Little Delhi

We leave Nainital early in the morning, around 7 am. The drive to Delhi is as expected. We leave the steep mountain pass and head onto the bumpy, busy main roads. About half-way through our trip we stop at an uncertain roadside dhaba.

The server is afraid of us---he will only talk to our driver because he says he won't understand what we say. He watches us from a distance and will only take our order via our driver from the front counter. We are feeling slightly ill, and I'm not sure the "mineral water" (bottled water) we ordered is actually safe---sometimes to make more money people will refill water bottles with tap water. We barely eat half of a cucumber salad and then head back to the car.

When we arrive in Delhi (a short drive---only about 5 or 6 hours), our driver is completely lost. I pull out the several Delhi maps I have acquired, and luckily I have a concentration in urban planning and development, or who knows if we'd have ever found our way. Fortunately, thanks to my degree, I am handy at maps and landmarks. So I begin reading our map as he stops to ask every other person on the road where we are.

I finally get us on the right track and direct him to our hotel---The Grand Godwin, of course. However, when we arrive we discover that we've been upgraded to the Godwin Deluxe! We check in (filling out the usual guest register, having our passports photocopied, and signing lots of forms), and head to our room. Everything is touch-screen automated. A large window curtain that opens or stops at your command, a tea pot boiler, lights, air---everything! The best feature of the room (because we've somehow acquired the couple's room) is the shower. It has a window between the bathroom and the bedroom with a touch-screen curtain, so that if you choose, someone sitting on the bed can watch you shower. Of course we play with this feature like five year old little girls, giggling the whole time as we watch the curtain open and close.

We settle into our bed, and I take a cold diet Coke out of the mini-fridge. YES. Sometimes, after harrowing adventures, exhausting journeys, and general fatigue the simplest things can feel like soul saviors. And this diet Coke was definitely doing it for me. We order room service (we haven't eaten in who knows how long). I get the penne pasta with vegetables, Cindy gets a chicken and mushroom dish with mashed potatoes. Our food comes down some time later and is perfect. My pasta is more of a gourmet macaroni and cheese dish, but it is hearty, warm, and delicious. Cindy's mashed potatoes are in the shape of a heart! And they are actual mashed potatoes! Perfect.

We watch the world blur by outside. We decide that there is Old Delhi and New Delhi, but this little paradise hidden inside the Godwin hotel is our own Little Delhi.

We rest into the night. We are simply worn out at this point. Nainital really took it out of us. I take a "nap" from about 4 pm until 11 pm. I stay up late into the night catching up on work and talking with friends back home. Later, I fall asleep at around 4 am, but pop back up at 6.

As usual, we head out far too early into the Indian morning. We catch an autorickshaw to Connaught Place--a circle of upscale shops in New Delhi, similar to an outdoor mall. Everything there is made of white concrete, and the buildings are held up with tall pillars. However, all of the shops are closed (obviously, it's only 7 am now--what were we thinking?). But we find a government tourist office and after some hassle (mostly because they want us to entirely re-plan our trip so that we can book through them), eventually get an autorickshaw to take us around and see nearby markets and sites.

Several markets have just opened, but they all are overpriced with imported goods. We wander around aimlessly through each shop the driver takes us to, but purchase nothing. The driver eventually takes us to the stunning Hindu temple, Lakshmi Narayan or Birla Mandir. It has brightly decorated statues of Hindu gods and goddesses throughout it, with beautiful gold inlaid paintings across the walls. The outside of the temple is a sparkling red and white sandstone, and the floors are made of marble. Quotes from the Upanishads are scattered across the walls. We leave our shoes, cameras, and phones in a locked box at the front and spend some time wandering through the temple.

Afterward, we collect our things and return to our driver. We have him take us back to Connought Place, where everything is still closed. So we return to our hotel and have a beer (and yes, it's only 10 am---but that feels late when you've been up and around in the Indian sunshine since 6!).

After a long nap, we head back out to Connought Place around 4 pm to try again. This time, shops are open, but our rickshaw driver takes us to a tourist booking office instead of the center circle. So we have to spend time figuring out how to get to the bar and restaurant we had planned on going before we were dropped off a good half-mile away in the wrong direction. Everyone is helpful on our journey. In fact, possibly too helpful.

Every ten feet someone stops us to ask if we have a map of Delhi, do we know where we're going, do we want to come to their shop. Finally, a teacher who has brought his students on vacation shows us the way to the center circle. He walks with us and we chat for some time until he has to rush off to meet his students. As we walk in the general right direction, another man leaves his shop to walk with us and show us the way. He tells us he is from Kashmir and his family business is selling shawls. He has been to the US before--Wisconsin--and he has a friend who teaches there. He shows us several restaurants, and we finally find the one we had seen before. He says it is the best restaurant in Connaught Place! So we enter.

It is a fine establishment, with high ceilings, wood floors, and polished tables. We order margaritas, rice with vegetables, and curried cauliflower. A man sitting at the table next to us strikes up friendly conversation. We end up talking with him and his nephew the entire time. When it comes time to go, we have too much food left over. We feel bad for leaving it, but we simply cannot eat anymore.

"No, no---you can get it to go! Take it to the poor!" our new friend tells us. We hadn't seen a single to-go box, or seen anyone take to-go food, so we had thought that wasn't a thing in India. However, we asked for the food to-go and it was easily boxed and bagged. Yes! Our friend explains to us that money given to the beggars on the street often ends up on the pockets of ruthless hustlers who send beggars out to make money for themselves. Poor children who beg often have the money taken from them by their parents, who may spend it on cigarettes or alcohol. Food, he says, is the best way to help the poor, because at least they can keep it and eat it.

We leave the restaurant, and mention something about travel to Agra. Our friend sends us to a government tourist information center to help us set up our trip on the last day of our journey. After some time arguing and repeatedly saying "no no no" to the multitude of options the man at the desk offers us, we finally book a taxi driver to take us to Agra on June 10, when we return to Delhi, just before we leave for home. For a reasonable price, we get airport pickup, a hotel in Agra, tickets to the Taj Mahal, and airport drop-off. The problem is that our plane leaves on June 12 at 2:35 am---so we couldn't take the train or risk having to find a taxi driver back that night. So, at least that's done!

We leave Connaught Place heading for our hotel. Immediately we are besieged by autorickshaw drivers who want to charge us far too much. However, the number of them gives us a competitive advantage, and we get a good price back to the hotel. Our driver is adorable. We tell him we are going to the Godwin hotel and he sings to himself "Godwin, Godwin, Godwin" under his breath as we drive. A car darts out in front of us at one point, and he shakes his head and says "crazy crazy people!" We make it to our hotel and walk out into the dusty night.

We wander the street for a bit. I give our untouched to-go food to a woman who is sitting on the street--almost hidden by the dirt of her clothes. She takes it and begins eating, and we return to our hotel.

We will leave early tomorrow morning---our flight to Jaipur is at 10:20 am. But for tonight, we have one more evening of rest in our Little Delhi.

 

Nainital Part II: Boat Club Members

Our hotel is massive. It takes 106 stairs to get to our room on the fourth floor (yes, we counted). Large balconies rise into the air, decorated with potted flowers of all assortments and colors. The hotel directly overlooks the lake—a deep shimmering green, surrounded by trees and ashrams. Our room is simple, but nice. A table sits outside of our door, shaded by the balcony roof. Room service is prompt and persistent—they arrive precisely at breakfast time, lunch time, and dinner time to take our orders.

We check in and eat breakfast---toast and porridge with masala tea (or chai, as we call it in the US). Our driver sits with us, giving us suggestions for the day. After we eat, we return to our room and clean up. There is no hot water, and Nainital is cold (comparatively), so I choose not to shower today. However, we do put on our saris, fix our hair, and I even put on makeup.

We head out, looking for a bar. We desperately need a beer to calm our souls. We ask at the front desk and they tell us there is no beer here. Later, we will look at the room service menu and see the explicit statement “no alcohol permitted on hotel premises” and realize how awful we looked asking for beer. Anyway, there is a “beer and wine shop” directly next door (ironically, they only sell whiskey and vodka). We stroll around town, our driver following us the entire way trying to convince us to do this or that tour. After no luck finding a bar, we sit in the park across from our hotel overlooking the lake. A woman walks up to us and tells us we are beautiful in our saris and she puts a bindi on each of our foreheads, directly between our eyes. Afterward, we decide to return to the hotel to look at our guide book to figure out how to find a bar.

Kalishk is still following us closely. Cindy finally tells him that we really need space for ourselves and that we’ll call him later. We return to the hotel and discover that at the other end of town there is a place called the “Nainital Boat Club” which rests directly over the lake and is an upscale bar and restaurant that requires membership. However, it appears to be the only bar in town. So we take a bicycle rickshaw across town (for 10 rupees) and stop at the boat club. At first we are confused (we missed the sign) and have to stop at a “Tourist Information Boot” to ask. They turn around and point at a building that is probably 10 feet from us. We head down the stairs and into the bar.

It is a swanky place with dark wooden walls and floors. You can easily imagine older Indian men playing poker, drinking scotch, and smoking cigars in its lounge. Men in green suits and slicked back hair stand everywhere. We sit on the terrace, under the balcony roof. The breeze from the lake blows over us as we take deep breaths and finally start to relax and recover from our, thus far, terrifying journey.

We order two large Kingfishers, and they arrive in cold glasses. As soon as our glasses start to empty, one of the suited men appears to refill it for us. We also order a “club sandwich,” which has a veggie patty and curry sauce between three slices of white bread. We sit for some time, and then decide to explore the lake. By this time it is almost sunset (we have been at the boat club for five hours now!). We head over to the boats, which are almost directly under the boat club. They are small wooden canoe-like structures, with a bench across one end and a seat for the rower at the other end.  We carefully step into our boat and put on our life jackets. Across the river a yogi chants prayers over a loud speaker as bells ring.

We head out onto the lake. The sun is slowly easing behind the mountains. A breeze gently ripples he water around us. Nainital is a deep jade green. It is said to be the green eye of Shiva’s wife, fallen to earth as he carried her charred body across the sky.  For thirty minutes we drift in silence and peace around the lake.

After we return to shore, we walk around town—visiting a small market that mostly contains western shops, a temple (where everyone tries to guide us, direct us, and tell us where to put our shoes that we are carrying), and then across the street to a large ornate, white mosque. As we walk across the road we pass a cricket game in full swing.

Incense, prayers, and bells drift on the wind. As the sun sinks into the clouds, the night becomes colder. We walk in a circle, back through the market, where a woman sitting on the street pulls at my sari as we pass by. For some reason this unnerves me—probably because I am still holding on to fear and tension from our journey yesterday. We return to the boat club and have several more beers before heading back to the hotel.

The streets have been closed to car traffic for the night, and a brightly lit market has opened up. It lines the entire road from the boat club to our hotel. Cotton candy vendors stroll the streets, stalls shout their wares to people walking past, teenagers wear lit-up devil horns, and there is a general festival energy in the atmosphere.

We make our way back to our hotel, walk up the 106 stairs, and settle into our room for the night.

Tomorrow will be a long and bumpy journey back to Delhi, where we will hopefully rest at our beautiful Godwin hotel before heading off to Jaipur. However, for now I have learned to listen to myself. To hear my discomfort and address it, which in this case means that if I am uncomfortable in the middle of India---regardless of if this discomfort is fully warranted or not---I should find some place where I can exist in peace. Once upon a time, at a non-violent communication training school in Taos, New Mexico, a teacher told us that “everything we do in life is a choice---all of our actions, our decisions, and our behaviors are a choice.” It was our choice to continue to the ashram, despite the darkness and the lateness of our journey; it was also our choice to flee to somewhere where we could feel safe and away from harm. It is our choice to return to Delhi tomorrow. Our lives, even in times of stress, fear, and terror, are full of choices. And, despite everything, our trip to Nainital ended beautifully.

Until later,

 

Namaste!

Nainital Part I: Spiders and Scorpions (or: Our Harrowing Adventure Across the Mountain)

Let me begin by saying this was one of the most stressful and terrifying days of my life. So, let's go from there.

Our car, which was supposed to pick us up at 11, ended up not arriving until around 12:30 pm. It honked its way to the door of the hotel, and we loaded ourselves in.

The first part of the journey was relatively uneventful. We drove out of the mountains of Rishikesh. After finding relatively quiet and empty roads, we stopped for lunch at a roadside dhaba. I had channa masala (chickpea curry) while Cindy had a vegetarian thali (lunch plate). We continued on our way, alternating between driving through busy cities or towns and rural farm villages. Sometimes the roads were smooth and fast, and sometimes they were bumpy, congested, and slow.

However, we kept getting lost. Our driver would stop and ask for directions, go whichever way for a short while, then stop again, sometimes turn around, and then stop again and ask for directions. The day dragged on longer and longer as he made phone call after phone call and stop after stop.

Finally, as the sky darkened, we made our way to the base of the mountain Nainital is hidden in. This is where the adventure begins.

The road was narrow. Only several feet wide. It curved sharply every few feet, edging its way up the mountain. To one side was a steep cliff that grew higher and higher as we climbed; the other side was a rock wall. Like every other Indian road, all sorts of traffic complicated the drive. Even full-size tourist buses found their way up the mountain via this incredibly narrow, winding path---almost forcing us off the road several times. We continued like this for several hours. Many times I fell across the car as we took the sharp turns. The higher we went, the tighter my stomach wound itself into knots. We swerved, and swerved, and swerved, and swerved. Up, up, up, up. The cliff was so high at this point that all I could see down below was the tops of trees scattered along the mountainside. And still, up, up, up we went. Swerving, honking, and dodging.

It was pitch black outside, save for the lights of oncoming traffic.

Finally, we made our way to the city of Nainital. Lights dotted the mountain and we could see the dark reflection of buildings in the lake. Yet, we continued on.

We were heading to the ashram that Ram Dass had studied at. My aunt had several friends who spent most of their summers here, and highly recommended that we visit it for spiritual growth.

Yet, it was in a secluded village several miles outside of the main town of Nainital. So on we drove. At this point, we found ourselves winding both up and down the mountain, with the roads getting both narrower and darker as we went. The hours drug on.

After stopping several times to ask for directions, turning around a few times, and dodging a few buses, we finally made it to the ashram. Which was dark and locked.

We looked at each other nervously. Well, we could retreat back to Nainital if we had to...but we'd been in the car over 10 hours at this point, and the thought of driving back up the mountain was more than we could stand.

So we headed to the locked front gate. Inside a small room we could hear a few men playing instruments and chanting prayers. A guard walked up to the gate and spoke to us in Hindi. We began explaining to him that we had obtained preapproval to stay here; however, he did not speak any English. He went to get someone else. A few minutes later, a second guard appeared. We began explaining to him, but he also only spoke Hindi. He went to get someone else. We became more and more nervous, standing alone in the dark night, surrounded by nothing but stars and trees. Finally, a well dressed man appeared at the gate who spoke English. He took our paperwork, and after some time, finally told us we could stay. He told us he had us room. It was up some stairs to the right (not inside the main ashram complex), and consisted of a concrete floor covered in a large red rug. We glanced at each other, but were fully prepared to concoct a makeshift bed with our clothes. After all, we were here for a spiritual journey of sorts, which often requires challenging the physical body (not that it hadn't already been quite challenged to get here).

After dropping off our luggage, we headed back to the ashram. Our driver was waiting for us there. He asked us if we wanted to go back into town. After we told him no, he said he'd be down first thing in the morning to check on us. He seemed worried. Great.

We walked through the gate. The men in the room from earlier stopped to stare at us as we walked in. They told us to take our shoes off and cover our heads. I realized I had forgot my shawl and was dressed completely inappropriately. I apologized profusely--almost in tears---and ran back to the room to get it. After I returned, we went to the main office. The man who spoke English checked us in, while two other men stood around us and watched. He told us to be sure to lock ourselves in our room to be safe. We looked at each other in fear. Seriously? Is this real?

We left the main ashram complex and headed up the stairs to our room. At the very top of the stairs, in the only outdoor light there was, sat a little fat scorpion. Yes, a SCORPION. Are you kidding me? I pointed this out to Cindy as we moved on our way. Scorpions--for real.

When we returned to our room, they had brought two small floor mattresses. A man appeared with sheets, and set them on the floor. Cindy left to go to the restroom. As soon as she did, the man reappeared with a whole new set of sheets. At this point I was texting Alex, just so that I could have some link to the outside world. As I did this, the man leaned close to me. "Does your phone make calls?" he asked. I looked at him. Really? "Um, yeah, I guess" I responded. He leaned closer. I moved across the room. He stood there for several seconds smiling at me, and then finally left. Cindy came back. We were about to lock ourselves in---our nerves rattled, frayed, and possibly just torn all to hell---when I looked over at the wall above our luggage.

"Son of a mother of holy....dear lord, CINDY!" I screamed. There, sitting right above my bag was the largest wolf spider I've ever seen in my life. It was, quite literally, the size of my hand. "SHIT" Cindy replies. We stare at the spider, at our luggage, and then at each other. This goes on for a few seconds when suddenly the spider darts towards our bags. I run across the room (away from the spider) while Cindy bravely runs towards our bags and grabs them just in time.

The spider runs across the wall and then darts to the floor. Under the carpet. That we're sleeping on. We look at each other. "Really?!" we both say aloud. This is the breaking point. We simply cannot take any more. The combination of the too-long car ride, the mountain, the darkness, the men (who were really just unsure of what to do with two western women in the middle of the night and were simply being over friendly), the scorpions, and now the spider left us no choice. We had to run away. It was time to surrender. We strapped our bags back on and literally ran to the main road.

A guest house was located just a few feet down the road from the ashram. In the pitch black darkness we find our way to its door. Of course it is locked. But we're simply too desperate. I call the number on the sign until someone answers. A groggy man picks up the phone and says he'll be down soon. We wait for several minutes, contemplating how to get a taxi back up the mountain. He calls back--he's too far away to get there, but his brother is walking down. We're tempted to tell him just to call us a taxi, but we've already woken him up, and we're standing at the gate of his guest house.

A bat flies overhead. I begin looking at the ground, expecting snakes and other crawly creatures. Finally, a man wanders out of the forest and unlocks the gate. He shows us a room, which we eagerly accept, and we check in for the night. Our room has a simple Indian style bed (wide, low, and thin), a window, and an old Indian bathroom.

Cindy--paranoid that spiders are after us---looks under the mattress to check. We find a few silverfish and other crawly things that are mostly harmless, but we spray our 50% Deet pesticide everywhere anyway. Then we wrap ourselves in our mosquito net and fall asleep on top of the blanket (away from the Deet and bugs) into an uneasy and freezing cold sleep.

Every hour I wake up and check the time. Outside of the window I hear the strange calls of animals and bugs. Finally, the sun is up around 5 am. We begin to slowly get ready---trying to take our time so that we don't leave the room until we are sure people exist outside. At about 6:30 we head out, planning to get some tea at the dhaba across the street. However, when we walk outside I see Kalishk---our driver. Far too excitedly I scream his name and run like a mad person to him.

He tells us he's been looking all over for us. Well, we're here. And ready to go. As he gets tea for himself from the dhaba, we load our luggage into the car. A western woman walks up to us as we wait. She tells us she's from the ashram and that they are worried about us---did we leave in the middle of the night? We tell her our story. She agrees that the men are very awkward with western women and that the spiders take some getting used to. We beg to differ---there is no getting used to the spiders. Anyway, we apologize profusely and she calls a hotel in Nainital for us.

We have to call the hotel owner again to get him to check us out. He arrives, clearly tired. He must think we're lunatics---arriving in the middle of the night and leaving with the sunrise. At this point, we just want to escape, so we aren't too concerned.

We get into our car and journey back up the mountain. In the daylight it does not appear nearly as horrifying. In fact, it is very similar to our own Appalachian mountains. The air is fresh and cool, pine trees dot the mountainside, and the sun beams down on us. Fortunately, many roads that were closed last night are now open, so it only takes us about 30 minutes to get to Nainital.

After some confusion, our driver finds our hotel---a majestic palace-like structure made of marble and iron overlooking the lake. We head inside and book our room for the night. We may finally just get to calm down.





 

Over the Ganges

We woke up around 7 am---our first actual night of sleep. We wandered into the bright Indian morning to find some breakfast and take in one more look at Clement Town. No shops were really open at this point, though we did stop at a small store to grab some drinks (I picked up some Maaza mango drink). We strolled to the other end of Clement Town and found another beautiful stupa. Behind it was a beautifully and elaborately detailed Tibetan medical center. A huge tree sat near the pathway, shading most of the area. The morning was still; the most active members of the world included lizards and dogs.

As we walked back toward our hotel, a vegetable vendor slowly made his way up the street, shouting “vegetables!” in Hindi. Slowly, women eased out of their gated homes to purchase the day’s meals.

By the time we made it back to the other end of town, the travel shop across from our guest house had opened. We asked if we could get a taxi to Rishikesh. The man behind the desk made a few calls and told us our taxi would be there in 20 minutes. I was impressed by his ability to transition fluidly between English (talking to us), Hindi (talking to drivers on the phone), and Tibetan (talking to women coming into the shop to buy rice noodles). We went over to our hotel and packed our bags quickly, and waited for him to call.

Twenty minutes later we were on our way. Bumping through narrow Dehradun streets, dodging vikrams, cars, buses, and more. We travelled up the forested mountains on a narrow, curvy road, barely dodging the huge tourist buses that came charging through. Once we reached Rishikesh, our driver had to call the hotel owner to find it. We became slightly lost and had the misfortune of having to turn around. It was Sunday morning and the thousands of visitors who had come for the weekend were leaving. Thus, traffic was backed up to the end of the city. However, we finally made it to our hotel. A beautiful five story building painted a pastel sunshine yellow, with balconies attached to each room and a rooftop restaurant overlooking the mountains and river.

Our room here is incredible. It’s big enough to be a small apartment. It has a bed, a desk, a lounging area with two chairs, and a beautiful bathroom. It is perfectly decorated in red, white, and black, and our balcony directly overlooks the Ganges. We settled in, ate some lunch (spiced spinach, cucumber salad, and rice with mixed vegetables), and then took a nap.

Apparently we were exhausted. We both crashed into a heavy sleep for five or so hours. We awoke around 6 pm, and the world was slowly becoming dark. We hurriedly dressed and headed out the door.

A ten minute or so walk through narrow winding streets, past all sorts of street vendors and shops, led us to the Lakshman Jula----a narrow swinging bridge of about half a mile long over the Ganges river that led from the hectic bank of hotels, restaurants, and shops, to the holier side of the city with ashrams, yoga temples, and access to the bank of the river. We took pictures of the beautiful landscape, the Ganges, and the multitudes of temples, as well as the monkeys, as we walked across the bridge. On the other side we met with a statue of Shiva sitting in a fountain surrounded by several wandering cows. We walked down to the bank of the Ganges and watched the calm waters flow steadily onward. Boats were beginning to make their way back to shore for the night, and the sun slowly drifted behind the mountains.

We returned to the main street and visited a few shops on our way to food. We finally spotted an extravagantly decorated building on the bank of the river—the Little Buddha Café. We ambled up the stairs, into a dark shop, and then headed for the rooftop. The lighting was low---small lit-up paper stars and repurposed straw hats with light bulbs in them were strung across the room. The restaurant had no outer walls---just railing and ledges---so that anywhere you sat you could look out at the surrounding scenery. The roof was thatched and low.

We headed to a shared table right at the edge of the building. We took our shoes off and climbed up the concrete ledge to sit, legs crossed, at one of the tables (separated into three parts). From here, we could watch the sun sink into night over the bridge. We accidentally ordered far too much food (I ordered vegetable fajitas, Cindy wanted grilled vegetables), which came out on two huge plates with heaping portions. We also purchased strawberry and mango shakes (which are not made with milk or ice cream—shakes are more of a yogurt smoothie concoction in India). Incense filled the air. It was perfect.

After finishing our meal, we headed out. The men sitting at the table across from us commented that I was dressed like a nice Indian girl (I had my shawl draped around my shoulders the proper way). We chatted with them for a second, laughed, and moved on our way. At the shop downstairs my aunt purchased a beautiful door hanging and the shop owner kept trying to give me an elephant purse. We headed out into the cooling night, where we strolled down the streets back to the bridge. We walked over the Lakshman Jula, taking in the glittering Ganges beneath us, and crossed over to the more city-like side of Rishikesh. As we walked up the stairs to the road, a huge cow with even larger horns was on his way down. After wandering around narrow paths, past people lounging in their homes, past tourists eating at late-night cafes, we finally had to call the hotel owner to come pick us up. Surprisingly, we had made our way within about 100 feet of our hotel---on our own, with no map, in the dark (well, we had Cindy’s very bright phone flashlight). We came back to our room, showered, and made it to bed---only to wake up at 4 am the next morning.

After lounging around in the dawn darkness, we left our hotel at 5 am to see the sunrise over the Lakshman Jula bridge. There were more cows than people out in the early morning, and several cows nosed their ways up to us, asking for treats. We made it to the bridge and stood over the Ganges, watching the sun rise over the mountains as our skirts blew around us in the wind. The morning was peaceful; sounds of morning prayer and bells filled the air from a distance. Tea boiled in large metal pots as people yawned themselves to life.

We made it to the bridge as the sun rose over the mountains. The Ganges rippled a golden reflection as a strong breeze blew over us. We paused for pictures on the bridge, stopped for passing cows, and laughed at the monkeys. On the other side, we decided to go left (we had went right last night).

A row of small shops sat on either side of the road. At the end of the street was a beautiful somewhat abandoned, slowly decaying white temple. As we neared it, we could hear the sounds of morning prayer and bells coming from inside. We paused for a few moments, then turned the other way.

After walking completely through town, we found a small side road that led to houses along the bank of the river. It was narrow, with stone walls rising up to either side. People were beginning to make their way into the morning as we explored the area. After some time, we came upon an ashram. It had a small gate that opened on to white concrete stairs---leading to the bank of the Ganges. A sign read “This is a religious area, please keep silent.” We followed some cows into the gate, and walked down the stairs.

A small yogi cave with religious images painted around it sat at the end of the stairs. To the right were several temples honoring various Hindu gods and goddesses. To the left ran the unadulterated Ganges—a silent beach free of boats or people. Rocks shaped the shore line, and in the distance we could hear the prayers of yogis from across the river.

We walked down to the edge of the river, our feet sliding in the warm white sand. A yogi walked passed us and silently eased into the river. We moved further down to give him privacy. We sat on some large river rocks and watched the world around us. Despite the distant prayers, the world was silent. A breeze blew over us. Cows licked salt blocks near the temples nearby. A distinct peacefulness overtook the air.

After some time, we finally decided to head back up to the road. It was still early---just 7 am---but the sun was high in the sky. More people had made their way into town, and the streets were beginning to bustle. We walked back over the bridge, where we met with a group of Indian tourists who wanted to have their picture taken with us. About eight women and two men crowded around us while another man snapped several photos. They chatted excitedly, held our hands, and thanked us profusely. We are still getting used to being so different. Everyone stares at us, we take several photos with random strangers per day, and nearly everyone wants to talk to us. It’s quite interesting.

Anyway, we made it back to our hotel, where we ate breakfast (a very delicious porridge and fresh fruit salad) and had the hotel owner call us a car to Nainital. Unfortunately, our car couldn’t get there until 11, so we packed and took a small nap in the room.

Looking forward to our next journey!

 

Until then,

Namaste

Buddhas in Dehradun

At 3 am, we popped out of bed after our one hour nap and headed into the streets of Delhi to figure out how to get to our next stop, Dehradun.

As we walked out of our hotel doors, the desk staff looked at us curiously but didn't say anything. The streets were empty. Rickshaw drivers slept on their bicycles, dogs wandered the streets looking for scraps, and in the distance trains at the station blared their farewells.

We walked the one block to the railway station and headed to the ticket counter. While standing in line a man wearing a white button-down shirt and nametag approached us. "You need to go to the Tourist Information Center to book your ticket, you can't get it here" he said. We looked at each other suspiciously. "Don't worry, I work for the rail station. I'm part of the government." We continued staring at each other, unsure of our next move. Finally, we decided to follow him---at a distance and through the main street, under plenty of lights and around many people. He took us across the street, where in fact there was a "Government Tourist Information Center." He banged on the door and yelled in Hindi until a groggy fellow came downstairs. The man smiled at us and took us upstairs. We explained that we needed to get to Dehradun. He spent several minutes trying to find train tickets for us, but to no avail. The first man we met was waiting outside. He told us he could book us a government taxi.

Our hotel had been trying to get us a taxi the entire time. We had called the train station, though, and they had said there were tickets. We attempted to purchase them over the phone, but our poor connection and lack of payment options (you have to have this thing called a 'cash card' that no one else seemed to know about) kept us from booking. So, here we were. Back to a taxi.

However, the rate was excellent (as compared to our hotel's exorbitant price), and we decided it would be easier to go for it. We started to leave to get our things when the man told us that our driver would be there in 20 minutes. It was 4 am at this point---how on earth was there a fellow who wanted to get up and drive two lost American women 7 hours to Dehradun? But there was. He arrived shortly and took us to our hotel to pick up our bags. We checked out and headed on our way by 5 am.

The farther out of Delhi we drove, the more trees begin to appear. Farms begin to dot the landscape. The air became cleaner. The sky became bluer. Everywhere on the side of the roads were huge mango trees, bursting with bright green mangos waiting to ripen. Cars, bikes, rickshaws, water buffalo, vikrams, trucks, government vehicles, and more buzzed around us. Now, if you have never been on a road in India, it is nearly impossible to explain. But I will attempt.

Picture this: A "one-lane" or "two-lane" road, every vehicle loudly blares its horn as it jumps around every other vehicle. Acceptable distance between cars is about two inches (side mirrors fold in to the car so that you can scrape by without damaging them). You only stop when you absolutely cannot get around the other car and you only stop when you are literally about to hit whatever is in front of you. There are no proper directions for cars to be heading. Even on a one lane road, all vehicles will be going every which way, with drivers dodging in and out of oncoming traffic. Tourist buses are the worst---they have no regard for any other vehicle on the road and rarely stop---they just keep coming, expecting you to dart out of the way before they hit you. Which, luckily, our skilled drive did. On top of this, the herds of cows and water buffalo that wander the streets or pull carts for workers also have to use the main streets. So, driving in India is like a crazed game of road frenzy---horns honking, cars dashing around each other madly, animals dodging cars, small bikes dodging cars and animals, etc.

After about four hours of this, we stopped at a bright and sunny restaurant on the side of the road. Here I had sweet lassi and Cindy and I both ordered grilled toast with vegetables (it was very good!). We then proceeded on our journey, which halted again about two hours later as we neared the highways for Haridwar. It is currently the pilgrimage and holiday season for Haridwar---a holy city located along the Ganges--and thousands of Indian citizens were on their way to visit. This resulted in a two hour traffic jam, where we barely moved an inch at a time. I chose to sleep through it to keep my nerves calm, and when I awoke, we were on a narrower road cut through the forest, headed up into the mountains.

Finally, at around noon, we arrived in Dehradun. We had our drive drop us off at a random parking spot, and we caught an autorickshaw to Clement Town.

Clement Town is a Buddhist enclave hidden away in Dehradun. It also serves as a Tibetan refuge, and is home to the world's largest stupa. The streets are lined in flowers, quiet, and much cleaner than the main city.

We wandered to the guest house mentioned in our Lonely Planet book and asked for a room. Unfortunately, they were booked. We tried another guest house--more of a hostel. After calling the "contact" number on the door, a fellow finally appeared. He seemed suspicious of us and had to call someone before he would talk to us. He told us he couldn't get us a room for that night. Well, onward ho. We went to a small travel station, and asked about a guest house. They brushed us off and told us to go next door. Finally, we found a guest house hidden between the other buildings. After uncertainly wandering its courtyard, we met with a man who said he had rooms. He showed us one downstairs and one upstairs. The upstairs room had an excellent breeze, so we chose it.

This room was 250 rupees, or $5. There was no air conditioning, just open windows and a ceiling fan. It only had one light---a small green bulb that barely lit up. The walls were painted a bright green, but had yellowed with age. The bed was hard wood, with a thin sheet covering it. The bathroom was old and covered in spider webs. However, there was something uniquely charming about it.

After checking in, we went to visit the enormous Buddha statue and nearby stupa. We meandered the premises for a couple of hours, listening to the monks pray and ring bells, and headed back to our room. Cindy had bought a bottle of wine at the airport, but we hadn't had time to drink it yet. So we finished up the water in our water bottles and poured the wine evenly into them. We lay down on the bed, with our feet propped on the screened window, and watched the Indian sunset while drinking our wine. A breeze blew in softly, and all was quiet in the world.

Near dark, we realized that mosquitos were buzzing into our room. Not wanting to take any chances, we decided to hang the mosquito net. Without hooks. We came up with a brilliant plan to tie a string across the room and then drape the net over the string. However, we would still need something to hold the corners up. So we tied string to the window and looped it through the metal rings of the net. With our work complete, we curled under the net and drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow we will venture to the holy mountain city of Rishikesh, atop the Ganges.

Until then,

Namaste!

Through the Streets of Delhi

After a thorough night’s sleep---all of four hours---we sprang to life at 6 am. Well, actually we were both far too excited to even sleep; however, the bed in our beautiful hotel was so comfortable it was nearly impossible to leave (tired or not). Somehow, though, we did manage to tear ourselves away from that heavenly mattress and make it to our breakfast buffet upstairs on the rooftop patio.

After our breakfast---I had parathas and jam---we headed downstairs to start our tour of the city.

Now, let’s talk about Delhi.

Delhi is probably not the crown the jewel of India. It is overwhelming, dirty, crowded, sweaty, and endless. Smog coats the air like nylon leggings stuck to sweaty thighs. However, despite this, there are several beautiful, ancient monuments spread throughout the city---echoes of the days of Mughals, empires, and sahibs.  On our first day in India, we decided to explore these parts of the city. We booked a private driver at our hotel, who picked us up at 9:30 am and drove us off into the streets.

Our first stop was Jama Masjid, a mosque towering over the streets of Old Delhi. It is India’s largest mosque and can hold up to 25,000 people. It was Shah Jahan’s final architectural feat, built from 1644 to 1658. It is still in use today.

Upon our arrival here, we had to leave our shoes at the front gate. We were made to wear long robes covering our clothes---we couldn’t figure out if this was because we were foreigners, if they thought we were dressed inappropriately, or if they were just trying to make extra money (the robes cost 100 rupees each). We strolled onto the burning hot red sandstone courtyard and took in the view. White cloth was strung across half of the courtyard, shading prayer mats for visiting Muslims. In the center of the courtyard was a ceremonial pool, encased in marble. The engraving inside of the mosque was beautiful---painstakingly intricate and adorning many of the main walls. A huge chandelier rested above the main prayer room, with a visiting bird sitting atop it. After a few minutes walking around the entire structure, we made our peace and moved on.

Next, we visited the colossal Red Fort in Old Delhi.  It is a remnant of the great Mughal dynasty, constructed by Shah Jahan from 1638 to 1648. However, it was never completed, because Shah Jahan was imprisoned by his son, Aurangzeb, in Agra Fort. Aurangzeb was the last ruler of the Mughal dynasty, as civil war broke apart the empire and sapped power from any consequent rulers.  After India’s First War of Independence in 1857, the British cleared away most of the buildings of Red Fort---leaving only the most magnificent and important buildings.  Since India’s Independence, however, most landmark political speeches are made at Red Fort; every year on Independence Day (August 15), the prime minister addresses the nation from here.

It is a massive construction of red sandstone; intricately carved, with beautiful arches, pathways, and gates. There used to be a moat and a drawbridge surrounding the fort, but this was replaced in 1811 by stone bridges.

We meandered through the great corridors and platforms of Red Fort, thinking of times past and listening for the ancient echoes of Mughal rulers.

Now, to get to Red Fort, our driver left us with a bicycle rickshaw driver, who pulled us up to the gates of the fort, and then afterward strolled us through Chandni Chowk. Chandni Chowk is the main street through Old Delhi. It translates to “moonlight place” and is a chaotic roar of shops, rickshaws, markets, and surging crowds. Apparently, in Shah Jahan’s time, Chandni Chowk was a large canal lined with neem and peepal trees, where the water clearly reflected the moon at night (thus the name).  As we embarked on our adventure, our rickshaw driver proclaimed “welcome to the REAL India” with a large smile. He took us to the spice market first. Immediately upon arrival the scents of thousands of varying spices overwhelmed the senses. Coughing, sneezing, and eyes burning, we walked to the top of the building to look out over the crumbling houses of Old Delhi. Our driver showed us wholesale bags of chili peppers (at least fifty pounds per bag!), turmeric root, cardamom, and specialty Indian peppers. Men and women sat on the ground stringing fragrant yellow and pink flowers together; as we walked pass, one man smiled at me and offered me a single pink flower for my hair. In front of our rickshaw, I noticed a well-dressed man who stopped briefly to pray---his hands folded in front of his forehead—and then hurry on his way. Next, we rode through the incredibly narrow streets of sari vendors, steel vendors, and wedding vendors. Colors, sequins, flowers, and all sorts of other adornments covered the store fronts and streets. As we strolled through the narrow corridors, we had do dodge vegetable and fruit vendors making their rounds to the shops.  After our excursion, we left our overpriced rickshaw driver and returned to our car.

We then left the frenzied blur of Old Delhi and drove into New Delhi, where our first stop was Gandhi Smriti. This is a memorial for Mahatma Gandhi, located at the place where he was fatally shot on January 30, 1948. A black marble slab covered in flowers sits in the center of an open corridor, with a flame forever burning in honor of Gandhi.  We left our shoes at the front entrance and strolled onto the marble pathways. The ground was burning. Despite the narrow grass-like mats they had placed along the paths, it was all we could do to keep walking. After accidentally stepping into water that was pouring across one of the paths, our feet begin to blister with the heat. Despite this, we walked the entirety of the courtyard to gaze upon this memorial. Just as we were leaving, a massive crowd overtook the site. We barely escaped with our shoes.

After this memorial we visited Humayun’s Tomb. It is often called the “little Taj Mahal” because of its similar construction—in fact, it was a precursor to the Taj Mahal’s majestic glory. It was built by Haji Begum, the senior wife of the second Mughal emperor, Humayun.  As Begum was Persian-born, many of the styles of the tomb come from Persian influence. It is made of white marble and red sandstone, with beautiful arches, domed rooftops, and long outdoor corridors marked by running water. Tombs sit atop the main structure, encased in marble for eternity.  As we walked through the main entrance we stopped at an urban planning exhibition that was open to our right. This exhibition detailed new initiatives to fully restore the tomb site and coordinate it with existing roads in New Delhi. Importantly, they incorporated sustainable development into the project plans. It was quite interesting.

At this point, our lack of sleep, the suffocating heat, and not eating were beginning to wear on us. My stomach turned and knotted as we wound our way through the majestic site.  After our return to the car we begged the driver to take us to lunch. However, the communication barrier led us to the Bahai Temple, where we couldn’t take it any longer.  Luckily, near the temple was Delhi Haat—a cooperative artisan market that also houses an air conditioned restaurant. After talking with our driver, he brought us here for a break. We made it to the restaurant, barely standing, and collapsed into velvet-covered straight-back chairs. Unfortunately, our churning stomachs and heat-sick bodies did not really crave anything on the menu. We tried a “Russian Salad,” which ended up being overcooked green beans, carrots, and pineapple in a sweet yogurt sauce. We simply couldn’t handle this at the moment. We moved on to a “Green Salad” which was far more appetizing---slices of raw carrots, cucumbers, radishes and tomatoes. However, my poor body just could not withstand. After leaving the restaurant to peruse the market, I knew I was going to be sick. As refined as possible, I asked for the nearest bathroom and tried not to run to get to it. After spending several minutes removing the meager lunch from my body, I felt better. Now, to shop! We bought two absolutely beautiful handcrafted saris—mine a shimmering, purple decorated with golden peacocks, and Cindy’s an aquamarine blue that matched her eyes. We were informed that local families made all of the materials available and that Delhi Haat was in fact a true co-op ran by the artists themselves. The vendors took our measurements and promised to have our tailored saris brought to our hotel later that evening. We sealed the purchase over chai and went to pay. Again, the queasiness hit me.

Let’s take an aside here. When I was younger, I used to work 70 to 80 hours a week and go to school full time. My three jobs ran from 1:30 pm to 6:00 am. I slept in my car between classes. I did homework in between work and school.  I could push my body beyond its limits and never consider the consequences. I have always been a workaholic and I have never seen my physical body as a limiting factor in my choices. However, the past couple of years I have noticed that my body is not okay with this. When I get exhausted, I either sleep or spend several hours sick (literally—fevers, vomiting, etc). When I get hungry, I pass out. In addition, the wear and tear I’ve put myself through has led to several serious issues—stomach ulcers and perforations, bone problems, etc. My body simply will not allow me to do as I wish any longer. And this is still something I’m getting used to. My first day in Delhi was a stark reminder of this lesson: I have limits. I am not, as I had so long believed, superhuman.

We still had four more sites to visit. However, we hadn’t slept and had already been on the go for seven hours. It was simply too much. We had to surrender and return to the hotel, where I ran to the shower, expelled the rest of my lunch, and finally fell to sleep in that heavenly bed. I slept into the night, waking up around 8:00 pm.

We decided to go down to the train to see about getting tickets to Dehra Dun. However, the Tourist Bureau was closed and the fellow at the enquiry counter told us to come back tomorrow morning at 4 am—2 hours before the train left—and purchase same-day tickets. So, back through the streets of Delhi. We walked toward our hotel, but couldn’t find the exact road. However, we did find a dark bar with blue lighting and an inviting atmosphere. Here we stopped and shared two large beers---I ordered the “Elephant Extra Strong”---an IPA that checked in at 8%. We were the only women in the bar, but the staff was friendly. On a large screen television near the door, a Cricket game was underway. We ate Manchurian vegetables (cabbage and carrots shredded and rolled into balls, then sautéed in a spicy Chinese sauce and topped with garlic) and talked under the cool air conditioning.

After some time, we left and caught an autorickshaw back to our hotel, which ended up being only one street over. We arrived home around midnight, and made it to bed at 2 am---which gave us precisely one hour to sleep. (We have GOT to get better about this sleep thing!)

Tomorrow we will figure out how to get to Dehra Dun,

 

Until then,

 

Namaste!

With a Little Bit of Luck?

Well, let me begin this post with: WE MADE IT! But barely.

Here's how today's sordid tale begins:

We wake up early, around 7 or 8 am. Shower, finalize packing, all of that fun and last-minute travel stuff.

Leave for Charlotte around 11 am, stop at Hardee's for an oh-so-healthy lunch, and make it to the Charlotte airport around 2:30 pm.

This is where it gets fun. At check-in, our flight from Charlotte is "on time." However, once we've made it through customs we just happen to notice our flight has now been delayed until 8 pm!!! This is pretty horrific, considering our international flight from Newark to Delhi leaves at 8:15 pm!

So, in Limeberry fashion we run--arms, legs, and backpacks flailing--through the crowded airport, barely missing small children and mechanized carts hauling luggage back and forth. We arrive at our gate, out of breath and partially in tears, and sob to the airline agent waiting there. Apparently, due to the weather in Newark, NJ, most flights have been delayed for the day. Brilliant.

Anyway, the flight that was supposed to have left at 2:35 hasn't arrived yet (lucky for us!). We easily change to this flight and sit down. At peace for a few seconds we realize---oh yeah, our checked luggage! So we slink back up to the counter and ask if the agent can check our luggage and make sure it will make it onto this flight. As she's making a phone call, we hear her explain to someone else that the flight that's about to leave (that we just got seats on) is now overbooked and she has nine people on standby. WHEW. Let me say nick-of-time. It felt a little bit like the universe was on our side. So, our luggage is moved to our new flight, and at around 5 pm we finally take off.

Despite it only being an hour and a half flight, it felt like FOR-EV-ER (did you picture the kid in the classic film The Sandlot saying that? Because that's the voice I had in my head just then). Anyway, we make it to Newark at 6:30 and book it to our next gate. We stop for a quick glass of wine (Limeberry style, remember?) and stroll on over, thinking we have at least an hour. WRONG. They have to pre-check passports and visas before they even start boarding. What?!? So, we get in a horrendously long line and wait. As soon as our passports are checked and our tickets signed, they begin boarding call. It was a pretty quick process (especially considering the HUGE plane we were getting on and the endless stream of people ebbing and flowing through the line).

So, by 8:30 pm we are on our plane and ready to go!

Oh, but wait. The captain comes on the loud speaker. "Hey folks, we've got a little issue here, just going to fix it up then we'll be on our way." Well, par for the course I suppose.

An hour later, he comes back on "Folks, just checking in. Want to let you know that we've just got to reboot the computer system. Just a little maintenance issue. Keep in mind this whole plane is basically flown by a computer."

Oh, so just a little maintenance issue....except that the whole plane is flown by the computer....that has crashed.

Two hours later. "Folks, your crew has become illegal now. We have to leave the aircraft at this time. Don't want you to think we're abandoning you, but we have a new crew coming on. Just sit tight."

Oh...so they're not abandoning us...except they are.

New crew arrives. People are up in the aisles eating snacks, having friendly conversation, laughing, joking. It's all taken in stride, really. Like a family get-together, except no wine, no screaming, and all strangers. Pretty laid back.

I'm just sitting in my seat, comfortably reading A Boy's Life (which is an EXCELLENT read, by the way!). I'm fine, whatever, we're stuck here regardless (yes--I can have calm zen moments too). When FINALLY the new captain comes over the loud speaker to announce that the problem has been resolved. Huzzah and hooray! Except, oh wait, they have to do paperwork on the problem now.

One hour later. It's midnight now. We probably could have stayed on our late plane and still made this one, but c'est la vie. The plane finally whirs to life! A loud crashing roar of engines, the sound of wheels scraping along pavement, and then we're off! Soaring through the clouds in our cruise-liner sized skyboat.

The plane ride was mostly uneventful. I watched Life of Pi, slept, ate okra curry and mango yogurt, spilled hot tea on myself, slept some more, had bizarre dreams about obscene airplane parties involving champagne, dancers, and too loud trap music (Alexander that's for you and yes, you featured prominently in them). Eight or nine hours later, as we cruised over Russia, Cindy and I edged our window open. The interior darkness of the airplane broke as the slow stream of evening sun filtered through the clouds outside. Below us, storm clouds gathered---giving off the appearance of a great abyss beneath our skyboat. We watched as we crossed time. Day eased into night. Satisfied with our accomplishment (time travelers and all), we went back asleep and awoke to a "breakfast" of South Indian donuts in tomato curry and fresh fruit. At 11:30 pm the next day (Indian time---I believe this sometime in the afternoon back home), we finally arrived. As the plane descended, the temperature quickly escalated. Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one hundred four. Yes! Finally, we had escaped the cold that has plagued us for so long.

We taxied to the gate, unceremoniously stumbled off the aircraft---our hair sticking out everywhere, our faces greasy, and our clothes rumpled and only half on--and breathed in the deep, sweltering air of India.

Oh how I've missed that burning smell.

We met our hotel guide outside, a friendly fellow who told us about Pahara Ganj (where our hotel is located in Delhi) and escorted us straight to our beautiful hotel. We walked in from the dirty, dark street into a lobby covered in exquisite white marble, laced with gold. A spiral staircase wound up to the floors above---an elaborate piece of marble with gold vine details along the side. The hotel staff sets up our reservation and asks us if we need a beer. Clearly, we don't look in the best condition. Also, our immediate answer is "YES."

We are led to our room on the fourth floor. It is simple, but gorgeous. Importantly, it contains a huge fluffy white bed salaciously calling our names. However, beer first. After stumbling around and getting our bearings (somewhat, at least), we meander up to the fifth floor for the outdoor restaurant. It looks closed, but a fellow comes around the corner when he hears us. He offers us menus with drinks and food, and we eagerly take them. A pitcher of Kingfisher for me and a huge helping of fresh Shahi Paneer. Cindy orders a vegetable kabob and a glass of red wine. We devour our food, soaking in the taste along with the complete warmth of the atmosphere. A gecko runs up the wall to my right. The wind blows through the open patio to my left. It's perfect. Paradise, even. We share one more Kingfisher and call it a night.

Tomorrow, we'll explore Delhi, book our train to Dehra Dun, and probably get into all sorts of mischief.

Until then,

Namaste.

Land of the Sun.

Once upon a time, approximately four years ago, I got on a plane for the first time in my life, completely alone, and flew 17 hours across the North Atlantic Ocean, over Russia, and into India. I landed in New Delhi around midnight. The sky a burning black with small lights scattered into the darkness. Everything around me was written in Hindi. I probably looked like some sort of proverbial drowned rodent---my hair and face greasy from 17 hours sailing across the sky. I definitely looked confused. Importantly, I didn't have (nor know that I needed) my glasses, so I was at least half blind (no--literally, I'm blind in my right eye). But alas, I made it. And I staggered into the blistering night, where the first truly grand adventure of my life awaited me.

Working on a rice field at Navdanya

Prayer Wheels in Dehradun

 Needless to say, India was my first love. The chaotic hum of trains, cows, people, rickshaws, buses, and the endless energy of life filled  the entirety of the country. During my initial visit, I worked with the renowned ecofeminist Vandana Shiva at her sustainable farm and community, Navdanya. I learned about biodiversity, sustainability, organic farming, and the deep struggles that Indian peoples have invested themselves in over the centuries for justice. Traveling around the northern part of the country after my internship, I found diverse peoples who celebrated all of the beauty and magic in life. Prayer flags, incense, Hindu temples, Catholic churches, mosques, ashrams, yoga centers, and sprawling mountains shaped the landscape. The air perpetually smelled of fire, nag champa, trash, and perfume; this place was--and continues to be--indescribable. It is a burning land---a place where you
drink hot chai after a hard day's work on a farm in 113 degree weather. The sun beats down on everything. The world here is teeming--a chaotic jungle of life. Green hills, deep valleys, narrow
roads, curving pathways, moonscape mountains, sky blue lakes, and vast rivers. It is, in a single word, magical.

Given my first adventures as a young college kid, it's no wonder I'm returning. This time, I'm traveling across the north and the southwest. With my energetic aunt, I'll be visiting the ashram were Ram Dass trained. I'll be riding elephants through Jaipur's Old Pink City. I'll peruse the Anjuna flea market in Goa. I'll sail through jungles on a thatched houseboat. Most importantly, I will meet brilliant people. People whose life forces me to re-evaluate mine. People who will bend the rigidness from my soul and open my mind to a billion ways of seeing. I only hope that I can bring these lessons back with me. That I can take the magic, beauty, and unyielding life home with me.

Until then,


Namaste!