Sunday, December 27, 2009
The Haps
We have been in Bikaner for a few days. Spent Christmas moseying the city. Tomorrow morning we are leaving early with plans to go see a rat temple, and then to hop on some camels and depart on a ten day safari. This 'safari' will end at the same place it started, but will include a rather scenic-- for a desert-- loop, and a whole lot of sand. I am looking forward to it.
Tyler, whatever you are doing, whatever you are planning on doing tomorrow-- happy birthday. I love you.
The rest of you people-- type to you later.
Tyler, whatever you are doing, whatever you are planning on doing tomorrow-- happy birthday. I love you.
The rest of you people-- type to you later.
Border guard, Pakistan, 30k from Amritsar (day trip)
This guy really didn't want his picture to be taken, but it just had to be done.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Amritsar
Amritsar is where we are,
We took a bus here, very far,
So now we're here,
but do not fear,
We'll soon move on to 'splore some mar'.
Amritsar-- city of over a million people, not that that is a special distinction in this country. I looked up some figures out of curiosity, and Delhi has over 12 million, Kolkatta (Calcutta) over 14 million, and Bombay (Mumbai) over 16 million. Almost 17. So there are some larege cities here. Packed places. From my perspective on the ground, so far, any reasonably big city seems pretty much the same. The market streets of Amritsar that I have walked so far have not felt significantly different from the market steets of Delhi. If anything, they are a little wider, and a little cleaner, because for some reason there are no cows here, possibly because of the large Sikh population. Not to say that the cows fled from the Sikhs. I am just guessing that the Sikhs might not worship cows quite as much as Hindus, so they might not feel any compunction for kicking any large grass eating, field-dwelling animals out of this area designed for fried-food eating, asphault dwelling humans.
Amritsar has a golden temple. It is a major-- the major-- place to go for Sikh religious pilgrims. It is the Mecca of Sikhism, I think, roughly. It houses a book which I can only talk about as a book because I am not Sikh-- for the Sikhs, this book is essentially the soul/eternal presence of Guru Granth Sahib, the last of ten Gurus (early religious masters of Sikhism) and writer of the book some 500 years ago. This book is put to bed every night somewhere else in the temple complex, and brought back out to the golden temple every morning to resume presiding over the Sikhs.
The temple itself is in the middle of quite a large, squarish pool that is closer the size of a small lake. The temple is accessed from a narrow walkway on one side-- otherwise it is protected by its wide (and beautifully reflective) mote. And, of course, the temple is entirely plated in 24k gold. Around 530 kg of the shiny stuff, according to one source. So, the temple is pretty exciting looking.
I came to the temple thinking it would be something exciting to see, and it was... But I turned out liking this temple, and Sikhism, from what little I know of it, more than I thought. One aspect of the Sikh faith, or at least the Sikh tradition regarding this temple, that I appreciate is that everyone is fed for free. Everyone, and anyone. The temple complex serves 60,000-80,000 meals per day. Meals have included Dal (spiced lentils in their own sauce), a potato dish, chapatis (unleavened bread disks), rice, and a rice pudding (Josh is telling me right now how much he loved the pudding). The meals are served simply-- we sat cross legged with our plates in front of us, in an array of around a thousand other hungry temple-goers, while volunteers walked around with pitchers and vats of food, slopping onto the plate of anyone who was interested. More is served to anyone who wants it-- you sit until you have eaten your fill, then you bring your plate, cup, and spoon to more volunteers collecting dishes. The dishes then go to the volunteer dishwashers. We worked washing dishes yesterday for 30 or 40 minutes, in line with over a hundred other people diligently washing dishes. I was in a soap line, where I scrubbed dishes-- Josh was in a rinse line, where he washed dishes off before putting them on racks to go back into use. I probably scrubbed several hundred plates, seceral hundred bowls, and several hundred spoons standing there in that line, no more than a few seconds to each item, then chuck it on, surrounded by turbaned and bearded Sikh men and colorfully shawled Sikh women. I enjoyed it-- it felt good to give back, and to help out, seeing as I was touristing there holy temple, but it was also peaceful to just do something, to become one of them for a little while, equally washing and splashing soap and cramming dishes onto packed racks. It wasn't the kind of work that your mind is in, though, so before long I was thinking about home...
All of you folks in the United States of America, listen up. You are in an amazing place. You are in what may be the most beautiful country in the world. You are living in a place where sooooo many worries, so many problems and issues that other people worldwide have to deal with are taken out of the way, and you don't even have to know they exist. You are ... This is what everyone tells you. This is what everyone told me. And they told me that going to India would help me to appreciate what I have in America-- warm showers, yada yada. I kind of believed them, but for the most part I figured I was a pretty hard core character and didn't need all that pampering that America gave me (I hate calling it America, by the way, because that is the name of two continents, not a country, but here in India that is all they know it by-- say the United States, and people will ask, "what?"). Right-- I was above that, India wouldn't change me, I appreciated the States for what it was worth, which, for largely political and foreign policy reasons, wasn't much... But I have come to see things differently. The US is truly a fantastic country. It is so clean, and so free, and so, so, so, so -- are you getting this point?-- so beautiful. India is nice. India, if you climb a mountain (Josh and I did, tell you about it in a sec) can be downright gorgeous. And I still have a lot of India to see, so I am really not in a position to make any harsh judgments, but people-- the United states is a far more naturally beautiful place than I ever realized. Josh and I rode our bikes down the interior valley and then down the coast, and we experienced a lot of it. But I know that I, having grown up there, having experienced very little of the rest of the world, did not think that what I was seeing was all that special. I did appreciate it, but... Not as much as I do now. Having forcefully removed myself from that area, and deprived myself from it, I have come to see that it is far more valuable than I ever realized. And that is just the natural aspect of our country. When we start talking about the people... Wow I miss you people. And the voice in my head says that it is just homesickness, but I think that it is also a new value I have come to have for my relationships. My family, my friends. Shit guys, why did I send myself away from you all for this long? Exploring, learning, experiencing new things is nice and all-- but people are very valuable. And I have my people. And I miss them. You know who you are. So this time in India has helped me make some decisions about how I will make other decisions in the future. As much as I wanted to be, and thought I was, an everywhere man... I think it is ok to be a bit tied down. To have a place one belongs, more or less. Mine is the Puget Sound. I rather like it there. And I look forward to tooling around in India for the next two and a half months... But I also look forward to going back home.
Alrighty then. Josh and I climbed a mountain. Or at least it sounds good if you say it that way. In the Himalaya, you have to be pretty well prepared if you plan to undertake climbing something that people actually consider to be a mountain. But we climbed something tall. From Mcleod Ganj, we hiked up to Triund, a pass right up next to the snow covered mountains. It was around a seven mile hike up, with half a mile of elevation change. It is hard to upload images, but if you image search Triund, you get some pictures of the place-- it is pretty amazing. At the top, a wall of snow, ice, and rock several thousand feet high extends across your field of vision, just a kilometer or two away across a deep, forested valley. You feel like you are there, you have made it-- you are at the Himalayas. The ridgetop we were on felt like it came out of Lord of the Rings, just scaled up-- we treked across a landscape of short, yellow-frown scrub grass interspersed with worn, grey boulders, some the size of houses. Some slate-shingled dwellings, unlived in for who knows how many years, were perched occasionally along the hillside. We hung out on top for a while-- I attempted a watercolor, Josh attempted a nap (I think he may have been the most successful)-- and then we decided to take a new route down. We had hiked up on a system of trails (we didn't actually know where we were going, but we just took any trail that seemed to be going up, and eventually we got there) but on our way down, we took a more of the mountain-goat approach. Our destination was clear-- it was a little spec of town far, far down and in the distance. All we had to do was get there. So we chose a direction, and walked, slipped, fell, climbed, and otherwise professionally trekked our way down the mountain. We made it home in successfully, albeit a bit sore.
Then we went to lower Dharamsala.
Then we went to Amritsar.
Did I mention that we went to the hospital, four days ago or so? Josh was clean, and I had double-- bacteria and parasites. Giardia. But now I am feeding them pills along with their Indian food, and I think they may be packing their bags. I am sure I will have new organisms setting up shop in my body in no time. What fun.
Ok, we need to get out of here. We are splitting up, by the way, for a month or so, with plans to get back together in Kolkatta in a monthish. From which we will take a boat to the Andaman Islands. Hopefully. But, yes, we are going to experience trekking it alone through India for a while, so wish us, seperately, luck. Josh might go to Nepal, I might go elephant-back lion hunting. Or something.
Stay well,
Chance
We took a bus here, very far,
So now we're here,
but do not fear,
We'll soon move on to 'splore some mar'.
Amritsar-- city of over a million people, not that that is a special distinction in this country. I looked up some figures out of curiosity, and Delhi has over 12 million, Kolkatta (Calcutta) over 14 million, and Bombay (Mumbai) over 16 million. Almost 17. So there are some larege cities here. Packed places. From my perspective on the ground, so far, any reasonably big city seems pretty much the same. The market streets of Amritsar that I have walked so far have not felt significantly different from the market steets of Delhi. If anything, they are a little wider, and a little cleaner, because for some reason there are no cows here, possibly because of the large Sikh population. Not to say that the cows fled from the Sikhs. I am just guessing that the Sikhs might not worship cows quite as much as Hindus, so they might not feel any compunction for kicking any large grass eating, field-dwelling animals out of this area designed for fried-food eating, asphault dwelling humans.
Amritsar has a golden temple. It is a major-- the major-- place to go for Sikh religious pilgrims. It is the Mecca of Sikhism, I think, roughly. It houses a book which I can only talk about as a book because I am not Sikh-- for the Sikhs, this book is essentially the soul/eternal presence of Guru Granth Sahib, the last of ten Gurus (early religious masters of Sikhism) and writer of the book some 500 years ago. This book is put to bed every night somewhere else in the temple complex, and brought back out to the golden temple every morning to resume presiding over the Sikhs.
The temple itself is in the middle of quite a large, squarish pool that is closer the size of a small lake. The temple is accessed from a narrow walkway on one side-- otherwise it is protected by its wide (and beautifully reflective) mote. And, of course, the temple is entirely plated in 24k gold. Around 530 kg of the shiny stuff, according to one source. So, the temple is pretty exciting looking.
I came to the temple thinking it would be something exciting to see, and it was... But I turned out liking this temple, and Sikhism, from what little I know of it, more than I thought. One aspect of the Sikh faith, or at least the Sikh tradition regarding this temple, that I appreciate is that everyone is fed for free. Everyone, and anyone. The temple complex serves 60,000-80,000 meals per day. Meals have included Dal (spiced lentils in their own sauce), a potato dish, chapatis (unleavened bread disks), rice, and a rice pudding (Josh is telling me right now how much he loved the pudding). The meals are served simply-- we sat cross legged with our plates in front of us, in an array of around a thousand other hungry temple-goers, while volunteers walked around with pitchers and vats of food, slopping onto the plate of anyone who was interested. More is served to anyone who wants it-- you sit until you have eaten your fill, then you bring your plate, cup, and spoon to more volunteers collecting dishes. The dishes then go to the volunteer dishwashers. We worked washing dishes yesterday for 30 or 40 minutes, in line with over a hundred other people diligently washing dishes. I was in a soap line, where I scrubbed dishes-- Josh was in a rinse line, where he washed dishes off before putting them on racks to go back into use. I probably scrubbed several hundred plates, seceral hundred bowls, and several hundred spoons standing there in that line, no more than a few seconds to each item, then chuck it on, surrounded by turbaned and bearded Sikh men and colorfully shawled Sikh women. I enjoyed it-- it felt good to give back, and to help out, seeing as I was touristing there holy temple, but it was also peaceful to just do something, to become one of them for a little while, equally washing and splashing soap and cramming dishes onto packed racks. It wasn't the kind of work that your mind is in, though, so before long I was thinking about home...
All of you folks in the United States of America, listen up. You are in an amazing place. You are in what may be the most beautiful country in the world. You are living in a place where sooooo many worries, so many problems and issues that other people worldwide have to deal with are taken out of the way, and you don't even have to know they exist. You are ... This is what everyone tells you. This is what everyone told me. And they told me that going to India would help me to appreciate what I have in America-- warm showers, yada yada. I kind of believed them, but for the most part I figured I was a pretty hard core character and didn't need all that pampering that America gave me (I hate calling it America, by the way, because that is the name of two continents, not a country, but here in India that is all they know it by-- say the United States, and people will ask, "what?"). Right-- I was above that, India wouldn't change me, I appreciated the States for what it was worth, which, for largely political and foreign policy reasons, wasn't much... But I have come to see things differently. The US is truly a fantastic country. It is so clean, and so free, and so, so, so, so -- are you getting this point?-- so beautiful. India is nice. India, if you climb a mountain (Josh and I did, tell you about it in a sec) can be downright gorgeous. And I still have a lot of India to see, so I am really not in a position to make any harsh judgments, but people-- the United states is a far more naturally beautiful place than I ever realized. Josh and I rode our bikes down the interior valley and then down the coast, and we experienced a lot of it. But I know that I, having grown up there, having experienced very little of the rest of the world, did not think that what I was seeing was all that special. I did appreciate it, but... Not as much as I do now. Having forcefully removed myself from that area, and deprived myself from it, I have come to see that it is far more valuable than I ever realized. And that is just the natural aspect of our country. When we start talking about the people... Wow I miss you people. And the voice in my head says that it is just homesickness, but I think that it is also a new value I have come to have for my relationships. My family, my friends. Shit guys, why did I send myself away from you all for this long? Exploring, learning, experiencing new things is nice and all-- but people are very valuable. And I have my people. And I miss them. You know who you are. So this time in India has helped me make some decisions about how I will make other decisions in the future. As much as I wanted to be, and thought I was, an everywhere man... I think it is ok to be a bit tied down. To have a place one belongs, more or less. Mine is the Puget Sound. I rather like it there. And I look forward to tooling around in India for the next two and a half months... But I also look forward to going back home.
Alrighty then. Josh and I climbed a mountain. Or at least it sounds good if you say it that way. In the Himalaya, you have to be pretty well prepared if you plan to undertake climbing something that people actually consider to be a mountain. But we climbed something tall. From Mcleod Ganj, we hiked up to Triund, a pass right up next to the snow covered mountains. It was around a seven mile hike up, with half a mile of elevation change. It is hard to upload images, but if you image search Triund, you get some pictures of the place-- it is pretty amazing. At the top, a wall of snow, ice, and rock several thousand feet high extends across your field of vision, just a kilometer or two away across a deep, forested valley. You feel like you are there, you have made it-- you are at the Himalayas. The ridgetop we were on felt like it came out of Lord of the Rings, just scaled up-- we treked across a landscape of short, yellow-frown scrub grass interspersed with worn, grey boulders, some the size of houses. Some slate-shingled dwellings, unlived in for who knows how many years, were perched occasionally along the hillside. We hung out on top for a while-- I attempted a watercolor, Josh attempted a nap (I think he may have been the most successful)-- and then we decided to take a new route down. We had hiked up on a system of trails (we didn't actually know where we were going, but we just took any trail that seemed to be going up, and eventually we got there) but on our way down, we took a more of the mountain-goat approach. Our destination was clear-- it was a little spec of town far, far down and in the distance. All we had to do was get there. So we chose a direction, and walked, slipped, fell, climbed, and otherwise professionally trekked our way down the mountain. We made it home in successfully, albeit a bit sore.
Then we went to lower Dharamsala.
Then we went to Amritsar.
Did I mention that we went to the hospital, four days ago or so? Josh was clean, and I had double-- bacteria and parasites. Giardia. But now I am feeding them pills along with their Indian food, and I think they may be packing their bags. I am sure I will have new organisms setting up shop in my body in no time. What fun.
Ok, we need to get out of here. We are splitting up, by the way, for a month or so, with plans to get back together in Kolkatta in a monthish. From which we will take a boat to the Andaman Islands. Hopefully. But, yes, we are going to experience trekking it alone through India for a while, so wish us, seperately, luck. Josh might go to Nepal, I might go elephant-back lion hunting. Or something.
Stay well,
Chance
Friday, December 18, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Because sarcasm can be painful...
Both Josh and I are perfectly fine, and were never that far under the weather. Mom, remember that time after the luke-warm pizza in the Salt Lake City airport? It wasn't as bad as that. Feel free at this point to read Josh's post, below.
much love,
Chance
much love,
Chance
In Reply to some Comments
Drew (North):
English comes and goes. Today we met a kid who introduced himself with a hug. Delighted by his gesture, we kept him as a travel companion. Eventually he asked for new shoes, but instead we gave him a shawl. He spoke English really well, and when I asked where he learned it, he casually replied "the street."
Difficulties - the language barrier, which mostly provides more fun than anything, getting around is hard because you don't always know where you're going yourself, bartering, which is also a lot of fun, and understanding gestures. I'm sure there is more I can't think of immediately, but most of the difficulties prove to be quite entertaining, figuring them out slowly, or with the help of locals, or travelers. Every difficulty and pain so far has brought an equally rewarding adventure I'd say.
Dad:
Thanks for the advice about preventing Delhi Belly. But rather than listening to it, I think we wanted to test ourselves and air on the side of danger. It ended up kicking us in the butt, but overall it was an experience that leaves me feeling like I've been initiated, somehow. I can't explain it really. But all I know is I'm ready. For what? I'm not sure. But I'm ready nevertheless.
Margot:
I wish we could make it to Leh, but the mountain passes are closed via bus meaning we would have to fly. And as well, it gets really, really cold. Maybe this is good? Tell me. But we are up in the mountains now in McLeod Ganj, I'm not sure if you've made it here, but you're absolutely right... mountains.
Greg:
I don't plan on dying anytime soon.
Annie:
The video for Chance was great. I'm not sure either us have fully seen it. I watched it all the way through, but there was no sound. And last time it just wouldn't load when we did have sound. Maybe we'll actually be able to watch it this time.
Craig:
Here is your morsel. E.T. is phoning home. Thanks for the worry. It reminds us that our parents still love us and think of us.
To the Spanish speaker:
You beat me. I tried to translate what I could, but your skills bested mine. I surrender. You win.
Mikk:
I am glad you pay more attention to us than Alicia. That means you really do love us, and we love you too. I am so excited to get back and parkour. We are thinking the the flexibility from yoga could really help. Prepare to be amazed. As well, we want to rock climb. So now be extra prepared.
Malea:
I miss you and the Saulgills. Send my love.
To the anonymous misser of music and me. Reveal yourself!
Con Besos y Amor,
Josh
English comes and goes. Today we met a kid who introduced himself with a hug. Delighted by his gesture, we kept him as a travel companion. Eventually he asked for new shoes, but instead we gave him a shawl. He spoke English really well, and when I asked where he learned it, he casually replied "the street."
Difficulties - the language barrier, which mostly provides more fun than anything, getting around is hard because you don't always know where you're going yourself, bartering, which is also a lot of fun, and understanding gestures. I'm sure there is more I can't think of immediately, but most of the difficulties prove to be quite entertaining, figuring them out slowly, or with the help of locals, or travelers. Every difficulty and pain so far has brought an equally rewarding adventure I'd say.
Dad:
Thanks for the advice about preventing Delhi Belly. But rather than listening to it, I think we wanted to test ourselves and air on the side of danger. It ended up kicking us in the butt, but overall it was an experience that leaves me feeling like I've been initiated, somehow. I can't explain it really. But all I know is I'm ready. For what? I'm not sure. But I'm ready nevertheless.
Margot:
I wish we could make it to Leh, but the mountain passes are closed via bus meaning we would have to fly. And as well, it gets really, really cold. Maybe this is good? Tell me. But we are up in the mountains now in McLeod Ganj, I'm not sure if you've made it here, but you're absolutely right... mountains.
Greg:
I don't plan on dying anytime soon.
Annie:
The video for Chance was great. I'm not sure either us have fully seen it. I watched it all the way through, but there was no sound. And last time it just wouldn't load when we did have sound. Maybe we'll actually be able to watch it this time.
Craig:
Here is your morsel. E.T. is phoning home. Thanks for the worry. It reminds us that our parents still love us and think of us.
To the Spanish speaker:
You beat me. I tried to translate what I could, but your skills bested mine. I surrender. You win.
Mikk:
I am glad you pay more attention to us than Alicia. That means you really do love us, and we love you too. I am so excited to get back and parkour. We are thinking the the flexibility from yoga could really help. Prepare to be amazed. As well, we want to rock climb. So now be extra prepared.
Malea:
I miss you and the Saulgills. Send my love.
To the anonymous misser of music and me. Reveal yourself!
Con Besos y Amor,
Josh
The Road to Recovery
Dear Readers,
I am sorry to say, but Chance and I fell ill just two nights ago. I'm not sure if either of us will survive. A terrible sickness overcame our bodies, taking advantage of our already weak bodies crippled by the snivels. Yes, that is correct, the snivels. A terrible affliction that Merrian-Webster defines as "a run at the nose." Already having trouble with this, this new rarer sickness we contracted hit us hard and unexpected. Some call it... what was it? Oh yeah, "Delhi Belly" or something crazy like that.
Anyways, we had a long, rough night vomiting... out of both ends. Luckily we had support from some travelers we met the day before. They gave us oral rehydration packets and antibiotics. We didn't take the antibiotics, although I was convinced I did until I checked my pocket and it was still there. Apparently it was just a dream, or perhaps a fantasy, tricking my body into feeling somewhat better. For all of Sunday, we lied in bed sleeping and recuperating. We lucked out because we planned to take the train that day to McLeod Ganj. But instead of being responsible, we waited to buy tickets until the day before, but then we found out there would be an emergency charge! So instead we bought tickets for Monday. Close call.
Now we are in McLeod Ganj after an 11 hour train ride, followed by a 2 hour taxi ride. This is the place where the Tibetan government in exile is located. We visited the Dalai Lama's temple, and strolled the town. The way of life here is much more relaxed. Perhaps it is because it isn't peak season, or it is the Tibetan influence, or both. Either way, it is very cool here. It's about 2,000 meters up, so the air is colder and thin, but the views are enchanting. There are many hikes to do, which I am very excited for. Some to small villages, others to waterfalls, and some just to see breathtaking views of the surrounding land from the Himalayas.
It's a short post, yes, but I'm tired from the journey here, so it'll have to do. Maybe Chance will have more to say.
Love,
Josh
I am sorry to say, but Chance and I fell ill just two nights ago. I'm not sure if either of us will survive. A terrible sickness overcame our bodies, taking advantage of our already weak bodies crippled by the snivels. Yes, that is correct, the snivels. A terrible affliction that Merrian-Webster defines as "a run at the nose." Already having trouble with this, this new rarer sickness we contracted hit us hard and unexpected. Some call it... what was it? Oh yeah, "Delhi Belly" or something crazy like that.
Anyways, we had a long, rough night vomiting... out of both ends. Luckily we had support from some travelers we met the day before. They gave us oral rehydration packets and antibiotics. We didn't take the antibiotics, although I was convinced I did until I checked my pocket and it was still there. Apparently it was just a dream, or perhaps a fantasy, tricking my body into feeling somewhat better. For all of Sunday, we lied in bed sleeping and recuperating. We lucked out because we planned to take the train that day to McLeod Ganj. But instead of being responsible, we waited to buy tickets until the day before, but then we found out there would be an emergency charge! So instead we bought tickets for Monday. Close call.
Now we are in McLeod Ganj after an 11 hour train ride, followed by a 2 hour taxi ride. This is the place where the Tibetan government in exile is located. We visited the Dalai Lama's temple, and strolled the town. The way of life here is much more relaxed. Perhaps it is because it isn't peak season, or it is the Tibetan influence, or both. Either way, it is very cool here. It's about 2,000 meters up, so the air is colder and thin, but the views are enchanting. There are many hikes to do, which I am very excited for. Some to small villages, others to waterfalls, and some just to see breathtaking views of the surrounding land from the Himalayas.
It's a short post, yes, but I'm tired from the journey here, so it'll have to do. Maybe Chance will have more to say.
Love,
Josh
Thursday, December 10, 2009
I am 20
That about says it.
Chance
(anybody who commented, sorry, we are in a hurry, but we appreciate your comments, and will respond to them soon)
Chance
(anybody who commented, sorry, we are in a hurry, but we appreciate your comments, and will respond to them soon)
Living the Life
It's the 10th. Meaning it is Chances birthday. We plan on eating dessert. A lot of dessert. Other than that we have no other plans. It is a very fitting celebration for our Rishikesh lifestyle. We go to bed around 8 or 9 at the latest and wake at 8. Our typical day goes like this:
The morning sun barely shining over the Himalayas finds its way through our one open window. Chance is awake before I am, as usual. I lie, enjoying the warmth of my bag as he sits peeling an orange in our blue room. Perhaps once a uniform color, it is now faded, leaving a pattern of varying degrees of blues marked by brush strokes. Bare concrete finds its way through the plaster coat to add more to the rundown look of things. The room is empty albiet our belongings and a single bed for us to share. I turn to my left and sit up, finding my sandals waiting just where I left them. The once ornate floor is covered in dirt, yet the greedy pours of the concrete cling so tight, no amount of sweeping could release it. I reach for my glasses next to my plaster covered journal.
"Oh god.. do I really want to go to yoga?" I think to myself, contemplating lying back down in the embrace ever so lonely bag, getting cold without my affection. "You'll have to wait to tonight," I say, stroking it gently.
Well, the hour is up. Sorry folks. Maybe I'll continue later.
Anyways, we get up, do an hour and a half of yoga until 9:30, go eat and read and drink chai, return to do more yoga at 5 till 6:30, go back to our restaurant above the Holy Ganga, and eat more. Then it's bed time. Mmmmm...gotta love it.
Love,
Josh
The morning sun barely shining over the Himalayas finds its way through our one open window. Chance is awake before I am, as usual. I lie, enjoying the warmth of my bag as he sits peeling an orange in our blue room. Perhaps once a uniform color, it is now faded, leaving a pattern of varying degrees of blues marked by brush strokes. Bare concrete finds its way through the plaster coat to add more to the rundown look of things. The room is empty albiet our belongings and a single bed for us to share. I turn to my left and sit up, finding my sandals waiting just where I left them. The once ornate floor is covered in dirt, yet the greedy pours of the concrete cling so tight, no amount of sweeping could release it. I reach for my glasses next to my plaster covered journal.
"Oh god.. do I really want to go to yoga?" I think to myself, contemplating lying back down in the embrace ever so lonely bag, getting cold without my affection. "You'll have to wait to tonight," I say, stroking it gently.
Well, the hour is up. Sorry folks. Maybe I'll continue later.
Anyways, we get up, do an hour and a half of yoga until 9:30, go eat and read and drink chai, return to do more yoga at 5 till 6:30, go back to our restaurant above the Holy Ganga, and eat more. Then it's bed time. Mmmmm...gotta love it.
Love,
Josh
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Kicked to the Curb
Rejected, thrown away,
Affected, I don't know what to say,
Ejected, cast out to the sea,
Disconnected, they didn't want me.
Unprotected, like a baby in the snow,
Dejected, like a clown without a show,
I objected, pretended I was unaffected,
But still ended up rejected.
Like a cake shop without any cakes,
Like a cornflakes box without any flakes,
Left all alone in the world
Like a little laughing girl
Who's been neglected, feel like I'm cut into two
Or bisected, slung, flung, tossed, threw
Or trajected, treated as though I was infected,
Disconnected
And rejected
--Flight of the Conchords
I feel the poem above accurately illustrates my feelings at this moment. Josh and I just sat down, agreed to pay twenty rupees an hour so that we might check our email, reconnect with the western world, allay our parents' worries, tell everybody we are still having a good time, tell everybody we are alive, tell everybody we have each had four glasses ofchai today at a total cost of less than a dollar each, and may still have more... It has been three days since we have contacted anybody-- three days!-- and we thought, of course, there might be some general anxiety going on as to our safety, or health, or the fit of our trousers-- you know, parents, worrying, always something... So we sat down, moments ago, opened up yeolde email, and... What's this? Nothing? Not a scrap? Not even the electronic shadow of an email? Not even any trash mail? [check the trash] Oh, no, there was some trash... But that only makes things worse. DoesWSU admissions care about me more than my parents? Does Amazon.com care about me more than my brothers? Does
Ok. Whatever. You are all forgiven. Mind over immaterial. Maybe the email failed to go through somehow-- possible-- and maybe I overestimate my importance to you people-- likely. More to the point, you didn't really need to email back at all. It would have just left me with a bunch of responding to do. No. I keep joking. I am sorry. Here is the deal; we are fine, happy, bodily sore, and correctly living in an ashram inRishikesh.
Rishikesh.
This place... Coming here was a moving experience. Delhi was mayhem. Delhi was-- I think I compared it, in my long email that garnered zero responses, to Medusa, and I don't think that illustration does Delhi an injustice. Delhi had a lot going on. Too much for two simple, rich, white, pampered Americans, no matter how adventurous they thought they were. And it wasn't bad, it wasn't bad... It was a bit hectic, a bit this, a bit that... At the bottom of it all, it was a bit much, and we left. We paidrp200, roughly four or five dollars, for bus tickets for the 8 hour night ride to Rishikesh , starting around 9 o'clock. We bought the tickets through a small travel agency, and I am glad we did, because I am not sure how we would have managed it without them. They had a man walk us the ten minutes from the guest house out of thepaharganj and down the street to the random, dark, crowded spot where the bus would stop. He then waited with us for 30 minutes or so as different buses came and left, allindecipherably marked in Hindi script. When the correct bus came, he talked to the driver and got us on through a crowd of Indian travelers. He had us put bring our packson board with us, rather than putting them under the bus as the driver was trying to get us to do. I realized afterwards that, of course-- somebody would have just walked away with our packs in an instant. But our man was looking out for us. And once on the bus, he helped us store the packs safely, one under our seats and the other on our laps. He then argued with the bus driver for a while, because apparently some sort ofmis -booking had occurred, and we were causing a problem by being there, or something... Our man argued for a while, then simply said to us, "do not leave your seats," and then left. I really don't know what was going on, and they still tried to make us move, and we almost did-- but we decided to trust our man. He had got us there. He seemed to have our interests at heart. We stayed. It worked out.
The bus filled, and began to move. We had planned on buying more expensive tickets that would put us on a sleeper bus, or at least something with reclining seats, but none had been available for that night, so we went with the cheap, albeit uncomfortable option. It ended up being impossible for me to sleep on that bus, jostling along through the Indian countryside with Josh's backpack on my lap, but once had reconciled myself with this fact, I didn't mind. India was passing by outside that window, and India was amazing. We passed thatched grass huts, no more than six feet in diameter, shaped like roundedtepees , with nothing but a small hole near the bottom for entry. We passed mysterious hovels billowing with steam or smoke, lit by fluorescent lights and fire, fire, dark, silhouetted bodies laboring at something, something, and the fires, and the bright, bright smoke, and the surrounding darkness, all seemed demonic, necromantic, somehow. We passed many a small fire in the darkness, lone, guttering candles in the black, casting that ephemeral glare on a dark form,unmoving , hunched, huddled against the chill of the cold, dark India behind them. And we passed so many towns, villages, cities, men sitting together drinkingchai near their bicycle rickshaws, men living the nightly India on the edge of our thin strip of dirt and pavement, on the edge of a thousand passingbusses, cars, trucks.
When we got off of the bus, around five in the morning, we were not in Rishikesh. We were 15-20 km away, in Haridwar. We took an autorickshaw and a bus to downtown Rishikesh, and then another autorickshaw to Ram Jula, a footbridge crossing the Ganga river. The other side of Rishikesh was, is, the religious side, where no cars are aloud, and somewhere over there, we had been told, we would find our ashram.
The autorickshaw let us off several hundred meters from the bridge, so we began walking. The wind was blowing. It was not cold, but it was cool, and it was crisp, and it smelled, it tasted, so clean. The wind felt soft, somehow, almost liquid, rippling around my clothes, flowing along my skin. We walked along the holyGanga river, toward the bridge, and the world was silent except for the sound of the Ganga alongside us, wide yet swift, a whispering rush, a caress as welcome as the cool wind. And the mountains. Visible, past the buildings and dwellings on the other side of the river, was the sharp rise of the Himalayas-- just the beginnings, just the foothills, but already high, sharp, and imposing, harbingers of the greatest mountain range in the world. The world was so smooth, just then, so very smooth, and you could reach out and lay your hand on it, and feel it's smoothness... And if your breathing was very steady, and your heart calm, you could feel it, could feel the slightest vibration, a hum, somewhere deep, so deep it felt like it was a part of you, in your chest, maybe in your heart itself. We walked this smooth world, meandered through wandering cows and sleeping bodies, until we reached the bridge. And mounted it.
Upon the bridge, the wind blew harder. The bridge was long, over a hundred meters, and we began to walk out upon it. The morning had begun. We walked out upon that span into a brightening,re-lightening world; the Holy Ganga below us, grey-green in the early light, spoke with a resounding hush, like a long sigh... The dark green of the great Himalaya towered above us, as if the pastel pinks and blues of the morning sky itself had been chiseled away to reveal its presence... To our left, theGanga wound its way up between those hillsides, to some faraway destination... And the wind... The fluid wind enveloped, it enfolded, it embraced... and its embrace was cathartic. We stopped on that bridge, we stood right in the middle, and we breathed. There were tears in my eyes, and I am not sure if they were from the wind, or if they were from something else... We looked, we listened, and we breathed. And then we continued walking.
We walked to the other side, and we talked to somebody for directions, and, eventually, we found our way to the ashram. We got a room We went to sleep. It had been a long night. I was very happy to be inRishikesh.
Since then, we have been doing yoga (which I think may be literally tearing me apart) at the ashram and exploring Rishikesh. And not exploring Rishikesh. When it costs rp10 for good chai, and you can just sit in the shade and drink it all day on the top floor of a small restaurant, overlooking the Ganga, it is hard to convince yourself that there is anything else in this world worth experiencing. So we did that today for five hours or so. But we have been walking around, and talking around, and we are enjoying ourselves.
Ok-- time is up. That is the post. Be well.
Chance
Oh, and the correct answer to the poll was Fideo.
Affected, I don't know what to say,
Ejected, cast out to the sea,
Disconnected, they didn't want me.
Unprotected, like a baby in the snow,
Dejected, like a clown without a show,
I objected, pretended I was unaffected,
But still ended up rejected.
Like a cake shop without any cakes,
Like a cornflakes box without any flakes,
Left all alone in the world
Like a little laughing girl
Who's been neglected, feel like I'm cut into two
Or bisected, slung, flung, tossed, threw
Or trajected, treated as though I was infected,
Disconnected
And rejected
--Flight of the Conchords
I feel the poem above accurately illustrates my feelings at this moment. Josh and I just sat down, agreed to pay twenty rupees an hour so that we might check our email, reconnect with the western world, allay our parents' worries, tell everybody we are still having a good time, tell everybody we are alive, tell everybody we have each had four glasses ofchai today at a total cost of less than a dollar each, and may still have more... It has been three days since we have contacted anybody-- three days!-- and we thought, of course, there might be some general anxiety going on as to our safety, or health, or the fit of our trousers-- you know, parents, worrying, always something... So we sat down, moments ago, opened up yeolde email, and... What's this? Nothing? Not a scrap? Not even the electronic shadow of an email? Not even any trash mail? [check the trash] Oh, no, there was some trash... But that only makes things worse. DoesWSU admissions care about me more than my parents? Does Amazon.com care about me more than my brothers? Does
Vote_now_for_a_$50_VISA_Gift_Card!
care about me more than my friends? Apparently.Ok. Whatever. You are all forgiven. Mind over immaterial. Maybe the email failed to go through somehow-- possible-- and maybe I overestimate my importance to you people-- likely. More to the point, you didn't really need to email back at all. It would have just left me with a bunch of responding to do. No. I keep joking. I am sorry. Here is the deal; we are fine, happy, bodily sore, and correctly living in an ashram inRishikesh.
Rishikesh.
This place... Coming here was a moving experience. Delhi was mayhem. Delhi was-- I think I compared it, in my long email that garnered zero responses, to Medusa, and I don't think that illustration does Delhi an injustice. Delhi had a lot going on. Too much for two simple, rich, white, pampered Americans, no matter how adventurous they thought they were. And it wasn't bad, it wasn't bad... It was a bit hectic, a bit this, a bit that... At the bottom of it all, it was a bit much, and we left. We paidrp200, roughly four or five dollars, for bus tickets for the 8 hour night ride to Rishikesh , starting around 9 o'clock. We bought the tickets through a small travel agency, and I am glad we did, because I am not sure how we would have managed it without them. They had a man walk us the ten minutes from the guest house out of thepaharganj and down the street to the random, dark, crowded spot where the bus would stop. He then waited with us for 30 minutes or so as different buses came and left, allindecipherably marked in Hindi script. When the correct bus came, he talked to the driver and got us on through a crowd of Indian travelers. He had us put bring our packson board with us, rather than putting them under the bus as the driver was trying to get us to do. I realized afterwards that, of course-- somebody would have just walked away with our packs in an instant. But our man was looking out for us. And once on the bus, he helped us store the packs safely, one under our seats and the other on our laps. He then argued with the bus driver for a while, because apparently some sort ofmis -booking had occurred, and we were causing a problem by being there, or something... Our man argued for a while, then simply said to us, "do not leave your seats," and then left. I really don't know what was going on, and they still tried to make us move, and we almost did-- but we decided to trust our man. He had got us there. He seemed to have our interests at heart. We stayed. It worked out.
The bus filled, and began to move. We had planned on buying more expensive tickets that would put us on a sleeper bus, or at least something with reclining seats, but none had been available for that night, so we went with the cheap, albeit uncomfortable option. It ended up being impossible for me to sleep on that bus, jostling along through the Indian countryside with Josh's backpack on my lap, but once had reconciled myself with this fact, I didn't mind. India was passing by outside that window, and India was amazing. We passed thatched grass huts, no more than six feet in diameter, shaped like roundedtepees , with nothing but a small hole near the bottom for entry. We passed mysterious hovels billowing with steam or smoke, lit by fluorescent lights and fire, fire, dark, silhouetted bodies laboring at something, something, and the fires, and the bright, bright smoke, and the surrounding darkness, all seemed demonic, necromantic, somehow. We passed many a small fire in the darkness, lone, guttering candles in the black, casting that ephemeral glare on a dark form,unmoving , hunched, huddled against the chill of the cold, dark India behind them. And we passed so many towns, villages, cities, men sitting together drinkingchai near their bicycle rickshaws, men living the nightly India on the edge of our thin strip of dirt and pavement, on the edge of a thousand passingbusses, cars, trucks.
When we got off of the bus, around five in the morning, we were not in Rishikesh. We were 15-20 km away, in Haridwar. We took an autorickshaw and a bus to downtown Rishikesh, and then another autorickshaw to Ram Jula, a footbridge crossing the Ganga river. The other side of Rishikesh was, is, the religious side, where no cars are aloud, and somewhere over there, we had been told, we would find our ashram.
The autorickshaw let us off several hundred meters from the bridge, so we began walking. The wind was blowing. It was not cold, but it was cool, and it was crisp, and it smelled, it tasted, so clean. The wind felt soft, somehow, almost liquid, rippling around my clothes, flowing along my skin. We walked along the holyGanga river, toward the bridge, and the world was silent except for the sound of the Ganga alongside us, wide yet swift, a whispering rush, a caress as welcome as the cool wind. And the mountains. Visible, past the buildings and dwellings on the other side of the river, was the sharp rise of the Himalayas-- just the beginnings, just the foothills, but already high, sharp, and imposing, harbingers of the greatest mountain range in the world. The world was so smooth, just then, so very smooth, and you could reach out and lay your hand on it, and feel it's smoothness... And if your breathing was very steady, and your heart calm, you could feel it, could feel the slightest vibration, a hum, somewhere deep, so deep it felt like it was a part of you, in your chest, maybe in your heart itself. We walked this smooth world, meandered through wandering cows and sleeping bodies, until we reached the bridge. And mounted it.
Upon the bridge, the wind blew harder. The bridge was long, over a hundred meters, and we began to walk out upon it. The morning had begun. We walked out upon that span into a brightening,re-lightening world; the Holy Ganga below us, grey-green in the early light, spoke with a resounding hush, like a long sigh... The dark green of the great Himalaya towered above us, as if the pastel pinks and blues of the morning sky itself had been chiseled away to reveal its presence... To our left, theGanga wound its way up between those hillsides, to some faraway destination... And the wind... The fluid wind enveloped, it enfolded, it embraced... and its embrace was cathartic. We stopped on that bridge, we stood right in the middle, and we breathed. There were tears in my eyes, and I am not sure if they were from the wind, or if they were from something else... We looked, we listened, and we breathed. And then we continued walking.
We walked to the other side, and we talked to somebody for directions, and, eventually, we found our way to the ashram. We got a room We went to sleep. It had been a long night. I was very happy to be inRishikesh.
Since then, we have been doing yoga (which I think may be literally tearing me apart) at the ashram and exploring Rishikesh. And not exploring Rishikesh. When it costs rp10 for good chai, and you can just sit in the shade and drink it all day on the top floor of a small restaurant, overlooking the Ganga, it is hard to convince yourself that there is anything else in this world worth experiencing. So we did that today for five hours or so. But we have been walking around, and talking around, and we are enjoying ourselves.
Ok-- time is up. That is the post. Be well.
Chance
Oh, and the correct answer to the poll was Fideo.
Friday, December 4, 2009
India
After three long flights, bad movies, documentaries about the Lufthansa Airlines way, complementary alcohol, blankets, and pillows, we arrived in Delhi, India. It was 2:30am, the night air was warm, and people crowded the exit of the airport. After eyeing down an autorickshaw we bargained our way down to 300 rupees for our 15km ride to our hotel. Perhaps still overpriced, we jumped in exhilarated about our bargaining skills and the hectic ride to come. After a couple of kilometers, the driver pulled off to the side of the road and got out, obviously not our destination, we enquired as to what he was doing. "Friend, friend" is all he would say, repeating himself over and over. We sat there, confused, impatient, and perhaps scared, not knowing anything really. Not the language, or the customs, or where the hell we were, or why he stopped, or who his friend was, or why was this friend important. Nothing. So many things running through our heads, yet there was no way to figure any of them out. And then the driver, in a nonchalant fashion, beckoned us out, pointing to his friend in the rickshaw behind. All of that exciment, fear, and mistrust, only to find out a new rickshaw driver would be taking us their. Our first driver took his commision and and returned back to the airport, and the ride resumed. Simply using the lanes as minor suggestions, we cruised down the road honking as we passed in our convinient "third lane" the driver would create out of the two that existed. At one point, the driver attemped to pass inbetween two trucks. What was a "wide" gap between the two became smaller and smaller, as our driver honked furiously. Shit, was all I could think as we niether slowed down or sped up. I knew we would make it somehow, thinking of Luke, Han Solo, Chewbacca, and Leia narrowly escaping the garbage compactor on Death Star I. Luckily, or perhaps logically, the driver braked as the gap closed, narrowly dodging deaths hand. Finally we made it to Pahar Ganj, yet the driver was unsure of where the guest house was. He pointed down a dark alley, guessing it might be down there. Before paying I checked it out, wandering down the winding path. Stray dogs stared me down as if it were a showdown between two cowboys, I stared back unwaiveringly, and the dogs would run with their tail between their legs. I could not find the place we were looking for, but I did find one that was still open and would suffice. We paid the driver and returned to the guest house. 300 rupees for the night, again, maybe overpriced, but I really didn't know and didn't care. I just wanted a safe place to sleep. We agreed and woke up three hours later to find morning. Chance decided he had enough sleep and started to get up. I couldn't disagree more, yet my excitment of the undiscovered pulled me out of bed. It was early, 6 or 7 maybe when we decided to get some breakfast. We looked for some cafes avoiding the street food, not knowing if our stomachs could handle it just yet. After walking for twenty minutes, we found no open cafes and decided to go for it. We found the next vendor curiously looking at what it was he was making. A man approached us giving the prices. "10 rupees each, or 25 if three." We watched the cook lathering uncooked dough patties with oil then throwing them on the hot metal surface. They sat us down and served us one at a time with a tray of fresh yogurt. We were pleasantly surprised to find that the bread was filled with potatoes and spices. I was in awe of the beautiful simplicity of the food, filled with its hidden surprises. Once finished, we paid our 40 rupees for 6 and walked back. I took a nap as Chance wrote in his journal, waiting for the streets to open. We left our first guest house to get to our recommended one, the Hare Rama Guest House. At this point, the streets are bustling with backpacking tourists, street vendors, rickshaw drivers, touts, mopeds, cows, and the most heartwrenching and compelling beggars I have seen, crawling along the streets with no legs, diseased and thin. We continued wandering until our stomachs began to growl, this time deciding to eat at a restaraunt. We returned to our hotel where, on the top floor is a good place to eat. We lounged, listening to the horns and living streets below, relaxed, enjoying the cool breeze in the warm air. We wandered some more, bartering for some clothes, and soon returned to the top floor to read and write. It was then when Chance's lack of sleep directed him to our room for a short nap. I stayed continuing my reading for about a half an hour more until 5pm or so. I left my books at the front desk and walked the streets. Soon I was approached by a kind man who I had a short conversation with. He asked where I was going and I responded that I was exploring. He said he had a tea shop down the road five minutes and invited me over. Wary but excited I asked what the name was. Quickly he pulled out a card and showed me, having forgotten his name, I was not really sure if it was his tea shop or not but I decided to follow, due to the fact I had nothing else to do. He tought me some Hindi and told me of all the places to visit in the city and in India. He asked if I had yet gotten a map of Delhi, I said no, to which he quickly responded he knew where to get one on the way to his shop. We get to a travel agency for tourists and instead of grabbing a free map he takes me to a private room with an agent. Damn. My "friend" was a tout and I got scammed. Annoyed, I listened to the agent, got good advice, drank as much of their chai as I could, and tried to end the conversation as quickly as possible. But soon he began making calls and giving me prices for a city in Kashmir. It included a week stay in a boat house, flight from there and back, and food. Only $365. I was a walking dollar bill. I told them I had to talk to my friend and get back to them. I asked for the prices and info to be written down and for a card to call back. I tried acting as earnest as possible so I could leave without trouble. But this guy was persistent. Instead, they said my "friend" would walk me back to the hotel to get my friend and we would come back. I said ok just to get out of that place, that way I would only have to shake off the tout, rather than the agent too. So we walked out and I commended the tout on his good business skills and told him goodbye. But of course that was not enough. Again, this guy was persistent. Trying to take me to clothes stores, sell me bricks of hashish, anything he could think of. Finally he realizes I am not going to buy anything and stops. By this time we are near the hotel, and he says to meet him in the spot in ten minutes once I have talked to my friend. Finally. I hurry down the street back to the hotel. A couple of hours had passed and I expected Chance to be up. But alas, in my already foul mood he was not. Locked out of the room after minutes of pounding on the door I climbed the stairs to my rooftop sanctuary. Feeling betrayed, and hurt by this friendship I thought I had made, I sat to think and watch the streets below. After an hour or so, I attempted to wake Chance out of his deep sleep. It worked! Finally. Exhausted, we decided to eat in the restaurant upstairs. We ate and rushed to the room. Sleep. We woke, got some street food, and are now here at our hotel, checked out, using the internet for our faithful blog followers. We plan on taking the bus to Rishikesh tonight, and will arrive in the morning. The city is amazing, but we want to figure out the customs, and Indian lifestyle in a more relaxing environment. Rishikesh is know for meditation and yoga, which we are very excited for. Apparently, the Beatles wrote a lot of the songs off of the White Album there. Cool. Anyways, we are alive and well. No Delhi Belly yet.
Love,
Josh
Love,
Josh
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
