Micronomicon Abroad II

Micronomicon's Index

2010-02-19T00:33:00.002+05:30

(3 Jan 2008- 18 Feb 2010)

Nights away : 777
Places slept : 288
Nights unpaid accommodation : 240

Days in India : 278
Cheapest Room (Mille, Ethiopia) : $0.77
Most expensive room (Swakopmund, Namibia) :$338

New Countries : 18
Countries : 23
Countries traveled (all time) : 58
Cape Town to Cairo : 10 months

Books Read : 144
Number of days I didn't write : 0
Postcards and letters sent : 171
Financial entries : about 8000
Approximate expenses unaccounted for : 0.001% (less than $20)

Most expensive visa & fees (Sudan) : $350
Longest visa (India, obtained in USA) : 10 years

Backpack : 15 pounds
Pairs of pants : 2
Pairs of shoes : 1

Incidents where I involved police : 5
(Egypt 2, Oman 1, India 1, Bangladesh 1)
Harassment case settlement, Oman : $971

1 Day quad-biking adventure, Swaziland : $71
1 hour internet, Sudan : $0.80
Single application Pantene shampoo packet, Egypt : $0.045
2 pairs complete eyeglasses, Egypt : $62
Overnight 1st class ferry cabin for 2, Bangladesh : $22
Visit to fancy cafe, India - latte, chocolate cake, tip : $2.50
Lalibela (rock-hewn churches) multiple-day ticket, Ethiopia : $23

Vegetables and chapati, India : $0.30
Tea, Bangladesh : $0.06
Macchiato, Ethiopia : $0.25
Fried street snack, Malawi : $0.03
Street falafel sandwich, Egypt : $0.18
Fast food, Lesotho : $2.50
Rice and beans, Tanzania : $1.25
Kenyan "pizza" : $0.67
Apple bottled soda, Sudan : $0.20
Huge Lebanese Meat Feast, Oman : $5.50

East Africa

2009-12-06T14:38:00.002+05:30

I was happy to leave Mozambique and even happier to find a painless hitch! At a small hostel on lha de Moçambique I met a couple and small baby in traveling all the way up the coast and into Tanzania...

The prospect of three solid and difficult travel days dissipated and I spent two comfortable days in the front seat of a 4WD. We overnighted right before the river border, expecting an easy crossover... However, once we saw the dirt ridge that dropped off several meters into the Ruvoma River, it seemed unlikely that the ferry ran at all. Had I been crossing alone, I would have climbed down and taken a canoe. They paid a hefty fee (over $200 US, though his NGO would cover it) to have local men rope together three boats and take us across...

In Tanzania I was all over the place- tiny towns up the cost; Mafia Island (I visited for the name alone); Dar Es Salaam, the dirty and semi-modern, crumpled and terrible cramped non-capital; buses and more buses; on safari (see below!); and Zanzibar...

This is the Ngorongoro crater,

After a while, the lions got a little commonplace while on Safari:

This was one of my favorite moments, if not apex of the safari- it was exilerating to see so many different animals around each other.

Excited Zebra:

Maasai Woman:

Maasai merchants crowding the Land Rover:

The others in my small group didn't want to see Olduvai Gorge, but for me, it was mecca.

Northern Tanzania:

Zanzibar Monkeys:

When things start to get easy, I start to get uneasy, and it was soon time to make my way into Kenya. The highlights: Maasai, safaris, coastal beauty were covered in Tanzania for me, so I made it a quick trip. Soon I headed for Ethiopia on the awful, long and quite dangerous road. I went in a truck- sitting in the cab with 4 others for 25 hours! We left the town of Isiolo at 9pm and arrived the next night in Moyale at 10pm. The day we were traveling, we heard of three bandit attacks. One merchant with a small shop in Archer's Post was stabbed just 1 hour before we arrived.

Ethiopia

Ethiopia is a world away. I had been getting into swahili culture and language (hakuna matata! asante sana!) after nearly two months in Tanzania and Kenya, and again, all of a sudden, everything changed. The faces, the food, the language, the script and customs. Most of all, I never got used to the fact that most Ethiopians believe breathing outside air while in a moving vehicle will make you sick. This meant that bearable -if uncomfortable- transport on long bumpy roads in crowded quarters became insufferable. I always tried to sit near a working window, but the sneaky moments of pushing windows open centimeter by centimeter were met with complaints as if arctic winds had covercome us.

I've taken more than 25,000 photos on this trip (yet to be verified). Some have been deleted and entire cards erased by mistake. There are always themes- jumping children, street stalls and vendors, countryside, dirty hotels, and the people that ask for their photo to be taken:

The staple food of Ethiopia is injera, a sour, cool and damp pancake made from teff and wheat, served with meat, lentils, vegetable or just spices. Below is a photo of the rainbow food ye som mehgib, also known as fasting food, eaten by Christian Ethiopians on Wednesdays and Fridays.

On a side trip from Addis Ababa I visited the spectacular crater near Ambo, Lake Wanchi.

22 Months!

2009-11-10T18:48:00.003+05:30

670 nights
250 places slept
2.68 nights per place average

Dorms...................................148 nights..........22%

Transport................................52 nights...........8%

Private Rm w/ bath................146 nights..........22%
Private Rm w/ shared bath.....251 nights..........37%

Shared Rm w/ bath................39 nights............6%
Shared Rm w/ shared bath.....34 nights............5%

Free Nights: 146
-- hosted in Peace Corps Regional homes, Peace Corps
volunteer's residences, with families I met on the street,
with friends of friends, in a dozen countries

Nights with Television............47 nights............7%

Most different places in one month: 18

Longest stretch in one place: 26 nights

Most transport nights in one month: 6
-- buses, trains, airports, trucks, train station floors!

Most places slept in one weeks time: 7

Longest stretch of one night per place: 6

Most dorm nights in one month: 25

Cheapest paid accommodation: $1.60 Private Room with bath; India

Most expensive paid accommodation: $215; Namibia (not paid by me)

Nights Camping: 4 (Botswana and Tanzania; classified as shared rooms

Southern Africa

2009-11-08T16:09:00.004+05:30

It has been strange, new, tiring. Alternately, I feel invigorated and disenchanted. Like nowhere else I see wasted resources, corruption and suffering without recourse. The beauty of travel is becoming connected to places on maps. When they become alive in 11 dimensions, multiple senses and emotions, they become difficult to ignore.

Landing in Johannesburg in April was a shock. It had been over a year since I regularly saw white people! Everyone spoke Afrikaans to me, and I usually nodded in ignorant agreement. Warming to the country proved impossible for me. I felt near-constant stress. Many of the white South Africans I met made statements that were outright racist. I'm under no impression that race relations in my own country, the United States, are healthy and happy, but I feel that people usually think about the company they are in before making such remarks. Whites that I met told me how dangerous it was, that blacks would stab you for a phone or wallet, reach into a car window with a club, knife or gun. My fear became palpable and a source of shame. I felt nervous much of the time, and found myself at places with almost no black people. I wondered if I was in Africa.

The goal is making it from Cape Town to Cairo. This is a view of Cape Town:

South African Train:

Hitchhiking to Lesotho:

I spent a couple weeks in Lesotho, which is entirely surrounded by South Africa. It was breathtaking. The country has the world's highest low point, at 1400 meters.

I also spent a short while in Swaziland which was more similar to SA and quite developed.

Since I was so close I decided to go to Botswana. I visited the capital of Gaberone and then heading north to Maun, the base for visiting the Okavango Delta. I took a speed boad trip into the Delta which included a traditional mokoro (dugout canoe) tour and also a walking safari:

From Botswana I headed to Namibia. Near the Tropic of Capricorn on the Atlantic Ocean I saw these flamingos. I also saw the hospital where Angelina Jolie gave birth. An inordinate number of locals I met told me about her visit and how much Namibians don't care about celebrities...

From Namibia I headed to Zambia and Zimbabwe, where I saw Victoria Falls. I made three visits, one during the day on each side and one full moon visit on the Zambian side.

In Zimbabwe I took an elephant Safari:

Zambia:

On of the highlights of Livingstone, Zambia, is the adventure activities. These are all me:

I spent some time in Malawi, which I loved, and I finally started to really feel like I was in AFRICA! I'm not sure why I don't have any photos! Here are some from Mozambique... It was an odd place: fully African, Portugese-speaking, and predominantly Muslim.

Soon to come: bits and pieces of East Africa!

India -> Arabia

2009-08-14T11:57:00.000+05:30

Some place other than India meant leaving India. It would be redundant to repeat the myriad of reasons why the thought vexed me, let alone doing it. Beyond anything, I was caught up in the process, in the trains and buses, planes, checkouts, and goodbyes. So much so that I did not plan a thing. This is how it went.

From India to Oman

1. March 29th - The train. 580 INR; $11 USD

I took a long train across central India from Calcutta to Mumbai. The journey had me in near sweltering weather from the evening of the 29th through the 30th and I arrived the morning of the 31st.

2. March 31 - Toilet Bath. 5 INR; $0.10 USD

I was weary, excited, hot. Unfortunately there was not a proper shower available in the train station so I semi-bathed (something I have become accustomed to- necessity often means only a trickle of water, ice cold water or bucket baths). So I did the best I could with water from a high stray pipe in a bathroom stall. Afterwards I threw some of the clothing I had been wearing away.

During the day I walked the streets, looked for African guidebooks, stuffed in as much Indian/Spicy food as I could, attempted to escape the heat, and thought only of what I was leaving behind- nothing of what lay ahead.

That morning I took in an air conditioned café where I enjoyed a $1.30 USD coffee drink and then I went to the movies to see the disappointing Naomi Watts/Clive Owen thriller The International for $1.60 USD. I traded 9 books for 1 book, drank sugar cane juice on the street, had another treat at an air conditioned spot and tried to drink enough water so I would finally need the bathroom- I was all sweating out.

3. “Fancy” Dinner. 200 INR; $4 USD

That evening I shared a large meal with a friend (total 200 INR; $4 USD). Since my flight was in the middle of the night, early early morning April 1st, we didn’t sleep. We went back to his place and I was able to have a proper shower and get my things together. The local train to his apartment outside of town cost .30 cents.

I took an auto-rickshaw to the airport around 1 or 2 am. It cost less than $2 USD. While I waited for my flight I ate Pizza Hut. It was nice to have melting cheese (In India I mostly only had access to paneer, which is delicious, but like large chunks of cottage cheese). However, I am embarrassed that this was my last meal in my favorite country.

4. April 1 - BOMBAY --> ABU DHABI $439 (included onward flight to Johannesburg)

An Etihad Airlines employee agreed to bump me to business class, but then she looked at my shoes (Chacos) and apologized, citing a dress code. Sorry, Ma'am.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed the flight. When traveling long hours from place to place no one can begrudge me my favorite pastimes- filling pages with little words and crunching numbers (costs, places I have slept, countries visited).

But I made a huge mistake. I forgot that getting on the plane and enjoying endless trays of food and many hours of playtime meant that I would have to get off the plane and navigate a new world.

5. Abu Dhabi; bus from airport to town; 3DR; $1.25 USD

I got some dirham and scratched United Arab Emirates onto a list somewhere, and stood in front of the airport scared.

My luggage is light; I have one pair of shoes, 2 pairs of pants and just a few shirts. My clothes are modest, kept clean and in fairly good condition. But I felt completely out of place when I arrived in Abu Dhabi. The country has only 13% Nationals; 87% of the population is foreign-born. Now, even though that is made up mostly of blue-collar Bangladeshi, Indian, and Pakistani workers, there are plenty of visible Westerners. These are the people that scared me. Women in high heels and manicured bee-hives, with Fendi shoulder bags and designer wheeled-luggage.

Sitting on the curb I decided to leave the UAE immediately.

6. Bus & Shared Taxi, 15DR, $4.25 USD

After the bus into town I got another bus and then a shared taxi to one of the Oman border posts.

In true unprepared fashion, I was, well- unprepared. In India and similar places, this is alright. I have always found towns on the other side of borders. Why wouldn’t there be a town?

There wasn’t.

I arrived on the Oman side to... Nothing. Beyond the immigration and customs building there was... sand.

7.Hitching +20OR; +$52 USD

I hitched. The Omani man was so kind and helpful that he dropped me at a taxi stand and insisted on giving me some local money- over $50 dollars. This behavior would be indicative of Muslims I met all over Oman- they truly believed they served God when they helped anyone.

From the small town of Ibri I was able to make my way to Muscat and start my adventure out of India...

Going To Die

2009-08-03T13:23:00.001+05:30

I arrived in Malawi July 31, after a long stay in Zambia. Aside from adventure activities which included a lot of jumping and screaming, I spent 3 weeks in the capital volunteering.

On a whim, I was invited to Lusaka. It turned out that my friend and host lived nearly next door to a Catholic Mission with a school, orphanage and hospice. In Texas I spent years volunteering in similar places with children and adults, and even ended up doing my Master's thesis at an AIDS hospice. I went back to Livingstone, visited Zimbabwe, then returned to Lusaka to stay with my friend and volunteer.

I spent the majority of my time in the male ward of the hospice/home. But several times a day I would visit the women and when I felt down I would see the dozens of babies- usually at the end of a day. They were in small cribs, 20+ to a room, and often they were alone. However, every time I saw other foreigners they were with the babies or toddlers. The children were lonely. They barely cried, even when 3 or 4 others in the same room seemed inconsolable. Without discretion, they wanted to be held, and those tiny grips echoed on my fingers and neck every night.

I felt more needed with the adults. In Texas, my volunteer work there included bed baths, changing catheters and diapers, wound care, cleaning the deceased, cooking, anything and everything. Soon I was "Sister Maya" ( I am not Catholic), but the job was easier than before since women did not touch or see unclothed men. So, I held hands, asked questions, made jokes, helped serve food.

Remember that film, "The Shawshank Redemption"? Everyone in the prison was "innocent". Everyone at the Mission spoke of TB or Malaria, no one spoke of HIV/AIDS; no one was HIV-positive.

The average life expectancy in Zambia is 42 (up from 37 a few years ago). In the United States, 78.

There was a young man, L., aged 26. He had been a teacher. We talked a lot my first two days at "Mother Teresa" and planned to put a letter together for his 7 year-old daughter. On day 3 he seemed to have deteriorated rapidly overnight. He no longer spoke and vomited blood, bile, water. I left early that day to hold babies- he died in the afternoon. That same evening a man nearby- S., with a beautiful, glowing smile died too. We didn't talk much, but I had spent time with him. The next morning when I arrived I found out the news and decided to accompany the bodies to the mortuary. I was glad to see their faces one last time, to say goodbye.

In a van packed with L., S. and some assistants to carry them, as well as people with hospital appointments, we set off. First we stopped at a police station. This procedure was common and quick, and the forms stating cause of death were soon stamped and signed.

At the hospital we pulled up to an unmarked room. There were drunk and somber people milling about and two waiting bodies already inside the room. We moved L. and S. inside and waited. Once the room was full a doctor was summoned to confirm the deceased. Then we moved the bodies down to one of the several mortuary rooms.

L. and S., not large, were hard to lift and the assistants struggled to push their limp bodies onto long, high shelves.

I stood alone in the ice cold tomb and said a secular prayer. The room was the size of a large classroom, rectangular and sparse, long rows of stacked shelves ran along the walls. There were about 40 adult bodies and 15 baby and toddler-sized bodies mixed in. All of the bodies were wrapped in sheets, feet and hands sticking out, sometimes a torso bare to the cold.

A week later I spent some time having a one-way conversation with a man who was "active", actively dying. He listened to me and I tried to listen to his eyes and small movements. He managed to only say a few words to me. I leaned in, guilty at his effort: "Going. To. Die... I am... going to... die." Those were his last words and he died a few hours later.

42 Things, Part Three

2009-03-26T09:29:00.001+05:30

29. Returning to Nepal

Another visit to the children and places I loved so much the first time around was a joy. Thought the children had grown, some rocky steps became more smooth and my experiences in Asia had expanded, the place still holds magic for me.

30. Unpaid Work

31. Bangladesh

32. Safari

After some frustration in a small town dependent on tourism, I was talked into a "safari" at a close-by National Park. It turned out to be a fantastic day, and one of my absolute favorites on the Indian Subcontinent.

33. Swimming

On the way home from the safari, our guide stopped the jeep and invited us to swim in a small river. The Dutch guy I was with, Peter, was too worried about getting sick, but I had a great time! I swam in my clothes...

34. Jeep Dancing

We dried off by dancing in the back of the open jeep on the way back.

35. Gwalior

36. Rickshaws

37. Highway Spotting

38. Babas

A close relative of a friend died young and unexpectedly. I was invited to view the body at the family home and see the body off to be cremated. We waited hours for the body to finish and as the sun started to set a group of 35-40 Babas, or Holy men, descended on the temple.

40. Children

41. Chicken

42. Humanity

42 Things, Part Two

2009-03-20T20:32:00.002+05:30

15. New Buddha

In 2005, on my way from Kathmandu into India I stopped and visited a boy lauded as the New Buddha. I was able to see him almost exactly 3 years later when he returned to the spot where he was meditating years ago to give blessings.

16. Dichotomy

At an unexpected t-shirt festival in Dhaka, Bangladesh, I was pulled aside and invited to be interviewed on the radio. Later day I saw a man begging on a sidewalk- his legs bent frontwards at the knees. They were skinny, spindly little things. I could look him in the eye, but I couldn't look at his legs.

17. Boi Mela

In January 2008 I wasted a lot of time waiting for the Boi Mela, or Book Fair, to materialize after protests and complaints about excessive pollution in years past. I was able to attend this year, seeing many of the same Bengali chitras, or artists (like the girl pictured below) I met at the fair in 2006.

18. Rahim and Baby

The reason I went to Bangladesh after having sworn it off last year was because of Rahim and Baby, a middle-aged couple from a city near the capital, Dhaka. I met them one night in Calcutta and for some reason they really wanted me to come and stay with them. So I did.

19. HOT MILK

One of the beauties of Indian travel is street delights, including piping hot sweet milk.

20. Monkeys

My best memories include monkeys, and the monkeys in Agra at Akbar's Mausoleum are some of my favorite in India.

THIS PHOTO from a previous visit deserves another look.

21. Assault

This man in the middle of this photo sexually assaulted me in Bangladesh. I pushed and hit him and managed to get some help, but no one would call the police. Even though things were tense on the second day of the BDR's mutiny, I managed to have the local Police Chief with me for half the day. I was promised they would find and punish him.

22. Be Happy

In December, Ben joined me for a meditation course in Hyderabad, Andhra Pradesh. I was not able to speak (or write!!) for 10 days. Even though men and women were segregated, Ben's presence was a great solace; every emotion was intensified by the demanding and rigid schedule, but I knew he was experiencing the same things. I meditated 10.5 hours a day and those 10 days were the only days I have skipped journal writing in the near-15 months I have been away. On the last day I felt tender, weak, wilted, and had a train booked for the same night. If we had not planned to meet up again I wouldn't have been able to let go!

23. Markets

Second only to monkeys.

24. Childhood

I've spent enough time in India to be almost completely comfortable, but arriving in and navigating Dhaka, Bangladesh (not to mention other parts of the country) made me feel like a child.

"I can’t think of anything that excites a greater sense of childlike wonder than to be in a country where you are ignorant of almost everything. Suddenly you are five years old again. You can’t read anything, you have only the most rudimentary sense of how things work, you can’t even reliably cross a street without endangering your life. Your whole existence becomes a series of interesting guesses.”
- Bill Bryson

25. Little Lives

26. Chandigarh

In Chandigarh, the capital of two states- Punjab and Haryana, I stayed with a delightful family. Besides the bizarrely modern planned city itself, one of the main tourist delights are the gardens of outsider artist Nek Chand. I was lucky to hang out long enough and ingratiate myself with one of Chand's assistants so I could meet him. I stayed so long he worried for my evening safety and he sent me home in a chauffeured giant truck.

27. Rocket

In Bangladesh, on the river, time passed slowly on a long ferry (this one called the Rocket) ride through mangroves and inlets and cities and villages. Rob and I waxed poetic and philosophical, trying to make sense of the intense (that word always seems to pop up) and remarkable country with such a tumultuous history. Many people know about partition, when India and Pakistan separated. But the Muslims in Bengal also became a part of Pakistan ("East Pakistan") and fought hard to become their own nation. Bangladesh became independent after a long struggle in 1971.

28. Orchha

In Orchha, Madya Pradesh, I was lucky to not only have a few special days, but for those days to be in the middle of one of India's most important festival times- Diwali. Villagers and dance groups came out to show their respects to the temple deities on the most special days. There is a video below.

42 Things, Part One

2009-03-08T14:35:00.004+05:30

1. Baptism By Fire

I went to Bangladesh- country #42. It was new and exciting and strange. Intense, to say the least. Men would leer, if they dare met my eye (or not), women were hard to find in one of the most densely populated nations, and children warmed easily(when they didn't cry). There were no dogs in the capital Dhaka; the country is over 80 percent Muslim. A taxi passenger attempted to steal my small bag from my lap while I was on a cycle rickshaw when I first arrived late at night. I went to tiny villages where old women marveled at my white skin and people crowded around me to stare while I ate, sat quietly, wrote, and even slept.

2. The Lake of the Holy Nectar

Returning to the Golden Temple and Amritsar was by far a highlight of last year. It was impossible to recognize self-imposed emotional "wounds" in a place of such grace and beauty. Of all the holy places I have been, it is by far the most peaceful.

3. Serenades

At a Cafe in Calcutta one of the staff, possibly high on genuine coffee beans (in a country of Nescafe powder), got down on one knee to sing one of the latest hits to come out of Bolloywood- a song from the Shahrukh Khan hit film Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi.

In Jessore, Bangladesh, my host's two young daughters serenaded me with a strange rendition of Britney Spear's You Drive Me Crazy.

4. Orphanange

In Allahabad, Uttar Pradesh, Ben and I came across a Muslim orphanange late one night and went back the next day to visit. Besides a tour, delicious tea and sweet children, we saw a woman talking to the director. He told us that the woman was looking to arrange a marriage for her son. After she left, I was very curious about how this was possible in a country a bride's family generally provides a sizable dowry; how could an orphan come into the possession of such a fortune? We learned local donors come together to provide saris, gold, housewares and other items for the weddings of orphan. We were shown photos of the most recent wedding- including the impressive dowry. Knowing that abandoned girls could marry and have a life was a revelation I hadn't expected...

5. Sweatshirts

In Calcutta, there is a man who sells bananas on a street corner not too far from my hotel. He wears the same sweatshirt everyday- one undoubtedly discarded by a woman in Kansas and given to Goodwill in the last decade of the 20th century. It is evergreen in color; glittery gold puff-paint holly leaves surround ornate red letters that sloppily spell "SEASON'S GREETINGS".

One day, on a street geographically close but somehow very different, I saw an old man struggling to stay warm- pulling a torn plastic bag taught across his careworn shoulders.I bought him a sweatshirt, wondering if he would sell it. The next day I saw him wearing it and it was a good day.

6. Rahul

In December, on a train from Hyderabad to Kolkata, I met a wonderful man named Rahul. I sat across from him for hours before we spoke more than civilities and one-word leg-brushing apologies. I was coming from a meditation course in the South of India and after I meditated (strange on a moving, loud train...) we spoke for what seemed like most of the night. He is an officer in the Indian Air Force and teaches Yoga to interested crew most mornings. After my course I was particularly fragile and it meant the world to meet such a quick and dear friend.

7. Train Travel

India is miraculous- this is nothing new- not to me nor the hippies, gap-years or A/C-private-car travelers. No matter the traveler or the destination on the subcontinent, this is by far a highlight.

8. Iskon

On February 8, 2009, I spent a surprising day with a man I met at the Bangladesh High Commission in Calcutta (and with whom I later traveled to Bangladesh with). That night we found our way, with another traveler, Ozzie, to the surreal Hare Krishna temple in the middle of the city. Dancing, music, people in ecstacy...

9. Nagarkot

In the Kathmandu Valley, this village is perched on a small mountain. I saw my first bathtub in 11.5 months, but there wasn't enough hot water to take a bath. Breathtaking views and at least one cute dog.

10. Busy West Bengal Nights

In February I saw two wonderful live music programs and a lecture within a few packed days and nights. First, I saw Ravi Shankar perform with his daughter and other artists. A few nights later I saw a show with a variety of skilled musicians and singer, including the tabla "wonder boy". Unfortunately, the lecture was mostly in Bengla and Hindi!

11. Blanket

In Bihar, one of the poorest Indian states, I was wandering the streets one afternoon after a nice time playing and joking around with school kids. I saw a frail old man plodding along the lane. He looked sad; he looked hungry. I grabbed a 10 rupee note from my bag (about 20 cents) and walked over to him. I pressed the money into his hand "For food, Uncle" I said in Hindi. Tears formed and words came, miseries unknowable. He picked at his meager clothing and I wished I could understand everything he wanted to share. After a spell I went to a small shop nearby and purchased a large shawl/blanket for him for about $2. He cried some more and I started to cry. People gathered, he held my arm, I went on my way.

12. India

India, Nepal, India, Bangladesh, India. I don't want to leave and not know when I will return.

13. Cross Country

When Ben left the subcontinent I traveled overnight cross-country to spend his last days with him. It was great fun being so spontaneous, but also nice to see some places I'd been before but maybe wouldn't have returned to on my own. I thank him.

14. Obama

Everyone loves Obama. I ran into this little white house and popular cut-out at the Kolkata Boi Mela (Book Fair) in January, 2009.

Long Time No See

2009-03-08T12:37:00.003+05:30

Lots to say- more very soon! Note: In the last photo, the goat is wearing an old top of mine! Apparently, it is not very difficult to clothe goats.

Tragedies: God & Family

2008-10-07T20:46:00.014+05:30

I traveled by night train to Jodhpur, about 370 miles southwest from Delhi, India's capital. Within two hours of my arrival I had checked into a small guest house, set out for a street-side omelet and while writing in my daily journal, attracted enough attention that someone called the state newspaper, the Rajasthan Patrika...

The next day, this appeared...

(Full Article)

I ended up staying an extra day in the charming city. I loved it- despite a few people with fearful looks in response to my Hindi (slowly growing in vocabulary, quicker in confidence- but apparently not competence). The article attracted enough interest that a few families tracked me down at the guest house and invited me for meals, tea, city tours... I assumed the gist of the article would be the journal, but the author focused on a few things I said about Indian families, especially the family in Gujarat that I was heading to see. It was wonderful being in Jodhpur and it is a place I will definitely return to, but I moved on.

Tragically, just two days after I left, over 220 people died outside a small temple in one of Rajasthan's most famous landmarks, Jodhpur's majestic Mehrangarh Fort.

In an early morning rush to send regards to God, rumors of a wall collapse caused a frenzy and 224 lives of mostly young men were lost.

Next stop was Pushkar, the grossly touristic and mildly charming home to insistent priests, sovereign cows and dozens of shopkeeps who I put in their place when they assumed I am Israeli (this is another story, but Israelis are known and widely disliked in India for being drug-abusing, loud, and promiscuous- among other things). Pushkar is one of their hangouts. Note: I have met many kind and non-drug-abusing, quiet and non-promiscuous Israelis. Pushkar is where the universe began- again, another story.

Next, Jaisalmer, the "Golden City" (read: sandy, dusty, sweltering) in far west Rajasthan when I heard the news. It was my second visit and I managed to mostly avoid the affections and hustles of commission-wrangling camel-safari sellers. I learned long ago that more than a couple hours on a camel is one of a long list of things that is better in theory than practice... However, I have been told that a good saddle and ample quilts make a big difference.

Enjoyed my time there and cut out my next destination so I could see my "family" in Gujarat sooner, who I first met New Year's Eve 2005 and visited this past March.

From Jaisalmer I took a long and hot night bus to Ahmedabad, squished into a hot cell of a sleeper pod above the regular seats... I arrived just after 4am and enjoy a cup of chai as I waited in the dark outside Bus Station No. 6 for the first possible bus to Kapadvanj. I arrived at 7am, thrilled to be there with the anticipation of spending the holiday with my family...

This is the point in the story when things start to make no sense- at least not at first...

I got to their house not long after arriving, a little worried that Rama, her husband Hitendra, and their family might be away visiting relatives to celebrate. When I walked up to the house it appeared that they were home- I saw people in the small courtyard outside the house. But it was Hitendra's mother, who I had met at a wedding when I last saw them in March... She looked tired, half draped over a low concrete wall. "Rama?" I said to her, hopeful. She started to cry.

Interlude:
In the Ramayana, one of India's great epics, Rama, a form of the god Vishnu, is saved by the monkey god Hanuman. This Rama is a male, and my Rama is actually Ramala, but I have always thought of Hanuman being associated with her. Hanuman saved Rama in the epic...

A neighbor I know well came over to me. He looked concerned, sad. "Rama..." he said, as he waved his hand, upturning his palm. Immediately I interpreted this as meaning she was gone, as in dead gone. Moments later:

"Rama... suicide."

Three weeks before Hitendra had woken up at 6am and his wife was gone. While searching for her, a man on the road said he'd seen a woman hanging not too far down a main road near their house. It was her. Rama had hung herself.

I don't know what I can say. I love her. She called me her sister and I felt a rare closeness and comfort with her. Of course the day I found out was very hard. I spoke to the children on the phone and visited Hitendra, but left town right after, as to not be a burden.

Her suicide makes sense to me. In Gujarat, the norm is arranged marriages and Rama was unhappy in hers. She was just unable to accept her role. She wanted more education and when I saw her in March she had taken on a part-time job and told me of her modest political aspirations. We spoke at great length about her marriage and family. Outside of big cities (and rare liberal families) in Gujarat, "love" marriages are largely unheard of. Children that marry for love cause great shame to their families. Additionally, parents with divorced children often disown them and have been known to commit suicide themselves because of the shame. Understanding (at least in part) the role of a dutiful wife and daughter in India, I understand why Rama hung herself.

If she had found a way to leave her town, even her state, she could very well (and most likely) end up destitute and branded a dirty, unwanted woman. After we first met on 31 December, 2005 I fantasized about "saving" her, somehow bringing her to the United States. Even if it were possible, she would probably not be allowed to bring her children and suffer being in a place where she would have little understanding and support. Her family would undoubtedly disown her, and probably prevent her children from ever seeing her again. In order to escape the next 3 or 4 decades in wifely servitude to a man she could never be connected to, she did the only possible thing she could. I'm not angry at her, and I do not think she was selfish. Strangely, I find myself angry at a god I've never believed in, Hanuman...

The greatest sadness I have is in imagining her in despair, walking to the road in the dark early morning, finding a tree, hanging herself with her dupatta (scarf). What was she thinking? That they would be better off? Was she apologizing to her children, to god? I selfishly wonder when she last thought of me. I talked to her two weeks before the suicide- told her I was coming soon, sometime. I'm sorry, Ramala. I love you.

Photos from their home...

Evening Meal

2008-09-15T12:56:00.001+05:30

I headed out of my hotel for dinner. The congested narrow streets were dusty and noisy- filled with pilgrims, merchants, smartly dressed men and women, holy men, rickshaws, cars, auto-rickshaws, cows, dogs... The thought of a cool, clean restaurant with a big selection had me in a good mood. The one I read about in my guidebook even had an internet cafe upstairs and served pizza! When I crossed the street so I could be in the shade I noticed a boy, about 10 or 12 years old, dirty, dressed in rags, and crying. Public emotional displays in India are far uncommon. Except in cases of deep grief and the odd wailing toddler, there is too much going on for such frivolity. I looked at the boy's face a few times, a little unsure.

Gesturing in the Indian way with simultaneous crooks of the neck and wrist, I asked him "What is it?"

"I'm hungry."

"Come."

We went to a small open-fronted restaurant with signs and menus in Hindi. I made it clear that he could eat what he liked, and he had one plate of daal, cooked lentils/pulses and two chapati, tortilla-like flat rounds of bread. He turned his face away when more tears came. Hiding my own was futile. Afterwards we spent some time walking together. I bought him shoes, a couple of small things. We stood together watching a procession of bands, people dressed like gods, a horse cart full of children, as the sun set. The worst part was watching people walk into him as if he were invisible, others shoving him away from me in embarrassment, as if he were hounding me. Maybe it would have been better to ignore him altogether, as I have dozens, hundreds, thousands of times. Maybe I helped to teach him that there is some livelihood in begging, though I was the one who approached him...

I skipped dinner and walked back to my hotel.

Here, There, Somewhere Else

2008-09-12T16:06:00.003+05:30

Amaan had his skin graft surgery on August 28. That same day I left for a week to explore some other parts of West Bengal. It was hard to go, but easier than it could have been because I knew I was coming back!

Before I say a little about the excursion, HERE is a photo of his leg about 10 days after the surgery. And HERE is a photo taken just two days after that during a dressing change. It looked great... That was a couple days ago though, and as I finally prepare to move on for good, I walked into a terrible site when I visited him today, September 12. He was crying as a surgical assistant was forcing his leg into a piece of plaster that had been used continuously over dressings. I *think* that Amaan's skin was very tight behind his knee and he was unable to fully extend. The plaster was bandaged to the bent leg and dug deep into the back of his thigh. I did what I could and I will visit him one more time this evening before going.

~~

So, last week I finally visited Darjeeling in the very North of West Bengal. It left me wanting though... The weather was terribly overcast and rainy, the people seemed bored, and I had a nightmarish experience in my hotel. I used my pepper spray, had to call the police, and a boy was sent to jail... Nevertheless, in true Indian fashion, one of my favorite mornings ever came the next morning, as I enjoyed a 3 hour, 32 kilometer (20 mile) Himilayan Railway ride.

After Darjeeling, I stopped in sleepy Murshidabad—my favorite place in India. It is historical, beautiful, rural, nearly void of tourists (when I was there this time, I saw no others), and sort of forever Sunday.

This is my rickshaw waiting to cross the river:

These school kids and I had a good time playing. Our favorite game: 1. I chase them making funny noises. 2. I pretend to be doing something else. 3. Repeat.

My rickshaw wallah took me to this cow market:

A local merchant:

These reeds will be used to make clothing:

Ruins:

Boat boys:

I "drove" this school bus for about 100 meters...

So, I am headed now to Haridwar!

When I was saying goodbye to Amaan we were both crying. Please keep him in your thoughts.

Maya Update

2008-08-19T12:54:00.002+05:30

Most importantly, Amaan is doing well, though amputation is still a possibility.

This is his leg after the stitches were removed.
This photo was taken about 2 days later.
This is a photo of his leg 48 hours after surgery.

Things started to go downhill a few days after the accident when my friend with a motorbike stopped accompanying me to the hospital. He has a business and a large family to attend to, so I am grateful for the time he did come with me and translate when needed. It was during these first few days that I think my presence meant the most for Amaan's treatment. The next week or so was alright, I often saw Amaan's "brother" (turns out he is just a family friend) who would sometimes treat me to a meal after a visit and even with the language barrier he was nice company and let me know he appreciated me. Amaan's mother came from Bihar to visit a couple days before the "brother" left.

I had been buying Amaan small gifts- a watch, a small FM radio and clothes to replace what was ruined in the accident. I also often bring cookies, crackers, other food and drinks, and of course pay for some of the treatment. The other day Amaan's mother specifically asked me to buy a powdered mix supplement, which I agreed was a good idea since the already thin boy has lost a lot of weight. She has since asked me to buy him some of the common undershirts men wear in India so Amaan can have extra at the hospital. Seemed reasonable. Then she asked me for shoes and a sari, and some clothes for her 5 year-old back in Bihar...

Since that moment I have begun to shrink back. I won't lie, it has never been easy being here, but somehow I got involved, and I started to help. There have definitely been times that I wished I had never seen the accident or even that I had walked away like so many others.

I am alone most of everyday, I go back to my guest house and spend my evenings alone, I walk to and from the hospital alone... Normally, I enjoy the solitude of travel, but the stress of the accident and the aftermath- the wound, the possibility of amputation, knowing he is lonely in the hospital, the heat of an Indian summer, my own loneliness... At the moment it is not easy to treasure this purdah, this isolation. The pleasing but intermittent conversations I have with people on the street or in restaurants aren't enough to sustain me. I have found myself crying in the street, or with tears like geysers as I lean into the shoulder of a woman I met at the hospital. Such public displays of emotion are out of the ordinary here, and I do try and keep it together. I feel really helpless, I have to say I feel also unappreciated.

My motives were never egoistic, but I could never claim total altruism. I do want some acknowledgment, but only from Amaan and his family, especially at this stage when everyone seems to want something from me. I have made two dozen trips to the hospital and I am feeling frustration with still being in Calcutta when I should have left two weeks ago. I'm not sure what the best course is at the moment. I'll start by limiting my visits to once a day instead of two, and I will not buy any more things for him or his family (aside from treatment, medicine or food). I believe his mother to be a good woman who has just found herself in a situation where she may be able to make things a little better for her family. Unfortunately this has led to me feeling taken advantage of. I just have to remember my initial goal- to do anything I could to help the treatment be a success. I can not save the world.

Yes, I can not save the world. But I very much want to believe though I am only one, and that there is strength in numbers, one is also a number... I'm going to keep trying.

Amaan Update

2008-08-15T09:24:00.000+05:30

He has been in good spirits- fantastic considering the "stress" I appear to be under. It is shameful to say the least. His strength is inspiring. I still visit twice a day, but only one long visit yesterday, August 14. He had surgery to remove dead tissue and skin around the wound. We were very lucky that a heavy monsoon rain stopped as the surgery began because the streets were briefly impassable and flooded- three times throughout an assistant poked his head out with a pharmacological order meant to be immediately filled. When I peeked at him through an open door right after they were done he gave me a sneaky smile and he doesn't seem to be in any pain.

The 72 hours following the procedure are critical- time which will show whether his leg will recover or need to be amputated at the knee. Please keep him in your thoughts. Thank you.

Accident

2008-08-08T21:13:00.000+05:30

[SATURDAY UPDATE BELOW]

I arrived in India on Sunday afternoon. On Monday evening I used the internet from 7:07 until 8:05 or 8:06. When I was finished I paid my 15 rupees (about US $0.35) and walked out a dirty enclave with children playing, men butchering chickens and peeling potatoes, rank puddles, and the odd motorbike. I stepped out into the street and looked to my right, following my ear to a large red firetruck making obscenely loud and annoying beeping noises heading down the street. I made a face of annoyance to a deaf boy I know in the neighborhood, covering my ears. He looked on, uninterested. The street is narrow to begin with, barely fit for two way traffic when empty, but there is parking "allowed" (because policemen are slipped cash) on one side and taxis keep the lane mostly occupied, making it difficult for the constant flow of cyclists, coolies, pedestrians, motorbikes, rickshaws, cars, trucks, taxis, goats, mobile merchants, etc. On the side where parking was never allowed a large sari/saree shop's small truck was parked. The firetruck had difficulty squeezing through.

Soon after it passed a few people started to gather to look at a boy who I will call Amaan, 14 years old, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, who was leaning against a metal cage that housed some city electrical or plumbing equipment. He looked like he might be about to vomit, maybe he was drunk. Those were the first things that I thought. But then I saw his leg. His right leg had been pinned between the small truck and the fire truck. It was... open. The laceration must have been at least 2 inches deep. I could see muscle, tendons, maybe bone.There were pools of dark blood around his foot. Some people moved him to the sidewalk and he appeared conscious, but drifting. It seemed like time stood still and no one was doing anything. Someone tied some pieces of fabric around his upper leg. I remained close, did what I could.

Several taxis sped away when we asked for help. Even more taxi drivers pretended not to notice, skulking away. When one driver was willing to help, Amaan was brought into the taxi and I sat on the edge of the back seat between his torso and the front seat. His head lie in the lap of another boy, who I did not see again after the hospital. I held Amaan's hand and stroked his face, looked for the gushing blood that never returned, and tried to make sure he stayed alert and conscious.

I didn't know where we were going. We went to a "government" run free hospital. He was moved haphazardly to a dirty metal gurney, specks of dried blood on the sides and bed. There was no one around, no one that seemed alarmed or concerned. The hospital was dank and dirty, beaten and soiled. He was moved a few times, from gurney to table and back, to an x-ray table in an old room with no shields or vests and equipment out of a Roswell alien investigation photo circa 1947. The two x-rays were paid for when they should have been free.There were not orderlies to push the gurney or rolling racks to hold the saline solution. I helped with these things.

In good time, two of the Amaan's older brothers came. We were told that medicine was unavailable, even though it was supposed to be be free of charge. Behind a closed door someone slipped a doctor money and suddenly the medicine was there. In a room with bloody scraps of cotton littering the floor and walls dirtier than a back alley, a doctor (I hope, I presume) made approximately 25 big black rough stitches on the boy's leg. Seeing the wound before this, I had assumed the flesh had been torn off.

There are no words for the place, for the sadness and desperation, the filth and hopeless hope. The woman who looked drugged, sick, nearly unconscious and in desperate pain, told to leave and carried out because she was not critical. The rows of people lying in filth by the non-emergency admittance door. The crying babies, the sleeping skeletons, the numb and zombie-like staff.

Amaan and several of his family members are here in Calcutta for work, to help those who remain at home. They are from Bihar, one of the poorest and most populous Indian states. He has been in Calcutta less than one year.

It was decided that Amaan would be moved to another hospital where he could be cared for. No hospital vehicle was available so we maneuvered him back into the taxi and he was transported. The new hospital was still atrocious by Western standards but gleams far above the first one. The linens are fairly clean, there is one doctor on duty each day in his unit, 24 hour shifts, once a week. There are a few orderlies and assistants and a nurse.

That night I was relieved Amaan could have a chance at recovery. That people helped him, that he has family here, that I could do something. When I returned to my guesthouse, however, I was numb and shaky. Seeing the conditions of the first hospital made me feel weak and lost, concerned for those there and all that would never even be lucky to be cared for in such a forlorn place of "healing". In a million ways Amaan is lucky. In this country of over a billion, in this crowded metropolis of millions, there must be countless stories of injuries and medical injustices that make his story sound a dream. How many rickshaw pullers, sleeping on the street at night, sending pennies far away home when they can, or sleeping in literal garbage dumps with their families, are injured with no chance? How many car accidents at night leave the poor bloody and dying in the road? Amaan is in school. His leg was not severed. He has family able to borrow the money for the medical bills. The sari shop offered a small sum, but it was refused since one of the family members does some work with them and feared that taking the money would mean he would forever lose their business. Amaan was hurt in a tourist-quarter with many people looking on, determined to help, to be accountable. He is extraordinarily lucky.

Tuesday, day after the accident I visited Amaan in the hospital in the morning and evening and stayed 2 hours each time. This was only possible because the guard in front of the unit was bribed. Normally, family is allowed a few minutes during lunch and one hour in the evenings. That morning, I did the same things I had been doing- holding his hands, massaging his arms, stroking his hair and face, muttering platitudes he couldn't understand. He had not said anything to me. Only responding with nods and shakes of his head when I tried to make sure he was alert, asking if he wanted water, etc. When I was getting ready to leave, after the guard told me for the third time that I really did have to go, Amaan looked up at me, and said so sweetly, his voice cracking, "Thank you." He speaks A Bihari language and Hindi, maybe Urdu. I speak English.

When I returned Tuesday evening I meant to say goodbye, I had a ticket for a train to New Delhi on Wednesday morning, fully intending on going. I had told him this (through a local friend translating). But on Tuesday evening Amaan said to me, "Are you coming tomorrow? Don't go." I was leaving, I had a ticket. But on the ride back to my guest house, I laughed and cried, Why would I go? How could I go? Because a train ticket that cost $10? There was no way I could go, and on Wednesday I canceled my ticket.

Both Wednesday and Thursday I continued the twice daily visitations. When I extend my hand to him he reaches back. He responds robustly to questions he is asked. He was able to speak with his mother and I held his hand as tears fell down his cheek. He told her that it is just a small cut and he will be fine.

Everyday I see his brothers and I feel like his new Auntie or didi (sister). I am very happy providing the doting care and affection even adults secretly want. As the days go on he has become stronger and more comfortable responding to and returning affection. When I probe him to tell me the special foods and drinks and magazines he likes he asks for nothing. But I know he appreciates the fruit, "cold drinks" (soda) and the little FM radio I brought in. I have been invited to visit his village in the future. I was only able to visit on Friday evening, missing the lunch hour, and he was able to say he noticed and was disappointed (in so many words...). When I first saw him tonight (Friday) he smiled at me- just a little. And later I got a full smile. It was like the sun.

I'm looking for help. I realize that medical advice or consultation 10,000 miles away (or more, or less) is inadequate, but so is his current level of care. I have already briefly spoken with a doctor friend via chat, but I would like as much input as possible. You can post anonymously and everything you say will be taken as suggestion alone. I am not a doctor but I was able to say and suggest things at the hospitals that would not have been done otherwise. All advice and information is appreciated. Here is what I know.

First, here is a link to a photo of his leg that I took 2.5 days after the accident. Click here. I was not able to take a photo of the open wound.

Amaan is injured in his lower right leg only. His leg was stitched at the government hospital, under dire conditions. He has no broken bones. He has received an IV saline drip continuously except for the 4th day when he received 2x250ml of blood (about 1 pint). He never lost consciousness and responds to questions. He has no feeling around or below the wound (right calf, extending behind knee). There is obviously nerve damage, but I have no idea how extensive. His right foot seemed cold the first night but blood flow seems to have returned. He told me he can move/extend his right leg but it is extremely painful. He is very thin and his leg is somewhat swollen. Around the wound his skin is warmer.

From his prescriptions:
Emigo
Enzoflam
Noveran
N.S. 100ml Ing (MM)
N.S. 500ml Ing (Baxter)
Oframax
Pantop
Paracetomal (seen but not prescribed)
Rantae
Revotaz
R.L. - IV (Nirlife)
Tetglob
(+ various needles, syringes, gauze, etc)

The conditions are not good, and I worry most about infection. I asked the staff to bandage the leg yesterday. The same bandages were on today, obviously seeping some blood and pus. The room is large and dirty, the air conditioning does not work well and the windows are often open- open to a busy street in a dirty and polluted city. Gloves are not worn very often and I have not been able to look at his chart. I don't know what questions I can ask, I don't know what more I can do. I am only able to visit for around 1.5 hours a day.

Thank you.

Update: Here is a photo after 4.5 days. Click HERE. He has a fever this morning and is in a lot of pain. The leg looks worse to me. He is NOT able to move his foot/toes.

How To: East Coast Malaysia to East India in (About) 24 hours

2008-08-06T10:12:00.000+05:30

Pre-Trip:

To prepare properly, get a room with a television- an oddity for the past seven months. Stay up very late (1am) watching an unwatchable "scary" "Lifetime*"-ish sitcom called Ghost Whisperer. (I've lost my ability to recognize decent television, and apparently the ability to lie about it.) Further prepare for the long journey by staying up until 2 am chastising yourself for the regression. Writing "I will not watch original Lifetime* television" 500 times is optional. *Note: this has not been confirmed.

Further, given the ease of sleeping in danger cars, packed commuter subway trains, planes, and airport lounges, don't worry at all sleep. Three hours will be plenty! No matter the unexpected bi-century insect convention in your room and rubbish bin.

The Trip:

1. The day begins! You must walk from the small beach town where you had a lovely time in a lovely chalet (photos available on request, and are to remain confidential) to the nearby highway. Getting started by 9am does not preclude you from solar cauterizations.

2. Still, you're waiting at the side of the road perky and ready TO GO and flag down a bus. But to ensure humility you are somehow too shocked and timid to even raise a hand at the two buses that pass within five minutes of your arrival.

3. Suck it up, and get ready, because this time, you're ready to flail as necessary, to charm the brakes off something. An hour later- still no buses.

4. Just when the worrying sets in, a car stops, takes you in with an offer of a ride for a decent price.

5. The bus station arrival in Town Two is much quicker than expected- the family asks a lot of questions and enjoys barreling down slim roadways with hairpin turns. And the two tiny children in the backseat alternate sleeping with walking around. They are also immune to funny faces. Which may be an unknown effect of Muslim culture on youth. Or you're not funny. It is likely the former.

6. Within 13 minutes of arriving at the bus station, figure out which company has the best bus, buy a ticket, find/order/eat/pay the bill, find a restroom and bus rations, and board the bus.

7. To keep team spirits high, spend the first 45 minutes of the bus ride silently gloating and wondering why no one has commended your ability to VERY QUICKLY walk, find toilets, eat rice, etc. Briefly consider writing some kind of a newsletter, but abandon the idea to avoid the inevitable pressure to "sell out" when USAToday and/or The Economist calls.

8. Finally arrive in Town Three where you will take Flight One. Besides taking a subway train in the wrong direction several stops, you're flawless, back to the old self- impressively changing the last of your Malaysian Ringgits, eating American chain fast food (Subway), finding restrooms, and even finding a post box. A year in Asia? Piece of cake.

9. Flight One: 2 hours. "Layover" in Bangkok: 10 hours (11:20pm-9:40am). Sleep situation: uncomfortable plastic chairs for 2-3 hours. Best part of the night: The airport is like a fancy mall with Cartier and Gucci shops and approximately 30 dozen duty-free cosmetics shops. (I "shoplifted" about $2,450 dollars of high-end creams on my hands.)

10. Flight Two: Jet Airways (NICE!) from Bangkok to Calcutta. Best part: using basic Bengali to greet and thank the boys who were waiting to clean up the plane upon disembarkation. They were over the moon.

As if this is news, so am I.

Headed "Home"

2008-08-02T15:59:00.000+05:30

Five minutes talking to me and you'll roll your eyes like I am some hippie in love with a strange dirty land with hordes of people, or you'll learn to love India a little bit too. I can't help the gleam in my eye and the spring in my step. After nearly 4 months away from India (7 out of the US) I am headed back to India for the remaining 5 months of the year.

In this post I described the discrepant feelings India brings up- on one hand, the consummate fascination of an unbelievably new place, the feeling of love so strong, so pervasive, you nearly cry walking down the street and on the other, a disgust (for myself, mostly) and confusion tantamount to a night in an upside-down restaurant run by cats. Or tales of a bench-pressing snowman (that is a This American Life reference). It gives me the opposite of jamais vu (there must be a name for this, a false knowing), because I feel so intensely at home, but I know, of course, I am an utter fool. I have no more closeness to the life and world within those borders than that girl you went to college with has with Buddhism after buying a single book at a garage sale. However, I still can not explain this pull, this dream, this excitement. I love it, but I get to go home.

Maybe the name for it is maya, illusion, or delusion, in some accounts. Maya, in Hinduism and Buddhism, is worldly things- sometimes described as lust, sex, power, money, material possessions. Or as the feelings, screen, attachment, or delusion we have when relating to these things. The illusion shields us from enlightenment and true happiness.

Never mind me, here is some clear evidence of the beauty of India:

Food! I never tired of the endless varieties of curries and daal, breads and fresh juices.

Dancing children. I'll only be the 6,874th silly tourist to say this (today), but you only need to see such sites as this to know the true beauty of the world and put your own "miseries" into perspective.

Cities! What views! Camel carts, no big deal. Monkeys stealing your fruit, so what. Miles of packed whitewashed bungalows, common.

Oh, the colors! I've mentioned this before, but that place is vibrant like none other I've seen. Intense saris and turbans, flowers and spices, bangles and the odd clothed goat...

Mobile merchants! You're always being educated in India. Every moment, whether you're leaving your lunch in the loo for the fourth go, or riding a bumpy road for 7 hours in a bus that would have been discarded in the West 35 years ago... Along the way you'll meet the happy sellers of brillo pads, fried things, hair brushes, plastic buckets, and everything in between. Including scorpions!

Rickshaw drivers are among the hardest working in India. However, hard working people doesn't mean the same thing as the people you or I generally know. You could make a month out of days wandering via rickshaw, and never be disappointed (just agree on your fare before you embark!).

Oh, the markets! Bustling, exciting, sometimes depressing, always a sight.

Brothers. And sisters. And their families and old grandfathers that give you pocket-sized photos as mementos. Uncles that try and set you up with their nephew, and Aunties that want you to eat more. Family is everything in India, and god help a guest, for he is lucky.

Wild Animals! Monkeys and dinosaurs and cows and water buffalos. The smells and laughs- how bizarre to see these animals live their lives so entwined with ours, and not turn heads.

Children, did I mention them? Homeless and begging or clean and so clearly loved, they all shine and wake you from a life of dark cynicism.

Coming very soon: a "How To" guide; the long journey back...

Journal

2008-07-01T10:40:00.001+05:30

It has been six months since I left San Francisco for Bangkok. I've traveled in Thailand, India, Malaysia, Indonesia, and The Philippines. I've eaten curries and breads, exotic fruit, all manner of fish, pulses and vegetables. I've been on motorbikes long enough for my backside to hurt, visited tiny villages and fabulous cities. But more than anything else, I've written- every day.

180 days
113 pages
Somewhere between 160,000 and 170,000 words.

Here is sample of my journal:

Find the whole thing HERE.

News of the World

2008-06-30T09:02:00.000+05:30

One summer I did osteological research in Honduras. When it rained, massive frogs (toads?) escaped their burrows, trenches and streams and headed for asphalt. After peaceful nights of pitter-patter drops and hops, inordinate numbers of their crushed carcases littered the roads.

Last night, in Malaysia, it rained. I thought I stepped on a frog. But it was just a wet, crumpled-up, dirty piece of paper. I didn't pick it up.

By the Numbers

2008-06-28T10:07:00.000+05:30

days away - 177
books read - 23
places slept - 68
spent on internet - $88
new passport stamps - 15
purchases recorded - 1700
approx. words written - 160,000
private homes spent the night in - 10
New countries visited: 1 (The Philippines)
postcards sent - 55 (confirmations rc'vd - 20)
dollars spent (not inc. initial plane ticket) - $2800
nights spent en route (bus/train/plane/airport) - 16
least expensive paid accomodation - 60cents (ashram dorm, India)

Favorite street food:
India: 2 samosas - .12 cents
Indonesia: peanut pancake - .37 cents
Thailand: green papaya salad - .60 cents
Malaysia: rambutan (fruit)- .63 cents/pound
Philippines: Halo Halo (ice/milk/fruit) - .50 cents

Compunction

2008-06-08T09:15:00.000+05:30

At a roadside shack of a restaurant I waited for a bus. All buses going in my direction inevitably head to Lubik Basang, where I would change buses to head to my next destination in West Sumatra, Indonesia. It didn't take long, and I squeezed into the open middle spot in the 5-seat back row of a medium-sized bus. I guess you get used to being stared at after a while, and it isn't that bad. It helps that the staring usually varies from day to day. In big cities and areas frequented by tourists, it is easy to feel accepted.

A heartbeat away from me was an old man with soft, weather-worn skin, a grey shawl spread from his neck to knees like a blanket. He looked at me, disgusted. I looked away, but when I turned back he looked me in the eye, then shifted to a woman in front of us, to another woman between us, back at me. He rubbed his thumb against his middle and index fingers, indicating "money".

The old man looked at me, pointed at me and his hands momentarily went together, then seperated as if in an awkward, slow-motion clap, indicating a stack of money.

"You. You have big money, " he was saying with his hands; "I have nothing," with his eyes.

As soon as I could, I changed seats.

A Day in the Life

2008-05-02T18:06:00.000+05:30

Or, How to get from the colonial Philippines to historic Malaysia in about 24 hours.

After a pretty nice three week stay in The Philippines, it was time to go. I'll be back soon with a rundown of that time with photos and an overload of meat dishes soon enough... US citizens (and many others) are granted a "free" 21-day stay/visa. It was easiest to make my stay exactly that long. Beyond, things can get a little complicated.

1. Most hotels have a checkout time at noon, but if you ask politely they'll usually let you hang out until at least 2 pm. Actually, in Asia, there are fewer rules than most places- you can often haggle about the price of toothpaste and bottled water at tiny shops- but I guess I can get back to that another time, too. With a 9pm bus from currently very warm colonial Pinoy city Vigan, it was nice to have some extra time out of the heat.

2. Before the trip to the bus station, the best escape from the heat was chain fast food restaurants (remarkable in this smallish city, and due to the large amount of local and foreign tourists) and the odd internet cafe. But the latter can be crowded with both terminals and children playing online dance games and WoW-type role-playing games.

3. Getting to the bus station early was a strategy not easily understood within 5000 kilometers of the Philippines. Bus tickets didn't even go on sale until 15 minutes before my particular departure. While I waited, 4 buses left for Manila, where I was headed and would fly from in the morning. There was a good reason for waiting for a 9pm bus, as the 9-hour advertised journey was usually around just 7 hours, and I chose to have my waiting time clumped before leaving as much as possible.
Bus stand wait: 2 hours

4. The bus is comfortable enough, but nothing could make the ride itself enjoyable or relaxing in any way. Most of the journey between Vigan and Manila is two lanes and fairly curvy. Bus drivers both ways seemed in deathly hurries; slammed breaks, near-miss passes and constant stops kept any possibility of sleep at bay. Note: I would not recommend a hot dog on the way. It might look delicious, since it may have been hours since you've eaten, but inside the bright red tube of animal is likely to be terribly large and soft hunks of translucent white fat. It was only 50 cents; I threw it away.
Bus ride to Manila: 7.5 hours
Bus sleep: about 1 hour

5. The bus arrived at 4:30 am. To avoid another night in hot and sticky Manila, I chose to go straight to the airport. Unfortunately, my cheap AirAsia flight left from Clark airport, another two hours away. While waiting for my bus I watched the sun come up and bus after bus empty, refill, and roll away.
Bus stand wait: 2.5 hours
Bus to airport: 2 hours

6. My flight was scheduled at 11:45, and took off on time, but the airport is new and dull- one of many so-called "low-cost" airline terminals cropping up in Asia to make room for the influx of flights on airlines such as AirAsia. Annoyingly, the airline often has "free-seating" and all refreshments on-board are an additional fee! And, they inflate flight times so even a late flight arrives on-time or even early...
Airport wait: 2.5 hours
Flight to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia: 3.5 hours
Plane Sleep: 30 minutes

7. Once at Kuala Lumpur's own LCCT (Low Cost Carrier Terminal), I found a bus to the city center.
Wait: 30 minutes
Bus to center: 1.5 hours

8. Kuala Lumpur has a wide range of public transport, much of it rail-based, allowing for the avoidance of perpetual traffic. I had to make it to the bus stand near Chinatown.
Two Light Rail rides: 30 minutes

9. Once at the bus terminal, dozens of bus companies vie for the attention of locals and tourists, touting their tickets. I chose the first one I saw (prices are usually posted), and bought a ticket to Malacca.
Wait time: 30minutes
Bus to Malacca: 2.5 hours

10. Malacca is a quite touristy, and filled with package tourists from China and Taiwan, as well as Malaysians on holiday and lots of Westerners, but it is still quaint and walkable, which is a beautiful thing compared to congested Kuala Lumpur. Local bus to town center and hit-or-miss walk to find guesthouse: 1 hour

Total Time: 26.5 hours (waiting: 8 hours; travel: 18.5 hours)
Total Sleep: 1.5 hours

Digest II

2008-04-04T18:14:00.000+05:30

My goodness, India really is brimming with things to see. Tomorrow I'm leaving to escape the increasing heat and coming monsoon! In a matter of 5 days I'll travel through/into 4 countries: India, Thailand, Malaysia, and The Philippines. I'm excited to add a new destination to my list. But I'm ahead of myself... After I left my dear Indian family in Gujarat I headed for Rajasthan.

Udaipur
My first stop was Udaipur, the "Venice of the East". Set near Lake Pichola, the romantic history and striking lake palace did intrigue me, but overall, I was left disappointed.

The City Palace was gorgeous, a maze of rooms and stairwells, paintings, glass filled rooms, and many, many tourists. I'm one of them, I know, but the ones there were the amusement park types who yell at beggars (okay, I did that once) and, no matter where they are from, live up to the "ugly american" caricature (one more note- they are in equal parts American and European, I believe).

Within the palace is grand museum, the main thing to see, really, but there is also a small government museum, that most overlook. Within it, well, see for yourself:

Chittorgarh

After Udaipur I took a shaky 6 hour bus ride to Chittorgarh, home of a fantastic world-class fort (and not much else). There are a few hotels and even fewer restaurants, but most tourists make it a day trip. The ruins are a magical place- acres and acres of say, an 8th century sun temple to the left and a 900 year old tower to the right.

Bundi

Another 5 hours of bumpy road the next day and I found myself in charming little Bundi. Narrow lanes, inspiration and sometime home of Kipling, the narrow lanes and hilltop fort are breathtaking... This little city is mostly blue, as the paint used to signify the upper echelon of society. But, this is another Hampi. Among the fort, palace, the museums and smiling faces, you have a place where tourism has grown so much to make the feeling a little stale, forced, greedy. I did manage to meet some nice people who invited me into their home, but I had to walk a bit out of the main city.

Jaipur

And, onto Jaipur... A huge metropolis that, well, it is pretty nice. I wanted to be in a big place for the upcoming festival Holi, the "festival of colors" with the purpose of welcoming spring. The day before Holi there was a wonderful elephant festival.

On Holi, anyone outdoors is considered to be "playing" or available to play, with gulal, powder. People either throw powder or mix it with water put in buckets, water guns, etc.

Holi was pretty intense for me. Even though I thought I knew what I was in for, people were much more aggressive than I bargained for. I actually used my pepper spray on someone that would have gone to jail for his actions had the same thing happened in the United States. The experience had me frustrated with India for a few days, but it also illustrated for me one of the ways in which this place is so completely different from where I am from. I always say this, feel this, but while our needs and desires are the same everywhere, the culture, the intent, the way, the very soil of us is different. India is 1/3 the size of the United States with 3x as many people. Obligation, duty and loyalty drive Indians, and on this special day they can show their excitement, affection and love to the world. I'm glad I got to see a little of it, but once was enough...

Leaving

After Jaipur I hopped over to Agra, another day on the bus. My main purpose was to visit some people I met the last time I visited. It was wonderful and quiet, and cheap. Then I took a 23 hour train ride to Calcutta. I stayed a couple nights and then went to a wonderful small town (possibly the highlight of my time in India thus far) for a few days before returning to Calcutta for a flight to Bangkok April 5. I'll take off from there within a day, heading overland for Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia (about 800 miles) for a flight to The Philippines mid-week. I'm meeting someone special there for a little while, and then I've got to find something to do, somewhere to go until returning to India in August!

Digest

2008-03-26T12:29:00.000+05:30

The weeks have flown past, and India continues to delight and disgust (in equal measure only in retrospect). Daily, I find myself reeling from one or the other. A few days ago I was reveling in a sea of elephants, the day after I managed to use my pepper spray on one of India's most famous National holidays- Holi. More on that later.

Hampi

Hampi is gifted by the nearby 600 year-old ruins of Vijayanagar, a World Heritage site. Set among lush green fields and boulders, it is a natural wonder, and natural that tourists would flock there. I enjoyed the sites, and the Tungabhadra river, but something happens with places like this- they attract people taking vacations. Many people vacationing (I contrast this with "traveling"), have 1 or 2 weeks during which they rush through monuments and temples wearing shorts and tank tops and snapping photos indiscriminately. Indians dress very conservatively- long pants and button-front shirts for men and saris or other traditional clothing for women. Tourists are most respected when they wear the same, but in the least they ought to stay well-covered. Hampi is one of the places that has lost some of it's character and charm and things will be worse in the coming years. A new federal tax plan has set-up 5 year tax-free periods for 3 and 4 star hotels at sites like this throughout India. Take a look at the best parts...

Bijapur

After leaving Hampi I was headed for Mumbai, and stopped for a couple days in the medium-sized Bijapur. In most cases, the smallest things can make a place feel good, and I have not found in myself a preference for small or quaint towns. There must be something about first impressions here in India. In any case, I liked this place. It is dirty and dusty, but walkable and friendly. There were no tourists to be seen and I found a decent room quickly for 150 rupees (USD $3.75). At dusk I took a nice walk through a narrow market wedged and winding between buildings in the busy city center.

The next morning I headed out for the monument Ibrahim Rouza and met another tourist at a small restaurant. Ryan and I spent hours at the site chatting about world politics, India, Thailand, love, and other unforgettable/forgettable things. We had a late lunch in a dark bar where half a dozen scattered men stared at mostly me. I would have never gone into a place like that alone. It was strange but nice. We also had a goat curry- I had not had meat in several weeks.

When I walked to the bus stand the day I left I saw a medicine man who divined with a scorpion and that cozy little monkey family I posted recently.

Mumbai

My only reason for stopping here was to make the journey to the Gujarat less of a headache. Mumbai is busy, bustling, full of the poor that support the network, or the upper crust who thrive off its riches. It is big and exciting and depressing and missable. The best part was staying at a hospital- but only as a guest of a resident doctor! I was not a patient.

Ahmedabad and Beyond

From Mumbai I traveled to Ahmedabad, the capital of Gujarat. I spent a couple days in the congested city. It is noisy, crowded, spread out and bipolar, with dirt roads creeping onto their chrome-new modern counterparts. Nothing stays clean for long in India. The best parts of any city always, always involve wandering...

I then headed to Kapadvanj where my "family" live. Please see this post in my former Asia blog about them. The journey by bus from Ahmedabad was only a couple hours but I was nervous and jittery. Part of me worried that that they would no longer live there, and part of me knew this was not remotely possible. When I arrived at the bus station I jumped in an auto rickshaw. Minutes later, turning down one of the dirt lanes in their "society" (like a subdivision or village within a town), I saw Milu- Hitendra and Rama's daughter. When the rickshaw approached her I saw her eyes widen and she called out "Maya!?" I pulled her into the open car with me and we were seconds away from her house. No one was home, but other people from the society started coming out of their houses. Milu ran to get her mother, and a neighbor called Hitendra, who was at work. Someone put a mobile to my ear and I heard Hitendra speaking Gujarati. "Maya!??" "Hello" I said. "Maya WALDMAN?"

I stayed with them one week, and during this time we went to nearby Anand where Hitendra's neice was getting married. I got both my hands and forearms done up with mendhi.

We went to Anand, the "Milk Capital of India" (home of Asia's largest dairy), for the festivities, and I had a nice afternoon with residents of a small shantytown...

This guy takes care of the little temple on the grounds. After I was introduced to him I made a small donation of ten rupees (USD $0.25) very quietly. I didn't want anyone to see, but he was confused by the paper I folded into his palm, unwrapped it with a confused look and promptly showed everyone!

It was hard leaving Kapadvanj, and all my friends... On my last day a few of the boys gave me a surprise: