During an interesting cultural expl-onversation (exploratory conversation. Look it up. But don't really) between my father and Abu, our fearless mustache (read: guide) - Abu let loose a fascinating piece of information. According to him, in Indian culture, it is expected that, if the son of the family never wants to work, the father will take care of the son for life. Please let it be noted that this will forever be included on every birthday card for the rest of my father's life.
I am writing from the city of Jaipur, a frantic, beautiful city of a couple million people all trying to sell me shoes and jewelry. This morning we explored the Amber Fort, an incredible thousand year old structure. What I find interesting about visiting these forts as a whole is the truly intricate architecture, that included ventillation, the best means of air conditioning no electricity can afford, and in the case of this Amber colored fort, secret passageways for the concubines to reach their intended destination.
For those that have never had the pleasure to witness, or been on the listening end of a conversation about Indian traffic, allow me to enlighten you. Here in Rajasthan, this northern Indian state, the traffic is all-inclusive. During bumper to bumper traffic, it is broken up only be cows meandering casually across the street (a holy animal to the Hindu, much unlike the street dogs, for them they make an effort to slow down). When you look left, there is often an elephant. Look right, bicycles and motorbikes are swerving around camels, dogs, chickens, rickshaws, and tuk tuks. Its not unusual to see entire 6 person families cruising on one motorbike.
Whats more is their style of driving. Like much of India, it is a form of organized chaos. G0d forbid you leave more than 6 inches in between you and the person in front of you - whether its a bus or a pedestrian crossing the street - and you will lose your standing in traffic. You fight your way in, you swerve, you never commit to a lane, you cut people off and you pull a u-turn in seemingly unbreakable traffic hoping and praying they part for you. And usually, they do. I swear navigating these streets are like playing a dusty videogame.
A piece of information I've taken to heart on this trip, particularly while traveling with a variant group of westerners (see "train crashing into helicopotor") seeing the country for the first time is this: It's important to write things down the first time you see them. For example - today I woke to a rooster's crow, and then showered to the sounds of a pig being chased through the street and slaughtered. If not, you will see these things 5, 10, 20 more times, and they will become a part of your life while here. You seem to forget that those 4 foot porceline walls in the street are for men to pee on, or that at the most famous movie theatre in India, popcorn costs 50 cents. And these details are what make the experience so fascinating, so thrilling, so Indian.
And for the record, seeing a 3 hour Bollywood film - all in Hindi - with an intermission - was not only better than it sounded - I loved it and will indefinitely do it again.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Organized Tours make dead people die
I am down the street from the majestic Taj Mahal with about 4 minutes of internet time left, and I wanted to give a quick update. Today's subject - organized tours.
We are a group of 9 Aussies, 2 Kiwi's and an English moron. Allow me to elaborate:
My father: Smart, educated, often hungry. His company is enjoyed by all.
Elizabeth: My father's partner in crime - grew up here, more interesting than everyone else I don't know combined. When she was 4.
Sharon: Elizabeth's daughter, my roommate. She's a pharmecist, so I plan on being sick constantly.
Me: Model
David (I think): Father traveling with his son. From Wellington, NZ. Wants his son to get a "proper" job and likes telling all of us that. Meanwhile, I'm taking 3 months off. Needs to work on his audience.
Tim: David's son. Nice guy, taught English for 15 months in China prior to this trip. I think he's into Asians.
Ruth: Think of a train crashing into a helicoptor, add Hollywood special effects explosions and death and some form of sexually transmitted disease. Apply to personality. Season with an ability to constantly talk about oneself.
Glen and Wendy: Married Aussie couple from an 800 person town. Actually they're too nice to make fun of here, so I'll have to make something up: they may be trannies playing each others role.
Abu: Our guide. From the warrior caste. His mustache is absolutely amazing.
I will make fun of the concept of being on an organized tour of a country where, out of the four of us traveling together, one has lived here for 17 years, two have traveled it before, and one is a veritable expert who shows up all of our guides with their lack of knowledge. Other than that, it's going very well, seeing some wonderful sites like the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, and the inside of a train (google them, especially the train. You'll be pleasantly surprised that it's very similar to the inside of a train).
We are a group of 9 Aussies, 2 Kiwi's and an English moron. Allow me to elaborate:
My father: Smart, educated, often hungry. His company is enjoyed by all.
Elizabeth: My father's partner in crime - grew up here, more interesting than everyone else I don't know combined. When she was 4.
Sharon: Elizabeth's daughter, my roommate. She's a pharmecist, so I plan on being sick constantly.
Me: Model
David (I think): Father traveling with his son. From Wellington, NZ. Wants his son to get a "proper" job and likes telling all of us that. Meanwhile, I'm taking 3 months off. Needs to work on his audience.
Tim: David's son. Nice guy, taught English for 15 months in China prior to this trip. I think he's into Asians.
Ruth: Think of a train crashing into a helicoptor, add Hollywood special effects explosions and death and some form of sexually transmitted disease. Apply to personality. Season with an ability to constantly talk about oneself.
Glen and Wendy: Married Aussie couple from an 800 person town. Actually they're too nice to make fun of here, so I'll have to make something up: they may be trannies playing each others role.
Abu: Our guide. From the warrior caste. His mustache is absolutely amazing.
I will make fun of the concept of being on an organized tour of a country where, out of the four of us traveling together, one has lived here for 17 years, two have traveled it before, and one is a veritable expert who shows up all of our guides with their lack of knowledge. Other than that, it's going very well, seeing some wonderful sites like the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, and the inside of a train (google them, especially the train. You'll be pleasantly surprised that it's very similar to the inside of a train).
Friday, October 26, 2007
24 Hours in India
My trip started off on a positive note - I got bumped from my flight. I say positive, because it was by choice. I was in no real rush, having booked an earlier flight because it was cheap, and when Continental waved an 800 dollar voucher for a future flight, free meals and a night at the Sheraton, I really didn't have a good reason to say no.
After loitering in my room 5 hours past check out, watching movies and ignoring the front desks frequent calls, I finally made my way to the flight (and a much better seat this time around). Ten minutes after take off, I felt better. Better about life. Conscious, alive, excited. I was in a funk for months that can only be described as employed. It was over, and I was back on the road, on my own terms.
When I stepped out of the New Delhi airport, I didn't notice. Delhi is a poorly circulated smokers living room. You don't feel the air, the outdoors because of the smog. The pollution is so thick, it is like walking through a hookah lounge at maximum occupancy, barreling through a constant stream of cob web walls, or reading a paragraph with too many analogies.
On the taxi ride to the airport, I was adjusting, acclimating, smiling at the life threatening style of driving that is Indian traffic. Where honking your horn is encouraged, utilized and abused as cars, trucks, motorcycles, bikes, and cattle weave in and out of each other. The roads are littered with unnerving street dogs roaming hungrily, vendors still slinging their goods at 10pm from makeshift huts and - well - litter. One such loitering canine made an attempt to cross the street 40 feet in front of our car. I felt the driver tap the break momentarily as the dog stopped in its place, staring us down in an unfair game of chicken. That light tap of the break was the only hesitation before the driver ran the dog over at full speed. I stopped smiling. It wasn't so much of a whimper we heard, but a howling scream. I wished the windows weren't open. Thirty seconds later, my two escorts began talking amongst themselves. I could tell it wasn't about what just happened. Another thirty seconds, and the driver was whistling casually. I felt like vomiting for the three of us. Instead, I stayed in my room all night and watched HBO India.
The next morning I met two Australians, a married couple who are joining us on our tour, and the three of us did some exploring. All three jetlagged, we weren't looking for destinations so much, but to experience Friday afternoon life in New Delhi. We went to a few well known bazars and shopping areas near Delhi's Central Park, admiring the people and animals alike lounging like death in the sun, men peeing freely against a wall while we ignored gauntlets of begging children. It was all very familiar and somewhat endearing, and I enjoyed the couple's reactions to their first day in India. Passing by construction sites, there were boys seemingly as young as 12 sawing boards and laying bricks barefoot - adjacent to a Reebok store selling sneakers for 130 dollars. We ate a vegetarian meal of fried rice, vegetables and naan bread. We bought socks.
I'm off to read about the latest scandal - in 2002, what were called the Gujarat riots took place where Muslims were massacred in this town. An undercover investigation has supposedly uncovered confessions that the chief politicians and policemen aided in these hate crimes by providing weapons, taking false statements from nonexistent witnesses and the like. Said politician is now in the Indian parliament. Many want him thrown in jail and to call these acts a genocide. His political party wants his name cleared and to discredit the journalist. There's nothing quite like Indian politics.
Until next time. I would love to hear from all of you - please be in touch.
After loitering in my room 5 hours past check out, watching movies and ignoring the front desks frequent calls, I finally made my way to the flight (and a much better seat this time around). Ten minutes after take off, I felt better. Better about life. Conscious, alive, excited. I was in a funk for months that can only be described as employed. It was over, and I was back on the road, on my own terms.
When I stepped out of the New Delhi airport, I didn't notice. Delhi is a poorly circulated smokers living room. You don't feel the air, the outdoors because of the smog. The pollution is so thick, it is like walking through a hookah lounge at maximum occupancy, barreling through a constant stream of cob web walls, or reading a paragraph with too many analogies.
On the taxi ride to the airport, I was adjusting, acclimating, smiling at the life threatening style of driving that is Indian traffic. Where honking your horn is encouraged, utilized and abused as cars, trucks, motorcycles, bikes, and cattle weave in and out of each other. The roads are littered with unnerving street dogs roaming hungrily, vendors still slinging their goods at 10pm from makeshift huts and - well - litter. One such loitering canine made an attempt to cross the street 40 feet in front of our car. I felt the driver tap the break momentarily as the dog stopped in its place, staring us down in an unfair game of chicken. That light tap of the break was the only hesitation before the driver ran the dog over at full speed. I stopped smiling. It wasn't so much of a whimper we heard, but a howling scream. I wished the windows weren't open. Thirty seconds later, my two escorts began talking amongst themselves. I could tell it wasn't about what just happened. Another thirty seconds, and the driver was whistling casually. I felt like vomiting for the three of us. Instead, I stayed in my room all night and watched HBO India.
The next morning I met two Australians, a married couple who are joining us on our tour, and the three of us did some exploring. All three jetlagged, we weren't looking for destinations so much, but to experience Friday afternoon life in New Delhi. We went to a few well known bazars and shopping areas near Delhi's Central Park, admiring the people and animals alike lounging like death in the sun, men peeing freely against a wall while we ignored gauntlets of begging children. It was all very familiar and somewhat endearing, and I enjoyed the couple's reactions to their first day in India. Passing by construction sites, there were boys seemingly as young as 12 sawing boards and laying bricks barefoot - adjacent to a Reebok store selling sneakers for 130 dollars. We ate a vegetarian meal of fried rice, vegetables and naan bread. We bought socks.
I'm off to read about the latest scandal - in 2002, what were called the Gujarat riots took place where Muslims were massacred in this town. An undercover investigation has supposedly uncovered confessions that the chief politicians and policemen aided in these hate crimes by providing weapons, taking false statements from nonexistent witnesses and the like. Said politician is now in the Indian parliament. Many want him thrown in jail and to call these acts a genocide. His political party wants his name cleared and to discredit the journalist. There's nothing quite like Indian politics.
Until next time. I would love to hear from all of you - please be in touch.
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