delhi from Agra, these cars were very similar… only this time we were actually intending on sleeping in the bunks. Luckily, the AC was working in the car, so that made the trip a lot easier. However, these cars have no privacy (no curtains, no nothing), so anything your neighbors want to do or say you get full view. This was unfortunate for Amber and I, who were separated from the other 3 (our group was book-ending the entire car). One of the confusions about who had our chairs was because we had a family of 9 sitting in our area of 6 bunk beds. They had 5 little children and an old grandmother packed away in the area, and had no intention on leaving the space. Amber and I got our own side bunks, but the family managed to have the 9 of them in 6 bunks. I still don’t understand how they managed.
The toilets on the trains were literally holes in the train cars. You could look down and see the tracks speed by as you did you business. They put signs all over the toilets asking riders to avoid using them while stopped at a station, which I definitely understand now. It came to my realization that for at least 10 hours of my life I was, by using the toilets on the train, consenting to open defecation in India, despite my entire project’s goal of eliminating it.
The family began to worry me when, at 10pm at night, they started feeding the little children sugared biscuits, and followed the snacks with a full-fledged Indian dinner they packed. I was intending on sleeping for the night, but it was beginning to look dismal with fully fed children by my bed. Also, apparently the family had other members in other cars, so there was a constant opening and slamming of the car door near our doors with people coming in to talk with them.
Luckily, everyone in the car fell asleep, and I slept peacefully on the bottom of the bunks. We slept all night, as the train hobbled and swayed from one train station to the next, on our way up north. We woke up at 7am, just in time to grab all of our bags and get off of the train at Pathankot to make our switch to the bus for Dharamsala.

Last day in Bhubaneswar

I am devastated. 10 pages of blog posts out of the window, all because my laptop corrupted my file and now my long memory has sunk into the technological abyss that is Apple.

I will try to redeem my posts, though they might be less graphic and beautifully written as they were when I first wrote them.

I do believe my last post was about being in Bhubaneswar for the last time.

Our team – though excited to sleep in and planned the day accordingly - was woken up on our last day in Bhubaneswar by the front desk, begging us to come to breakfast because they had made us boiled eggs. Their attempt of a peace offering, though small, was well appreciated, but we still do not think highly on this hotel. We walked around briefly in the already sweltering heat to pick up some final things before packing, and headed back quickly to our room. Instead of us all going to the caves near town, we opted to take it easy and run a few errands before we started our crazy few days of constant travel. I took a nap.
I woke up with Maulin and Molly going to get our freshly pressed, crispy laundry from the cleaners. It is hard to express in text to relief and joy we all felt of having real clean clothing; after roughly 3 weeks of being soggy and smelly, we felt like humans again. Though, the cleaners did manage to burn a few holes in select clothing, but beggars can’t be choosers over here in India.
One of our last goals was to find a spiritual bookshop that Gobardhan at GV had told us to go to for some great Aryuvedic health snacks and supplements, Gita Press. Some men told us the night before that it was over by one of the several temples in town, no problem. But alas, here in India things can never really be that easy. We walked around aimlessly looking for this shop, ping-ponging the main busy street, to no avail. We asked several men, who all pointed us in the opposite directions, implying that no one really knew what we were talking about.
Something I don’t remember if I’ve pointed out yet; the people we try talking to here for help, usually men, do not like talking to us women. It doesn’t matter who is trying to talk to them; they will always direct their responses to Maulin. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m white or a female (I’m assuming the latter), but it can get frustrating after a while, feeling invisible and all. This happened when looking for Gita Press. The idea was my brainchild, and I would ask the men, but they would beckon over Maulin after my inquiry and begin talking to him with their answers. I don’t know how it would matter exactly; I assume that they’d have the same response whether it was Maulin or me to whom they were talking. In any case, we were led in circles and considered it a failed mission.
After eating a pleasant lunch at the same place we ate the night before, we packed up early and headed to the airport for our Indigo flight. The airport is so small that it wasn’t even open yet when we arrived, so we had to wait outside until someone came and told us they were ready.
They made me open up my big luggage and rummage through it because apparently my jump rope could have possible been a weapon of mass destruction.
It has come to my attention that I, much like an infant, sleep at the instant feeling of moving vehicles (cars, trains, planes, etc.). It seems that the whirring of the motor and lulling motions zen me out to the point of oblivion, and I am rendered useless until I close my eyes and doze off. So, I tried very hard to stay awake during our 2-hour flight, but the buzzing of the seat defeated my efforts, and I was out for an hour.

The team arrived in hot, sticky Delhi, and was hit with a kind of culture shock. We had grown accustomed to the underdeveloped rural world in Orissa, and were a little taken back by the loud blaring of the city. The airport was shiny and buzzing with loads of people. And most differently, there were quite a lot of foreigners (aka white people). Having been 1 of 5 white people within a 20-mile radius, this was something I surprisingly had to readjust to. Also, when landing at a restaurant for a late dinner, we were pleasantly surprised to find that the restaurant had everything we wanted AND they understood our English well enough to make our ordering process the smoothest we had had in weeks!

We got to our new hotel, Ananda, in Karol Bagh to meet up in a sweet reunion with 2 fellow Wagner students who did their project work in Mumbai, Amber and Tara. It was nice to see more than just our team of familiar faces.
The rooms were clean, and I shared a bed with Maulin because there were no separate beds in the rooms. This was alright, seeing as we were only going to nap for 4 hours that night in order to make our 4am train to Agra in the morning.

Backlogging in Dharamshala

I have been writing great novel-sized entries for my blog on my laptop, since my last posting. Indeed, far too much has been going on in the past few days I have been traveling.

Why I have not posted them at all:
1 - I have not had time to write much or find an internet connection to post anything
2 - There is little to no internet in this area 300m above sea level
3 - Last night, while writing one of my epic tales, my laptop crashed and potentially killed all of my great writings! I am very distraught about this, but am hoping to later today to restore my computer in some magical way so that not all of it is lost.

Konark & Puri Joys

We woke up early to find the bus going on a 2-hour ride to Konark and Puri. The ride was bumpy and long, and I was stuffed in the back with a handful of Indian men, but we all got there in one piece, sweating early.

Konark Sun Temple is this large temple from the 13th century decorated with stories and 84 positions from the Kama Sutra (because the temple was used to help propagate the Indian race in the area at the time). It was supposed to be a chariot temple, which had 24 massive wheels and could be hauled by many pulling horses. Though really gorgeous to look at, it was originally a lot larger and more amazing a few hundred years ago before colonists came in and tore up the place. Apparently the temple was 100m tall, and there were iron magnets holding the entire temple structure/complex together. The colonists came in and ripped out the iron rods, making the entire thing collapse onto itself. Nowadays, they're still repairing the structure, but what is remaining is still pretty amazing to look at.

We got to the place and were instantly greeted by an old man who wanted to give us a tour for 200Rs. We said no, but he followed us through the whole entrance process. We finally bargained down to 150Rs total, and he gave us a tour of the whole place. He was rather sweet, and he grew on me after a while. He hustled us around, and explained all of the little stories on the sides of the temple for us, explaining exactly which position that was supposed to be, and what this means, etc. The positions were very explicit, though, so not much had to be left to our imaginations. The whole place oozed with eroticism, and while I was fascinated, I think it may have made some team members a bit squeamish. The whole monument was mammoth, and though there were a lot of blocks put in as braces due to the temple's fall (meaning it lacked any carvings or etchings), it was still intricate and stunning to look at and walk around.

Oh yeah! And a few of my Kanwar pilgrims were walking around the temple, and I would wave to them, and they'd wave back smiling. I have decided now that I will be staying in India, and becoming a Kanwar pilgrim. I will buy an orange getup and Kanwar pole in Bhubaneswar, and start walking. I will then find the love of my life, a Kanwar of course, and I will live happily ever after. At least until I wake up.

There were also a bunch of Frenchies at the site, and someone came up to me and began asking me things in French, which I responded. After a brief talk in Franglish, I now have a handful of people in India who thinks I'm a French woman hanging out with a bunch of Americans. This actually happened a few times throughout the day, and my French-esteem was boosted.

We then took a cab to Puri so we could say that we went to the beach. Our driver played for us children's songs, like "The Hokey Pokey", which was beyond bizarre, but we silently listened and hummed along to the happy melodies

Upon arrival at Puri, I noticed immediately that there were white people here. Quite a few, actually. For such a random state of India, there were actually a large population of white tourists lurking around the streets, and they were not stared at like how we were while by Berhampur. I looked around at the signs in the town to discover that we were in what seems to be in a major New Age capital for Western tourists. There were Aryuvedic Centers everywhere, Ashrams and Yoga spots, hotels donning special massage specials, and a lot of hippy shops to buy linens and cotton purses. As exciting and "normal" some of this seemed at first for me, and I was very interested in looking into the Aryuvedic/Yoga institutes, I was also disappointed that we had found ourselves in an area that didn't seem to hold the same Indian vibe we initially experienced while here.

We first stopped at a restaurant to have lunch. We ended up at Honey Bee, which was western and eastern options! Pancakes and omelets and pizzas and muesli! Everything we were denied at GV, we could get here! It was so good we may have splurged a bit much, but it was so satisfying that I'm going to write it off as simply success. This restaurant was also apparently a hotspot for ex-pats and Western Europeans in the area. We heard a lot of French and Spanish in the little cafe, and they were playing some John Coltrane while we ate. No less, it was a great break form the Naan and chick peas we have been chewing on.

We go to the beach finally! We stared head-on with the Bay of Bengal, which I think is something to drop into dinner parties from now on.

I noticed that the sea water here was a milky chai color, and though it felt good to put our feet in the cool water while the sun beat down on our sweating selves, I didn't dare to rest too long in what may be hazardous water. Anyways, the backdrop was really a sight; temples spotted the skyline, and coconut trees lined all of the hotels and houses on the beach coast. To the northern side, piles of boats that looked more like kayaks spread up and down the edge of the water. The beach was empty, and crabs began coming out of the sand around us while we stood and gazed at the sea and town.

We got a rickshaw that got us immediately onto a bus back to Bhubaneswar. I am going to start calling this the "Ride from Hell". I was crammed into a small seat with some other man, who apparently decided that i was the kind of woman for him. He draped his arm on my leg and kept getting closer to me. A two-hour drive, people, the whole way back. He was eager to talk to me about anything that he could think of, trying to also give me a tour in the bus of his area while asking me questions about my personal life, and most of my responses were short and friendly, but not leading. I was trying to make it apparent that I was NOT interested. No less, he continued, and everything he inched closer to me I would slide further off of my chair, to the point where I was more off of the chair than on it. He finally revealed his age to me (45, unmarried, yikes) and offered to be my boyfriend. Oh no, I responded, I have a boyfriend in America, and we might get married in a little bit. I went through the long list of guy friends I have back in the states to think of who I could use as my excuse (and yes, I did pick one specific friend to use), but the guy didn't ask any more. He kept his arm on my leg though, despite me pushing it off. All of a sudden I notice that the bus is packed, and a man standing up has pressed himself against my shoulder enough that I can feel the outline of his genitalia on me. Man to the right, laying all over me; man to the left, pressing himself onto me. And I sat there, ready to weep and/or scream, for the ride back into town. The men both left, and i whimpered back to my teammates with my tail under my legs, ready to take a well-deserved afternoon nap.

We went out to an English book shop and bought a few books (seeing as we read all of our books while on campus) to hold us over. We walked around a little bit more around the area, and ate a fast cheap dinner near the hotel before going to bed.

Bhubaneswar (aka: Chaos)

Our drive to Bhubaneswar was an all-day affair, about 4-5 hours (though we still got to our hotel early). I actually slept for almost the entire time, despite the rising heat in the state. It has been a balmy 40C/104F for a long string of days now, and so we have been plastered into our clothing since the temperature became what it is now. Apparently when I was asleep I missed a pit stop at a tea stand for our drivers while my team watched a mongoose chase on the side of the road (I am not kidding). As much fun as that would have been, though, I much rather the sleep at the time.

We got back to the city, and the loud noises and concentrated rush was a hit in the face compared to our slumbering Berhampur.

Our Hotel Pushpak....what is there to say about this seedy little place...well, we have AC, which was good for some of the members. And there are western toilets, which can be a plus. There are limited assorted creatures, always an upgrade from rural India. Their restaurant is decent, though a bit pricey compared to some of our local eats. And we all share one room, separate beds for all. But....the breakfast that should be complimentary is a farce, and there is no internet. And the rooms/halls all smell a bit dank. They don't know anything about the area of Bhubaneswar in which we are situated... And there is no laundry, which was devastating for our team.

So the first thing our team went to do while our short stay in the city was to find a place to do our laundry. Maulin hauled around our compiled laundries in a big blue laundry bag that Hallie brought, making him look like a modern Indian Santa Claus who's colorblind. The hot weather made our moves slightly slower, but the real problem was the fact that we had no idea where we were going to find a laundry place. Dry cleaners were the only option, it seemed. At first, we walked through alley ways and marketplaces to find many, many saree shops and tailors with no clue about cleaning facilities. But then we finally started to find some cleaners! One issue was prominent: all cleaners were closed for the next 3 hours.

Apparently, in at least Orissa, most businesses are closed for at least 2 hours in the middle of the day. We have assumed this means lunch breaks for the workers, but this seems to be slightly baffling to us now, considering that even restaurants are closed for the same 2 hours, too.

Since the laundry places were so inconveniently placed compared to our hotel, and we had a few other errands to run in the city before the evening, we opted to stay outside. So Maulin became our pack mule and hauled around our laundry throughout Bhubaneswar for a few hours. And our second attempted mission was to get our traveler's cheques cashed at a bank. We hailed a rickshaw and stuffed our stuff in it, going to the "best nearby bank option". We entered Bank 1, to find out that there was an error in the system, and so there was no way to get our cheques cashed. On to Bank 2, our rickshaw dropped us in a completely different area of town, where banks didn't exist, and we walked until we finally found a bank (Bank 2)! We walked in, and they said no way not here, go to the State Bank of India down the street, Bank 3. That bank didn't possess any technology for cheques, but the larger branch 10 minutes would, Bank 4. This is when it became funny. Bank 4! Bank 4, same problem, go to the other chain down the street about 1 km away. At Bank 5, the guy who normally dealt with traveler's cheques and foreign exchanges was out of the office for the day, so he told us to go to their main branch in the city.

Keep in mind, this is not a small city, per se. So we are hailing rickshaws to get to all of these banks, or getting more lost and frustrated and then hailing one anyways, who usually didn't know where we were talking about going. And also remember the large laundry sack the Maulin donned for us, so every time we entered a bank, Maulin had to open our dirty laundry bag for security so they knew we were not, in fact, terrorists with such a strange oversized bag.

At the main branch, Bank 6, the gods had mercy on us, and we finally found someone who could get us money for cheques. We got there around 3:20pm, and they close at 4pm: immaculate timing. It took us an hour to fill out paperwork to get our money, but we did, and now we are ready to go for the next few weeks. We wanted to celebrate with coffee at a big chain with our laundry, at Cafe Coffee Day. We were also excessively (and collectively) grumpy, so it was a good time for a break. However, we got to the shop and found out they were holding a week-long promotion that barred customers (or at least tourists) from buying simple orders of black coffee, and we were forced to order desserts with our drink purchases. Honestly, it was not that big of a deal, but grump Americans can become quite ugly when it comes to hunger and not getting exactly what they want, and so the desserts were finished in delicious grumbles and satisfied whines. I had a chocolate shake that tasted absolutely nothing like chocolate and more like a milky mint drink, which was exactly what I didn't want, but it was still something, so I just shrugged and swallowed down the shake.

We finally go to the dry cleaners and dropped our load off happily. He told us it would take two days (but our departure was later that day they'd finish) and would be done in the evening (but we left in the early evening), so we pushed him to make it in the afternoon before we left. And he refused to touch the female underwear (bras, panties, socks), leaving our team without underwear and clothing for 2 days. Luckily, we had some packets of detergent, and worked on our underwear in our tub and hang it all around our large room. I have been wearing the same outfit for days now.

Our team met up for dinner with a fellow Wagner student, Cindy (who's working in the city for the summer at UNICEF), and her roommate from Delhi, Deepika. They directed us to an area called Mayfair Lagoon, and it was like walking into a fairy-tale; the area was based for a 5-Star hotel, the Mayfair, that held bungalows for each visitor, and had outdoor AC and a line of western shops outside of the gated hotel. The whole area dripped of money and luxury colonial items, and I felt very much like I had just taken a portal to another part of the world. Though I am not very sure if I am alright with these kind of areas all of the time; considering my experience and field visits in Orissa (and India, for that matter), is there really a point or benefit for there to be high-end luxury hotels in areas where begging filth and abject poverty is not even a block away from the grounds? I believe it holds a very skewed, untrue viewpoint for those who don't know any better, or who prefer too much their Blackberry dinners and Chanel coffee cups. Why bother come to a developing country if you're not going to see the developing part, or why it is even called developing? I wonder.

We went to dinner there, though, at the lagoon. And though a bit pricey, the food was absolutely fabulous. We had some dishes I can't pronounce, but everything tasted fresh and clean and good. A really nice restaurant. And there were white people in the restaurant, too! Cindy and Deepika told us about their internship and travels around the area, and we had a really nice night of conversation and laughter. We got out of the restaurant and walked through part of the restaurant that had created individual, modular rooms for dinner partys in front of a well-lit square with tabla and singer on the mic.

We ended our night at a nearby pub, 10 Downing Street for drinks and dance, and i had a mocktail fruit punch that was freshly squeezed with a piece of raw apple (oh ambrosia)! It was exactly what I have been craving! But, despite the glory of the meal and drinks, it was time to get back to reality at the seedy part of town.

We headed back to our hotel just in time to see one man reading a newspaper on a chair, and a cow on the street came over to look at him, and finally ram the man straight off of his chair (light enough to not hurt him, but hard enough to make him roll onto the ground).