Crazy Little Thing Called Love
Ahhh, love. It's a funny thing this "love". When I was a boy, a friend and I were out camping with a group of kids at Lake Powell. Both of us were giddy as young boys often are about a couple girls, and having never dabbled in such affairs before, we asked one of the chaparones we both looked up to that ever elusive question: What is love? The wise man smiled and replied, "All I can say is you will know when you find it..."
And then some 15 years later it sneaks up right behind you and pulls the rug out from under you. Every one of us has had "that" moment. Maybe it was in a grocery store. Maybe walking down the road. Maybe with a friend. OR maybe on a subway in some distant land when you glance across the way to make contact with those eyes that just happen to be glancing at the exact moment you are. And in a moment, in a split second something happens. Your heart jumps. Your mind blanks and a minute or two later you realize you are still holding your breath. It's the moment songs are written about, the reason novels are penned and the inspiration that has forced brush to canvas since the beginning of time... It's the moment that forever touched me days ago.
Funny you wait your whole life for 'it' then BAM it happens when you shake the pot a little bit and decide to take a trip around the world. It's strange how you can get 100 different looks and not think twice, but when that 'one' happens, it's different. For me, it happened my first day in mainland Europe. And this time I decided I was going to do something about it. "Hi, I'm Derek... (heh, sigh) And you are..." Paris. Her name is Paris and the rest is history. It's safe to say |am in love. But I'm not the only one. No actually everyone looks in love. In fact, it's hard not to be in (and with) Paris. The place has got romance and inspiration flowing through its streets for all to drink.
The first tip I can give to anyone visiting Paris is to befriends the locals. You remember that elephant trek in Thailand, the one with 9 girls and 1 other guy? Well it just so happens the other guy and one of the nine were this couple from Paris. Somehow by the end of that trek we had all become friends enough to exchange email addresses. So we did. Then they made the mistake of saying "Call if you come to Paris." So I did.
My first night in Paris, I met my Thailand friend Xavier who took me to
his spot. There I sat, espresso in hand, with 6 or 8 of his friends at some streetside cafe on some quaint Parisian street. As they had their drinks, spoke their French, smoked their cigarettes and listened to street performers do work their magic I just sat back with a smile like a sponge in lake. The next day Xavier and Camille were moving to a different apartment and if there's one thing I've learned in my travels it's sights are sights but people are where life happens. So most of the day I helped move boxes into their new apartment and (bless their hearts) what happened to be my house for the next 4 nights.
The days following I got lost in the arms of my new love, wandering her romantic streets, armed with nothing more than a baguette, some cheese and my camera. The Eiffle tower, Arc de Triumphe, Europe's largest museum, even had a visit to Amele's cafe'. The city is rich. In money probably, but in life definately. It's easy to taste and breathe the same inspiration that moved people like say, um, Picasso, Monet, and on and on and on.
After the longest time I've spent in any one spot on my entire trip, I had the hardest time saying goodbye. Yes, I know, distance makes the heart grow fonder. And even though I'm in the land of tapas and flamenco, it doesn't make it any easier. But just between you and me I pulled the oldest trick in the book. The ol' "Woops I left my jacket" trick. Guess I'm gonna have to return.
That's just the way it is with love. Trust me, you'll know when it happens.
£100 Says 150 Million
Alright kids, get out your pencils and put on your thinking caps cause it's POP QUIZ TIME!!!!
Today's questions: How many people live in Mexico?
Now I'm not really the gambling type. In fact, if ever you find me in a casino there a good chance I'll be somewhere over by the nickel slots or standing mesmerized in frozen excitment staring at all of the flashing lights. BUT, if I absolutely had to I would probably bet there were over 150 million people in Mexico. Sounds reasonable right? You figure Mexico City is one of the largest in the world (if not THE), and it's a pretty big country. So let's say somewhere over 150 million people. I'll come back to that.
It's interesting that so many people think I'm British. Guessing it's probably because people in London are quite fashionable, attractive people. So, you know... naturally, people might guess I too am from London. Well today, I'm waliking the streets of London, looking good like a Londoner should and this distinguished older gentleman approaches me and asks if I know where Buckingham Palace is. Of course I don't, so I tell him. "Are you not from here?" He asks. "No, America." "Oh, you look British." (Don't I know it!)
This gentleman is Australian with an English accent, very pleasant and well spoken. Neither of us knowing where we are going, decide to walk there together so we can continue talking. He's from Sydney, a dealer of antiques and has a fair amount of money (you can tell and he told me so). He also told me last night he won £4,000 (=$8,000) playing roulette. We talk a little about politics, this and that, then he asks how many people live in America. I tell him about 300 million. He's surprised there's not more. Asks how many people in Canada, I say about 30 million.
Then that gambling mind starts turning. "I would have bet £200 there was 500 million people in the United States. How many people are there in Mexico?" Now America I know. Canada-easy. But Mexico? I tell him I have no idea, and I don't. So he says, "Think of a number you are 90% sure there wouldn't be any less than. Say if there was a guy standing here right now wanting to bet £1,000 on the population of Mexico, what would you say is a good bet." Hmmm.... "Maybe, 150 million?" He tells me he has no idea, and we walk a little further.
Then it gets personal. He (cleary a perceptive man) tells me how much he likes me, what a good, sharp kid I am. Then he lays out the bet. 2 to 1 odds. If I win he pays me £200, if he wins I pay him £100. Here's the bet: less than 150 million people in Mexico or 150 million to 300 million people in Mexico. I get to pick which one I want and if it's over 300 million people nobody wins because we should both be ashamed we are so far off. Then we will find a book store in the near vicinity and check. As I said before, I'm not much for gambling, but if the bet is obvious then I'd say it's hardly gambling, right? And here's a guy who has already stated that he likes me and wants to give me a good chance to win some money, but it can't just be a "sympathy bet".
The guys trying to do me a favor, the odds are good, and really what's £100? I mean that's like a day's budget in London. So I go for it. And naturally I pick the 150-300 million people. Those readers who are much more educated than I am know at this point that I am not very educated at all! I tell him I need to stop at an atm before we check so I can get some money in the VERY unlikely event that I lose. "Don't be silly. How could you lose this?"
Well I did. No, there are not 150-300 million people in Mexico. We found the bookstore, locate a Mexico travel book and BOOM! Right there in big bold letters
91 million population. I was not even close. We were both a little surprised. And for a little redemption I looked up Canada which I hit right on the head with 30 million. So we go outside, find an atm and the old guy waits a short distance away. I am a little disappointed but had decided it was worth the price just to hang out with this cool old gentleman, and besides I wouldn't have bet it if I hadn't been willing to part with it. What? It's true.
Catching up with him I count out the £100. He laughs, "You're an honest young man. I could tell when I met you." He was quite impressed with my integrity, etc. Then he asks me to write my name and address on a envelope he was carrying and tells me that by losing I actually made more money than if I would have won. He puts my £100 in the envelope and an additional undisclosed amount in there with it. Then he says he will send the money and his business card, so we can continue to stay in touch. We shake hands, part ways, and it turns out to be another great day in London.
Now in the event there are some 3rd graders reading this blog right now, I think you should know there is a very valuable life lesson to this story:
"The only thing worth gambling for is friendship."
Class dismissed.
A Hug, a Kiss, and a Busride Inches from Death
Alright before you go judgin' everybody for not blogging let me explain the last several days' schedule to you. Let's start with Budda the camel. We stayed the night in the desert then the next morning saddled up our pitiful camels and treked back to town. I just had time to take a shower, check email and eat, then I boarded a 20 hour train ride for Delhi. Arriving in Delhi long enough to get irritated (and it doesn't take long), I boarded another overnight train for Shimla.
It's Friday when I arrive to Shimla which sits in the beautiful mountains at about 7,000 feet elevation. Now I have a decision to make: From Shimla I can see one snow capped Himalayan mountain just peeking over a smaller range, whispering my name. My plane leaves for London on Monday, and the next bus for a town in the Himalayas (or at least nestled in a Himalayan valley)leaves the next day-Saturday. What I didn't realize was it takes at least 10 hours by bus to get anywhere in the mountains. You're a smart bunch, so you can probably figure out that would put me at my destination on Saturday evening, one day further from Delhi where my plane leaves on Monday. Option 2, settle with a distant glance of snow-caps, enjoy myself and relax.
Well I've come to accept the life montra: Live without regret. Thinking to myself, when will I be so close to the Himalayas again? I decide to go for it, even if I have to do the unthinkable and extend my time in India. 'Get busy livin', or get busy dying!'
In these few days there are quite a few stories to tell, but I don't have much time so I'll share what I can. There was nothing too eventful about the overnight trains. Really it was just a train ride, and a British girl talking almost the entire time about what she was going to do in the next 3 days...(!)After the second overnighter, I switched to a 'toy train' from Kalka to Shimla. Which was a very cool 5 hour train with more than 100 tunnels and 900 trestles and bridges. Finally, I arrived to Shimla mid-day and aware of the decision before me, decided to walk around town until I reached a conclusion. Enter Mr. Huggles.
Yes, it's a MR. And no Mr. Huggles is not really his name. I can't remember his name, so I have taken the liberty to assign a fitting nickname. So I'm walking down the road, breathing the fresh mountain air, wrestling my thoughts on what to do when this Indian guy comes up and introduces himself. He's maybe mid 20's and it starts off like most conversations: "Hi, where are you from?" "America." "America?" "America." And then it got a little weird: "You are my brother," exclaimed Mr. Huggles and pulls me in for a hug. Now one cultural lesson is that Indian guys are much more affectionate with each other than American guys. So without getting an "I like guys" vibe from Mr. Huggles, I go with it. "Ok, brothers," I say. "Where are you going?" He asks, and we keep walking. After about 3 more minutes, Mr. Huggles says again, "You are my brother, huh?" and you know what follows. Another hug.
Now instead of the "I like boys" vibe, I'm picking up an "I'm not all there" vibe. I think our friend maybe is slightly special. We keep walking, me a little more determined than he. Then Huggles, invites me to sit to talk. "Well, I really need to make a phone call." I say having decided I'm gonna go for the Himalaya run. "We are brothers, huh?" (oh, boy) Now remember, we are in India, which holds almost 1/6 of the worlds population. Needless to say there are plenty of people watching. "We are brothers!" Only this time instead of a mere hug, I get the hug and a kiss planted right my cheek! "Yep, brothers. Hey I really gotta go." And with a little resistance I seperate and get the _ out of there.
Calling my agent back home he assures me I can reschedule my flight to Thursday, I just need to call someone in India by tomorrow. Perfect. The next morning, I buy a bus ticket to Sangla, which is supposed to be one of the most beautiful valleys in the Himalayas. I throw my bags on top of the bus and climb onto one of the most cramped and uncomfortable busses I have ever seen. I said my montra was "Live without regret", but I forgot the most important part of that-LIVE! This bus ride was unbelievably beatuiful and sketchy. Majestic mountains demanded respect and intimidated everything except the angry river that carved it's way unforgivingly through the mountains heart. The ride started on a road that was barely 2 lanes and paved, with no guard rails. It ended with a 1/2 lane dirt road made partially out of the rocks from rock slides that clearly once covered the road.
I am not usually made nervous by switchbacks or canyons, but this was a new breed of road, and I was on a BUS with a driver that I assume had no respect for life based on his speed and driving style. In my row of 3 seats there was barely enough room for 1 but sat as many as 6 people, including one precious old Indian lady who found sleeping comfort in my shoulder. Despite a concerned 8 (of 10) hours, we arrived to Sangla at 6 pm, and even with no feeling my legs, the scene was breathtaking. Sangla is a small village in a narrow valley brushed with apple orchards. The walls of the mountains that surrounded it, held smaller villages with no clear means of access.
At this point I know I made the right decission, but still had one more phone call to make. When I contacted the airlines to change my ticket they informed me I would have to bring in my ticket to do so. In otherwords, I couldn't. So no sooner did I get to the Himalayas I had to leave. No problem because at 6 am,
12 hours after I arrived there was return 10 hour bus ride to Shimla where I could catch another overnight train to Delhi. So after about 30 hours of traveling, I had 12 hours to sleep, soak in the view, and get my butt back to Delhi. The ride back was just as hair-raising, the only difference being what looked like a couple of fresh slides we had to work bus around.
And now, not 48 hours later I am sitting in downtown London, spending more on internet than I did on a room in India, and it is worth every penny. From the moment I stepped off that plane I've been smiling and gilgling like a school girl. True I've been traveling for a few months, but most of that I would call an adventure more than a vacation. Now I think I am in the vacation part of my vacation. And it feels good!
How good? When I was 16, 3 months after getting my license, I rolled my car on the highway. I crawled out of the broken windshield with nothing more than a papercut-sized cut on my finger. And the next day, the birds chirped louder, the sun shined brighter, the colors and sounds of life were all more vibrant. Kind of like that.
Like I just crawled out of a car wreck (India) barely escaping with my life and entered a new and brighter world. A world with toilets and hot water. A world with espressos, cheese, and fresh baked bread. Clean sheets. Trash cans. And personal space! Can you imagine? There's personal space!
Yes, my friends, life is good. Real good.
Budda and Pussa
I didn't let a migrane keep me from riding an elephant. And although there wasn't a 9 girl to 1 guy ratio on this camel safari, I wasn't about to let some old lady's feet keep me from riding camels with digestive problems.
We first piled into a jeep for an hour ride where we would meet our camels for the first time. Within minutes the cries of road side scarf vendors faded out and I struck up a conversation with our driver. "Well I'm from Arizona, but my family lives mostly in Oregon." The driver who also lived in Boston part time with an Indian antique store lit right up, "Oregon?! Ah I love Oregon." "Yeah me too!" I proclaimed, "It's so beautiful. The people are great." "Ahhh some of the best 'smoke' I've ever had...they grow it good up there," replied the driver and gazed happily at the road as he casually swerved around the dunes that had poured into it.
When we arrived the camels and drivers were waiting. Naturally the first thing you do is make a mental assessment of each camel. Pros. Cons. Which would be the strongest, fastest, best in a camel fight. In all which would be the best camel for a man like me. "You'll be on this one," said a sun weathered man with a faded red turban. This was the kind of guy that probably lived off of desert bones and scorpians...and could no doubt slice a man in two from 300 yards with his safari machette. But you guys should have seen this camel. He was clearly smaller than the other and had some mystery crusties smeared on his neck, and a tail that might have been cut off, or even fallen off a couple times before being resewn. But when your camel guide has poisonous spit, and you've got intestinal weakness, there's only one thing you can do.
So I climbed abord Budda the Camel. Every one was laughing and giggling, while I was sat wondering if my camel would even make it to his feet. He did and shortly we were headed into the desert. There about 9 tourists in our group and maybe 6 camel guides. Some of the tourists were allowed to hold their reigns, you already know I was not, and when asked at one point if I could trot with ol' Budda, the weathered warrior chuckled and assured me know, it wasn't a good idea. There was one positive though, Budda and I lead the group, with my guide holding the reigns as he walked ahead. I learned my guides name was Pussa which drew to mind an old Johnny Cash song "Boy Named Sue" and seemed to answer a lot of questions. I also learned shortly after treking that ol' Budda and I had a special connection. Every once in a while I would hear the other camels grunting behind and would turn to see all the other riders hiding their faces in thier scarves and turbans. Come to find out it wasn't the other camels that were grunting... it was ol Budda. Which suddenly shed a whole different light on his name as well.
The safari was one of the best things I've done. It might have been the serenity of the desert, sleeping on sand dunes under the open sky, with nastalgic memories of my own Arizona desert (never thought I have nastalgia for Phoenix). It might have been riding a camel that you knew was just thankful everyday for another breath. It might have been that there were no hands clinging, or voices crying for my money. I'm sure it was a little bit of everything. And every moment I was feeling a little better.
The next day we saddled up at day break and worked our way back to Jaisalmer. I showered up and last night caught an overnight train back to Delhi. Tonight, I catch an overnight train to Shimla which is almost at the base of the Himalayas. I fly to London on Monday, so I am running out of time, but I'm gonna get as close to those bad mothers as I can. And even though tomorrow I will be in the mountains I know deep inside there is a dessert, a camel driver and one day-to-day camel who will always hold a piece of my heart.
Keep fightin Budda...
Delhi Belly
Here's a traveling tip for you: If taking a cooking course, use an instructor that doesn't cook with her feet.
In China there's Ghengis Wrong. There's the Thailand Throne, Laos Wow, and Cambodian Can. I've been fortunate enough to have avoided all of those, but now after 3 months of traveling I have finally encountered Raj's Revenge. And really I shouldn't assume it was my instructors feet that graced me with this resonating pain. It could have been any number of things, the silverware on the floor, the reused chai pot, it's hard to pin it down. I have a feeling this is going to raise some eyebrows back home, where one of my friends was still feeling the effects of Raj some three months after returning. Not to worry though I'm already feeling better...for the moment.
I have been in India now 7 nights, 3 of those have been spent on overnight busses, and tomorrow night I will add to that experience an overnight train. Currently I am in Jaisalmer in Western India. The main reason people visit Jaisalmer is for the Camel safaris. However, to get to here from Udaipur(the city I was in prior) a person must take an overnight bus to Jodphur(9 hours) then catch another bus to Jaisalmer (another 4-5 hours). I'm 98% positive that our driver was not the same one as the taxi driver who choefered me the first night in India, but there is still 2% that says, "but they drive exactly the same".
Perhaps it's to prepare the tourists for the camel ride which is not known to be a smooth, comfortable one, but the bus ride might rank as the worst one yet. And I've been on quite a few. Let me give you an idea. Ofcourse there are bumps, nay craters in the roads. Yes, you have to swerve to miss roadside pedestrians and then swerve again to avoid the head-on collisions with another bus doing the same. But I think what crowns this bus ride as the king of "Worst Bus Ride Ever" is the horn. When I say horn, you think, "Oh 10 hours of horn honking..." You are correct, but what you don't, nay can't understand is the horn.
These horns are not the standard air horn you might find on a bus. Somehow India has designed a way to incorporate a train whistle, ambulance siren, and the sounds of Pac Man into one powerful weapon. They also can change the patterns of the honking notes, tempo, etc. The one thing that never changes is the deffening force which I think is designed to alert the next town that the bus is 40 miles away.
Once to Jaisalmer, there are two places to stay, in the fort or outside. Naturally I wanted to be a part of the "in" crowd. So I found this great guest house in side the walls of the fort, with a view overlooking the city below. The town is desert and has some real style. It's the kind of India I had in my mind. It sits right at the base of these magnificent fort walls. Unfortunately, the only walls I got familiar with were those inside my own little fortress, which I hunkered down in for most of the day, taking only short breaks to rest and rehydrate.
Thankfully, I am feeling much better. Fortunate, because I saddle up my camel in about two hours, and I don't think they have restrooms on the camels. I only spend one night in the desert, then return to catch my overnight
train to
Delhi then up to the Himalayan Mountains. Wish me luck.
Whelp, pardon the pun, but I gotta run.
Chai It Out
One week and several chais later, I think I've started to acclimate. For three or four days things just didn't feel right. I knew I was in a most different place, but I just could not for the life of me get into a swing. Then I realized, "Wait a friggin second! I am in India! And I haven't had a chai tea yet!! Of course." So that very night I went to the rooftop cafe of my guest house and ordered a chai.
Now, finally the cultural storm has calmed slightly, and having spoken with several travelers I've probably been through the worst, especially in regards to the rickshaw vultures(everyone agrees Agra is the worst). Don't get me wrong, things are still nutzo, but I can breath a little bit.
The city I traveled to after Agra is called Pushkar, and is a holy city for Hindus. The Lonely Planet marks it as a city for travelers to relax and unwind. Even though I had only been in India two days I was ready. I've discovered something in my travels. I'm not sure it's a universal rule or specific to the traveler, but for me personally I never really connect with a place while on the beaten path. So even in this small town of relaxing, I decided the best thing to do would be to rent a bike for 50 cents a day and take to the country side.
The bike was a single speed cruiser, not really made for a rough, sandy country road, but do-able. I biked several kilometers along the base of a mountain ridge pausing only for a water break and the occasional tractor/truck to pass which had a system of alerting bikers by blaring Indian music which can be heard seriously for miles. To my left workers would be carving away at sections of the mountain for rocks (which the track-pimp mobiles would transport to town) and to the right grazing cattle and desert fields.
At the end of the ridge you top a little hill and discover a beautiful village, green, productive, and filled with squawks of wild peacocks. The children would pour out into the streets
to ask for rupees and "school pens" or any other kind of handout you were willing to part with. They also unanimously ask you for "picture". Initially I thought this was their trick to obligate you to pay them a rupee, but after assuring them I wasn't handing out rupees, they still insisted on pictures. Then as soon as the camera came out, as if instinctually, every kid in the village came to the street, started jumping and screaming and asking/pleading me to take their picture. One particular kid convinced me it wasn't for money when after taking a picture, I turned the camera to show (NO Touching!) and as soon as this young boy saw himself smiling back, was simply overcome with happiness. The kind of smile and clapping you might expect from a person who just won the lottery.
Eventually after convincing the kids to let go of my bike, I worked my way back to town, where I dropped off my bike and hiked the mountain overlooking Pushkar for sunset. A lovely day that ended with dinner and chai on a rooftop cafe. Not just nice, but the first time I felt connected with this distinct land.
That night I traveled again by overnight bus to Udaipur. This time not with so many children but a fetaled Indian man who nestled up to my side--the sleepers were sold out so I took the not so relaxing or reclining chair seat. Udaipur is a much larger city next to a much larger lake, and very fitting for a Bond movie...say, uh, Octopussy (filmed here). I walked the city, explored the old city palace, and avoided the street vendors best I could. However, today's highlight was meeting a young boy on the street after school who invited me into his tiny house/apartment where I met his family who could speak a lick of english, and stared at each other over what else? Chai tea.
Today's event was cooking. Yep, another cooking class. Would you believe that I didn't even like curry before I left for my trip? Now I'm sitting with an old man and lady on the floor of their kitchen learning every kind of Indian dish I can. That and chai of course. When it was all said and done I had learned(I mean was shown) something like 13 dishes and a great technique of holding a bowl with your feet so you can mix with your hands.
Now in a few hours I'm off to the Jaisemer desert where I'll try my hand at camel trekking.
The Taj 'n All
You know when you were a kid and you went on a family vacation and stayed in the first hotel with a pool? Remember that giddy feeling of excitement and trouble-rousin adrenalin that flowed through your veins? Now multiply that by one hundred children and place it on an overnight bus with our lone white guy. I'll get to that in a second.
Last I wrote I had just arrived to India and hadn't really been out much. Sure I had seen enough to know this was going to be a cultural kick to the face, but that can easily be determined from the guest house walk to the internet cafe. It is safe to say I have "gotten out" by this point. My first day I spent in cafes (internet and otherwise) trying to determine what my plan would be. My first step I decided was Taj Mahal, which is a 3 hour train ride from Delhi in a town called Agra.
Agra I learned is an abbreviation for Agra-vate, as in every tourist in sight. One of the first things I wrote was how thankful I was that in this new and different culture people spoke English. I take it all back. I now realize there was a lot of power in the dumb "I don't speaka yer language" routine. That doesn't work in India. Because they speaka your language and speaka to you all over town trying to sell you things. If you mix China with it's bargaining aggression, with the feel of Mexico, the energy of Rome, and loads of cows, let that simmer for a few thousand years, you might pull out something a little bit like India.
One fellow traveler advised I may not want to stay in Agra, just see the Taj and leave. Based on that token, I decided the first thing I would do when I arrived is see if there were some overnight travel options to my next destination. The people are veeeerry "helpful" especially the taxi drivers who are anxious to take you somewhere they are going to receive a commission. And despite the plainest, most clear English I could use, I ended up spending the entire morning and early afternoon going from place to place, rickshaw (sp?) to rickshaw, travel agent to bus station, until FINALLY I found a place that was selling overnight bus tickets.
By this point, having seen the Taj from the distance, I was not super excited for anything other than leaving the lovely Agra. Since my bus did not leave until 9 pm, I had a few hours to kill. First I beat through some street vendors to get to an old fort/mosk. It was nice. The fort was just ok but combined with a vendor-free oasis, overall it was nice. From there I was just one rickshaw and two thousand "No!'s" from the Taj Mahal.
As I mentioned, having seen it from afar, I was kind of prepared for a partial let down for this "Man-Made Wonder of the World". It was amazing.
The Taj was built as a memorial to a man's wife who died. As tradition has it the man's hair turned white overnight out of grief and construction on this wonder began within the year of his wife's passing. Let me tell you this guy must have REALLY loved this girl, not just because the Taj is serenely wonderful, but I also heard he had something like 500 concubines, so he must have thought this one was special. Oh and another fun fact is that he supposedly cut off the hands of all the workers who constructed the Taj so they would never replicate anything as beautiful. The monument is breathtaking, enormous, and made of marble that couldn't have been much cleaner at the time it was constructed. Within a few simple hours, I had almost forgotten the world I just came from. But within a few more hours I would remember.
I got to the bus after getting worked over from a rickshaw driver who increased the price suddenly because it was "night". The bus contained both sleeper cubbies and seats. Naturally, I'm kind of a high roller so I sported the sleeper. With no place for luggage I nestled into a 9 hour spoon session with my backpack. I thought it was tight quarters for me until I started to look around to find entire families packed into a single cubby. All in all I think there were just under 400 passengers on this bus. Alright that's probably an exaggeration, maybe 350. And everyone seemed to get a good laugh out of the lone white guy.
At 8 this morning I arrived to Pushkar and was greeted by the sight of monkeys procreating. Yeah, that Taj was somethin, but eventually we all have to go back to reality. This monkey-loving reality.
HELLO India!
Dearly beloved. I would apologize for not having written in a few days, but I think I would make myself sick before I was done typing the apology. So I won't. And anyways it doesn't make much sense to use yours and my valuable time explaining that I either had a headache, didn't have access, or was feeling a little lazy (Which I also refuse to apologize for during MY vacation/adventure-Don't even get me started!) Look you guys, enough is ENOUGH. Let's just drop it and move on, ok? OK?! Ok.
Alright. I'm sorry... you might be right. I do feel better. Thanks guys.
So last night I arrived to India, and I have a feeling I'm going there will be some real solid entries in the next couple of week. That is of course when there is access, or whatever(stop it!). After a month in China, I was really ready for a good cultural change. Then after some 6+ weeks in S.E. Asia I started feeling a little antsy for a fresh cultural flavor. And now? Now, I think I may be in for the biggest culture shock yet.
Let's begin with the taxi. After being told I needed to confirm my next flight (to London) as soon as I landed, tracking all over the Delhi International Airport and fighting my way through the loads of oozy sporting guards and tourist hungry taxi drivers, I learned the office was closed. Next step was finding a guest house. It's about 9 pm at this point, maybe later, and while I have had some life lessons on my trip, I'll admit I'm still a bit cheap. So rather than getting a taxi by myself, I start asking people getting off the plane if they'd like to split a taxi into town.
Myself and a kind French couple climb into this World War II circa vehicle/taxi and buckle up what was easily the most exciting taxi ride of my life. Now I've been to China, Rome, and Chicago, and have never been a part of such an experience. Swerving, honking, brake-slamming, all to a chorus of French-American gasps. The ride slowed down once we got to town but did fade in excitement. Because now instead of riding the bumper of various cars we were riding the heels of hundreds of people...oh yeah, and cattle. Cattle everywhere, walking the streets mooing and pooping anywhere they please.
The upside is people speak English. And with this kind of cultural shuffle that is a Really nice upside. While it's no China, people still stare a LOT, and there are plenty of street hagglers. Today I haven't done much. I only have two weeks here and India is a very large country so after I swapped hotels (from the 1200 Rupee hotel the French had reservations at, to a 250 Rupee delight)I have spent the day interviewing a couple travelers for India travel tips. Normally in my travels I haven't had a thorough game plan opting rather to play it by ear. But this one? This one is a little different. I think this one I might pencil something out.
I'll begin tomorrow with the the world's greatest love monument ever built.
The Taj Mahal.
Tomb Raidin'
In one of my recent treks I introduced the team to a little game I call "Match of the Week". The idea being you think of two characters or anything and discuss who would win and why in a fight to the death. It's designed to get some good conversations rolling which can come in handy on a 7 hour hike. Well on one of these treks, I was faced with the question, "In a fight to the death between the Great Wall of China, and the Pyramids in Egypt, who would win?" Having been to the Great Wall I still had to pick the Pyramids (Come on think about it, booby traps, built to line up astrologically, and potential alien involvement).
But after that gruesome battle was over, and Pyramid stood weathered but victorious over Great Wall. There in the shadows would sit another dark nemeses. One who also is weathered and almost positively has been involved in alien affairs throughout history. One who is called
Angkor Wat!!!
I just spent two full days from sunrise to sundown exploring this dark treasure and probably still did not see half of it. And while standing on the GREAT Wall of China was pretty cool, walking through these jungle-digested ruins were AMAZING. The first day I went to the big ones. Beginning with
the Angkor Wat at 4:45 am...well alright 5:00 am for sunrise. The size is the first thing that takes you back as you approach this marvel in the morning shadows. There really is something special about seeing it for the first time as the sun is rising, and Cambodia knows it because they really play it up. If you can say there is a drawback, it's that there are so many there to experience it at the same time you are. (Which reminds me, and makes me wonder what I was doing wrong when I worked for the Grand Canyon Railway and would tell the travel agents, "You MUST see the GC at sunrise." Then peel myself to meet the one or two others who believed me.) Well there are many "believers" at Angkor.
Despite our commitment the sun didn't actually rise, but it was still really special seeing it for the first time fresh in the morning. I tried it again the next day (today) and same...lame? Yes, but still well worth it. No, it's not worth three, if you are wondering. Then when you finish with Angkor 1.5 hours later, you walked back out to meet my tuk tuk driver that you have hired for $5-$10 to take you from ruin to ruin all day long. Each ruin is surprisingly different. From enormous stone faces carved to stare at passer-bys, to looming towers that overlook the Cambodian countryside, to the most intricate stone carvings blanketing an entire ruin, to my favorite ruins that look to have had a millenial battle with the redwood-sized trees that eventually overtook them. Each one AMAZING!
I tried to load a few pictures to give you the idea, but am having difficulties. Sorry, guys. In the morning I will be heading to Bangkok, where I should have some time to load a few of these bad boys up. So bear with me, ok.
In the meantime, here's a little something to keep you busy:
Kermit the Frog --VS-- Elmo
...and FIGHT!!!
Laos
I really need to get you peeps up to speed. Since the gibbon experience I have been in three different countries and in a few days will be in another. I had never really planned on going to Laos. In fact, before I left I can't say I even knew where it was. But everytime I bumped into someone who had traveled all over Asia, they would mention Laos, their eyes would glaze over and they'd murmer something like, "Ahhhh, Laos...". That was enough for me. Now as of 2 days ago I am done with this wonderful country, so I'll try to sum it up for you.
Ahhhhh Laos... where to begin. After the gibbon experience I returned to Huay Xai (pronounced something like Hoy Say). Just about everyone takes the river as a form of transportation, and after my last bus ride that sounded all right to me. There are two options for river travel: 2-day slow boat or 6-hour fast boat. I know what your thinking "Let's see 6 hours ... 2 days(!). Hmmmm." Well when you see the passengers suiting up with helmuts for the 6 hour ride, you might reconsider your inclinations. Especially when it's been raining torrentially filling the river with bamboo logs and who knows what. So 2 day slow boat it is.
I was glad I showed up early so I could get the plastic chair rather than the wooden benches which looked like they could have been abandoned pews from the back row of a jungle church. They packed as many people as possible and still float on and headed down the river. Two days later, with one overnight stay in a riverside village, we arrived and Luang Prabang.
Luang Prabang, like the rest of Laos was beautiful and is a citie recently placed on Unesco's World Heritage list. One highlight was the night market. Everynight they close the main street and people come to lay out their mats and sell whatever homemade craft they could. All very cool stuff and unlike a Bangkok market looked to be very authentic. The other highlight was the 64 kilometer bike ride up to a beautiful mountain waterfall. As wonderful as the waterfall was, the ride there and back was just a good. Along the hilly road, bike through village after village, each having what looked like 10-100 residents. The landscape was beautiful. Goats and buffalo grazing on the sides of the road and farmers grooming the land with their ox and plows. Pretty special.
Two nights in Luang Prabang and then back on a bus to Vang Vieng. The scenery only gets more beautiful. Farming is everywhere as are the little communities to manage them. And the landscape is made of the same beautiful limestone mountains found on the Thai islands like Koh Phi Phi. Vang Vieng is known for it many caves that are strongly recommended to have a guide when exploring. People have been lost for days. Another highlight is the kayaking, white water rafting or a more relaxing tubing adventure. I went with the tubing.
I'm afraid I don't have any pics of the tubing, mostly because, well you're tubing. Here's how it works. You sign a waver saying you're not gonna sue anyone and will be careful. Then you catch a tuk-tuk up river with a group of people and hop in your tubes. All down the river there are a number of bars with roap swings and zip lines and crazy Laos guys screaming at you to paddle over for some drinks. Nearly every bar comes with a swing or zip to draw you in, and it's free if you buy a drink. Needless to say I'm not sure that would ever fly in the States, and I'd say most people probably don't lose their "sea legs" for several hours after they get back to town. Loads of fun, and I don't need to tell you I was a pro at the zip-lines.
Two nights in Vang Vieng and then I decided the best thing I could do with my limited time was catch an early morning bus to the capital Vientienne (200,000 pop), the another to the border, then and overnight train to Bangkok, and if I'm lucky a plane to Cambodia the morning I arrive. I was lucky, but I'll tell you more of Cambodia next time.
Laos with all of it's beauty and relaxing itinerary, probably sticks out to me the most for its people. Just walking down the streets you are met with the biggest smiles you've ever seen and every person, todler to ancient, makes it a point to say hello (in Laos of course). And for once, it's not because they want you to buy something (most have nothing to sell), but rather they are authentically pleasant people. Of all my travels, I've yet to feel more connected with a people. And I've never been more pleased to have ventured off the beaten path a bit and to see the people. The real people.
