I have to preface by saying that although I had just re-started writing here again, I was to in fact take a break again. I really had a major meltdown in Rajasthan – some major triggers went off and I stopped functioning. I thought many times about writing more but I felt strongly that I should wait until I was better, or at least improving, mentally, physically, and emotionally. So now I am in Kerala and I will recount what has happened over the past three weeks.
I left Jodhpur at 6:15am to catch the bus to Ranakpur. Ranakpur came to my attention because of Jelena, lovely Serbian-American girl whom I met in Rio, and became my forro partner in crime ; ) oh saudades menina! Anyway, Ranakpur is the site of a very important Jain temple, and there are 1444 columns, said to each be different, and it is a temple to the sun. it was incredible, as we neared the temple, the landscape of Rajasthan seemed to change. Much more green, and the air was pure. It seemed cleaner, somehow. At the temple, there is no admission fee, and you are allowed to leave your bags and pay by donation if you wish. The temple is nothing short of incredible. In fact (sorry if I offend people here) I felt this to be the most impressive thing I have seen in India thus far. The intricacies, the atmosphere, all the details – the first time since I have arrived in India that I felt this supreme unity and peace come over me. Sigh. Good sigh.
After a few hours of refuge and respite, I was ready to continue on to Udaipur, but dreading the bus journey (which I was told would be 3 hours, but they also told me it would be 3 hours from Jodhpur to Ranakpur, and in fact that was nearly 5 hours…so…) I got my things and went to the main gate, just as a bus headed towards Udaipur passed in front of me. Poop. The guards smiled and informed me that the next one would come in an hour. Or so. Hm. So I plopped down my stuff, feeling a bit defeated, since I had asked a few people inside if I could ride back with them (they come on daytrips from Udaipur in taxis) and it hadn’t worked out.
A guy approached me and offered me his taxi services, which I figured would be something like 1500 rupees (35 USD). But instead he explained that he had dropped clients off in Jodhpur and had to go back to Udaipur so he would take me for 200 rupees (5 USD)! I was thrilled and off we went. The next 2 hours flew by and I felt totally relaxed. Bliss.
Udaipur is, to me, completely different from the other places I visited in Rajasthan. At first glance, it has the same noise, dirt, crowds, and insistent shopkeepers. But somehow it is more at peace with itself, somehow it is more unified. I arrived at Hotel Ganguar Palace, and the staff were very friendly. I love the guy at the front desk, the first time I came back from going out and asked for my key, he stared so fixedly at me I didn’t know what was going on. I thought, umm has my room been broken into and he doesn’t know how to tell me? But it turns out he couldn’t remember which room I was in and was trying so hard to remember. So sweet.
Anyway, the first evening I met Shila, a half Indian half Danish girl travelling for 3 months alone in India. I suppose the hotel staff were trying to match us up, the two single girls, and I was more than happy to oblige. So off we went, for coffee, shopping, whatever. The people in Udaipur will recognize you after a day there since the main city center that people visit is extremely compact. Lake Pichola is a bit like the centerpoint of the city, and on one side of the lake you have the busy hustle and bustle, and on the other side it is much quieter, residential, and just feels more local. On my first walk in Udaipur I quickly realized I wanted to be on the quieter side. So I went hotel hunting. I first went to the Dream Heaven Hotel that sounded lovely in the guidebook, but it was completely full. A man next door approached me, dressed in a white tunic, an orange-dyed beard, edges of his eyes dabbed in blue eyeliner. He said, I am not in guidebook but please come to see the room, you will feel at home. And so it was. Hanuman Ghat Guest House, my home in Udaipur. I had a lovely room with a miniscule balcony where I could sit and see the lake, and it was great.
The next days were a lovely mélange of early morning walks followed by early morning yoga (Yoga at the Astang Ashram as written in LP, and on the roof of Nukkad with Prakash – I strongly preferred Prakash’s class), a visit to the Shilpgram craft fair, where I got to see lots of traditional Rajasthani song and dance (and beautiful dress), the Udaipur City Palace which is impressive, a long walk outside of the main touristed area of Udaipur, including the lovely Sammajid Gardens, and of course, gluttonous pursuits.
The Shilpgram craft fair happens annually in December for 10 days and merchants come from all over India to sell their wares, and demonstrations of traditional Rajasthani games, song, dance, etc are displayed. It’s a nice place to wander around. The Udaipur City Palace boasts extreme opulence (like most of India’s sights…and always leaves me wondering, if these treasures were ever to be sold – I know it wont happen – and the profits distributed evenly – where would the poverty level of this country be?)
My walk around the outside of Udaipur was great. Walking through areas where people sell things I really wouldn’t buy, like boilers and air conditioners and car parts, they didn’t try to sell me anything and I could walk undisturbed. In the Sammajid Gardens, I felt a complete refuge from the incessant honking and overstimulation taking place outside. Until the guy started following me. A pretty harmless looking one. But GOD, can’t I just enjoy one hour of feeling unnoticed? This is the thing in India (at least in Rajasthan) – they stare. With no tact. And without stopping. It’s so blatantly obvious that they’re watching you, but there’s no smiles or anything either, which leads me to be, um, uncomfortable. Anyway this guy started following me and after a few minutes I got sick of it so I stopped walking and took out my phone and started texting. In most cultures, the man would probably continue walking or turn around and go back to what he was doing. In this case, he literally stopped walking as well and, what did he do? He pulled out his mobile phone and started fiddling with it. Ha. Then I sat down on a bench. He sat on the next one over. Ack. So then I got up as a family was going past, following them, and he followed. Finally I turned around, looked him directly in the face and said, what do you want? Stop following me. He was so astounded by my audacity, stammered something, and went off. But it’s a bit like this in Rajasthan, you are a constant object of curiosity and the normal western concepts of privacy and personal space and discretion are completely inapplicable.
Now on to gluttonous pursuits. Udaipur has the lovely Café Edelweiss, with a lovely spinach mushroom quiche, cinnamon rolls, and other yummy cakes. The same owners have the Savage Garden, a lovely little blue courtyard restaurant with homemade pasta, divine mezze, and a really shanthi vibe. Shila and I also went to Ambrai, as recommended by Lonely Planet, and wow this is a spot. It’s attached to a hotel, and it is extremely luxurious. An outdoor courtyard type restaurant, directly next to the lake, directly looking at the Palace, which is lit up at night. Gorgeous. We had a Shahi Paneer (little pieces of paneer cooked in a non-spicy onion gravy), and I also had a tomato paneer which I wasn’t as impressed with. The Dal Tadka there was great, and our waiter was very sweet. And of course sweet lime water. The best is if they bring it all separately and you make it yourself. Either still water or soda water, then a tiny flask of pure lime juice, and another with liquid sweetener (like in Japan!) and then you make your perfect drink.
On my long walk outside of Udaipur, I was actually seeking out Bawarchi restaurant, recommended by Lonely Planet as being a local authentic place to have a thali (a complete meal with rice and chapattis, usually about 4-6 dishes, garnishes, and a dessert) – it’s a great way to have a sampling of local cuisines because in restaurants you have to order a dish and you get a heaping portion of just that one thing. Anyway, I found it without much trouble and it was awesome. One of the spicy tomato curries had little pieces of fried besan (chickpea flour), the channa masala (spiced chickpeas) was divine, and I really enjoyed the 2 sabzis. One was potato and mustard seed as the primary ingredients, and the other was cauliflower, tomato, and onion.
Udaipur is also where I found the sweetest tailor. I have a pair of white pants which I bought at H and M probably 6 years ago in Holland with Inge, and I wanted an exact copy made. Shila and I started looking for a local tailor and pretty quickly found V.S. Tailors, in Hanuman Ghat. This tailor was wonderful, came with me to buy fabric, didn’t try to rip me off at all (150 rupees – 3 USD) for the stitching of the pants. I had him make 2 pairs, and the next day after seeing them, and him fixing some of my stuff for extremely cheap prices, had him make 2 more. So I was totally happy about that, meeting his father, who works with him in their tiny shop about 2 meters by 6 meters. I guess there are the small things that are endearing about India.
I guess in Udaipur I just felt like I needed to be around positive female energy that I felt connected to, and after speaking with Shila and seeing that she also found it a great relief and pleasure to be in another female’s company, I picked up Darlene and Alicia. Darlene is an event planner in Toronto, and Alicia teaches science in Sydney. Found them both alone and the result was a Christmas dinner with the 4 single girls, and It was bliss. I was coined the pied piper of single women and I was more than happy to be given the title. So I am left thinking I will never return to Rajasthan but if I am ever to go back, it would be to Udaipur first.
Oh, by the way, if anyone reading this knows, please tell me because I would love to know – why are all the places in Rajasthan named with ‘pur’? Ranakpur, Udaipur, Jodhpur, Jaipur, etc…
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Uh oh... (Written Dec 21 2009)
*I wrote this in a very unsettled upset state...things have changed a lot now but I also feel it's important to acknowledge how things were being processed at the time of experience*...
Something happened last night that hit me like a bulldozer. It’s been a long time since I’ve reacted so strongly to something.
Tamara, Dorian, Arving, Lakshya, and Nidhi went to this really beautiful, relaxed place that was like a mini-carnival/circus. It was attached to a fancy hotel. The place had various little stages with chairs in front, and you could sit and watch, and if you wanted, give some money to the performers afterwards. There was a place with traditional Rajasthani music and dance, a puppet area, tightrope walker…and there was a magician. I liked magicians a lot as a kid. I remember going to a few birthday parties, in particular one (funny, I cant remember whose it was) that was at the Old Georgetown Village building above the pool.
Anyway, the magician’s son was there on the side, his helper. When I first saw him, the emotion that ran through me was fear. It was like his eyes were filled with malice. They were like deep black pools, his eyes. Extremely intense. But intense because they were void. It was like falling into a black hole. As I watched, things shifted. There were maybe about 20 people watching the magician, who, by the way, was an excellent performer. Well-dressed middle class Indian kids with their families (mostly their dads). Big smiles. Best Sunday outfits. And the magician’s son with his sneakers full of holes. Watching the same trick for the millionth time. There was no joy or entertainment from his father’s tricks. No. this was work. And watching Dorian – so full of joy, so thoroughly entertained, amazed, laughing. The magician did a trick where he had one pigeon under a basket, and he turned it into 3 pigeons (I was amazed). The kids ran up to hold the pigeons – Dorian did too. And the boy took a pigeon and gave it to Dorian. He smiled a sad, resigned smile at Dorian. And watching these two children, universes apart, a European boy whose mother loves him so much and can provide for him, and sees the value in taking him to faraway lands from such a young age; next to the boy whose father’s job is to bring joy, yet most likely has no joy in his life. Who must come day after day to make people laugh, hundreds who don’t leave him anything, the boy who cannot go to school because there is no public education, because he must help his father. What happens to him? Does he become a magician too? The magician can bring magic to others but his reality has no magic in it whatsoever.
Watching this boy, and realizing that his eyes were not full of malice but instead of sadness, resignation, and defeat, I felt my heart break with an intensity that I have not felt since I was in Bangladesh. I struggled to keep my composure but it didn’t happen. I tried to walk away while the rest of our group was thoroughly engaged; the tears came – but few, and slowly. After, the magician finished his act and the crowd dispersed, but Dorian was mesmerized and he was the only person sitting, front row, captivated by the magician who was no longer performing. The magician asked Arvind if he should do a bit more, and we said yes. And so he did, and the scene was repeated. I was front and center, and tears kept coming. The boy was watching me, I don’t know what level of understanding passed between us but I felt something big happening. The magician finished his act and we moved on. Tamara and Arvind went to the bathroom, Dorian and Lakshya were running around, and I went back alone to the boy. I made him an origami crane, and he was mesmerized. When was the last time somebody did something for him purely for the sake of entertaining him or bringing him joy? I don’t know – it could have been earlier that day for all I know. But with those eyes…
And when I finished, there was a flash of a smile, and the eyes were full of gratitude. And he clasped his hands at his heart, with the crane between them, and said dhanyabad but with the heart of someone who means it. And his father did also, and I clasped my hands and bowed to them, and left, and then the sobbing really began and it pretty much hasn’t stopped since.
What is it that I see in these children that are the forgotten, abandoned ones? Why is it that I see myself so deeply reflected in them? I have two parents that have always cared for me in a million ways. I have never wanted for food, shelter, education, material goods. Am I still so scarred from Papa’s leaving? Am I still so scarred from Mama’s lack of tactile affection? It is unclear what is being triggered but it’s clearly a big issue.
The past 10 days in India I have of course seen astounding poverty, and been upset by it, but not to the point of devastation of yesterday. I have seen far worse destitution, whether it be the legless man on the ramp in Ajmer on the way to the Dargah, or the slum in Delhi adjacent to the Lotus Temple. At least this child has a father, who, although the income may vary tremendously, has a position working at a reputable hotel where there must be regular clients. A respectable job, by all means. But something struck me.
I am not enjoying being in India. People often say that you fluctuate between loving and hating India. One minute you are enamored, the next moment you loathe the country. Well, for me, the loving part hasn’t happened. Yes, there are moments that I have enjoyed – the fort in Jodhpur was breathtaking, and some of the scenery in Ranthambhore was really special. But nothing has made me think, Wow, India, this is where I want to be. On the other hand, many things have made me despise the country. The systems and culture are so far beyond my realm of acceptance that I have been constantly challenged.
In Anthropology, we are taught to try to be acutely aware of normalcy, cultural relativism, and essentially, to understand that things are the way they are because they serve some purpose by being that way. That may be true, but I have been constantly challenged in this aspect for the past few weeks and I am beginning to wonder if it is something I will get used to and begin to understand and accept, or if this is just a major cultural clash for me. I should have been better prepared, considering that I struggled overwhelmingly in Bangladesh. For example, the Couchsurfers in Jodhpur – Arvind and Ramni. I am sitting in Ramni’s house now, but I haven’t even met him yet. He is with Arvind and the 3 girls that Arvind is hosting. There was plenty of room in the car for all of us to do stuff together on Sunday, but Arvind left Lakshya and Nidhi at home and spent the entire day with Tamara, Dorian, and myself. He left Lakshya sobbing, and when I referred to the fact that Lakshya and Dorian would have gotten along marvelously and Lakshya would have had a great time with us, he said, I have tomorrow with Lakshya, and every day after. Except today the 3 Finnish girls arrived and he took them out the whole day. And Ramni is with them, leaving his wife and two girls at home, and I am with them. And that is ok, because to be honest I probably would have more fun and be relaxed at home in this setting, except…what about these women and children? Yes, I understand the beauty of CS, bringing other cultures to your home when perhaps you are unable to go to the other cultures, which is what would be the case in the majority of India. But there seems to be something majorly amiss here, and it is really upsetting me. But what right do I have to complain? I am the foreigner here, the guest, who has been incredibly well received, treated like a guest of honor, fed, given full use of every facility which I may need, and taken around and catered to. So I must not complain, I know. But it is for sure that I am deeply bothered by the things I have been surrounded by in India.
Something happened last night that hit me like a bulldozer. It’s been a long time since I’ve reacted so strongly to something.
Tamara, Dorian, Arving, Lakshya, and Nidhi went to this really beautiful, relaxed place that was like a mini-carnival/circus. It was attached to a fancy hotel. The place had various little stages with chairs in front, and you could sit and watch, and if you wanted, give some money to the performers afterwards. There was a place with traditional Rajasthani music and dance, a puppet area, tightrope walker…and there was a magician. I liked magicians a lot as a kid. I remember going to a few birthday parties, in particular one (funny, I cant remember whose it was) that was at the Old Georgetown Village building above the pool.
Anyway, the magician’s son was there on the side, his helper. When I first saw him, the emotion that ran through me was fear. It was like his eyes were filled with malice. They were like deep black pools, his eyes. Extremely intense. But intense because they were void. It was like falling into a black hole. As I watched, things shifted. There were maybe about 20 people watching the magician, who, by the way, was an excellent performer. Well-dressed middle class Indian kids with their families (mostly their dads). Big smiles. Best Sunday outfits. And the magician’s son with his sneakers full of holes. Watching the same trick for the millionth time. There was no joy or entertainment from his father’s tricks. No. this was work. And watching Dorian – so full of joy, so thoroughly entertained, amazed, laughing. The magician did a trick where he had one pigeon under a basket, and he turned it into 3 pigeons (I was amazed). The kids ran up to hold the pigeons – Dorian did too. And the boy took a pigeon and gave it to Dorian. He smiled a sad, resigned smile at Dorian. And watching these two children, universes apart, a European boy whose mother loves him so much and can provide for him, and sees the value in taking him to faraway lands from such a young age; next to the boy whose father’s job is to bring joy, yet most likely has no joy in his life. Who must come day after day to make people laugh, hundreds who don’t leave him anything, the boy who cannot go to school because there is no public education, because he must help his father. What happens to him? Does he become a magician too? The magician can bring magic to others but his reality has no magic in it whatsoever.
Watching this boy, and realizing that his eyes were not full of malice but instead of sadness, resignation, and defeat, I felt my heart break with an intensity that I have not felt since I was in Bangladesh. I struggled to keep my composure but it didn’t happen. I tried to walk away while the rest of our group was thoroughly engaged; the tears came – but few, and slowly. After, the magician finished his act and the crowd dispersed, but Dorian was mesmerized and he was the only person sitting, front row, captivated by the magician who was no longer performing. The magician asked Arvind if he should do a bit more, and we said yes. And so he did, and the scene was repeated. I was front and center, and tears kept coming. The boy was watching me, I don’t know what level of understanding passed between us but I felt something big happening. The magician finished his act and we moved on. Tamara and Arvind went to the bathroom, Dorian and Lakshya were running around, and I went back alone to the boy. I made him an origami crane, and he was mesmerized. When was the last time somebody did something for him purely for the sake of entertaining him or bringing him joy? I don’t know – it could have been earlier that day for all I know. But with those eyes…
And when I finished, there was a flash of a smile, and the eyes were full of gratitude. And he clasped his hands at his heart, with the crane between them, and said dhanyabad but with the heart of someone who means it. And his father did also, and I clasped my hands and bowed to them, and left, and then the sobbing really began and it pretty much hasn’t stopped since.
What is it that I see in these children that are the forgotten, abandoned ones? Why is it that I see myself so deeply reflected in them? I have two parents that have always cared for me in a million ways. I have never wanted for food, shelter, education, material goods. Am I still so scarred from Papa’s leaving? Am I still so scarred from Mama’s lack of tactile affection? It is unclear what is being triggered but it’s clearly a big issue.
The past 10 days in India I have of course seen astounding poverty, and been upset by it, but not to the point of devastation of yesterday. I have seen far worse destitution, whether it be the legless man on the ramp in Ajmer on the way to the Dargah, or the slum in Delhi adjacent to the Lotus Temple. At least this child has a father, who, although the income may vary tremendously, has a position working at a reputable hotel where there must be regular clients. A respectable job, by all means. But something struck me.
I am not enjoying being in India. People often say that you fluctuate between loving and hating India. One minute you are enamored, the next moment you loathe the country. Well, for me, the loving part hasn’t happened. Yes, there are moments that I have enjoyed – the fort in Jodhpur was breathtaking, and some of the scenery in Ranthambhore was really special. But nothing has made me think, Wow, India, this is where I want to be. On the other hand, many things have made me despise the country. The systems and culture are so far beyond my realm of acceptance that I have been constantly challenged.
In Anthropology, we are taught to try to be acutely aware of normalcy, cultural relativism, and essentially, to understand that things are the way they are because they serve some purpose by being that way. That may be true, but I have been constantly challenged in this aspect for the past few weeks and I am beginning to wonder if it is something I will get used to and begin to understand and accept, or if this is just a major cultural clash for me. I should have been better prepared, considering that I struggled overwhelmingly in Bangladesh. For example, the Couchsurfers in Jodhpur – Arvind and Ramni. I am sitting in Ramni’s house now, but I haven’t even met him yet. He is with Arvind and the 3 girls that Arvind is hosting. There was plenty of room in the car for all of us to do stuff together on Sunday, but Arvind left Lakshya and Nidhi at home and spent the entire day with Tamara, Dorian, and myself. He left Lakshya sobbing, and when I referred to the fact that Lakshya and Dorian would have gotten along marvelously and Lakshya would have had a great time with us, he said, I have tomorrow with Lakshya, and every day after. Except today the 3 Finnish girls arrived and he took them out the whole day. And Ramni is with them, leaving his wife and two girls at home, and I am with them. And that is ok, because to be honest I probably would have more fun and be relaxed at home in this setting, except…what about these women and children? Yes, I understand the beauty of CS, bringing other cultures to your home when perhaps you are unable to go to the other cultures, which is what would be the case in the majority of India. But there seems to be something majorly amiss here, and it is really upsetting me. But what right do I have to complain? I am the foreigner here, the guest, who has been incredibly well received, treated like a guest of honor, fed, given full use of every facility which I may need, and taken around and catered to. So I must not complain, I know. But it is for sure that I am deeply bothered by the things I have been surrounded by in India.
Chugging Along… (Sawai Madhopur to Pushkar via Jaipur, 16-17 December 2009) Written 18 December 2009
The train comes in on time, and I get on. It’s surprisingly uncrowded, and I am struck by the contrast yet again – I’ve fluctuated from general class to and from Agra, 3AC to Sawai Madhopur, and now I’m back in general. But this doesn’t even have seat numbers. And it’s night. Oh, wait, didn’t the guidebook say I shouldn’t travel at night alone as a woman? Hmm. I walk through several compartments, all the floors littered with peanut shells, plastic bags, and seeds of various fruits. I was looking to sit near a woman (not that a woman would be able to stop anything if anything actually were to occur, but I was reacting on my instinct). So I find a couple, happily crunching away on their peanuts, and they motion to me with the cutest head wobble that I should sit. So I sit next to them on a single seat – this way no unwanted man can sit next to me.
The train finally takes off and the windows that don’t quite close correctly are letting in freezing air (did I mention North India is WAY colder than I had expected? Why did I leave my jacket in New York? Sigh), and almost everyone lies down to sleep. And they’re obviously well informed, and have thick blankets and shawls.
We finally get to a town called Sanganer and the lovely couple who has also given me fruit and peanuts leaves. So does most of the train. Hmm all of a sudden I’m in a compartment with 3 men. And I have no idea where we are. I have my headphones in and am looking extremely interested in the Lonely Planet. They actually move to sit on all sides of me, kind of just staring. To be honest, I don’t think I had any reason to be scared of anything, but once again, I had to chuckle at myself and my idiocy. They just watched me (quite possibly they hadn’t ever seen a foreign woman on a local general passenger train at night) and it was all fine.
We got to Jaipur at 12:30am, and autorickshaws were asking me for 300 rupees, 200 rupees, all this ridiculous stuff. I had no idea how to get to my hotel but I was irritated and left the station on foot. Finally one came and got me, agreed to 50 rupees, and I arrived at Jwala Niketan and promptly passed out.
I hadn’t intended to visit Jaipur on this trip but I figured since I was passing through, I may as well have a look. So in the morning I headed out of the hotel, intending to walk to the Old City. Well, India doesn’t really do street signs. You use landmarks like banks and restaurants and petrol stations, which would be fine except…I don’t speak Hindi. Sigh. So I kept going around in circles and finally got in an autorickshaw to the Old City.
Jaipur’s Old City is known for being pink, and it certainly is. Noise, noise, noise. Unfortunately, I was there too early to see all the bazaars in action, but I still got a healthy dose of seeing street food being prepared, lots of chai all around, and a few merchants. I really love being out in the early hours of the morning, getting a peek at a city that not that many other tourists get to see. I had a spicy fried bun made from gram flour filled with spiced potatoes, of course topped with sweet tamarind chutney and mint and coriander green chutney – for a bargain at 6 rupees – that’s roughly 12 cents USD. Yum. I managed to walk back to the hotel and walked to the bus station and got on the next public bus to Ajmer.
The bus ride was pretty tame, a quick 2.5 hours and decent roads (but yes, incessant honking). The bus from Jaipur to Ajmer was 80 rupees – less than 2 USD. Once in Ajmer, I was able to catch a bus to Pushkar within a few minutes and half an hour later, there I was in this town that’s become such an engraved part of the hippie tourist trail (and also known for its heavy Israeli presence).
Pushkar is known for its holy lake, which has ghats – baths of holy water – going all around its edge, and the pilgrims that come to bathe there. This year, the monsoon was very weak/didn’t really happen (hello global warming) and there is no lake in Pushkar at the moment. Actually, I must admit that some sources are telling me that while others are saying that the lake is dry due to construction. I honestly don’t know who to believe. Anyway, the bottom line is there is no lake, and only a few of the ghats are being filled, which means the majority of the tourist draw here is currently nonexistent.
But no worries – I was meeting Tamara and her son Dorian! Meet Tamara, beautiful powerful strong drop-dead gorgeous woman from Croatia. We had met rather synchronicitously (I just made that word up) in Bali in July, at Jacopo’s house in Seminyak. We both felt an instant connection and felt we would meet again, whether I went to Croatia, or perhaps in Indonesia again, or whatever, but neither expected that it would be this soon. She knew I was headed to India this season and it turns out she planned a trip here too so we decided to meet up for a bit. And so I jumped on her Rajasthan planning bandwagon and we were going to stay at the same place in Pushkar.
Pushkar – Hotel Everest – nice rooms with a rooftop café (I think this is a universal institution in India). The town is very small, and notably quieter than the larger cities but quite noisy nonetheless. I guess maybe this also has to do with the fact that so much life takes place on the street (something I like). Vendors of everything are selling everything in the street, and people that have shops are often doing their work outside on the pavement as well, i.e. tailors have their sewing machines on a stool outside. The town has the feel of countless other hippie traveler haunts, like Durbar in Kathmandu, Kuta or Ubud in Bali, Antigua in Guatemala, San Cristobal de las Casas in Mexico, I could make this list go on forever. Anyway, it’s a nice change from the crazy in your face India of the larger cities I’ve seen in the past week, but it’s also a place I would go crazy if I stayed longer than a few days. Too many dreadlocked people wearing baggy clothes. Sorry.
It’s a great place to just wander around and browse shops, hang out in great little cafes and just while away the days though. Which is precisely what we’ve done, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I went a bit overboard with the shopping, or so I thought. But then I calculated and I have gotten 2 pairs of Capri pants, one pair of long awesome yoga pants, 3 large purses/bags, a small coin purse, 2 really cute tops, and a silver ring for…less than 35 USD. I have a feeling I’m going to have to buy another suitcase before I leave India…We’ll move on to Jodhpur tomorrow, which I’m excited about as there are a few Couchsurfers there who I’m very much looking forward to meeting.
The train finally takes off and the windows that don’t quite close correctly are letting in freezing air (did I mention North India is WAY colder than I had expected? Why did I leave my jacket in New York? Sigh), and almost everyone lies down to sleep. And they’re obviously well informed, and have thick blankets and shawls.
We finally get to a town called Sanganer and the lovely couple who has also given me fruit and peanuts leaves. So does most of the train. Hmm all of a sudden I’m in a compartment with 3 men. And I have no idea where we are. I have my headphones in and am looking extremely interested in the Lonely Planet. They actually move to sit on all sides of me, kind of just staring. To be honest, I don’t think I had any reason to be scared of anything, but once again, I had to chuckle at myself and my idiocy. They just watched me (quite possibly they hadn’t ever seen a foreign woman on a local general passenger train at night) and it was all fine.
We got to Jaipur at 12:30am, and autorickshaws were asking me for 300 rupees, 200 rupees, all this ridiculous stuff. I had no idea how to get to my hotel but I was irritated and left the station on foot. Finally one came and got me, agreed to 50 rupees, and I arrived at Jwala Niketan and promptly passed out.
I hadn’t intended to visit Jaipur on this trip but I figured since I was passing through, I may as well have a look. So in the morning I headed out of the hotel, intending to walk to the Old City. Well, India doesn’t really do street signs. You use landmarks like banks and restaurants and petrol stations, which would be fine except…I don’t speak Hindi. Sigh. So I kept going around in circles and finally got in an autorickshaw to the Old City.
Jaipur’s Old City is known for being pink, and it certainly is. Noise, noise, noise. Unfortunately, I was there too early to see all the bazaars in action, but I still got a healthy dose of seeing street food being prepared, lots of chai all around, and a few merchants. I really love being out in the early hours of the morning, getting a peek at a city that not that many other tourists get to see. I had a spicy fried bun made from gram flour filled with spiced potatoes, of course topped with sweet tamarind chutney and mint and coriander green chutney – for a bargain at 6 rupees – that’s roughly 12 cents USD. Yum. I managed to walk back to the hotel and walked to the bus station and got on the next public bus to Ajmer.
The bus ride was pretty tame, a quick 2.5 hours and decent roads (but yes, incessant honking). The bus from Jaipur to Ajmer was 80 rupees – less than 2 USD. Once in Ajmer, I was able to catch a bus to Pushkar within a few minutes and half an hour later, there I was in this town that’s become such an engraved part of the hippie tourist trail (and also known for its heavy Israeli presence).
Pushkar is known for its holy lake, which has ghats – baths of holy water – going all around its edge, and the pilgrims that come to bathe there. This year, the monsoon was very weak/didn’t really happen (hello global warming) and there is no lake in Pushkar at the moment. Actually, I must admit that some sources are telling me that while others are saying that the lake is dry due to construction. I honestly don’t know who to believe. Anyway, the bottom line is there is no lake, and only a few of the ghats are being filled, which means the majority of the tourist draw here is currently nonexistent.
But no worries – I was meeting Tamara and her son Dorian! Meet Tamara, beautiful powerful strong drop-dead gorgeous woman from Croatia. We had met rather synchronicitously (I just made that word up) in Bali in July, at Jacopo’s house in Seminyak. We both felt an instant connection and felt we would meet again, whether I went to Croatia, or perhaps in Indonesia again, or whatever, but neither expected that it would be this soon. She knew I was headed to India this season and it turns out she planned a trip here too so we decided to meet up for a bit. And so I jumped on her Rajasthan planning bandwagon and we were going to stay at the same place in Pushkar.
Pushkar – Hotel Everest – nice rooms with a rooftop café (I think this is a universal institution in India). The town is very small, and notably quieter than the larger cities but quite noisy nonetheless. I guess maybe this also has to do with the fact that so much life takes place on the street (something I like). Vendors of everything are selling everything in the street, and people that have shops are often doing their work outside on the pavement as well, i.e. tailors have their sewing machines on a stool outside. The town has the feel of countless other hippie traveler haunts, like Durbar in Kathmandu, Kuta or Ubud in Bali, Antigua in Guatemala, San Cristobal de las Casas in Mexico, I could make this list go on forever. Anyway, it’s a nice change from the crazy in your face India of the larger cities I’ve seen in the past week, but it’s also a place I would go crazy if I stayed longer than a few days. Too many dreadlocked people wearing baggy clothes. Sorry.
It’s a great place to just wander around and browse shops, hang out in great little cafes and just while away the days though. Which is precisely what we’ve done, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I went a bit overboard with the shopping, or so I thought. But then I calculated and I have gotten 2 pairs of Capri pants, one pair of long awesome yoga pants, 3 large purses/bags, a small coin purse, 2 really cute tops, and a silver ring for…less than 35 USD. I have a feeling I’m going to have to buy another suitcase before I leave India…We’ll move on to Jodhpur tomorrow, which I’m excited about as there are a few Couchsurfers there who I’m very much looking forward to meeting.
No big cats for me! Ranthambore National Park, Dec 15-16 (Written 17 December 2009)
Sawai Madhopur as a town really doesn’t have much going for it, but it is constantly crowded due to its proximity to Ranthambore National Park. This park which became a national park in 1973 is considered one of the best places in India, thus the world, to see tigers in the wild. A tiny little town with not much other than hotels and restaurants geared for tourists, my first night at Aditya Resort was uneventful.
I went to two safaris in the park – the morning one from 7-10:30am and the afternoon one from 2-5:30pm. On the first one, the early morning light was stunning. The scenery of the park itself is quite awe-inspiring, as you traverse giant banyan trees, low dense grasses, open fields, and hills with sambar deer roaming across them. On the morning safari we saw a sloth bear which is apparently even more rare than seeing a tiger, a black and brown mini-bear (which for sure is not mini compared to humans) and it was quietly roaming around and then ran off. The park is full of white spotted deer, sambar deer, black faced monkeys, plenty of birdlife including kingfishers and parakeets, and we managed to see an antelope, wild boar, and an Indian gazelle which was gorgeous. And lots of peacocks. Everywhere.
So although no tigers were spotted on my safaris, it was an enjoyable experience. In terms of food – the first evening I had a yellow dhal and chapatti, nothing exciting. The following morning I had a lovely chana masala (spiced chickpeas) which was cooked with turmeric, fresh and powdered coriander, green, red, and yellow chilies, tomato, and onion. In the evening I had a potato paratha (a layered pancake stuffed with potato and coriander) and a palak kadhi, a very “wet” dish (this is what Indians call what we would call a curry in the west) with spinach and other veggies.
I had been told by the hotel staff that there was a local passenger train to Jaipur at 7:30pm, with general seating only. I was warned against taking it, but I decided I wanted to move onwards towards Pushkar since there was really nothing else to stick around in Sawai Madhopur for. It was fairly dramatic; I ordered my food at 6:10pm, and at 6:40pm I started getting a bit nervous – the hotel was 10 minutes by autorickshaw from the station and I had no ticket. Finally the food came out at 6:55pm and I scarfed it down. The hotel staff were soooo relaxed about it all. Anyway, I get to the station at 7:20pm, running towards the ticket office, only to find out that the train arrives at 7:30pm but doesn’t leave until 8:30pm. Figures.
I went to two safaris in the park – the morning one from 7-10:30am and the afternoon one from 2-5:30pm. On the first one, the early morning light was stunning. The scenery of the park itself is quite awe-inspiring, as you traverse giant banyan trees, low dense grasses, open fields, and hills with sambar deer roaming across them. On the morning safari we saw a sloth bear which is apparently even more rare than seeing a tiger, a black and brown mini-bear (which for sure is not mini compared to humans) and it was quietly roaming around and then ran off. The park is full of white spotted deer, sambar deer, black faced monkeys, plenty of birdlife including kingfishers and parakeets, and we managed to see an antelope, wild boar, and an Indian gazelle which was gorgeous. And lots of peacocks. Everywhere.
So although no tigers were spotted on my safaris, it was an enjoyable experience. In terms of food – the first evening I had a yellow dhal and chapatti, nothing exciting. The following morning I had a lovely chana masala (spiced chickpeas) which was cooked with turmeric, fresh and powdered coriander, green, red, and yellow chilies, tomato, and onion. In the evening I had a potato paratha (a layered pancake stuffed with potato and coriander) and a palak kadhi, a very “wet” dish (this is what Indians call what we would call a curry in the west) with spinach and other veggies.
I had been told by the hotel staff that there was a local passenger train to Jaipur at 7:30pm, with general seating only. I was warned against taking it, but I decided I wanted to move onwards towards Pushkar since there was really nothing else to stick around in Sawai Madhopur for. It was fairly dramatic; I ordered my food at 6:10pm, and at 6:40pm I started getting a bit nervous – the hotel was 10 minutes by autorickshaw from the station and I had no ticket. Finally the food came out at 6:55pm and I scarfed it down. The hotel staff were soooo relaxed about it all. Anyway, I get to the station at 7:20pm, running towards the ticket office, only to find out that the train arrives at 7:30pm but doesn’t leave until 8:30pm. Figures.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Agra and the Taj Mahal (December 14, 2009) Written 15 December 2009
I struggled to wake up at 5:30am, got in the auto at 6am, and was at Hazrat Nazamuddin Railway Station at 6:30am. As the dawn light was emerging, the station was fully active already, hundreds of people with huge white bags, briefcases and backpacks and duffel bags of all sizes and colors. Carts with bananas, oranges, and guava. Chai-wallahs. Crowded train platforms. India has…lots of people. I have spent the past 4 years using Tokyo as my base, which is supposedly the second largest city in the world, but umm Delhi seems pretty crazy to me too.
I was riding general class since the Taj Express fills up early and there were no other seats available. Which means I was tightly wrapped in my pashmina shawl but still shivering my butt off. Train rides in India are endlessly entertaining, as vendors come through to sell everything from peanuts, water, chai, samosas, and all sorts of sweets (I’ve decided Indian sweets are not my thing, which is good because it means I have to forcefully restrain myself only on the savory food). I was exhausted by the time I reached Agra, and caught an auto to the Taj Mahal. Well, it’s pretty phenomenal. The white marble domes are stunning to say the least. But what really did it for me was the interior, with the semi-precious stones inlay. And I really enjoyed the mosques on either side of the Taj. I’m quickly learning that at any tourist site in India, people will want to have their photo taken with me. Many times people travel from small villages to the big sites like the Taj Mahal and they are so excited to see foreigners. I don’t know if I’ve experienced that in many other places – maybe Vietnam.
I pretty much headed straight back from the Taj Mahal to the train station and caught the next train back to Delhi. Oh, the lines at the train stations. I have become way too used to the way people orderly arrange themselves in Japan. This is a free-for-all and I think people see me and think, ah! Submissive Japanese girl, for sure she won’t say anything if I just elbow my way past her. Hrmph. I had some sort of unreserved ticket so I sprinted onto a train that way pulling out of the station, showed my ticket to the people in the compartment and they communicated to me, I think, that I was supposed to proceed to the back of the train. A few cars later, a guy stopped me, asking me for my ticket, and motioned that I should sit in his seat. I sat, not really understanding what was going on but decided I would figure it out if I had to. It turned out that I had to buy a ticket to occupy that seat, no problems at all, and I shared this metal bench with this lovely man and his friend. They were clearly from the lower classes, and spoke no English at all, but they offered me everything they had. Tea, Madam? Samosa, Madam?
I have yet to discover (I forgot to ask Padma and her family) what the deal is with the transvestites in the trains. Twice on the train from Agra to Delhi a few very dark-skinned people dressed in bright, low-cut saris came through, caressing the men in the car and asking for cash. Are they hijras? That’s the only Indian group that came up in my Homosexuality seminar in Anthropology when I was in university…
There is definitely poverty, and I must admit that I am a bit surprised at the lack of reaction to it that I have had so far. I think it’s a combination of Bangladesh having shocked the crap out of me, totally traumatizing me, and so far India’s poverty (that I’ve seen, which probably is a tiny fraction of what I could see) is far less visible. Yes, there are lepers and many dismembered people roaming through traffic begging. There are boys only a few years older than my 2.5 year old nephew who are cleaning windows of vehicles, their eyes listless, staring off into space. Yes, when I gave my extra samosa to a barefoot, nearly naked girl who was probably 5 years old, 5 or 6 more kids her age instantly appeared before me. Yes, there is an endless pile of trash lining almost every road and railroad track, and an undeniable stench in many places. We’ll see how things evolve as my trip continues.
I arrived back at the apartment in time to hear the ending of music class. Padma’s mother is a vocalist, and she plays the harmonium. The harmonium has 42 keys and is like a cross between a piano and an accordion. As you pump air into it with your left hand, the sound gets stronger as you press in, and the vibration is really captivating. I have heard the harmonium only in association with kirtan and yogic chants, and I got to play around with it a little bit with Padma’s mother, who has a magical voice. Lovely.
Remi and Rohit had become my all-in-one saviors (Smriti and Gautam did this too!) – they were my travel consultants (negotiating India’s trains is much more complex than I had hoped, but at the same time completely understandable given the size and population of the country!), my advisors on my yogic path (haha – I have been debating tremendously about what sort of program I’m looking to do – more on that later), and cultural ambassadors in every way. I can’t thank everyone enough.
I was keen to check out the Indian early morning routine in parks and gardens. Padma’s mother goes every morning to Jahanpannah Forest, about a kilometer away from their complex, and so I joined her and Krishna-ji this morning at 7am. People are inside doing yoga, you walk by people doing kapala-bhati, the breath of fire, people are walking their dogs, and a few, but not many, are jogging. We slowly walked 3km, stopping halfway on a bench where Padma’s mother sang a few songs, we did a stretching routine, and talked about all sorts of things from Japan to the US to views on marriage, religion, child custody, etc. What an interesting experience to be able to hear 3 generations of opinions of Indian women. But Padma’s family is not typical; Remi is 24 and living with her boyfriend, Padma’s mother separated from her husband of 28 years just two years ago, and strikes me as a fiercely confident yet compassionate, tender woman. It’s hard to explain, but I felt graced by all of their presence. So after this lovely morning walk, I had a coconut (agua de coco gente!), first drinking the water, then eating the supremely tender flesh, and then I went back into the forest to go for a run. I had been really craving this for awhile, since New York was too cold for me to do anything outside.
A few more hours hanging out with Remi and Rohit and then off I was, back to Nazamuddin for the train to Sawai Madhopur. That’s where I am right now, but today I’m sitting in a reserved AC compartment, with reclining chairs, white cloth covers on the headrests, well-dressed wallahs bringing through meals, chai, and all the usual assortment of snacks. It’s so orderly, organized…I don’t know which I prefer.
I was riding general class since the Taj Express fills up early and there were no other seats available. Which means I was tightly wrapped in my pashmina shawl but still shivering my butt off. Train rides in India are endlessly entertaining, as vendors come through to sell everything from peanuts, water, chai, samosas, and all sorts of sweets (I’ve decided Indian sweets are not my thing, which is good because it means I have to forcefully restrain myself only on the savory food). I was exhausted by the time I reached Agra, and caught an auto to the Taj Mahal. Well, it’s pretty phenomenal. The white marble domes are stunning to say the least. But what really did it for me was the interior, with the semi-precious stones inlay. And I really enjoyed the mosques on either side of the Taj. I’m quickly learning that at any tourist site in India, people will want to have their photo taken with me. Many times people travel from small villages to the big sites like the Taj Mahal and they are so excited to see foreigners. I don’t know if I’ve experienced that in many other places – maybe Vietnam.
I pretty much headed straight back from the Taj Mahal to the train station and caught the next train back to Delhi. Oh, the lines at the train stations. I have become way too used to the way people orderly arrange themselves in Japan. This is a free-for-all and I think people see me and think, ah! Submissive Japanese girl, for sure she won’t say anything if I just elbow my way past her. Hrmph. I had some sort of unreserved ticket so I sprinted onto a train that way pulling out of the station, showed my ticket to the people in the compartment and they communicated to me, I think, that I was supposed to proceed to the back of the train. A few cars later, a guy stopped me, asking me for my ticket, and motioned that I should sit in his seat. I sat, not really understanding what was going on but decided I would figure it out if I had to. It turned out that I had to buy a ticket to occupy that seat, no problems at all, and I shared this metal bench with this lovely man and his friend. They were clearly from the lower classes, and spoke no English at all, but they offered me everything they had. Tea, Madam? Samosa, Madam?
I have yet to discover (I forgot to ask Padma and her family) what the deal is with the transvestites in the trains. Twice on the train from Agra to Delhi a few very dark-skinned people dressed in bright, low-cut saris came through, caressing the men in the car and asking for cash. Are they hijras? That’s the only Indian group that came up in my Homosexuality seminar in Anthropology when I was in university…
There is definitely poverty, and I must admit that I am a bit surprised at the lack of reaction to it that I have had so far. I think it’s a combination of Bangladesh having shocked the crap out of me, totally traumatizing me, and so far India’s poverty (that I’ve seen, which probably is a tiny fraction of what I could see) is far less visible. Yes, there are lepers and many dismembered people roaming through traffic begging. There are boys only a few years older than my 2.5 year old nephew who are cleaning windows of vehicles, their eyes listless, staring off into space. Yes, when I gave my extra samosa to a barefoot, nearly naked girl who was probably 5 years old, 5 or 6 more kids her age instantly appeared before me. Yes, there is an endless pile of trash lining almost every road and railroad track, and an undeniable stench in many places. We’ll see how things evolve as my trip continues.
I arrived back at the apartment in time to hear the ending of music class. Padma’s mother is a vocalist, and she plays the harmonium. The harmonium has 42 keys and is like a cross between a piano and an accordion. As you pump air into it with your left hand, the sound gets stronger as you press in, and the vibration is really captivating. I have heard the harmonium only in association with kirtan and yogic chants, and I got to play around with it a little bit with Padma’s mother, who has a magical voice. Lovely.
Remi and Rohit had become my all-in-one saviors (Smriti and Gautam did this too!) – they were my travel consultants (negotiating India’s trains is much more complex than I had hoped, but at the same time completely understandable given the size and population of the country!), my advisors on my yogic path (haha – I have been debating tremendously about what sort of program I’m looking to do – more on that later), and cultural ambassadors in every way. I can’t thank everyone enough.
I was keen to check out the Indian early morning routine in parks and gardens. Padma’s mother goes every morning to Jahanpannah Forest, about a kilometer away from their complex, and so I joined her and Krishna-ji this morning at 7am. People are inside doing yoga, you walk by people doing kapala-bhati, the breath of fire, people are walking their dogs, and a few, but not many, are jogging. We slowly walked 3km, stopping halfway on a bench where Padma’s mother sang a few songs, we did a stretching routine, and talked about all sorts of things from Japan to the US to views on marriage, religion, child custody, etc. What an interesting experience to be able to hear 3 generations of opinions of Indian women. But Padma’s family is not typical; Remi is 24 and living with her boyfriend, Padma’s mother separated from her husband of 28 years just two years ago, and strikes me as a fiercely confident yet compassionate, tender woman. It’s hard to explain, but I felt graced by all of their presence. So after this lovely morning walk, I had a coconut (agua de coco gente!), first drinking the water, then eating the supremely tender flesh, and then I went back into the forest to go for a run. I had been really craving this for awhile, since New York was too cold for me to do anything outside.
A few more hours hanging out with Remi and Rohit and then off I was, back to Nazamuddin for the train to Sawai Madhopur. That’s where I am right now, but today I’m sitting in a reserved AC compartment, with reclining chairs, white cloth covers on the headrests, well-dressed wallahs bringing through meals, chai, and all the usual assortment of snacks. It’s so orderly, organized…I don’t know which I prefer.
Are you sure this city only has 12.8 million people Lonely Planet?? Hmm… (Delhi, India 11-13 December, written 15 December 2009)
A long flight. A really long one. Finally landed in Delhi at 2:30am. Wide-eyed and excited, I got off the plane, and everything was so…modern. Just like any major modern airport, except everyone’s Indian. Which could mean they’re in long orange robes, or Sikhs with turbans, or women with flowing saris, and people in “normal” Western suits buzzing past them. I made it quite effortlessly in a prepaid taxi to Smriti and Gautam’s house, and off I was to bed.
Friday morning, my first experience with home-cooked Indian food – Manju, the girl that helps cook and clean, made me a sort of savory pancake made with gram (chickpea flour) – and fresh grated coriander, tomato, and a smattering of herbs and spices – cumin and turmeric were the main ones to go in this. The pomegranates here are the best I have ever had in my life, no joke.
We went to meet Fumi, a Japanese girl that Rich in Tokyo had introduced me to, at the DLF Shopping Mall. Another relatively shocking experience, being my first stop in India outside the home. People in India go to the mall to see and be seen; they wear their fanciest clothes and go to the mall with their friends and family – it’s a whole social experience.
We had lunch at Haldiram’s, a chain of Indian street food made into fast food, and it was actually delicious. We had gol gappas, which are comprised of deep fried wheat flour hollow bite-size balls. You break open the top and then put in a spoonful of aloo chana, a spiced potato and chickpea mixture. Top with a sweet tamarind chutney, a savory mint and coriander chutney, a tangy water mixture, and now you delicately put the crunchy water ball in your mouth. Repeat.
Then we had dahi bhalla, which are essentially dumplings made from lentil flour and rice, soaked overnight and fermented, and topped with lots of sweet tamarind chutney and yogurt, and finally finished off with fresh ground cumin, coriander seed, black pepper, and bits of other spices.
We also had chole bhature, which consisted of chana pindi, but which was quite different from what I’ve had outside India. Black chickpeas in sauce, with strips of raw ginger and coriander. Accompanied with raw red onion, spiced roast potato, and pickled green chili – delicious but watch out for the spice level! This was eaten with a long football-shaped hollow deep-fried wheat bread, with bits of red from the chili powder in it. Yum.
And then I was introduced to my great Indian love – Paneer. Paneer is a sort of cheese made from heating up milk and sifting it and hardening it – so it’s like a very soft, mild white cheese – and it turns out that in many ways it’s like tofu in the way it tastes and feels here. My love. We had a paneer tikka, cubes of paneer cooked in the tandoor, with red onion, tomato, and green peppers…YUM.
We also had palak paneer momos (Momos are dumplings from Tibet/Nepal/Northeast India) – and these were filled with spinach, onions, and bits of paneer.
After that, Fumi and I continued to Qutab Minar, ancient Muslim ruins. Beautiful spot –and then we went to the market at R K Puram, where the road is lined with vegetables, meat, clothes, watches, shoes, movies, whatever. The first Indian market I visited, it was lively and colorful.
That evening, Smriti, Gautam and I went to Chic Fish (meaning Chicken and Fish, not vegetarian – although their vegetarian food was mouthwatering). We got a vegetable platter of which the highlights were Tandoor Gobi (large pieces of cauliflower which had been marinated in yogurt, turmeric, cumin, coriander seed powder, and mango seed powder, then cooked in the tandoor), and Stuffed potatoes – bharwan aloo, filled with spiced crumbly paneer. There were two varieties of large, chunky paneer – the first was dipped in mint and coriander chutney, the other in a red spice mix of chili powder, turmeric, etc. The Missi Roti was awesome, a gram flour dense bread with fresh coriander kneaded into the flour. And a paper thin roti, cooked on a giant tawa outside the restaurant.
Saturday morning after some tomato toast and fruit, off I was to the Sivananda Vedanta Yoga Centre in Nataraj, South Delhi. I have not had too much exposure to the Sivananda style of yoga, but knew that a yoga session is basically comprised of surya namaskara, then a sequence of 12 asanas with savasana between each asana. The center itself has a tranquil, modest feel and I thoroughly enjoyed the class. Afterwards, I walked to Nehru Place, known for its extensive selection of shops containing all things electronics and computer-related. Indeed this was the case, and I shopped around for a memory card reader. But the concept of shopping is so lively here. Yes, you have fixed businesses but interspersed amongst them are people deep-frying aloo tikkis and samoshas; young boys walking around selling zippers, or lighters, or fake DVDs…whatever you want. So much noise, movement, color.
Afterwards, I had decided to visit the Lotus Temple since I was so close; it’s a Baha’I Temple but welcomes anybody for meditation and prayer. I was able to see the temple from quite a distance away, so logic told me to just walk in a straight line towards it. Oops. I forgot that I had to account for slums and construction sites as possible obstacles. So I hesitated as the smell of feces rose into the air, and crumbling concrete piled up. Naked children covered in dirt were running around emaciated dogs. A man only clothed with the torn remains of what was probably once a longyi had his back to me as he bathed, the water rippling down his body that had virtually no body fat. I proceeded as an older man waved me through, motioning for me to keep going, that I didn’t have to find an alternate route. So I did, heading to the glittering white massive structure, the contrast between the neighborhood around it and the immaculate interior of the temple etched into my consciousness.
I admittedly am not an expert in any way on the social systems in India; for one, they are far too innumerable for anyone to fully comprehend since there are so many variations based on religious, urban vs. rural, economic class, etc. But it stands out very strongly that the shade of your skin directly corresponds to the work that people are performing. In virtually every situation, the person who is doing the hardest manual labor, the least desirable work, is the person with the darkest shade of skin. Movies, billboards, TV, and magazines are dominated by fair-skinned gorgeous Indians. I guess this is the reality of modern India, I wonder how, when, and why it will change.
Every transaction with an auto-rickshaw (commonly referred to as autos) is a nightmare for me. I stopped enjoying bargaining years ago; Tibet marks the turning point for this, in January 2004, and since then it has been a downward slope. I loathe arguing over what for me is pennies, I loathe being taken for some millionaire foreigner. I am not entirely opposed to local/foreigner prices, but there are limits and decency. Anyway, the autos in Delhi are notorious for gouging prices. Alas I arrived at Dilli Haat, a marketplace which you must pay 15 rupees to go into, thus keeping it clean and beggar-free.
Smriti came and met me, and in we went. The merchants at Dilli Haat change every 15 days, ensuring that you can come shop to your heart’s delight every two weeks! The current event was that they were showcasing the National Award winners from the whole country, so the best artists and craftsmen from all over the country. The enormity and scale of India’s cultural diversity was well represented in the market, ranging from large colorful murals from West Bengal to exquisite Kashmiri work including Pashmina, walnut wood carvings. Palm leaf etchings with incredibly minute detail…it was really impressive. Smriti was the perfect guide to have with me; she has an impressive knowledge of the techniques and the history behind all the decorative arts. I wanted to buy lots and lots of things all around me, but I restricted myself to scarves, since the salwar kameez and saris I feel I won’t use once I leave India. Dilli Haat is also quite famous for its food area, which is comprised of vendors selling typical street food from every state in the country. So you can eat Maharashtran sev puri and thalipith whilst munching on Nagaland momos and sip Kashmiri Kahwa tea. Paradise in Yuri’s universe.
So we stuck to the Maharashtran food – pure taste bud ecstasy (see www.flickr.com/photos/y_awanohara, click on Set: FOOD) Thalipith, a dense breadmade from seven whole grains and coriander, topped with a dollop of butter, served with green chutney and a yogurt with fresh coriander and red onion was divine. Sabudana khichdi, a grain with a mocha-like texture, tossed in ground peanuts and cumin, served with a more liquid yogurt; sev puri, a street food with a deep-fried dough base, topped with spiced potatoes, tamarind chutney, green chutney, and sprinkled with noodle-y bits made from chickpea flour – besan – another magical ingredient as I’ve discovered this week. And dessert was the puran poli, a flaky, buttery roti filled with saffron and butter paste.
Afterwards, we went to watch a Rangoli competition, which is where people (in this case it was entirely female competitors) make designs using sand or flower petals on the ground. Often times chalk is used to outline the design, and then vivid bright colored sand is used to fill in the white lines – this is what we would call in Mexico, “chinga tus ojos” colors – I love it.
We went home and I got to try on a beautiful sari and a couple salwar kameez sets, complete with a bindi. It was hilarious. Both items of clothing have strong arguments in favor of making anyone look thin while at the same time having nice curves, the only problem is it would take me forever to learn how to dress myself.
The dinner we had at home that night was beyond delicious. Bindi – okra – deep-fried in a light batter of gram flour and water. The batter itself just had turmeric sprinkled in, but after frying was sprinkled with mango seed powder, which I am discovering is this versatile, character-building ingredient. It adds a sort of sour tanginess, and a little bit goes a long way. Probably my favorite flavoring of this week.
And then the shahi methi paneer. Quite possibly the best dish I’ve had in India thus far. The gravy (sauce) comprises of: a cinnamon stick (later removed), a few cloves (later removed), very finely ground tomato and onion, fenugreek, garlic, coriander seed powder, cumin, turmeric, and a ground cashew paste. Simmer and stir for awhile and you will not believe your results. Toss in chunks of paneer and you will want to cry. Ahhhhhh.
Of course we also had delicious dhal with this, along with fresh roti and pappadums. I am exercising willpower as never before to not overeat in India.
I love Indian humor and wit, from the little I’ve seen. The people I have come into contact with are extremely educated and cultured, mix in British dry humor, the Indian endearing accent and even more endearing head wobble, and I am just bursting into laughter every moment. Gautam proceeded to tell me that my plan of jumping on a random train, getting off somewhere with no accommodation reservation, and hoping for the best could turn very unpleasant very easily. He proceeded to tell me that Goa has been announced the rape capital of India. That I shouldn’t get in any vehicles with tinted windows as they are illegal in India – so it’s not a good sign if they are already doing something illegal before you’re even in the vehicle. And I should avoid Andhra Pradesh since there is political turmoil and I might never be able to leave. And so on. They are really a lovely couple who complement each other so well.
A leisurely Sunday morning with delicious fresh squeezed tangerine juice as I browsed the classifieds section in the newspaper. The first part of the wanted ads almost unanimously work in my favor – I am at least 5 foot 3 inches, fair-skinned by Indian standards, educated, beautiful (haha according to who? ; ) female who likes to cook, but umm, I’m not Brahmin, and perhaps more importantly, I’m not “homely”. What the hell does that even mean? Anyway, a thoroughly enjoyable Sunday morning activity – reminded me of how Ole used to read out the sleazy Metropolis ads in Tokyo to me. I slowly prepared to switch houses. I was headed to Alaknanda to stay with Padma, an environmental journalist for the Sun Times. A totally different experience but equally wonderful for sure. I was staying in Padma’s sister’s apartment, Remi (her real name is Sriparna – how is it that nicknames, called petnames in India, can have absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to the actual given name?). Remi lives with her boyfriend, Rohit, from Rajasthan, and Nitin, who is Padma’s boyfriend, who was away in Copenhagen covering the climate change conference. Padma’s family is Bengali (originally from Kolkata). On Sunday evening I had my first Hindi movie experience. I love how the Hindi is peppered with English, which means I had to actively pay attention to the whole dialogue even if it was all in Hindi because the occasional “Do you think I’m so stupid to not see that Hindi Hindi Hindi…I can’t believe you!” would pop up and I would once again be put back on track on the plotline. We saw Rocket Singh, Salesman of the Year. Awesome soundtrack. A feel-good comedy, and I actually feel that watching it taught me a lot about India in a lot of ways.
So that was my first weekend in India. Phew!
Friday morning, my first experience with home-cooked Indian food – Manju, the girl that helps cook and clean, made me a sort of savory pancake made with gram (chickpea flour) – and fresh grated coriander, tomato, and a smattering of herbs and spices – cumin and turmeric were the main ones to go in this. The pomegranates here are the best I have ever had in my life, no joke.
We went to meet Fumi, a Japanese girl that Rich in Tokyo had introduced me to, at the DLF Shopping Mall. Another relatively shocking experience, being my first stop in India outside the home. People in India go to the mall to see and be seen; they wear their fanciest clothes and go to the mall with their friends and family – it’s a whole social experience.
We had lunch at Haldiram’s, a chain of Indian street food made into fast food, and it was actually delicious. We had gol gappas, which are comprised of deep fried wheat flour hollow bite-size balls. You break open the top and then put in a spoonful of aloo chana, a spiced potato and chickpea mixture. Top with a sweet tamarind chutney, a savory mint and coriander chutney, a tangy water mixture, and now you delicately put the crunchy water ball in your mouth. Repeat.
Then we had dahi bhalla, which are essentially dumplings made from lentil flour and rice, soaked overnight and fermented, and topped with lots of sweet tamarind chutney and yogurt, and finally finished off with fresh ground cumin, coriander seed, black pepper, and bits of other spices.
We also had chole bhature, which consisted of chana pindi, but which was quite different from what I’ve had outside India. Black chickpeas in sauce, with strips of raw ginger and coriander. Accompanied with raw red onion, spiced roast potato, and pickled green chili – delicious but watch out for the spice level! This was eaten with a long football-shaped hollow deep-fried wheat bread, with bits of red from the chili powder in it. Yum.
And then I was introduced to my great Indian love – Paneer. Paneer is a sort of cheese made from heating up milk and sifting it and hardening it – so it’s like a very soft, mild white cheese – and it turns out that in many ways it’s like tofu in the way it tastes and feels here. My love. We had a paneer tikka, cubes of paneer cooked in the tandoor, with red onion, tomato, and green peppers…YUM.
We also had palak paneer momos (Momos are dumplings from Tibet/Nepal/Northeast India) – and these were filled with spinach, onions, and bits of paneer.
After that, Fumi and I continued to Qutab Minar, ancient Muslim ruins. Beautiful spot –and then we went to the market at R K Puram, where the road is lined with vegetables, meat, clothes, watches, shoes, movies, whatever. The first Indian market I visited, it was lively and colorful.
That evening, Smriti, Gautam and I went to Chic Fish (meaning Chicken and Fish, not vegetarian – although their vegetarian food was mouthwatering). We got a vegetable platter of which the highlights were Tandoor Gobi (large pieces of cauliflower which had been marinated in yogurt, turmeric, cumin, coriander seed powder, and mango seed powder, then cooked in the tandoor), and Stuffed potatoes – bharwan aloo, filled with spiced crumbly paneer. There were two varieties of large, chunky paneer – the first was dipped in mint and coriander chutney, the other in a red spice mix of chili powder, turmeric, etc. The Missi Roti was awesome, a gram flour dense bread with fresh coriander kneaded into the flour. And a paper thin roti, cooked on a giant tawa outside the restaurant.
Saturday morning after some tomato toast and fruit, off I was to the Sivananda Vedanta Yoga Centre in Nataraj, South Delhi. I have not had too much exposure to the Sivananda style of yoga, but knew that a yoga session is basically comprised of surya namaskara, then a sequence of 12 asanas with savasana between each asana. The center itself has a tranquil, modest feel and I thoroughly enjoyed the class. Afterwards, I walked to Nehru Place, known for its extensive selection of shops containing all things electronics and computer-related. Indeed this was the case, and I shopped around for a memory card reader. But the concept of shopping is so lively here. Yes, you have fixed businesses but interspersed amongst them are people deep-frying aloo tikkis and samoshas; young boys walking around selling zippers, or lighters, or fake DVDs…whatever you want. So much noise, movement, color.
Afterwards, I had decided to visit the Lotus Temple since I was so close; it’s a Baha’I Temple but welcomes anybody for meditation and prayer. I was able to see the temple from quite a distance away, so logic told me to just walk in a straight line towards it. Oops. I forgot that I had to account for slums and construction sites as possible obstacles. So I hesitated as the smell of feces rose into the air, and crumbling concrete piled up. Naked children covered in dirt were running around emaciated dogs. A man only clothed with the torn remains of what was probably once a longyi had his back to me as he bathed, the water rippling down his body that had virtually no body fat. I proceeded as an older man waved me through, motioning for me to keep going, that I didn’t have to find an alternate route. So I did, heading to the glittering white massive structure, the contrast between the neighborhood around it and the immaculate interior of the temple etched into my consciousness.
I admittedly am not an expert in any way on the social systems in India; for one, they are far too innumerable for anyone to fully comprehend since there are so many variations based on religious, urban vs. rural, economic class, etc. But it stands out very strongly that the shade of your skin directly corresponds to the work that people are performing. In virtually every situation, the person who is doing the hardest manual labor, the least desirable work, is the person with the darkest shade of skin. Movies, billboards, TV, and magazines are dominated by fair-skinned gorgeous Indians. I guess this is the reality of modern India, I wonder how, when, and why it will change.
Every transaction with an auto-rickshaw (commonly referred to as autos) is a nightmare for me. I stopped enjoying bargaining years ago; Tibet marks the turning point for this, in January 2004, and since then it has been a downward slope. I loathe arguing over what for me is pennies, I loathe being taken for some millionaire foreigner. I am not entirely opposed to local/foreigner prices, but there are limits and decency. Anyway, the autos in Delhi are notorious for gouging prices. Alas I arrived at Dilli Haat, a marketplace which you must pay 15 rupees to go into, thus keeping it clean and beggar-free.
Smriti came and met me, and in we went. The merchants at Dilli Haat change every 15 days, ensuring that you can come shop to your heart’s delight every two weeks! The current event was that they were showcasing the National Award winners from the whole country, so the best artists and craftsmen from all over the country. The enormity and scale of India’s cultural diversity was well represented in the market, ranging from large colorful murals from West Bengal to exquisite Kashmiri work including Pashmina, walnut wood carvings. Palm leaf etchings with incredibly minute detail…it was really impressive. Smriti was the perfect guide to have with me; she has an impressive knowledge of the techniques and the history behind all the decorative arts. I wanted to buy lots and lots of things all around me, but I restricted myself to scarves, since the salwar kameez and saris I feel I won’t use once I leave India. Dilli Haat is also quite famous for its food area, which is comprised of vendors selling typical street food from every state in the country. So you can eat Maharashtran sev puri and thalipith whilst munching on Nagaland momos and sip Kashmiri Kahwa tea. Paradise in Yuri’s universe.
So we stuck to the Maharashtran food – pure taste bud ecstasy (see www.flickr.com/photos/y_awanohara, click on Set: FOOD) Thalipith, a dense breadmade from seven whole grains and coriander, topped with a dollop of butter, served with green chutney and a yogurt with fresh coriander and red onion was divine. Sabudana khichdi, a grain with a mocha-like texture, tossed in ground peanuts and cumin, served with a more liquid yogurt; sev puri, a street food with a deep-fried dough base, topped with spiced potatoes, tamarind chutney, green chutney, and sprinkled with noodle-y bits made from chickpea flour – besan – another magical ingredient as I’ve discovered this week. And dessert was the puran poli, a flaky, buttery roti filled with saffron and butter paste.
Afterwards, we went to watch a Rangoli competition, which is where people (in this case it was entirely female competitors) make designs using sand or flower petals on the ground. Often times chalk is used to outline the design, and then vivid bright colored sand is used to fill in the white lines – this is what we would call in Mexico, “chinga tus ojos” colors – I love it.
We went home and I got to try on a beautiful sari and a couple salwar kameez sets, complete with a bindi. It was hilarious. Both items of clothing have strong arguments in favor of making anyone look thin while at the same time having nice curves, the only problem is it would take me forever to learn how to dress myself.
The dinner we had at home that night was beyond delicious. Bindi – okra – deep-fried in a light batter of gram flour and water. The batter itself just had turmeric sprinkled in, but after frying was sprinkled with mango seed powder, which I am discovering is this versatile, character-building ingredient. It adds a sort of sour tanginess, and a little bit goes a long way. Probably my favorite flavoring of this week.
And then the shahi methi paneer. Quite possibly the best dish I’ve had in India thus far. The gravy (sauce) comprises of: a cinnamon stick (later removed), a few cloves (later removed), very finely ground tomato and onion, fenugreek, garlic, coriander seed powder, cumin, turmeric, and a ground cashew paste. Simmer and stir for awhile and you will not believe your results. Toss in chunks of paneer and you will want to cry. Ahhhhhh.
Of course we also had delicious dhal with this, along with fresh roti and pappadums. I am exercising willpower as never before to not overeat in India.
I love Indian humor and wit, from the little I’ve seen. The people I have come into contact with are extremely educated and cultured, mix in British dry humor, the Indian endearing accent and even more endearing head wobble, and I am just bursting into laughter every moment. Gautam proceeded to tell me that my plan of jumping on a random train, getting off somewhere with no accommodation reservation, and hoping for the best could turn very unpleasant very easily. He proceeded to tell me that Goa has been announced the rape capital of India. That I shouldn’t get in any vehicles with tinted windows as they are illegal in India – so it’s not a good sign if they are already doing something illegal before you’re even in the vehicle. And I should avoid Andhra Pradesh since there is political turmoil and I might never be able to leave. And so on. They are really a lovely couple who complement each other so well.
A leisurely Sunday morning with delicious fresh squeezed tangerine juice as I browsed the classifieds section in the newspaper. The first part of the wanted ads almost unanimously work in my favor – I am at least 5 foot 3 inches, fair-skinned by Indian standards, educated, beautiful (haha according to who? ; ) female who likes to cook, but umm, I’m not Brahmin, and perhaps more importantly, I’m not “homely”. What the hell does that even mean? Anyway, a thoroughly enjoyable Sunday morning activity – reminded me of how Ole used to read out the sleazy Metropolis ads in Tokyo to me. I slowly prepared to switch houses. I was headed to Alaknanda to stay with Padma, an environmental journalist for the Sun Times. A totally different experience but equally wonderful for sure. I was staying in Padma’s sister’s apartment, Remi (her real name is Sriparna – how is it that nicknames, called petnames in India, can have absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to the actual given name?). Remi lives with her boyfriend, Rohit, from Rajasthan, and Nitin, who is Padma’s boyfriend, who was away in Copenhagen covering the climate change conference. Padma’s family is Bengali (originally from Kolkata). On Sunday evening I had my first Hindi movie experience. I love how the Hindi is peppered with English, which means I had to actively pay attention to the whole dialogue even if it was all in Hindi because the occasional “Do you think I’m so stupid to not see that Hindi Hindi Hindi…I can’t believe you!” would pop up and I would once again be put back on track on the plotline. We saw Rocket Singh, Salesman of the Year. Awesome soundtrack. A feel-good comedy, and I actually feel that watching it taught me a lot about India in a lot of ways.
So that was my first weekend in India. Phew!
Friday, December 11, 2009
Starting Again!
Yeah, I know, I haven’t written on this thing for a really really long time. Believe me, it’s crossed my mind numerous times, especially because I’ve received quite a few emails asking me why I haven’t written, and I don’t really have a good excuse. But, I do know that once you fall behind, if you intend to start where you left off, the task seems to become overwhelming and then I end up putting it off again, and then, all of a sudden you’re more than a year behind.
Right now I’m in the US, and the quick story is, since my Europe trip last year, I went back to Japan to work the autumn season, then I spent a few weeks in the US, went down to Argentina for 3 weeks, then to Brasil for 3 months, basically to see if I could make living there a realistic possibility. The answer was a big fat no, but it was a very complicated, long, drawn-out process – my feelings towards Brasil - and when I say Brasil, I am referring to the land itself, the people, the culture, the food, the music, everything – are extremely complex, and it is nothing short of a love-hate, addictive, can’t live with it can’t live without it relationship. I’m still sure that the whole deal with Brasil isn’t over yet – that chapter closed, and another has followed since then, and I’m pretty sure there will be more to come.
Anyway, I left Brasil, took a week-long rejuvenating eating and seeing loved ones holiday in Mexico, passed through the US and back I was in Japan at the beginning of March. An insanely busy spring season, Hong Kong for the Asia Yoga Conference in June, along with a quick visit to Vietnam, 2 weeks between Taiwan and Bali in July, and the rest of the year until November was spent in Japan. The first time I’d spent this much time in Japan, and really started to grow roots in Japan. It’s WEIRD. I never thought that that would happen in Japan, but for a multitude of factors, it worked this year.
And so I left Japan, confused, conflicted, ready to go, wanting to stay, and arrived in Los Angeles on a crisp sunny morning, and the same exact feelings came pouring down. As I walked the walk I had done hundreds of times before, from the bus stop at Lincoln and Rose, stopping by the burrito stand, having that delectable kick of guacamole and cilantro at 9am, taking my shoes off at exhale, and then stepping onto the sand, I thought, I could live here again.
A week later and I’m on a plane back to the east coast, where I spent the years from when I was 5 to 18.
And now I’m at the airport in NYC, waiting to board my plane to India. And the past month has been a whirlwind rollercoaster, the end result of which is: I want to spend more time in the U.S. California just makes too much sense. Except for the making money part…hmm. So although I am thrilled and excited and overwhelmed with what will happen in India, I am majorly looking at just staying and exploring options in California. So as of today, December 9, 2009, the plan is that I’m spending the next 2.5 months in India, then I will go via the US back to Japan in March to work for 3 months, explore the possibility of doing a Thai Massage certification at Wat Pho in Bangkok, and then…try to move back to California. Perhaps make a documentary with Molly. Perhaps look into environmental activism. Perhaps look into yoga. And most certainly look into the organic vegetarian/vegan food scene, and, oh yeah, spend time playing in the sun.
Right now I’m in the US, and the quick story is, since my Europe trip last year, I went back to Japan to work the autumn season, then I spent a few weeks in the US, went down to Argentina for 3 weeks, then to Brasil for 3 months, basically to see if I could make living there a realistic possibility. The answer was a big fat no, but it was a very complicated, long, drawn-out process – my feelings towards Brasil - and when I say Brasil, I am referring to the land itself, the people, the culture, the food, the music, everything – are extremely complex, and it is nothing short of a love-hate, addictive, can’t live with it can’t live without it relationship. I’m still sure that the whole deal with Brasil isn’t over yet – that chapter closed, and another has followed since then, and I’m pretty sure there will be more to come.
Anyway, I left Brasil, took a week-long rejuvenating eating and seeing loved ones holiday in Mexico, passed through the US and back I was in Japan at the beginning of March. An insanely busy spring season, Hong Kong for the Asia Yoga Conference in June, along with a quick visit to Vietnam, 2 weeks between Taiwan and Bali in July, and the rest of the year until November was spent in Japan. The first time I’d spent this much time in Japan, and really started to grow roots in Japan. It’s WEIRD. I never thought that that would happen in Japan, but for a multitude of factors, it worked this year.
And so I left Japan, confused, conflicted, ready to go, wanting to stay, and arrived in Los Angeles on a crisp sunny morning, and the same exact feelings came pouring down. As I walked the walk I had done hundreds of times before, from the bus stop at Lincoln and Rose, stopping by the burrito stand, having that delectable kick of guacamole and cilantro at 9am, taking my shoes off at exhale, and then stepping onto the sand, I thought, I could live here again.
A week later and I’m on a plane back to the east coast, where I spent the years from when I was 5 to 18.
And now I’m at the airport in NYC, waiting to board my plane to India. And the past month has been a whirlwind rollercoaster, the end result of which is: I want to spend more time in the U.S. California just makes too much sense. Except for the making money part…hmm. So although I am thrilled and excited and overwhelmed with what will happen in India, I am majorly looking at just staying and exploring options in California. So as of today, December 9, 2009, the plan is that I’m spending the next 2.5 months in India, then I will go via the US back to Japan in March to work for 3 months, explore the possibility of doing a Thai Massage certification at Wat Pho in Bangkok, and then…try to move back to California. Perhaps make a documentary with Molly. Perhaps look into environmental activism. Perhaps look into yoga. And most certainly look into the organic vegetarian/vegan food scene, and, oh yeah, spend time playing in the sun.
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