Lovely Malaysia

I took Malaysian Airways from Bangalore to Kuala Lumpur. The airline's airport code is MH and they have introduced a clever new ad campaign that says MH not only stands for Malaysian Air but also Malaysian hospitality. This is not just some ad campaign. There really is something to be said for Malaysian hospitality. From the moment I touched down to the moment I took off again, I was treated like part of the family only everyone was still very polite and so it was also like I was a guest.

I arrived bright and early Monday morning to the big, clean and modern Kuala Lumpur airport and wandered by Louis Vuitton, Coach and other high end stores before realizing that I had to take a shuttle to the main terminal. It was so big and shiny, I thought I was in the main terminal and was only slightly nervous that there was no sign of my brother. Not to worry though because after I zipped through immigration, Steve and Juliana were waiting. Juliana's dad was out front ready and waiting with the car and seemingly excited to have a visitor. It was about this time that my lesson on all things Malaysian and all things about Kuala Lumpur began. The country gained its independence (from the British) in 1957 and is a constitutional monarchy. There are 13 states but only 9 of the states have sultans who also make up the royal family. Every five years the sultans get together and elect a new King from among themselves.

Aside from the running commentary during the trip back to Juliana's parent's place, what I first noticed was how green the country was. Even from the plane, as we approached the airport, the area outside the city looked like it was just covered with a green, fuzzy blanket. It reminded me of Singapore with the neatly paved, clean streets. I'm not sure what I expected but I was surprised at how developed it is with it's tall skyscrapers and impressive city skyline.

After making our way safely to the Lye's who insisted there home was my home, I took a shower and drooled ever so daintily on their pillows while taking a nap. But there is little time for naps in KL by noon, our tour guide (Peter Lye) had us up and out. Juliana's mom likes to refer to her husband as Peter Lye which I found funny but quite catchy. "Peter Lye where are you taking us?" (It doesn't work in reverse though. There is no referring to Mrs. Lye as Jenny Lye.) After parking the car that my brother nearly destroyed, we walked a block or two to the bustling Chinatown. (Ok, so Steve didn't really "destroy" the car but apparently a few days after his arrival, he was getting out of the car and "out of nowhere," a motorcyclist came zipping down the street and nearly ripped the car door off it's hinges. But it was almost as good as new by the time I arrived with just a small scar by the handle and the inability to be locked automatically.) Anyway, we meandered through the streets of Chinatown for a bit before sitting down to lunch. We went to one of the oldest restaurants that used to be quite popular and delicious but has changed hands and not been as good since. It was fairly large with red plastic chairs, fluorescent lighting but somehow had an intangible charm to it. We did not get menus but as Peter Lye was taking care of our order, I realized it was the kind of restaurant that I would normally walk right passed. I felt like Anthony Bordain eating in some off the beaten path dive place that only those in the know, know about.

The waitress bought five plastic bowls, five spoons, five tea glasses and chopsticks all in a larger plastic bowl filled with water. I gave Steve a curious look and he gave me the, "this is how it's done in Malaysia" look. Peter Lye immediately began rinsing out all our dishes in a well rehearsed routine. First he poured some of the hot Chinese tea into one of the tea glasses, then began rinsing the glasses with the hot tea water. Then that was dumped into the larger bowl to "clean" the rest of the dishes. When the food arrived, I quickly realized that unlike India, Malaysia is not really the place for a vegetarian. There was lots of seafood with eyeballs staring back at me and lots of meats made extra flavorful by including large chunks of meat fat. So while I like to think that I like lots of different foods and flavors, my trip only reconfirmed what I guess I already knew - I can be slightly picky about texture and vegetarians really bother meat lovers.
After lunch, we walked around Chinatown where I was offered lots of goods for "one dalla" and ate lots of interesting fruits. We ate something like a lychee that was round and red and had long hairs sticking out of it like a porcupine. Inside it was white and fleshy with an almond shaped pit. They were sweet and delicious. We also had jack fruit and star fruit and looked at the infamous, durian fruit (very stinky with a "custard-like" center). We did not buy any on the street though because Peter Lye knew of a better place to go and get some. We did some window shopping at a place called Central Market which had everything from Indian craft to Chinese tea sets to Malaysian Batik (a method of printing very colorful and intricate patterns on cotton).

The Olympic torch happened to be in Malaysia so there was some discussion of going to see it but because of the heat and the crowds and all that controversy, we opted to continue wandering where we were before heading home for some showers before dinner.

Dinner was much like lunch. We went to another outdoor restaurant with plastic tables and chairs and were given a bowl of dishes to rinse ourselves. The crabs were delicious but messy and seeing the expertise with which the Lye's cracked and sucked up the meat, I'm sure I would've failed if there was a test to see how much crab you actually ate. (Luckily, Peter Lye refrained from ordering the frogs that were hoping all over one another in smallish tank.) We headed home for some fresh mango after dinner but got to bed early because we had an early flight to the east coast for some tropical sun and white sandy beaches the next morning.

Despite the size and relative ease of getting around KL's international airport, those Malaysians are so efficient that they actually had a separate domestic airport. Peter Lye again had an early morning but cheerfully drove us to the airport before sunrise. We were flying about an hour northeast of KL to a place called Terengganu. From there we were to catch a ferry to an island called Redang where we planned to wander aimlessly for a place to stay. (Juliana and Steve are not big planners - which was fine by me as I did no research before going to Malaysia, it didn't matter to me where we went.) On a tip from Juliana's friend, we were told that Redang was nice and not too touristy so after we landed, we waited with all the other Asian tourists for the boat to the island. The ferry out had plush seats on two levels, both enclosed and air conditioned. There was even a movie for our viewing pleasure (but no subtitles).

The day we arrived was bright and sunny with a light breeze. The water was turquoise - not bluish-green or crystal blue but a deep, bold turquoise. The sand felt like sifted flower beneath your feet and instead of seaweed or even seashells that often wash up on shore, it was mostly coral that was at the shoreline. Unfortunately, despite all the natural beauty, hooligans still feel the need to litter so there was some plastic bottle caps and cigarette butts marring the otherwise idyllic setting. We settled on a row of "chalets" that were rather cheap so somewhat sparse (no pool, no beach chairs) but perfect for what we needed. There was a loft in the room, it was clean, there was an air conditioner and a fan and it looked out right over the beach. We got snorkeling gear and spent most of the first day in the water. The next day we planned to take a more formal trip out snorkeling that was organized by the nicer resort hotel next door, that we liked to pretend we were guests at.

Unfortunately, the next morning it was cloudy and drizzly. Throughout the day, there was a mix of clouds and passing showers so not the best beach day but not a complete wash out. We still went snorkeling and saw lots of colorful fish. As with most tourist places, the guide who took us out was animated and quite the jokester when it came to safety rules on the sea - like not smiling when you see Nemo or your mouth will fill with water. But everyone seemed to follow the rules so there was no drama. We saw big fish and little fish, neon fish and bland fish that camouflaged into the ocean floor. The coral with wispy hair seemed to move in slow motion and when you dipped your ears underwater, you could hear eerie crackling noises. We saw lots of "sea cucumber" which is really an animal in the shape of a cucumber (or I think more accurately, a giant slug).

After snorkeling, as ladies of leisure do, we had a drink on the patio overlooking the water and made fun of the lanky white guy walking on the beach. The island was rather touristy but mostly with Asian tourists so the whiteys stood out. We kept getting alot of stares that I just attributed to our white-white skin but Juliana and Steve said that they tend to get lots of stares because when people see an Asian girl with a white man, they assume that her company has been paid for so the stares from the older Chinese women may not have been approving. Not that there weren't any other white people. We did meet a couple with olive skin and dark hair that were from Sweden. When we gave them a look like, "you don't look like you are from Sweden," they corrected us by saying they moved from Iran about 20 years ago. We also kept running into a women with two kids and presumably her parents, who were first met in the airport in KL. They were either British or Australian but we never did get confirmation because Steve was busy giving out the "please do not talk to me" vibe. You know unfriendly those Americans can be.

Anyway, that night, the rains came...

There is lots more to tell but it's getting late and I've been trying to pack by organizing our non-essentials-essentials in one pile to be shipped, our essentials to be packing in our suitcases and our non-essentials to be given away. I gave the maid a plant and our pressure cooker today. I thought she might cry. "Really? Me pressure cooker? Oh, thank you ma'am. Thank you. Thank you."

Tomorrow is a holiday so Sir doesn't have to go to the office. We might be busy running errands tomorrow so I'll try to give you a brief wrap up of the trip but I have a feeling the next week is going to be rather hectic so the posts may be brief and sporadic. But for those of you who hate reading my long-winded accounts, the trip to Malaysia was fun. Steve and Juliana are good. The Lye family - all ten million of them - are some of the nicest people I've met and equally some of the most "colorful." I learned a few key phrases in Malay and Cantonese and ate enough fishballs and have seen enough fish heads to last me for some time. Pictures of my first day in KL and the beach are attached.

Free Tibet...Save the Olympics

I like the Olympics. I like to watch them and hear all the inspiring stories of sacrifice and dedication. I like to pick a couple of favorites and follow them throughout their week or two in the spotlight. I must admit, while obviously I am proud of my country and like to see us do well, I also like to see athletes from smaller or poorer countries come in and give the athletes from bigger, richer nations a run for the medals. I like the idea of the world coming together for some peaceful, healthy competition but unfortunately, the Olympics are about more than just sports. If only it were that easy.

The Olympic torch came through New Delhi yesterday and the newspapers seem very happy to report that everything ran smoothly thanks to efficient Indian security and the Indian government's commitment to a peaceful Olympics in China. The Times of India reports, "The government sacrificed the traffic comfort of Delhi's citizens to let two things happen simultaneously - maintain its democratic credentials by allowing Tibetan protest to go on all over Delhi and protect the torch and its relay from disruptions. The result was diplomatic victory for India even though the only people who saw the relay were the 15,000 policemen who were guarding the torch and the runners themselves." Two things strike me as funny: 1. the phrase "traffic comfort" - I don't think there is such a thing in any of India's major cities. 2. the only ones to see it were the 15,000 police (but at least some of them were finally put to work). Obviously in London, Paris and San Fransisco, they maybe could've used some more security but isn't closing off the route and having some hidden path kind of defeating the purpose? Isn't the idea of having the torch pass through each country a way of unifying us? This time around, it seems to be dividing not only different nations but citizens within each nation. As we approach the summer of 2008, you are either for the Olympics or for a free Tibet. Never being one to like to pick sides, can't you be for both?

From India's perspective, they have done a fantastic job, enough to make the world stand up and observe. They accepted the torch, they protected it but they didn't try to quiet any protesters either. According to today's paper, India has been home to over 150,000 Tibetan refugees and has given them a safe home where they have been free to maintain and preserve their way of life. They saw it as their duty to both reassure the Chinese government that they would not interfere in a successful torch run as well as reassure the Tibetans that they have a safe home here. But again, isn't that sort of missing the point? The Tibetans don't really want to live in India, they want to live in Tibet.

Still, I think India's got the right idea trying to support both the Games and Tibet. I understand that the Olympics provide a way for nations to show their approval or disapproval of one another and I'm not saying everyone should have just ignored Hitler's message and played nice for two weeks in 1936, but I can't help but think of the athletes. If there were no athletes, there would be no games. Why should some Romanian, who's been practicing gymnastics since she was 2, now have her dream of performing in the Olympics compromised because the Chinese government is a big bully? At the same time, by participating in the Olympics you are providing a huge boost to the host country who's politics you may or may not support. The host countries should remain just that. The country which is hosting this world-wide event. Maybe in picking the host countries/cities, more consideration should be given to "controversial" places. I am all for protesting against human rights violations in Tibet, and I in no way support Chinese involvement (or lack thereof) in Darfur and Burma but I am not convinced the Olympics are the platform to do so.

Maybe it's just because ever since seeing Mary Lou Retton vault to victory, I always wanted to win a gold medal. Since the Olympics should be about the athletes, why not think of all the years they have put in to getting there and support them. Instead of protesting the Games, why not protest by not buying products made in China, or by joining an organization who supports a Free Tibet (one which I'm sure is advocating for a boycott of the Olympics...). Boycotting the Olympics sends a message but so can boycotting Chinese imports or creating sanctions. I know it's not that easy and I don't know what the right answer is but I think it's too bad that now no one can watch the Olympic torch make its way across the world and the (literal) dark cloud that Beijing has been desperately trying rid itself of, is now just polluting the entire world and will end up stinking up the dark skies again this summer.

But getting back to Bangalore...I'm not sure if it is the summer heat and more air-conditioners going so more electricity being used but ever since the end of March/beginning of April, there have occasionally been these loud booms. By the sound of the booms, you'd expect the electricity to go out for a long time but if it does go out, it is for the usual minute or two. Before we left for our Jaipur trip, there was one morning where the noise woke us up. It happened about three more times that same morning. Birds were somehow getting fried on the electrical wires. One of the birds got stuck on the wire. A couple of the guards came and looked up at it but I think they just left it there to eventually fall on its own.
It's hard to see but it is to the right of the pole hanging from the two wires close together. It's been happening again today but so far, I have seen no casualties.

I'll be gone next week but back the following week to document our final days in sunny and hot Bangalore (and to tell you about Malaysia).

Lots of lunches this week...

As we were eating dinner last night, I realized that there really is not much difference between putting your whole life out there on Facebook and putting your whole life out there in a blog. You can find pictures of me and hear all sorts of mindless details about my life. I guess I just feel like the blog is somehow "safer." But I guess I was already halfway in the world of internet socializing.

But anyway, yesterday I went to a lunch at a hotel here in Bangalore. It I part of the Neemrana Hotels which owns the hotel where we stayed our last night on our vacation outside of Delhi - the old fort/palace. They own a property here in Bangalore and have restored it and turned it into a guest house. It was 120 years old and was owned by an Indian family who emigrated to the US 25 years ago. The couple that owned it had kids and raised them in the US and a couple of years ago realized that their kids were not coming back to live in India. Instead of just selling the house to the highest bidder, they contacted the Neemrana group and asked if they would be interested in restoring the property and making it a heritage hotel.

Twenty five OWC ladies descended upon the place yesterday and were given a tour of the property. They only have about 6 rooms but they showed us all of them - even those that were booked by guests. It was a gorgeous place with lots of character but very strange to be traipsing through a hotel room with open suitcases and clearly lived in. I was treated as the resident expert on Neemrana hotels since the women who were hosting it were the women I met when I had to go to the office to pay for our rooms when we stayed at their other property. "Miss Kathleen has recently visited our flagship property. Can you say a few words about your time there?" (This was after they spoke to me privately and gave the place a rave review.) But who knew I was going to be asked to give a speech?

At lunch, I was at a table with a lovely Australian woman (originally from England) and a German women who seemed a little rough around the edges but looked like an old movie star. She had beautiful skin and her long hair was going gray but in a very pretty way and all pulled back and thrown up in a way that made her look very sophisticated. She was wearing a deep red dress and I swear, her lipstick matched it exactly. Her personality and looks didn't seem to match. When she heard that Karen and I were from the US, her first response was, "what's this business about school children in the US not being allowed to touch one another?" She was rather disgusted by the paranoid nature of the US and was quick to say that not allowing young children to express themselves was very harmful for their growth. Then she started talking about how you have to boss the Indians around and tell them how to do their jobs. The example she gave was when she went to get a haircut. She was given a head massage that felt more like torture I guess.

She also seemed to dismiss anything I said after she found out I was leaving and had only been here since the end of August. But I've noticed that among some other people too. Those who have been here longer, sometimes tend to look down on those who have only been here a few months. The first questions that you are usually asked are, "how long have you been here" and "how long do you plan to stay." I suppose some people see it like a badge of strength - "I've been here two years and you can't possibly know what I know since you've only been around for a year." But sometimes it comes off as rather arrogant or with an annoying air of superiority - especially when it is one of these women who live out in the gated communities and only come into the city to eat at the most expensive restaurants or to come to tea at the Leela. But maybe this is just human nature. Is it human nature to try to assert yourself as "better" than or superior to, your neighbor in some capacity? What about just appreciating what we have or who we are without comparing ourselves to others? I am guilty of not doing this but I hope I'm getting better at it (better than my neighbors at least...).

I'll be back tomorrow but I asked George if he had any words on our departure (or otherwise) that he wanted me to share on his behalf and he only said that since I am abandoning him next week, he will be expecting some Skype calls. That, and he is planning to use his gift certificate to Baja's restaurant (that he got for Christmas) the night we return. Ole.

The Life of a Spoiled Brat

So maybe I am being a brat about this whole moving back thing. I mean, whining because I can't go relax on the white, sandy beaches of Thailand (after a long week of strenuous lunches and yoga classes)? Today I am working on shifting my focus from "we are leaving," to "we are coming home." I've already been invited to a dance recital and I know a guy in Little League that will probably invite me to a game or two so that's cool. And it will be summer and there is a lovely golf course in Milford that is good for beginners. And it looks like the school where I was teaching will have at least a part time position open. So I've stopped my sulking. We have made the most of our time here so there is nothing to complain about. Besides, had you asked me on April 16, 2007 where I would be on April 16, 2008, I'm pretty sure Bangalore, India would have been nowhere on the list so who knows where this road is taking us?

It didn't help my mood yesterday that I was having lunch at the place where we stayed when we first arrived in Bangalore. My friend Adele, who organizes all the activities for the OWC, had been invited to the opening of a new restaurant at the Taj West End, the Masala Klub and was asked to invite six of her friends. It is an Indian restaurant that specializes in upscale South Indian food. Did I mention this was a complimentary lunch? After arriving a little late (Chandan was sick so we were with the nervous, violent head bobber), we were shown our seats in the nearly empty but very chic looking restaurant. The walls were a dark eggplant color with white trim and these gold and clay statues that looked like a cross between human figures and intertwined vines. The other girls had already been given a glass of champagne and their choice of mango chili juice or sugarcane juice. Since I find sugarcane juice to taste like sugar water, I opted for the mango chili juice an odd taste sensation but not too bad. We just had to order the vegetarian or non-vegetarian meal and then they suggested wines to pair with both choices. Then the feast began.

There were the usual "crisps" on the table to munch on - they are like crunchy rice chips that usually have some kind of spice on them. But we started with tiny mugs (like shot glasses but with a handle) of lemongrass soup (served cold) and I had a something like a stuffed mushroom. It tasted like the stuffing in a stuffed mushroom but was served on a cracker, not in the mushroom cap. The plates were large and plain white and the portions were small. The non-veg option looking almost like a sushi roll but was rice and fish mixed in together. Then we were served four other appetizers on big plates with four different sections in it. I had some paneer that was grilled with a very mild sauce, some eggplant mush thing that was very tasty and a salad of arugala and cabbage. The non-veg plates had some salmon (that was delicious), some lamb thing and something with chicken. The girls seemd to like it. Then they brought out an orange and masala sorbet that was supposed to cleanse the pallet but with the cold of the ice cream and the spice of the masala, it just made for a very awkward and somewhat unpleasant taste. I think by "cleansing the pallet," they really meant numbing your mouth with more spices. After what could've been a full meal, they served the main course. We were each given large rectangular plates but then they brought out little square dishes you might put nuts in. We each got four of these dishes. In mine were green beans and pine nuts, peas and water chestnuts in a tomato gravy, black dal (lentils) and paneer and onions in another tomato-y gravy. We were given, naan, rotis and rice to go with it. (Naan and roti are different types of breads.) Dessert was some ginger ice cream or gulab jamin. On top of that, it was one of our friends' birthdays so they then brought out chocolate cake with tea and coffee. Way too much food for an afternoon.

But the best part of the day was all the people who came to the table to ensure we were pleased with the food, service and ambiance. The general manager came out, the hospitality manager, the chef and sous chefs as well. They were really trying to play up the fact that this is a sophisticated restaurant for only the most distinguished of Bangalore's growing "foodie" population. The general manager said they really wanted to Indian food with a twist for the global population that Bangalore caters to. "We are really trying to show that Indian food can appeal to all tastes." As Sir put it, Indian food for white folks. All of the 4 or 5 employees who came to talk to us mentioned that they only cook with olive oil, which has previously been seen as taboo in Indian cooking, but they feel makes for a much lighter meal. So, it was good but I think they are trying too hard to be too trendy. They made a great show of trying to impress us and to really hammer home the idea that they are not your average Indian restaurant.

So, it was fun to wined and dined on a Tuesday afternoon and fun to have lunch with Adele, who is leaving April 29 and Vivian, who is leaving the first week in May and some of the other girls. There were pictures taken but Monique said she was going to post them on Facebook and until yesterday, I did not have an account. While I have been somewhat put off by the whole idea of "social networking sites," I have to admit, I've also been somewhat intrigued. However, Facebook, in particular was a big topic of conversation among my high school students. There was usually some controversy about someone posting pictures of someone else drinking and then getting in trouble by either parents or the school. So I had always dismissed it as a high school and college thing.

George is part of some site called Linked In which is basically the same concept - an online community where you can get in touch with old friends and I suppose meet new ones - only for "professionals." Facebook for adults. This seemed ok to me so one day I was poking around seeing who I could find that might be of interest and ended up on a page for Franklin and Marshall graduates. I started clicking on people just to see where they were and what they were doing for work. Harmless. A few days later, I get an email from this guy who lived on my hall freshman year. It was the canned message, "saw you on Linked In...be my friend." But I was so taken back by being caught in my not-so-anonymous snooping, that I my intrigue about Facebook waned, despite the prevelance of my Bangalore friends who always seem to be dropping lines like, "oh, saw your pictures on Facebook or did you see my note on Facebook?"

Yesterday, when Monique said she would post her pictures on Facebook, there were gasps of disbelief that I did not have an account. I was the only one at the table not on Facebook. So, seeing as all my new friends and I are breaking up, I broke down and created an account yesterday. Within the hour, I had 9 friends (all people I know) and was getting messages from them congratulating me on "joining the club." It's been kind of fun to see who I can find but at the same time, it feels kind of creepy to see all these people just putting their lives out there. Will I be one of those people soon enough? What's worse, totally immersing yourself in some online community or just joining so you can stalk harmlessly from the periphery?

The Dream is Over

BIG news...we're coming home. Just as quick as they can tell you to pack your bags and move to India, they can say, pack your bags and move back to New York/CT. George has to be back at work in Somers on May 12. We knew last week that our time was almost up. There is some project happening in the US that apparently trumps the project he's working on here so despite our best frowny faces and sulking, we are coming back.

It's not that I'm not happy to be coming home, it just feels like we need more time here. I'm sure part of it is the lifestyle I lead here but part of it is that I'm just not ready. Sure hot showers, clean sidewalks and well organized streets will be nice but I still feel like everyday I am learning something new about others or myself (or the world in general) and that in an of itself is very satisfying. It feels like I could be here for two years and still find that to be true. Sure, I will get to reclaim my status as favorite aunt and see friends and family but what about Thailand and Tokyo, China, Vietnam and neighbors?

But then again, I have always said that we are lucky to be here at all so I can't really complain. I, especially, have really only been along for the ride so I'm trying to just be thankful for having the opportunity to be here. It was an honor just being... oh, wait wrong speech. I do feel like we have made the most of our time here and do feel like we have really made this our home for the past few months so I am grateful for that. Truly.

It is definitely hard to say goodbye and the fact that it is all happening so fast (again) and we weren't really expecting it makes it all a bit hard to digest. But seeing as it's a done deal, we will adjust again by looking at the bright side. Today we begin our list of reasons why it will be good to be home:

1. We will get to live with mom and dad Siddell for awhile. (Really, I could stop right here.)

2. Mexican food, Pepes pizza and fish.

3. Family fun time on the Cape.

4. Hannah will realize we don't live in an internet machine.

5. I can go back to work?

This list is a little slow in coming right now. Hopefully as the idea of coming home settles in some more, the list will grow.

Oh, so for those of you who are wondering how this might have effected Steve's trip...he's bailing on Bangalore but I am going to meet he and Juliana in Malaysia next week (Monday to the following Tuesday) thanks to the best husband ever who has made this possible.

New Driver, sick maid...

A couple of miscellaneous but I think, rather funny incidences from our trip that I failed to mention:

1. Last day in Delhi, Deepak tells us we need to make a stop to meet his boss. I knew when I booked the company that they were a seemingly small operation. They have a website but it doesn’t say much more than the name of the company and contact information. And when I asked if we could pay by credit card, I was told that they did not have the capabilities. So considering that, and it is India, this stop nor the fact that we learned we were not actually going to see Deepak’s boss but rather his boss’s brother, didn’t seem too odd…until we started driving through the semi-paved, narrow and congested streets of Old Delhi (a section of New Delhi). We pulled into what looked like a dusty alleyway and stopped in front of a door with a guard standing out front and someone who asked about our bags. We were at a hotel.

We all got out and headed into the lobby. From the street, you would have expected to walk into a cramped, dark and dirty lobby but instead, the space was airy and had these enormous couches to the right of the front desk and an old iron (or some kind of metal) swing. We sat down on the couches and tried to figure out from Deepak if his company had an office in the hotel. (We don’t think so.) About five minutes later, a guy with long, slick hair wearing tight pants and a purple shirt saunters in. I had done the booking but George was doing the talking. They price I was quoted was in Euros. I don’t know why. So first there was the discussion of the correct conversion of Euros to Rupees and then how much of a deposit to give. After a gentlemen’s agreement was reached, there was an all cash transaction and no receipt. They either give you more receipts than you know what to do with or take your cash and leave you with no record. On our last day, before we headed back to the airport, we had to meet up again for the final payment. We had calculated the approximate mileage and had the emails with all the prices printed out and felt ready to argue should they have come up with a different price that we were expecting. This time the meeting took place in a parking lot with the man who owns the business and two others who must have been around for moral support. And this time, they had brought a receipt which listed the charges. Everything matched what we expected and it actually one of the easiest payments we have made. But so strange how they do business. Ryan and Austin got a couple shots of Deepak. He wasn't too pleased in the first one but later was warming up to us:

2. I also kind of glossed over our stay at the Neemrana Fort-Palace on the last night. It was a great place to spend the last night because there was nothing to do but relax and enjoy the setting. The place was built in the 1500s and if you looked through the photos, it was built up on the side of a hill. Instead of beeping horns, we heard the sound of the peacocks meowing in the distance. (They sound more like big cats than any kind of bird.) There was a group of older Korean tourists who were also staying there and as we were watching the sunset at one of the rooftop lounge areas, we got to talking to a lovely man who is Korean but has lived in the US for the past 20 years or so. He was talking about how now, neither the US nor Korea really feels like home. He was wearing an MIT cap and said that his grandson had gone there. When we asked where his grandson was living now, he said, “well, maybe he lives in San Francisco or someplace like that.” He then started talking about another grandchild who was “maybe living in Chicago.” I’m not sure if it was just a language thing or if he really didn’t know where they were living. But he was quite chatty and quite interested in what we were all doing there.

But enough about the never-ending trip. Last week we were a little off all week because Chandan was away. He gave us the name and number of his friend who would fill in for him and said he would be back on Friday sometime. The first report back from Sir was, “the new driver is really nervous.” Indians in the service industries, in general, seem to be more nervous than not so to a degree we are used to it. But this man was definitely unusually nervous. To accompany the nervousness, he had the most exaggerated and excessive head bob I’ve seen.

On Wednesday, I had gone to lunch with Vivian, my French friend and Karen. We spent a good couple of hours there and as we were leaving, George sent me a message saying he had come home early because he wasn’t feeling well. He had taken a rickshaw so we didn’t need the driver anymore. When Vivian and I got out, I told him in my most clear voice, “thank you. That is all for today. George is home. No IBM. Come tomorrow at 8AM.” He smiled nervously and aggressively nodded his head back and forth but didn’t ask any questions. I’m sure he could hear me as he insisted on turning the car off whenever he dropped us off anywhere. (Normally Chandan, just puts it in park and opens my door.) In the elevator I asked Vivian if that was clear because I didn’t think his English was too good. She said it was clear and we didn’t think anything more about it…until the next morning when George said, “I missed a call last night at around 10 from the driver.” He didn’t mention anything and I didn’t want to confuse the poor man anymore so we just kind of let it slide.

Between he and the maid boy, it was a strange week with the hired help. The maid didn’t show up on Monday (which was the holiday so I didn’t think too much about it) or on Wednesday. By the time Friday, rolled around, it was anyone’s guess. The doorbell rang around 3PM and it was my buddy Krishn who I haven’t seen in months. He was with another boy and said, “He is clean today. Other boy sick. Chicken pox.” Of all things.

Krishn was his usual cheerful self, talking to me like we were old friends. “Everything is ok? No problems?” There was still the bathroom window that still is permanently stuck open which has been ok. But now that it is getting really hot, the mosquitoes are everywhere and they come in through the window and keep us up at night. So we were back to pressing for a handle. “Oh, ok, ma’am. No problem. We fix Monday.” I also told him the dryer has been useless and they could take it back. This took a while to get through. He was incredulous to believe that it did not work. “No, no problem ma’am. Is new.”
“Yes, but the power goes out if we try to use it.”
“Oh. But this?” He said pointing to the washer.
“That is good.”
“Ok, no problem.” He started looking long and hard at the dryer and I pointed to the surge protector they tried months ago.
“This does not work. Could you just take it back? We just use the line.”
“Take back? Return?”
“Yes, return!”
“No problem. Monday.”

After all the problems were solved, he literally stood over the maid boy as he hunched over the mini-broom and pointed where to sweep. He followed the maid boy from room to room pointing where to sweep and scrub. He also told him not to wash the floor with the mop but to use the and rag so the boy was crawling around on the hard marble on all fours. What a guy.

Jaipur

Our next stop was Jaipur, the capital of the Rajasthan and also known as, The Pink City (you’ll never guess why). Based on our tip from Bapu the waiter, we knew that the trip was supposed to take about 3 hours if we went through a town call Tonk (which according to our maps was the shortest route). Deepak, who somewhere between Agra and Ranthambhore decided to surpass promptness and actually took a liking to showing up early, was ready to go when we came back from our safari. Deepak also took a liking to telling us that no matter where we were and where we were headed, we were about 5 hours away. So when we asked how long it would take to get to Jaipur, he responded, “5 hours.” I could not fathom another seven hours in the Toyota death trap so I told Deepak that we had heard it would only take 3 hours, if we went through Tonk. “Oh, no ma’am. Road is very bad. We go through Dausa.” Bapu did warn us that the road to Tonk was not good but once we got to Tonk, it was a good highway. How the road could have been any worse than the one we were on is unclear but based on my trusty map, I was sure we had logic on our side so I asked how many kilometers to Dausa. It was something like 180 km to Dausa, then another 60 to Jaipur. When I asked how many kilometers to Tonk, it was something like 60, then another 70 to Jaipur. Even if we were on a bad road, it still seemed like based on the kilometers, Tonk was the better route. (And being the cynic, I couldn’t help but think he was taking the longer route because we were allotted a certain mileage for the week but if we went beyond it, we would be charged extra.) But who are we but a bunch of know-it-all tourists so we trusted Deepak and did not take a left to Tonk.

Turns out, Deepak wasn’t all bad. We arrived in Jaipur in just under 4 hours. Our hotel was lovely. It was decorated in typical Rajasthani detail with lots of very colorful flowers and designs painted on the walls and ceilings. There was a rooftop restaurant lounge where we relaxed for a bit before heading out for dinner and drinks. Deepak had called us a little early just to let us know he was there and when we came down, we saw that he was with a friend and the friend was going to be doing the driving. Ali was very chatty and told us he also works at Deepak’s company and is in Jaipur driving around a couple.

We had heard of a revolving restaurant in the Om Tower building and who doesn’t love a scenic overview? It just so happened that below the restaurant was a bar called “Amigos.” We’ve really been craving Mexican…and after our experience at Amigos, I think we’ve learned that we’re just not going to find it here. The food at the revolving restaurant was equally disappointing but what it lacked in culinary expertise, it made up for in tacky, Indian ambiance. It almost felt like you were on a ride at Epcot. There were these long tables sticking out like spokes from a wheel and as the floor slowly moved the table around, there were these different cubby holes in the center that you would pass. In one section there was a two man band, in another section was like a prep station for dessert, in another section there were artificial trees and a small aquarium. The staff was all dressed in black suits and seemed to take their jobs very seriously. About halfway through our dinner, even though the sun had long ago gone down, you could see that something was brewing. The trees were swaying to the point where they looked like they might snap and you could see all the debris being kicked up and whipping through the air. We couldn’t tell if it was raining or just a wind storm but being in a tall tower, in a powerful windstorm in India didn’t make us feel completely safe so we had asked for the check. We were waiting to pay, chatting with the waiter who we thought we made angry when Ryan took a picture without asking (turns out he didn’t care), when all of the sudden Deepak showed up at our table. He was ready for us to go.

When we got downstairs, it was indeed raining with gusting winds. There were two guys just pressing up against the doors to the building so they didn’t blow open. When there was a break in the action, we bolted for the Toyota. Ali was in the driver’s seat waiting to take us away. When we got back to the hotel, Deepak and Ali said they needed to talk to George and Ryan. It was a fight for their women. Ok, not really but apparently Ali pulled George and Ryan aside and started talking about how Deepak is not very educated and doesn’t speak very good English and that their company doesn’t really pay them so when they go on extended trips like this, they are strapped for cash. They offered to give Deepak money but then I guess that got all strange about accepting money and how they are not allowed to do so. I’m not sure what the point of the conversation was and I am retelling as it was told to me. The most interesting part seems to be not that Ali suddenly showed up in our lives but that right in front of his friend, he was blatantly calling Deepak uneducated.

The next morning, Ali was gone and it was back to the Gang of Five. We started at a place called City Palace in the area of town known as the Pink City because all the buildings are the same color pink. They painted all the walls to hide the cheap materials they used to build it and to compete with the beauty of the marble that the Mughals had used elsewhere in India. It’s also known for being one of the few ancient cities in India to be constructed on a grid plan. The palace itself was impressive because it was so huge and today house different “museums,” that were really no larger than one or two rooms. They had a museum of weaponry that we went in to and a museum on textiles that showcased all different dresses and clothes either worn at the time or worn by someone famous. Part of the palace (I think the really nice part), is still occupied by the royal family and cost $50 per person to get in. We deemed it not worthy of our money and were content to just walk around and visit some of the shops.

We then walked across the street to one of the coolest places of the trip, Jantar Mantar. It was built between 1728 and 1734 and house 18 huge structures that are used to tell the time, day of year, movements of the stars and planets and other astrological information. They almost looked like modern sculptures rather than useful devices and was amazing to see their accuracy. You have to look at the pictures to really appreciate it but basically, they use shadows of the sun and complex markings. The sundial can calculate the time within two seconds. Most of the structures were duplicated and sat opposite one another to account for the different hemispheres. After that we had a minor issue with Deepak who did not understand where we wanted to go and when, or rather had his own agenda of where we should go and when. But we sorted it out and spent the afternoon shopping at the bazaars. I also enjoyed this part of the trip because while I’m sure it’s a very touristy experience, it felt like we were really part of Indian society. Just meandering in and out of shops buying shirts and bed spreads and some of us even scarves. My metrosexual husband is getting in touch with his Euro side and bought a very stylish and surprisingly masculine (for a scarf) scarf.

We went to a lovely Asian rooftop restaurant and took our chances that there would be no nasty storm. Some of sipped Buddhatinis (not the guy with the scarf) and we munched on appetizers as we enjoyed the entire restaurant to ourselves. We also discussed the plan for the next morning. We were going to get up early and head out to the Amber Fort where would take elephant rides up to the top.

The boys wimped out on the elephant ride and chose to walk amongst the elephant dung and get harassed by the hookers who were peddling their wares along the path. We weren’t actually on the elephants, we were in a small square wooden saddle type thing with cloth over it. It almost felt like being in a boat on choppy water. We kind of bobbed back and forth the whole way up but it’s one more thing I can cross off my list of things to do before I die – ride an elephant. Done.

Our last stop was at a Fort/Palace that has now been converted into a hotel. It was on the way back to Delhi so we spent our last night there. And it was a great last stop. It was enormous and gorgeous and old and had fantastic views. Those are the last of the pictures posted. We just got the ones that Ryan and Austin took and there are a couple good ones there that I will post, in case my 300 pictures weren’t enough for you. They at least got one of Deepak. And I’m sure there are other fun details I can bore you with but it’ll have to wait for Monday. It’s getting late and we have big Friday night plans. We’re celebrating Vivian’s job offer (in Singapore) and saying goodbye to our Finnish friends who are leaving Bangalore and headed back to Helsinki.

Taj Mahal at sunrise and Ranthambhore National Park

It was very easy getting out of bed at 5:15 AM at the Taj Plaza (in Agra). It was still dark out but we jumped right up and headed out around 5:30 AM. The lights were on in the hallway but there was not a sound to be heard, not even of bugs and mice running around. Then we approached the lobby, the room was completely dark and quiet except for the flashing lights and blaring sounds of the TV. There were two teenaged boys on the very edge of one of the couches, inches away from the TV screen, with their back towards us. It was some singing and dancing show of course, and they were completely silent but even from the back of their heads, you could tell completely mesmerized. There was another guy sprawled out cold on another couch with a blanket half over him. The four us stopped very briefly to take in the scene but continued on our way out the door. As we climbed down the stairs to the little parking lot and were making our way to the sidewalk, we heard voices calling from behind us, “You check out?” It was the boys who were watching TV. We told them we were going to be back in a few hours to check out. “But Taj Mahal not open until 6.” Wonderful hospitality at the Taj Plaza Hotel. We started walking towards the Taj Mahal and suddenly felt rain drops. It’s not supposed to rain in India in April. We figured it must be a passing shower. There was hardly anyone around except for a few Indian boys on bikes (what else are you going to do at 5:30AM) which made the walk down a little easier without the constant barrage of people asking if you want to buy something. But it continued to rain, a little harder and you know those entrepreneurial Indians…when it rains, the tourists need umbrellas. As you get closer to the monument, there are shops. Most of them appeared to be closed although there were a few people hanging around outside, and like that, we were buying umbrellas. They were cheap enough, perhaps because they looked like they had been used many times before, but we didn’t really want to walk around in the rain. We made it to the gates and were behind only one other woman. It looked like we would be the second people in.

The ticket window didn’t open until 6, so the boys waiting in that line while Austin and I waited at the gate. We watched as they slipped the metal railings into holes already dug in the ground and moved the metal detectors (that I’m pretty sure are just used for show) and opened the large wooden doors and laughed at the umbrellas in our hands as the rain had stopped. After George and Ryan came back with the tickets, we could’ve been the second people in if it weren’t for the top notch security. They found my iPod in my bag and sent me to the lockers. So we might have been the tenth or so people into the Taj Mahal but it didn’t matter because it still felt like we were the only ones there – inside when we shouldn’t be.

Having been to the Taj Mahal twice now, I think it’s safe to say that there is never a bad time to go. Even in the middle of a Saturday afternoon when there are tons of tourists around, they somehow fade away in the sheer size of the place. And the white of the marble against the blue of the sky is amazing. But, if you have the chance, you really should try to get there for sunrise on a weekday. The fountains aren’t yet on so you get to see the reflection of the Taj Mahal from all different angles. Even though there were some clouds blocking the sun, there was still the purplish color of morning and it was much cooler than mid-afternoon. The only thing I didn’t notice last time that I did this time was the red ticker tape in the far right hand corner, almost behind the Taj Mahal. It was reporting the pollution in the air. They are beginning to do some major restoration of the marble because they are worried about the color discoloration due to pollutants in the air. There was some scaffolding up but no one was actually working on it while we were there.

After spending a couple of hours there, we headed back for some breakfast and to check out. The inebriated, elderly guard was in front again when we returned and the lobby no longer looked like the scene from a slumber party. Breakfast was almost as delicious as our lunch there the day before and we were anxious to get back on the road. Deepak didn’t disappoint, he was his usual 30 or so minutes late to pick us up and seem uber-enthusiastic to drive us another six hours to Ranthambhore National Park where we were on a quest to see the elusive tiger.

Deepak is no Chandan. Did I mention that already? Aside from the slicked back hair, ultra-cool, big rimmed sunglasses and the slight problem with promptness, there is the driving. Now, I will grant him the fact that India is not an easy place to drive, even for the most experienced of professional drivers. I will also grant him the fact that the shocks in the old Toyota Qualis were probably shot mostly because of the conditions of the roads. I will also say that I think I’ve become rather immune to the standard of driving here. I no longer cringe when five vehicles are lined up side by side on a two lane road. I no longer hold my breath as we fold in the side view mirrors in order to squeeze between a bus and another car. I no longer wince when I see a family of four weaving in and out of traffic on a scooter. However, in spite of all the above, there were a number of times that I was scared for my life and the lives of others while Deepak was on the road. You might be thinking to yourself, a five hour ride in an air-conditioned SUV, on the open roads of India with someone else doing the driving, sounds like a leisurely and relaxing time. You would be wrong. Deepak likes to drive fast, the sun beating in all the windows was almost too powerful for the A/C and the roads, well I guess you could call them that.

As we were leaving Agra, we encountered one of the best things about India - a pilgrimage. This was not a protest, not exactly a parade but miles and miles and miles of people walking to a temple. As we were driving through the outskirts of Agra, it just seemed as though there were tons of people around celebrating. Everyone was out, music was blaring and everyone seemed to be carrying this red and gold flags, the further we got from the town, the more it seemed to become more of a long walk to nowhere. Deepak said they were walking 25 km but it seemed to me they were walking for hundreds of kilometers. Most of the highway was paved but the paving would abruptly stop for either a couple of feet or a couple hundred feet before going back to pavement. And the highway cuts through all kinds of towns so as soon as you get going, you have to stop for either a speed bump, an unpaved section of road or to go through a town. And in his seven years of driving, Deepak didn’t seem to know that it’s probably not best to gun it just before knowing you have to slow down. As soon as we would approach a speed bump, a crater in the road, an unpaved patch or a curve, Deepak would sharply increase our speed so we would either go skidding into a turn or get whip lash as he slammed on the brakes before hitting the bump. As if this wasn’t scary enough, there are all the things that might find themselves in front of your vehicle including, cows, people, tractors, cars and scooters going in any direction, camels, goats, elephants, and worst of all little boys. The scariest part of the week came when flying through some rural area, there were a couple of boys on the side of the road. I heard the screeching of tires and felt the car coming to an abrupt halt before I saw the stunned look of the boy who finally jumped out of the way without a scratch. I’m not exactly sure what happened because I was busy impressing everyone with my maths skills while we played Blackjack. After that we got to thinking that a great game would be a video game set on the roads of India where you try to travel at top speeds but have to weave in and out of traffic and try to avoid whatever might happen to be in the street. (The alternative would be to try to hit everything in your path.)

On the never-ending road to Ranthambhore, you have to come up with a lot of games to keep you distracted from the fact that it is hot, you are in the middle of nowhere where anything can happen and you feel like you are on the most rickety of roller coasters. After what felt like a long seven hours, we finally reached our next stop. Just our luck, we just missed the afternoon safari to see the tigers but signed up for the next one which was bright and early the following morning. We were staying at a place called The Ranthambhore Bagh which was actually a group of “luxury” tents. They had small bathrooms with flush toilets and showers with hot water and after coming from the Taj Plaza, they were indeed luxurious. Each tent had a small porch area out front, mozzie (mosquito) nets over the beds and small air conditioning units to keep it cool. They even seem to have some creepy, if not meticulous, grounds keepers. One was either trying to be nice or poison me when he handed me a small flower bud and told me to chew on it. He tried to say it was some sort of mouth freshener but it didn’t smell like anything and really, is it safe to just eat raw Indian wildflowers?

There was a small restaurant at our hotel where we had a snack but decided to venture out for dinner. Since it is a popular tourist destination, there was a good mix of hotels for all budgets. We settled on dinner at a Taj hotel (a chain we have stayed in before) which was a great choice not only because of the cheap buffet but also because we got to meet Bapu the waiter. Bapu was very effeminate but very nice and brought us the best news of the day, our drive the following day to Jaipur was only 3 hours. (He also told us that the tigers have been active so he was sure we would see some.) After making George a good looking brownie sundae, we sang a weak version of happy birthday and headed back to our cozy mozzie nets.

We were up at 5:30 again and waited for our canter to take us on a genuine Indian safari. Typical of India, there were quite a few people from our hotel and yet, we all got in different vehicles. A couple of Jeeps pulled up and some people got in them. We knew we were waiting for a canter, which was bigger than the Jeeps, but when it pulled up, we were the only ones to get in even though some other people said they were also waiting for the canters. I’m still not sure if we were on the right vehicle or how anyone was keeping track. So, the four of us in the nearly empty bus headed out for the park. Or so we thought. We actually made about four more stops at other hotels to pick up more people and learned while our hotel was the coolest, they were the least informed. No one told us to don our most official looking safari gear. We saw folks with everything from safari hats to vests to hiking boots with long socks…and then there was the eager Indian boy in all denim.

After picking up all the others, we entered the park and proceeded to wait some more. First all those with videocameras had to pay an extra fee. Then we drove a little further in and had to wait for our guide to get out and hand a bunch of papers to the guy that everyone else was trying to had a bunch of papers to. Our guide, of course, was the least smooth so we waited and waited and watched as all the other vehicles got to go ahead and our guy pathetically tried to get in with the head honcho. Finally he returned and explained that each vehicle had to get “approved” by the government in terms of how many people were in each vehicle and who had video cameras. Then we were off. Until we had to stop again at another toll-like area. After that stop, we were finally off. Our guide spent about 15 minutes telling us how difficult it would be to see the tigers as there were only about 35 tigers in a 400 square kilometers, they really only come out at night, if we don’t see them by 7:30, they will have gone back into hiding, they really only feed once a week, they sleep something like 20 hours a day but he ended with the positive – we were sure to see lots of deer, peacocks, monkeys and birds. And we did. We didn’t have to drive too far to see the monkeys. The way they sit and stare and play is so familiar. I like the monkeys but they are so human-like, yet still small and hairy that I can see why they might creep some people out. I had never really seen peacocks before so they were cool and didn’t seem to be too frightened of us. There were lots of spotted deer who were the least interesting just because they were nothing new for us. After an hour or so of not seeing a tiger, our guide told us that the two ways to spot them are to hear warning calls from other animals and to look for paw prints. From that point on, every ten minutes, he would stop the canter and claim he thought he heard a warning calls. After about 2 hours or not seeing any tigers, he started claiming that there were warning calls and we would sit and wait. This gave the bird watchers in the group a chance to document the different species they saw. We did see a crocodile during one of our stops and saw lots of other vehicles carrying tourists with disappointed faces. After about a three hour tour, our guide asked some of us how long we would be in Ranthambhore. When we told him we were leaving that afternoon, he practically mocked us saying how silly we were to only plan for one trip out because it usually takes three or four trips to see any tigers. This may have just been part of his personality or it may have been that he didn’t really like us seeing as George tried to claim he didn’t know he had to pay to use the video camera that he proceeded to use without paying for in the beginning.

The trip was not a bust for all however, some of the Indians liked to put corn kernels in there palms and stick them out for the birds to feed right off them while others documented something like 24 different species of birds (they had a little notebook in their fanny pack to keep count). And even though I really, really, really, wanted to see a tiger, it was nice to be up and out in the fresh air, communing with nature (even if it was in a noisy, polluting bus). Besides, in addition to all the wildlife we saw at the park, we also got to see a large gecko/lizard up close and personal when we found it crawling up the inside of our tent. Good thing this was as we were leaving…

Could I drag this trip out anymore? Sure can. Will finish up with our last two stops tomorrow. There are another 100 and some odd pictures attached.

Agra

Monday morning, after saying goodbye to our new friend from California, who was as tall as a Redwood and teaching in Chennai (Madras), and the other folks at the Sai Villa, we hit the open road for beautiful Agra. Having only made the trip once before, I think George and I were both surprised by how much we remembered. We warned our friends not stare at the monkeys who were tied to leashes jumping on the car windows and that maybe, just maybe, there would be some random protest that would jam up traffic for a few hours. We stopped at the same rest stops and didn’t even bother to ask how much for a soda. We remembered crossing the railroad tracks into downtown Agra, still wondering if such a dirty, run-down town could really be the home of one of the most beautiful man-made sites on earth. It seemed as though not much has in Agra since October which now has me wondering if not much has changed since the 1500s.

I did have the name and address of the hotel where we were staying and after consulting with Deepak, he seemed to know where we were going. We were staying at a place called the Taj Plaza hotel a few hundred meters from the East Gate of the Taj Mahal. We followed the signs to the East Gate and passed a couple of hotels before pulling into the parking lot of a hotel whose name was definitely not the Taj Plaza. “Um, ma’am. Hotel change names. New owner. New name. This is your hotel.” Seeing as the good people at the Taj Plaza had taken to calling me everyday for a week and never once mentioned the fact that they had a new name, I found it highly unlikely that we were in the right place. But still, when Deepak says, “this is your hotel” with such authority, it makes you wonder if you could be wrong. So we all get out and I approach the men behind the desk in suits and kindly say I may or may not have reserved a room at their hotel. The hotel in Agra was the only one that I was a little unsure of. It was very cheap and the pictures on the internet looked sort of ok (and in the age of digital photography when even the dingiest of rooms can be made to look spic and span this should’ve been a warning) so I wasn’t really expecting the men at reception to be in clean suits. Sure enough, there was no booking for us there. We continued on the same road a few more blocks and sure enough, just as I remembered from the pictures on the internet was the Taj Plaza. A nice elderly, grossly inebriated guard welcomed us and showed us inside. We checked in and were given skeleton keys to our deluxe rooms with Taj views.

When traveling with just George, there is a level of comfort in knowing what he is used to and what he will tolerate in a hotel. Sure we enjoy a five star hotel but we can kick it for a night in a two star place. But when traveling with others, who you’ve never traveled with before, there is not this comfort. So when we walked in to a room that can only really be described as simply, grey, I wasn’t sure if we were going to have to do some quick searching for another place to stay. We did in fact, have a view of the Taj and the air conditioning worked but the rest of the place was grey – just dingy and stuffy and dull. We decided for the few hours we would be spending there, it was worth our $20. So careful to keep everything in our suitcases, we dumped our things and headed out to the Agra Fort. (Not before trying the equally dingy restaurant off the hotel for a snack. I thought a veg sandwich would be a safe bet but with rubbery cucumbers, too much mayo and yellowish tomatoes, I immediately regretted my decision.)

The Fort was again much like we remembered – big, impressive and now used as a refuge from the hundreds of “hookers” who stand at the gates waiting for tourists to emerge so they can pounce. The Fort was built in the 1500s and has lots of different areas and views to keep you busy for hours. Most impressive are the views of the Taj Mahal. Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal, was later imprisoned in the Fort by his son who won the throne in a nasty family war. The only consolation for Shah Jahan was that he could see the Taj Mahal from the Fort. We ended up walking around one section that we missed the last time and spent a good couple of hours roaming around learning from the Indians who have perfected the art of lounging. We saw a group of young hooligans just roaming around blasting the latest Bollywood tunes from their boombox, circa 1985.

On the way out of the Fort, Ryan looked like he really wanted to buy a whip – made of real leather for 2000 rupees. When he scoffed at the price, the hooker selling the whip proceeded to follow him all the way up to the car until finally Austin had to basically slam his hand in the door for him to go away. His final offer was 200 rupees. I did not see the bargaining process as I was busy watching the monkeys. They had all gathered by the entrance and were playing with the locals and scaring the tourists. I tried to get some video.

Since the Taj Plaza was less than appealing for dinner, and we were saving money staying there, we decided to go the opposite way and treat ourselves to the most expensive restaurant in Agra for dinner. Next to the Taj Plaza was the significantly more expensive but arguably less “charming” Oberoi hotel. We had heard that this was the place to go to enjoy a drink at sunset. The grounds were gorgeous and the views of the Taj Mahal clear and there was an outdoor bar area overlooking it all. We walked right in and I made my way up to the nice looking Oberoi employee who was by the door leading out to the patio. “Your room number madam?”

“Oh, I’m not staying here but I heard that we could enjoy a drink here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry madam. The bar is for guests only.”

This answer did not go over well with Sir. I knew this even before he said anything. I could see the little bubble forming above his head, “Why couldn’t he have married someone who could tell lies quickly and easily?” Instead, he had to do some quick thinking and smooth talking of his own. Fifteen minutes later we had a reservation at the restaurant downstairs and were sipping cocktails while watching the sunset over the Taj Mahal. After the sun had gone down, we were treated to some authentic Rajasthani dancing and watched as one women danced while balancing fire on her head (with a lightening storm in the distance). All the ingredients for a lovely evening. Unfortunately, the five star hotel treatment had to come to an end and it was back to the Taj Plaza for some zzz. Though, I didn’t really catch many as I was too concerned with bugs or worse crawling on me in my sleep. But it was ok because we had to get up bright and early anyway to see the sunrise at the Taj Mahal.

I had intended to get farther along on our trip but golf lessons, a late lunch, a rousing game of ping pong and spending time with my husband have kept me from the computer. (But at least you get some video.) More tomorrow.

Happy Ugadi! And adventures in Delhi...

Yesterday was Ugadi – the first day of the New Year according to the Hindu calendar. For us, that meant a day off for George, free mangoes leaves at the grocery store and more crackers (as in firecrackers). This is one of the more “major” holidays but celebrated in much the same way as others – families and friends get together for meals, they clean their houses, get new clothes and say their poojas. Because mangoes are now in season, they play a big role in the food and Indians use their leaves to decorate their doorways. Ugadi also symbolizes the beginning of summer and for most students it marks the beginning of summer vacation. Schools will be back in session in June. So instead of beginning the retelling of our trip, I spent the day doing laundry, playing badminton, table tennis and watching season one of The Wire, a birthday gift for George from our visitors. But we’re back on schedule today and thus, what follows is Part I of our Golden Triangle Vacation tales.

What better way to start a week long vacation in the north of Indian then with a fresh, nasty eye infection. Friday evening my eye started bothering me. I took my contacts out and it proceeded to water for a good two hours. It was bloodshot and I was convinced there was something in it and as soon as it came out with the tears, I would be fine. George went to our local chemist who was eager to prescribe whatever he needed. "Some eye drops and a vile of heroin?" No problem. I put the drops in and went to bed early as we had to leave for the airport around 4:30 AM. When I woke around 4, my eye was all swollen and still red and I was convinced I might go blind if I did not see a doctor at some point but was not ready to postpone our flight.

After an easy ride to the airport and through the check-in process, we were on our way. I slept for most of the two and half hour flight and when I woke up the second time, my eye looked much better (no longer swollen, though still a little red and watery) so I canceled the need to go to a clinic. As we were waiting for our bag, I realized I had forgotten the address of our hotel in Delhi but luckily had the number. So while George waited, I called. Unfortunately, it was about 8 AM now and Indians don't do much before 10 so there was no answer. I went to the tourist information desk to ask if they had a phone book or the address of the place. "You need hotel accommodation?"
"No, I have already booked, I just need the address to Sai Villa."
"Sai Villa? It's a hotel? I've never heard of it."
"It's a guesthouse. I think it's by Nehru Place."
"Nehru Place, ok. But I don't know that hotel."
"Ok, but do you have a phone book or something where I could look up the address? I have the number here but there is no answer."
"Sai Villa? It's not on my list. Did you already pay them money?"
"Yes. I put a deposit down. My friend's stayed there last week."
"Oh, you paid them already and there is no answer on this number? Are you sure the place exists?"
He clearly was going to be of no help so after trying the hotel a couple more times, I finally had to wake Vivian (who was the friend who stayed there). She gave me the address just before I met up with Sir and our bag and could confidently claim, "no problem."

Our new BFF, Deepak, was waiting with the other taxi drivers as we left the airport and he showed us to our new home, a lovely, run down, white-ish Toyota Qualis. He did not have the pleasant smile of our Chandan but he seemed nice enough and said that he would be with us for the entire week. I showed him the name and address of our hotel and we were off.

Despite the white letters against a translucent background, Deepak still managed to find the Sai Villa with relative ease. (Our traveling partners, Ryan and Austin, who arrived the night before were not so lucky. After getting in a taxi with the only driver in Delhi without a phone - strike that, the only driver in India - they spent a good two hours driving around a 2 km radius looking for the place.) Since it was too early to check-in, we dropped our bags and the four of us headed out for the sights.

First we stopped off at the President's house and gawked through the rod iron gates at one of the largest Presidential palaces in the world. Across from that, is the road leading to the India Gate, the Arc de Triumph of India. George and I had driven by it the last time we were in Delhi but didn’t actually have time to get out and walk around. This time, we were given the pleasure. As we opened the car door, the swarms of hawkers (or “hookers” as Deepak liked to say) greeted us with all sorts of Indian goods that they try to pretend is not junk (i.e. puppets, mini chess sets, maps, etc.). After making like celebs hoarding off the paparazzi, we started walking to the Gate careful to show Ryan and Austin how to cross the streets of India – either wait for an Indian and follow their lead or inch your way out, run, and hope for the best. Once we crossed the street we were greeted with lots of “hellos” and more “hookers” just waiting to prey on us.

The arch is 42 meters high and commemorates ninety thousand Indian soldiers killed fighting for the British in WWI, and bears the names of more than three thousand British and Indian soldiers who died on the Northwest frontier and in the Afghan War of 1919 (so say our Rough Guide). It has none of the solemn feel of the Vietnam memorial with kids running around laughing, families taking leisurely walks, TV crews getting live commentary on cricket…We saw a guy selling what was shaped exactly like a carrot but whose color and texture looked like a watermelon. When George stopped to ask what it was, he was given a free bite off the bottom of one. It tasted like a carrot. It was crunchy and not juicy. After getting pinned with tiny, paper, sort of Indian flags (they were the right colors but did not have the right design), we got conned into giving money to a supposed “school.” As we were leaving, we noticed a group of Indian gentlemen all huddling together in front of a TV camera. George joined the group, who welcomed him with open arms and tried to get the rest of us to join them as well. We were too busy trying not to look at the little girls doing acrobatics, the boys trying to pose for pictures, the men selling popcorn or anyone else who could possibly claim that we owe them money for any of their “services.” But apparently, the guy holding the microphone was looking for commentary of the previous day’s match where some cricketers beat some record for something really noteworthy. Realizing all his cricket watching still hasn’t added up to a coherent comment on the game, George ended up declining the comment and we found ourselves back in the middle of the street trying to cross without any causalities.

From there, we went to Humayun’s Tomb, one of the earliest Mugal emperors who, from what I gather, fought a great deal with the Afghans losing and then regaining Delhi. It is the first Mugal garden tomb which was later followed by the most well known, Taj Mahal (and looks much like a mini Taj Mahal). After learning our lesson early in Bangalore at the Bull Temple, we quickly ridded ourselves of the questionable Indian who just started walking with us and talking sure that he was not an official tour guide. Instead, we tried to hang around and wait for the bus loads of retirees to join us so we could listen to their guides who speak loudly and clearly. As it turns out, they only really like to point out the obvious, “what we have here is a structure made almost entirely from red sandstone.”

We left there and stopped for lunch. Since we didn’t really know where we were or exactly how far we were from our next stop, we decided to take Deepak’s suggestion for lunch. We pulled into a parking lot filled with other taxis and entered a Chinese/Indian restaurant with a very friendly staff. (Indians seem to love the idea of “multi-cuisine” restaurant).After ordering (and eating) enough food for 8, we were given the bill and told that we were also paying for Deepak’s lunch. No wonder he likes the place.

After a full lunch, we went to Qutb Minar Complex, “one of Delhi’s most famous landmarks.” The complex itself is the grounds on which India’s first Mosque was built in the 1200s. Most of the area was just ruins but the detail and size of the ruins gave you just enough detail to picture what a massive and beautiful structure it once was. A Muslim by the name of Qutb-ud-din conquered India and began building a tower to mark the eastern extremity of the Islamic empire. But it took about four other Muslim leaders to finally complete the tower which now stands at 72 meters. There are detailed carvings and passages from the Koran inscribed on the tower and it used to be used to call the Muslims to prayer. It was one of my favorite stops in Delhi because it was so old but somehow really gave you a sense of what the place must have looked like and makes you wonder how they were able to build such large and intricate buildings that have lasted so long.

Deepak had one more stop lined up for us that afternoon – the Lotus Temple (aka. Baha’i Temple). After just talking about the Baha’is last week and how there are only 7 temples in the world, I learned that one of them is right here in Delhi. When we pulled up though, the line was snaking halfway around the giant temple and didn’t seem to be moving too fast. Feeling like we had made good progress, and it was getting late for those who had just flown 15 hours, we told Deepak we would take a pass and come back to see it first thing in the morning. He agreed but then told us he was going to make one more stop. We were going to see one of his “friends” who sells carpets. We were in an agreeable sort of mood so we said we would take a quick look.

We were immediately greeted by a gentlemen with a long white beard who insisted on calling us, “my children.” He walked us into his shop, through the front room with pashminas, wood carvings, jewelry and all sorts of gifts, to the back where all the carpets were. He asked us to sit and beckoned his other employees to join us. Two of them began to pull rolled up carpets off the shelves and two of them disappeared but were clearly on a mission. First the guy with the beard explained why his carpets are the best and that he wasn’t going to pressure us to buy anything but was sure once we saw what he had to offer, we’d be silly not too. About this time, the two employees who disappeared were back with some of the best tea I’ve had in India for everyone. Then, in very dramatic fashion, the showcases began. One of the employees rolled out a carpet with one flick of his wrists and it came to rest just inches in front of us. We saw big carpets, little carpets, silk carpets, carpets that changed color when laid out in different directions, and even a flying carpet. (Ok, so it was a bag that they would put the carpet in to fly it back to your native place, not a magical flying carpet.) I couldn’t stand to hear him go over what a wonderful price he was going to offer to his children so I asked to be dismissed and go to the other room. When I came back, he was still trying to make some two for one deals and we were making promises to return after thinking about it over night. We did not however walk away empty handed. We left with the bearded man’s business card - Professor Butts. He neglected to tell us he was a professor…that might have changed everything.

That night we had dinner at a restaurant some consider one of the top three in all of Asia, Bukara. It is in the Sheraton and has been known to serve the likes of one Bill Clinton and Vladimir Putin (though not at the same time). We did not see anyone famous but can see why the place is consistently rated at the top of restaurant lists.

The next day we went back to the Baha’i Temple where they had a very efficient system of dropping your shoes in a bag before the entrance. The man in charge was very serious about his job and was quick to praise those like us, who caught onto his system quickly. Put the shoes of everyone in your party in a bag, drop it on the left and come back later to retrieve the bag on the right. They had a similar system when you approached the line to get into the temple. I was told that I was free to take pictures, as long as I didn’t slow down the line. The temple itself was impressive in its design but once we entered, it seemed as if we were going to either be lead in some sort of prayer or forced to hear someone extol the benefits of being Baha’i as there were “officials” ushering us into pews and standing in front of us. But we were simply asked to keep quiet and just sat. When we left about 5 minutes later, the women who asked me to keep the line moving came over to find me to apologize for her tone in telling me not to slow anyone down with my pictures. It was a nice gesture but totally unnecessary.

From there we went to Red Fort. George and I had been there before but it was too late for us to go inside so this time around we got to see parts of it we missed before. It is much bigger from the inside than I thought with distinct buildings for sleeping, eating and halls for public and private audiences. The Fort was built by Shah Jahan, who also built the Taj Mahal, so again, you could definitely see the similarities in both – big, ornate arches and similar marble etchings and patterns.

From there we headed to Connaught Place for lunch and some shopping. After treating our guests to a delicious American diner the previous morning (we really wanted diner food), we took them to an authentic Mexican restaurant for lunch. Authentic Mexican in India? I know, it can’t be, you’re thinking. Well, cowboys, you are only partly correct. The bar stools were in fact, horse saddles, the waiters wore holsters around their waists complete with cardboard painted to look like a gun and cowboy hats. It was just like stepping back into the old wild west. The margaritas were terrible, the nachos were edible at best and my quesadillas were more like stuffed dosas (like an Indian stuffed crepe). Ryan and Austin were nice enough to go along with our American food cravings but really, they must have been thinking, why did I come to India for Mexican food? After lunch, our activities included but were not limited to: being chased by an aggressive transvestite who wanted to bless everyone, walking through a market exclusively for denim, meeting a man who just wanted to talk to us to practice his English (and maybe sell us a post card while we were at it), and randomly running into Deepak on the streets of Delhi (or perhaps he was following us).

We went to another temple later that day called Lakshmi Narayan Mandir that was very white and with my eye problems caused some major squinting and tearing so all I really can tell you was that is was big, and white and relatively new as it was inaugurated by Mahatma Gandhi in 1939.

When we got back to our lovely little guesthouse, George offered to visit the Chemist next door to see if he had any other eye drops I could try or any other pearls of wisdom. The diagnosis was to take a vitamin and if my eye wasn’t bleeding, just wait for the irritation to go away. Still not certain I wouldn’t go blind, I went to see the chemist myself. He basically laughed in my face saying, “There’s nothing wrong with you! What are you worried about?” If you can’t trust an Indian chemist, who can you trust? He tried to sell me some vitamins but I said, “you just said there was nothing wrong with me. I don’t need vitamins.” And really, by the next morning, there really was nothing wrong. I didn’t go blind and my eyes were all clear.

The next morning, we were headed out to the beautiful city of Agra and would be on the road for the next 6 days. We’re not sure if it was the prospect of being stuck with us or if his grandmother really was in town but Deepak told us he needed the night off and we could take an auto-rickshaw to dinner. Luckily, we had a few places close to the hotel in mind so we left him hoping he would be back for us the next morning.

Using my clever negotiating skills, I got us a rickshaw that would take all four of us to somewhere called the “defense colony” for 80 rupees. After chugging along, George in front with his arm around the driver and the three of us in back, we made it to a neat, little section of town with a few restaurants to choose from. We settled on a place called Moet’s. It was four or five different stories and served Italian, Chinese and Indian. After learning our lesson about trying different cuisines in India, we stuck to the Indian restaurant and had one of the best meals of the week. We again realized we over-ordered after they had to spread our dishes onto a second table.

Deepak did arrive the next morning, about a half hour late (just enough to make us wonder if he was actually going to show or not). So Monday morning we headed out for the rest of our tour of the “Golden Triangle” as they call it.

Pictures are linked...