Micronomicon Abroad II

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:

Family

2008-03-25T19:39:00.000+05:30

Something Sweet

2008-03-24T15:34:00.000+05:30

Non-Heroic Tales

2008-02-29T11:25:00.000+05:30

Weeks ago, on a train to Varanasi I met a fascinating nun. She is a member of Ananda Marga and as part of her service she visits centers around India and the world. She invited me to the small orphanage for the day.

We took long walks in the area and came across two women adorning a beautiful sari. Through my friend, we talked about the work. Together, the women will spend one month working with the material and embellishments provided to them. They will earn a total of US $5 for one month's work; $2.50 each. This particular sari is very fine, with intricate embroidery and thousands of sequins and small beads. It will sell for over US $100.

~~~~

The next day, in the lazy heat, I took an aimless walk. When I heard music and shouts, I assumed the hubbub to be for Republic Day, a national semi-celebrated holiday that day. I snapped a few pictures from afar and got closer cautiously. One young man invited me to dance... Why not? When the music slowed, he said someone else wanted to dance with me, and then someone else... As the procession made its way down the street I found my new friends were celebrating and heading to a wedding!

It was just after noon when we reached the hotel where the wedding would be held, and I didn;t get out of there until after 10pm. It was a wonderful day- full of dancing, hours of ceremony, delicious food, and most wonderfully, new friends. I will stay with and visit the groom's family when I head to Jaipur in a couple weeks...

~~~~

In Calcutta, I had a terrible day. With a bus ticket to Bangladesh in my wallet for the next morning, I headed to the Bangladesh High Commission to procure a Visa, which I was assured to receive in one day. This was not the case once I arrived, and even though a bribe (how exciting!) got me a meeting with the woman in charge, I was quoted a prohibitively inflated fee, and left to arrange cancellation of my bus ticket for the next morning.

Later in the day, still sulking, I met a lively and rackety gentleman, Upender, who invited me to his extended family's home a couple hours south (the direction I was going). Perfect timing!

I stayed with them 5 nights, and plan on going back at least once during this trip. I bonded quickly to Upender's niece Namrata. We spent all out time together, talking, walking, cooking (well, I watched her cook and occassionally chopped vegetables). One day, it was announced that a young man and his mother from their family were coming to visit. I thought nothing of this, and was simply happy to meet more people...

Namrata said that nothing in India happens without intention and we soon discovered that Upender had, from the beginning, hoped to arrange a marriage between me and this young man!! Namrata found out as much as she could when her aunt arrived. I was deeply concerned when I heard that Upender had said something bad about me. What could it be? I always dressed conservatively, and did my best to respect their household...

With Namrata's father and aunt:

He said... He said I was clever!

According to the aunt, who thoroughly interviewed me, here are my "plus points": very fair skinned, excellent English, and well-educated. She was concerned, however, that I was clever, over-qualified for her son, and of course the fact that he speaks almost no English.

~~~~

On my next stop, my ATM card was "stolen" by a bank machine. This issue still isn't resolved, since the emergency replacement card mailed to me a couple of weeks later doesn't work! This has been my most trying event of the trip. I'm pretty lucky!

~~~~

In Visakhatnam, affectionately known as Vizag, I stayed with a wonderful family who showed me around the aging seaside town.

~~~~

After a few quiet days, I went to Tirupati, where I "saw god" (an avatar or the Lord Vishnu) at India's near-mecca. It was intense, and I had darshan (viewing) with 70,000 other people. I didn't see one other tourist there... It was very intense, and though I paid for "VIP" lines, my 4 hours waiting pale compared to the 30, or even 40+ hours some people wait. And it is harsh, the CAGED lines snake around the temple and people push and tug and scramble and fight. I managed to stay sane, but a bus ride later that day was not spared. Ask me about it sometime (language not suitable for most).

~~~~

Spent time in Bangalore after that, which was nice. There was a day trip to a small village:

...And good times with a group of modern, young Indians spent at a dance club of all places. It was nice to see another side of India/Indians.

~~~~

After all the fun, I headed to Puttaparthi, place of birth and home of bizarre, revered, afro'd guru Sai Baba... There were thousands of visitors- Indian and otherwise. It was quite strange.

More soon...

Snacks

2008-02-21T02:00:00.000+05:30

Boys in Calcutta:

Awesome Goat:

Woman in Varanasi:

With a Friend:

Orphanage Boys:

Typical Varanasi:

MOTHER!:

Girl in Green:

Diseased Dog:

Mmm, Chicken Internet:

SUPER SUPER SUPER:

Happy Boy:

Pintu Egg Shop:

Cold Lime Water:

Loving India

2008-02-14T21:14:00.000+05:30

I think a lot about why, exactly, I love India.

I've shooed away tiny, coal black children begging at my feet. I have ignored them, averted my eyes. I have denied pennies to a nearly blind man without fingers (leprosy). There are so many things I love here— the shy faces and smiles of the people I see on the street, the majestic temples, colorful markets, the exciting rail travel and generosity of strangers. I never know what a day will bring me. But if I let myself confront this, if I let my eyes open enough to the conditions around me so much of the time, will I be able to see anything else?

I see people on the side of the road constantly, sitting on burlap sacks with 20 small bananas or 200 lbs. of potatoes, or fresh bunches of coriander. I think about how hard they work, if they have ever owned shoes, and that, if they sell everything laid out on the sack or cart, they would not have enough to have the lunch I had. I see men with their cycle rickshaws and I know they often sleep on the small seats that barely fit two people, living with one set of clothes—a threadbare white t-shirt and longi (sarong) and sometimes a scarf.

Does it just make me feel good about my own comfortable life to see so much constant struggle and unrelenting hardship? Am I looking at Indians relatively (is that even possible?), or am I projecting and seeing them as beautiful in their dark-skinnedness, in their hard work. Are they noble savages, so pure in desire, so poor and dirty, the lines in their faces bottomless with meaning. Or are they just like all of us, doing what they can, with handfuls of sin, wanting more, never truly happy? Maybe I see them as good, as better, noble, because as I write this half of India lives on less in a year than I have in my wallet. Are they better in my eyes (but not so much that I would switch places—this is the essence of viewing the noble savage—so close to life, close to the earth, natural, so alive and real, but disgusting and raw, pitiful, sad, worth starting an NGO for to ease the guilt…)?

I had a couple of awful days. An ATM machine stole my card, and I have completed just ten percent of my travels—I need that card! The rain soaked my clothing as I tried, ultimately in vain, to have the bank retrieve and return my card.

As I originally wrote these notes on paper, I could see a woman that had just asked me for money walk away. She was begging, and probably belongs to an owner, who promises her flimsy shelter and regular meals of rice for the small coins she can take in. Her left arm is severely burned, so bad that it is permanently bent at the elbow. Her fingerless and thumbless hand is useless. A dirty toddler with hair that may have never been washed followed behind her, and when s/he was too slow, she stuck a finger in the child's dreaded hair and pulled. The begging woman carried a piece of paper showing proof of her HIV positive status as tested by the Orissa state government counseling and testing services.

I am not responsible for her, but my bad day felt like a joke. Was it really bad? I had cried about my day, about the frustration of dealing with a government-run bank in India. My clothes were mostly dry by the time I wrote about this, and I will arrange to have a new card sent (at Visa's expense) to an upcoming destination. This isn't a problem, it is an inconvenience.

Have I had real problems? The kind I see everyday here? Is this why I love India? Is it like an amusement park of extreme poverty and I get to go home at the end of the year and take a hot shower and drink clean tap water and order a pizza while a movie downloads on my computer, and sleep in a comfortable bed? I don't know, really. Of course I don't feel I'm patronizing Indians by visiting the country, but I catch myself, and this is embarrassing to admit, being grateful that I get to leave, that I can again go back to living as if these things don't happen in the world I live in. I'm only a visitor.

Am I doing anything for anyone? I guess I'm not obligated, but am I making it worse? Is it ridiculous for me to think I could do something to help? Is it pretentious to think some of the people I see need help? Are there ways to give that are genuine? Am I looking to feel like a saint, to relieve some of the stress I feel seeing people with so little? I have no idea.

Food...

2008-01-30T20:34:00.000+05:30

I am eating very well in India. Street food that is hot (or fried again to reheat/kill germs) is generally safe, and street stalls and small restaurants make delicious Indian staples. Bottled water, fresh fruit, crackers, snacks and juices are easy to find.

I spent the past week in Varanasi. India continues to marvel me with its high highs and low lows. I was a little sick for a short while, but bounced back fast...

Puri (or Poori) is a typical breakfast or snack food in North India. Puri is the puffed, fried bread rounds and is served with a potato, chickpea, or lentil curry. At restaurants you often gets a jalebi with your meal- the swirly orange thing- which is basically a miniature funnel cake that is soaked in super sweet syrup after frying. The price at a basic restaurant: .25-.27 cents.

One of my favorite simple lunch dishes is uppama/upma, a thick semolina porridge-like dish served with sambar, a spicy vegetable soup, and delicious kobbari pacchadi, coconut chutney. The price at a basic restaurant: .40-.60 cents.

For many lunches and dinners, the "set" meal, the thali is the best, and most economical option. Thalis come with any combination of breads: naan, roti, chapati and rice with daal (lentil curry) and generally two more vegetable curries and pickle (a small serving of vegetables or fruits pickled in oil). Sometimes they also come with curd (yogurt), papad (a large crispy lentil flour "cracker") and a small salad of sliced onion, lime, radish or carrot. The price at a basic restaurant: .40 cents - $1.50.

I came back to Calcutta, where I am now, with the intention of returning to the Boi Mela, the largest book fair is Asia hosted in Calcutta for the past 32 years. However, it was canceled! I'm still happy to be here, and full of things to catch you up with- the nun, the orphanage, more attempts at extortion and a HUGE wedding!

No Middleground

2008-01-19T15:50:00.000+05:30

India is full on contrasts, of ups and downs, highs and lows. Saying that suggests moving from one end of spectrum to the other, but the moves are jumps, you're thrown to the other end when you least expect it. There is no middle.

Taking a walk the other day I passed two men sitting on the street. I smiled at them and before I was ten meters away they approached me. The father and son were from Darjeeling and had traveled to Calcutta so the son could find work. He is educated and felt his chances were very high here. On the train coming down, the father fell asleep and all of their possessions were stolen. Now, in Calcutta, they have nothing- no money for food or a place to sleep- or even a ticket home. I spoke with them for perhaps 30 minutes and the son said he was sick with a fever. I gave him some Tylenol with instructions. He also said that he needed some money to get photos taken so he could have his identity in this city to find work. I was skeptical, but these gentlemen spoke excellent English and their story was incredible and believable. I eventually agreed to walk with them to a photo studio and, if it seemed legit, to pay for the photos. I did not want to hand over money. To make a long story short, I spent 2-2.5 hours with them. The photo place quoted exorbitant prices and then asked for my "last price". This was something I expected to haggle over- I just wanted to know how much the (passport style) photos were.

In the end, I told them I did not believe the story and I would not give them anything or pay for photos. In one of his final pleas the son said "If you do this, you will save my life." What to do?! I was growing more unsure and skeptical. I said: "If I am right I am sad, because you seemed like good people, and if I am wrong I am sad because you need help and I did not help you. Good luck." The son then said "I don't need your good wishes" and THREW the Tylenol at me and they walked off. Clearly, it was a scam/sob story and I later found out that they are, basically, professionals.

That was difficult.

The next day I was exhausted and very hungry as I rushed to meet some local students for conversation. They did not show and I was very disappointed. However, I was happy to be able to have some lunch at my favorite street stall. I ordered quickly and waited on a bench. The proprietor employs several deaf boys/young men and they are very friendly. As I waited, one of them walked up with an Australian man. The boy had JUST, moments before, been given a custom fitted hearing aid. I watched as he communicated new sensations to another deaf shop boy. "My stomach was turning and my heart was beating. All of a sudden, there were sounds/vibrations from here and here and there and there! I can't believe it." I watched as the other boy expressed that he prefers his deafness, that he can sleep easily and does not worry about idle chatter, car horns and annoying people. My food had arrived and by this time I forgot I was hungry. I cried with the boy as he told me how excited he was and how careful he wanted to be with his new device. He showed me the box, all of the spare batteries and even the original mold used for the silicon piece.

This was wonderful.

Heading to Varanasi tonight. Pictures to come!

India

2008-01-17T08:37:00.000+05:30

What did I say last time I was here? Being back in Calcutta, I feel almost as if I never left. I am staying on the same street and a woman I passed on my way in from the airport said: "Nice to see you again." The faces look the same, and some are, indeed the exact same. I swear I recognize a chai wallah and the travel agent that sold me an air ticket two years ago.

It is the smells. You know that Tibetan/Nepali/Unicef shop smell? Nag Champa? It is that, but diluted, with exotic Eastern spices, cheap perfume, burning coal, exhaust... That is what India smells like. What is it that makes it so... intoxicating?

And, the sounds. Horns, and children and water spilling from streetside pumps, samosas frying and chatter over chai.

The colors, of course: bright glittery saris, crisp white school uniforms, aged sarongs tucked skillfully on squatting men, dirty feet.

This is the way I like to describe the difference between Thailand and India: In Thailand let's say that you desire private transport to a temple on the other side of town. The driver of the tuk-tuk or the taxi may quote you $10-$20 when the fare should be $2-$5. Because you are farang(foreigner), because you have more money, you "should" pay more. This is not really the problem, and I feel completely comfortable paying more in places like museums and special long-distance transport. In India, they also quote higher prices, but not always.

Here is the difference I have seen. In Thailand, by kindly suggesting the correct $2-$5 fare you will often be flatly refused, and maybe laughed at. In India, the merchant will usually smile and agree. The Western world certainly isn't egalitarian, though we generally believe the cost of goods and services are fixed. Haggling for nearly everything comes to be a way of life, yet can be aggravating, especially in situations when you have no other place to buy water or no other transport options. Someone I met in Calcutta described this problem I experienced as "professional begging". Of course, it is certainly not exclusive to any one country...

However, in Thailand, as a woman traveling alone, I felt, in a way, I had been made obsolete. This is strange for me to say, but I was finally able to clarify this feeling when I arrived in Calcutta. People are interested in me here! And, I honestly feel, not just for my Western wallet. Since arriving fewer than 24 hours ago I have had conversations with Indians about Western politics, the perceived subservience of Asian women, child abuse, and more...

In Thailand, I met very few locals who were interested in friendship or conversation. Judging by the first few moments of most of my conversations you would believe otherwise: "Hello! Where you from?" etc etc. But, usually, salutations and kindnesses are followed by invitations to: look at tour/trekking photos, buy goods, buy food, buy something! Many young Thai women work as escorts/prostitutes, getting paid cash, but also traveling with their companions. They have very little interest in Western women, or any women, as they are potential blocks to more money from their part-time farang lovers. Groups of Western women garner some interest, as they are sometimes vacationing Spring Break style (drinking, beaching, shopping, and maybe more drinking). Don't believe middle-aged men traveling alone when they make it a point to say they are not there for sex tourism, and consider insisting they hire only girls over 18 and are not enslaved.

India, I was quickly reminded, is full of curious people, and in Calcutta especially, many are skilled in the English language and interested in conversation with a purpose of... conversation.

More soon!

Bangkok to Calcutta

2008-01-15T19:51:00.000+05:30

On Wednesday, January 16, my real trip begins! I will arrive in Calcutta, India, via air from Bangkok. I returned to Bangkok a few days ago to get a ticket and finally move forward, but I had to wait to get a decent fare... It has actually been nice relaxing and walking, reading and meeting people, trying mystery street foods and watching movies in tourist restaurants. I plan for about 3 months in India and possibly Bangladesh and/or Nepal before heading back to Southeast Asia for the remaining cool(ish) months. In September or October I will return to India- though I am not sure where I will find refuge from the heat in July and August!

I have been taking photographs of all my meals as well as all the places I am sleeping. Once in India I will decide on how to share these- either on photo pages or as sets on Flickr. See you soon!

Monkeys Everywhere!

2008-01-10T10:54:00.000+05:30

The plan is to leave Lopburi tomorrow on a train to Bangkok. I'm goign to do what it takes to fly to India in a few days! Wish me luck!

MONKEY THIEF ATTACK

2008-01-09T12:40:00.000+05:30

Yesterday, in the middle of feeling stressed out about finding a reasonably priced entry into India (highly unlikely, and I plan on two round trips...), while flipping the pages of my Thailand guidebook I saw: "blahblahblah more than any other place in Thailand blahblahblah is a city besieged by monkeys blahblahblah".

I came straight here!

Here is Lopburi, a small town of around 60,000 with fast internet! I've been here less than an hour and I was attacked by a monkey. Meters after I exited my bus, he jumped on my small shoulder bag and then on the bag of food I was not-so-cleverly taunting him with. Apples, grapes, a tangerine, and a nearly new box of crackers spilled across the sidewalk. Apart from a few grapes the fruit was recovered. See for yourself what happened to the crackers:

Related belated news, in Calcutta two years ago a monkey stole the banana off my banana yogurt at the outside restaurant run by my hotel. I couldn't complain, the room was around $3 USD a night, and they did not even make me pay for the yogurt part.

How To: Bangkok to Ayutthaya

2008-01-07T07:03:00.000+05:30

1. Check out of your room in Bangkok. This consists of waving your key around so a woman lounging on a cushion, eating noodles, watching television, and texting on a mobile sees you. That`s it, they never held a deposit or even asked to see a passport or bothered with your name.

2. Find your way to the appropriate train station. Taxis in tourist areas often refuse to use meters and quote exorbitant prices; leave this area. Please note that Hualamphlong is pronounced ``wah lahm pong`` and if you leave the tourist ghetto you may struggle with driver communication. Find a taxi and be prepared to pay a little extra since he uses his mobile to call someone who may understand your pathetic broken Thai.

3. You make it to the train station and it feels like gold. Buy your ticket, but the officer may embarrass you when his amazing English dwarfs your memorized, rehearsed and subsequently misspoken Thai.

4. Noting that there is no platform information on your ticket, walk as far from where you need to go as possible. Find your train literally as it begins to pull away.

5. Sit where you can, but pay mind to the large sign hanging in the middle of the car that a monk directs your attention to: ``This car is reserved for monks and disableds only.`` Move, and decide on not making a plea for mental disability.

6. Arrive and disembark. Look eagerly for the touts aching for your business. When you find none, get a tuk-tuk into town.

Ayutthaya was the Siamese royal capital for over 400 years- until 1767. The name comes from the Sanskrit Ayodhya meaning ``unassailable``. It is a fairly small town (under 100,000); the main attraction is the Unesco World Heritage temples.

I`m happy to be here in a quieter place so I can plan my entry into India!

ARRIVAL!

2008-01-05T21:19:00.000+05:30

Departure, San Francisco: Midnight Thursday
Arrival, Bangkok: Noon Saturday
Elapsed (calendar) time: 36 hours
San Francisco to Taipei- 14 hour flight; 747
Taipei layover- 3 hours
Taipei to Bangkok- 4 hours; Airbus 300
Total travel time: 21 hours
Time difference (PST -7; Thailand +8)- 15 hours

On my way into Bangkok from the airport I was elated, I felt strong knowing what was coming. It may have been a mistake, but thinking I would stay here only a day or two, I decided to stay in one of the main tourist areas because I knew I could find a cheap room and food easily. But panic struck me for a few moments as I wandered through a place I described this way: “I'm sick and achy and everyone here is naked. Bangkok, like India's beach mecca Goa, is a haven for parties and coconut-colored tans. I hate it… [After India] the avalanche of calves and thighs poking out of short denim skirts has thrown me dizzyingly backward.” And, I’m realizing what it means that I am here, with almost nothing- less than 20 pounds of stuff (photo and packing list forthcoming) and no set plans, no reservations, and knowing I said goodbye to someone I met and learned to love since returning from the RMI- for a year.

I’d forgotten the cold showers. In an instant I wanted to go home, to familiar streets and food and arms, to not worrying about water, to real towels. I forgot that one of my packing “secrets”, a pillow case, isn’t just a topic of conversation before the trip, but something I would be using everyday, all the time- as a picnic blanket, as a laundry bag, as a towel. I forgot I would be wearing sandals in the shower and have to lock up my things. Where did home go, will I make it here?

And then I remembered the people and places and things that made me want to return, that the excitement of getting the new (10 year!) Indian visa means I can use it, and yes, YES, this is unsure and frightening a little, but maybe it is a little bit beautiful too- I just have to escape Bangkok first…