Here I am in Goa, India. I'm studying yoga at Riva Resort on Mandrem Beach. I'm staying at www.dandoholidayhuts.com with friends from Leh between Mandrem and Arambol Beaches. They are turning this resort into a meditation retreat center and gave me a free place to stay in exchange for teaching yoga and meditation. The flyer for the place even has my picture on it as I am raising my arms to the sun up in Leh.
My hut is idyllic - made of grass with two windows overlooking a placid lake and palm tree groves with the sound of the waves crashing only five minutes away. I walk to school every morning at 6 a.m. I walk along a river, through a palm tree grove, past a small gathering of Indian homes with a family of pigs roaming about, then along the river again until it comes to the ocean. Then I walk along the beach until I get to my open air school.
In school, we are learning Ashtanga Yoga through the Iyengar and Himalaya methods. We also are learning chants, pranayama, meditation, anatomy, ayurveda and various philosophies. The two main teachers are indian and have studied with masters since a young age. Their age is impossible to tell - they appear very youthful. It's a tough discipline as we are doing four hours of physically demanding ashtanga yoga a day. We have finished one week.
The first day, I cursed myself and said "this is really hard - why am I here?" But I see that the reason I am here is to slow down, get back within my body, tone up my muscles and relax into all that is India and all that is yoga. I'm still travelling, but I've been whirling about for so long that I've lost my center and my practice. It's really nice, though challenging, to come back to these via mediation, breathing and yoga. This course is professional and slow - nothing is easy - but it's all very deep and I am already experiencing lessons and emotions that I will reflect upon in a later blog as I am still processing. Mainly, I feel alone and I know that I can not go back to a corporate life. I don't know what to do and feel a bit lost. At the same time, I feel I'm easing into the true essence of me that makes me feel really good. If I continue this practice, when I make a choice, it will serve my highest interest and I can be healthy and happy.
The resort I stayed at in Egypt contacted me to potentially start a yoga program . We have talked and I will know more later in December. If it's a go, I may return to Egypt in January and work for three months and study arabic and teach english, then perhaps explore the middle east. It is so fascinating to me. Not to mention, the economy is not so good to find a job now - teaching english and yoga is always a possibility. Life is nice. I just wish I had a man whom I could share all this love with.
As soon as I returned to India, I was relieved to see cows on the road. Two girls in the car with me were freaking out about EVERYHING and I remained unfazed. Welcome home to crazy beautiful India. I eventually found my friends' place and only one of them was here, buried underneath remodeling projects. The place itself is gorgeous and there is much work to do before it is officially open in two weeks. Last night, my other friend arrived and I feel like I am again with my Leh "family." We've adopted a kitten and have the landlord's dog, so we even have pets!
The people in my course are very nice - 20 women plus one man - and no one bothers me. They are from all over the world: Turkey (2), Lebanon, Italy, Slovenia, France (the couple), England, Canada, Holland, Ireland, Scotland, America and Mexico. I'm learning just as much about the rest of the world as I am yoga. My steady companion is a beautiful Lebanese woman named Marie Helene. We roam around on my motor bike during breaks and discuss life in the Middle East. She has lived in Dubai and is in the process of moving to Kuwait. We get along like schmick and schmack and I'm very happy to have another close girlfriend. She's very funny, very worldly and totally unique. She's going to teach me belly dancing and arabic. I'm going to teach her what I know of yoga and perfect English. Hurray!
I saw my old high school acquaintance Freeman in Goa. He tried to surprise me at the airport b/c he missed his flight, but we missed each other. So, we caught up here. He's actually a man, now. Surprise! And India has been very good to him. He's cool, easy, warm and generous. He also lives a life of enterprise and freedom that he is passionate about. He loves India. He reminds me that you can do anything you set your mind to; including living in India and making your dream job yourself. I really respect him and appreciate that I can call him a friend now. I hope to see him again. He, like Marie Helene, is a virgo. I LOVE virgos!
Today is our first half day off of school. I'm going to help the guys make a path around the lake and we'll swim in the warm water of the ocean thereafter. The beach is mostly empty now as tourist season doesn't begin until Nov. 1. Goa is thus uncharacteristically quiet and clean. I can only imagine how things will change...I've been travelling over 9 months now as of 10/23 - I can hardly believe the transformation I've undergone. I've found myself and I love me. I miss my friends, too. I wonder every day how on earth I will return to my prior life. I'm not sure how. Everything seems and feels so different now. We'll see....
Friday, October 24, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Mystical Egypt
Every fantasy I've ever had about Egypt is true. Every one. It is nothing less than astonishing every single day: Billowing sand dunes, crystal mountains, mystical pyramids, history everywhere and in everything, veiled ladies with beautiful kohl-lined mysterious eyes, muslim men in flowing galabeas (sp?) and muslim hats, shisha/hukkah pipe smoking (fruit flavored tobacco inside) at every other shop, souqs/bazzars winding through alleys built thousands of years ago with ornate wooden windows (for the ladies to peer out of from inside) and moroccan style lanterns lighting the way, shops selling belly dancing fabric, big jewelry, foreign instruments, buckets of spices, ornate decorations, slabs of beef and camel, etc.; feluccas sailing down a peaceful nile river with reeds on the river banks (although no crocodiles or baby moseses in a basket floating by), hieroglyphics on giant stones that are marvels to behold in both size and energy, ridiculously rich sheiks with turbans and gold throwing money as if it was nothing while dancing with a gyrating bad girl from Quatar or Saudi Arabia in a dance club, silent sands, still deserts, awesome sunrises on luscious oases surrounded by sand mountains converted to tombs for the dead, the call to prayer echoing over any town five times a day, sunsets that spill over the richness of history, camels, bedoins, incredible diving and underwater life with crystal clear visibility and last but not least, a history and allure of the captivating and indescribably type - an essence that defies any description. A mystical calling...
And also the unexpected - a large reason I went to Egypt. What is Islam? Repressive to women? Full of American-hating terrorists? Belief in jihad? Intolerant of other religions? Will they stone me if I accidentally show my ankle or show a little too much curve with form fitting clothes and speak with an american accent? Do they hate us? Who is us? What is the truth about Islam? What is the truth about the middle east? What does THEIR media say truth?
I received answers to all of these. Islam is love and universal connectedness. They view women as needing to be protected b/c men can't be responsible for their own sexual urges. They love Americans - they hate George Bush. Jihad as it is currently being used as a justification for hate and death and murder is the result of bad men, not Islam. Islam recognizes other religions and has respect for their teachings, but believe Islam is the right religion. They tolerate westerners and feel that yes, we're immoral, and yes we don't respect our bodies by not covering them, but we are different and therefore are not overtly offensive - only mildly. The men, especially appreciate the opportunity to see some skin and the ability to walk close to and actually smell, and possibly brush against an actual women. Men and women don't touch - even husband and wife between sunrise and sunset - and they certainly don't have love affairs as we do in the west. They get married (a marriage, btw, can be annulled within hours, if desired). They liked my american accent as I practiced my arabic and smiled broadly when I told them where I was from. I received gifts everywhere I went and was always invited to sit for a cup of tea. They recognize that "us" is not the united states in that not all of us support our president. You see, their president is a dictator, but none of them can speak out against him or they will be harrassed, imprisoned or killed. EVERY Egyptian I spoke to expressed hatred for their president, but frustration at their inability to speak out about it out of fear. They expressed hatred b/c they had no civil rights or liberties to travel outside the country. The economy is horrible and people are starving, but the money is being taken by the president. They MUST declare a religion - either muslim or christian (the only choices) to get any sort of identification. They can't leave the country unless they pay 12,000 Euros. The last man who went up against the president during "elections" was imprisoned for something (no one really knows) and came out silent, crazy and crippled. No one has questioned anything in public since. When the president dies, his son will take over. The oppression will continue. They love Egypt, but they hate their president? Sound familiar? "Us" is more common than we thought. The truth about Islam is that it doesn't say women must veil and hide in corners. It doesn't say westerners are the spawn of satan. It doesn't say maim and destroy. This is merely the way some people have chosen to interpret islam either forcefully or otherwise. Islam actually says that a guest is God and should be treated with all due respect. As a muslim, these people are blessed to recognize right living and treat every person with respect and courtesy. They see women as someone to be protected - pure and virtuous. The way women veil is subjective - many women love to adorn their outfits with matching scarves on their heads - this was particularly apparent in Cairo. Of course, their are exceptions, fundamentalists, abusive husbands, repressed victims, as in every culture - that take it too far - this is what we've seen. It's not good. At all. I saw that, too. The Middle East is complicated and requires much more exploration to even begin to understand. Some countries are more repressive than others. Some hate westerners. Some love America. Oil is important. Geography is important. History is important. Respect for islam and the culture is key. Always. That said, I don't believe isolating ourselves and demonizing muslims, a la the media's inculcations, is the proper way to achieve peace. We need a dialogue. Not out of fear - just respect for differences. That's it. Their media doesn't demonize westerners - it just covers the news. The economic crisis, for instance. Every Egyptian I met hopes, really really really hopes Obama will win. They hate what Bush has done to demonize thier religion and culture b/c it is gravely untrue. That is the truth. I hope all of you visit the middle east and see the truth for yourselves.
I started in Dahab and stayed in a luxury resort that overlooked the Red Sea and had a domed ceiling of brick above my bed and a whitewashed veranda. I slept on pillows on the veranda a couple of nights b/c the breeze felt so nice. I scuba dived one day and it was clear and lovely with bright corals and fish and manta rays - I dived Castle and the Island. I had succulent calamari at a bedoin restaurant with pillow seats on the floor, shesha pipes, billowing fabric for walls on the north and south sides only with sea on one side and sand mountains on the other. The next day, I went further north to the blue hole with a nice Dutch lady I met and we snorkeled around the blue hole and actually dove in one meter. Gorgeous once again. Thereafter, I wanted the calamari, so I caught a taxi, i.e. a camel, and rode along the Red Sea for about 1 km so I could taste the delicious calamari again. When I got there, the proprietor exclaimed with joy that he would give me his eyes if I asked, he was so happy to see me. The Egyptians, you see, are very romantic and use such comments regularly. They're also very funny. I can't tell you how many times I would walk past a man and he'd ask "how many camels?" I made friends with the manager of the resort and he invited me to breakfast (sunset breaking of the ramadan fast) with he and his brother at his home. His brother had been preparing the food all day and it was delicious. Beef, onions, pita, tahini, salad - all very fresh and delicious. They had the tv turned on during the breakfast. I expected something holy. Nope. But, delicious and a great experience to be invited. The following day, I met him at sunrise and we climbed the mountain behind the hotel. It had a gorgous view of the resplendent sun rising over the mountains of Saudi Arabia across the Red Sea ("Mecca is just there," he pointed). Then he leaned in for a kiss to which I protested. "Don't stop me," he stated. I stopped him. No more invitations for me to dinner. : (
I next flew to Cairo as Ramadan finished. I gasped as I first laid eyes on the Nile and saw the three pyramids of Giza from so high in the sky. It was incredible! The taxi driver had a scratch, low voice like Joe Pesce and looked like an aged and weathered gangster with a pocked face and leather jacket. He explained that he had a wife and was looking for a western wife. He wantd her young like me even though he was 57. Was I interested? No thanks, just the hotel please. Cairo at dusk appeared dirty and noisy and the streets had only men wandering around the hotel. I didn't like it. The next day was different - I saw women out en masse. The three days after Ramadan are like Christmas - no one is working and everyone is celebrating and eating. Girls are allowed to roam free. Imagine my surprise at seeing boys and girls walking arm in arm through the streets of Cairo! The girls wore tight fitting denim skirts and pants with sparkles on them and garish tight t-shirts over long sleeved form fitting shirts. Of course, thier heads were covered with bright scarves tucked tightly under their chins and surrounding ounces of thick makeup and heavily lined kohl eyes. They were gorgeous and young and happy and touching!!! What a trip! I later learned that this is a special time of year. When I later returned to Cairo, no one was touching, but the girls still dressed the same.
Cairo is modern with peppered history dating back thousands of years, i.e. islamic and coptic cairo, and on the west of the Nile River b/c the east is reserved for the dead. They believe that the dead rise to the afterlife with the rising sun. Simple. There are lots of cars, traffic, smog, people from all over the world and many women on the streets, as well as men. Men only smoke in the sheesha shops - as well as the occasional western women. These shops are prolific. I explored Cairo on foot and got lost in downtown amid the post-ramadan revelry, visited the astounding Egyptian museum and saw the treasures of King Tut's tomb as well as mummified pharohs and the supernumerary wonders of pharonic egypt. I visited Saqquara and another place that begins with a C to see pyramids and tombs with beautiful inscriptions and paintings of everyday life and the passage to the everafter. I learned of the various Gods and what their purpose is. I learned of the celebration of life. I learned that no one is sure how these temples were erected. I learned that they weren't slaves, but masters, who erected the pyramids during the winter season when the Nile flooded and they couldn't tend to their farms - a "solution for unemployment," apparently.
I met with my group to go on a two week tour - a young australian couple, two fashionista kids from Queens, a dirk-like Canadian exploring the world and hoping to get to oxford on a rugby scholarship and an eccentric Kiwi guy that I couldn't really label. Everyone was nice and young. Our guide, named Gandhi b/c he looks like him and is named Mohammed like every other Egyptian, was a bit older than I and very organized and nice. I was irked to have a time schedule, but very lucky to have a guide and such nice people with which to explore Egypt. I reminded myself that I used to have such a regiment that I had to account for every six minutes - if I could do that this would be no problem. We went to the Pyramids of Giza which were truly awe-inspiring and visited the Giant Sphyx. As I was walking up to this mystical piece of ancient egypt majestically situated in front of the middle great pyramid, I heard on my right "camel, camel" which I ignored b/c I knew it was someone selling a stuffed animal camel. I walked on and marveled at the majestic state of all this. Then, however, the voice said "dancing camel" and I turned around to see stuffed animal camels dancing on the white alabaster hallway - the voice was hidden behind an ancient pillar. I just had to laugh. Welcome to Egypt. A place where ancient majestic history rich and resplendent is met with people needing money, yet maintaing their humor all the time. A common greeting is "welcome to alaska." Very funny people. I didn't buy the dancing camel. I kindof wish I had.
We took an overnight train to Aswan which was conservative and beautiful and calm. It's more african than the rest of Egypy b/c it is Nubian. The people are dark skinned and they sell more spices and play drums and chant in an africanized fashion. We shopped in the souq where two different shopkeepers brushed against me and I balked - they acted surprised. It irked me. One other shopkeeper was all googley-eyed and gave me great discounts b/c I agreed to shake his hand for a lower price. Selling myself, I guess. Not too bad - I got a great price. I also was offered seven thousand camels as I walked solo along the Nile River one day. I met an English man along the way who asked if I'd join his feluca. I declined, but suggested a cup of coffee as I was exhausted. We walked to a gorgeous view and it happened to be McDonalds! It had the most beautiful view of the Nile and delicious turkish coffee (mud like and small and very, very strong). Who knew?
We took a feluca up the Nile and stopped overnight for a fireside dance and singing with several other touring feluccas. I had a bad case of diarreaha and missed the party, but no worries. It was lovely to be there. We visited Abu Simbel which was a giant temple for Ramses and another one for his wife Nefrititi carved in to two giant stone mountains. UNESCO moved the site to avoid flooding when the damn was built. I was in awe as to the beauty and magnitude of these temples as well as the feat of moving them! We also visited an island that had a temple for Isis on it - I can't remember the name right now. Again, there were carvings and ruins and temples that were larger than life and absolutely awe-inspiring. We swam in the Nile with no crocodiles and it was cool water with a strong current. I had to pinch myself that I was actually IN THE NILE RIVER!!! We visited a nubian village and I bought candy for the children. Two fruit sellers proposed marriage in 10 minutes.
We carried on to Luxor which was magic. Luxor had Karnak, the Temple of Luxor, the Valley of Kings, the Valley of Queens, Ramses' Temple, the Laborer's Valley, Hatsheput's Temple and so many other places. Luxor is still being excavated b/c it has so many antiquities dating back thousands of years. They are regularly discovering new antiquities and resituating entire villages (and parts of Luxor itself) due to discoveries of towns atop tombs. Even today! Karnak was breathtaking in detail and grandeur. Many generations of phaorohs added their mark here and the statues, carving, obelisks and ruins defied description. The Valleys all contain(ed) dead people and were stuffed with beautiful objects and art for the afterlife of the deceased. The Royal people obviously had much more than the laborers. I learned that these valleys were forgotten in history b/c their location was known only to the ruling pharohs and of course the laborers (specially skilled people who built and decorated the tombs as soon as a pharoh took the throne). The laborers lived in nearby village specially built for to work on the temples regularly. When the government changed sometime after the Romans accepted Christianity, the bulding of the temples ceased and these people had no source of income. They would go into the temples and take only what they needed to survive. When we went to their tombs, we saw equally skilled work on the walls - they worked six days on the pharohs tombs and one on their own. Their was also a greco-roman church in this village, which illustrated the acceptance of egyptian religion fused with greco-roman influence. Emporers were dressed as pharohs and going through the same afterlife process as the pharohs with the egyptian gods dressed somewhat differently (with roman cross-hatched design) and carrying knives. I took a hot air balloon with Twinkle (from New York - an awesome 22 year - beautiful, brilliant and super cool) over all of the temples at sunrise. It was pricey, but I loved feeling like I was one of the gods flying over the temples to see if the giant statues and temples pleased me enough to grant eternal life. We were mostly pleased up there in the sky. It was truly awe inspiring to see the reverence for pharohs and life. We went to McDonalds - the first time I had food there in over 20 years! - and it overlooked the beautiful Luxor Temple. I think McDonald's must have prime real estate all over Egypt! Luxor Temple had an avenue of Sphinxes and dozens of temples and statutes richly adorned. We went at night and everything was illuminated beautifully. It felt out of this world. We took a horse and buggy back to the hotel that night along the Nile. As we were trotting along past ancient relics and marvelous hotels overlooking the Nile, I once again gave thanks for my life. I smiled the whole way home.
We next took a train to Alexandria, which was breezy and beautiful. Most of the historical places were destroyed. The New Yorkers and I teamed up. We had a drink on the water, then visited the library (closed for Friday prayer). We got lost downtown, then took a taxi to the famous fort which was built over a famous ancient lighthouse that fell into the sea during an earthquake. There, we had a delicous seafood lunch, then went shopping for nubian jewelry. We walked back along the water's windy edge and I felt so revived - I felt like I was in San Francisco. Married couples were walkig arm in arm and smiling at the water. Fisherman cast their lines in formation along the entire coast. It was lovely. We stumbled upon a gorgeous mosque with a giant fountain. Alongside this was a carnival with families beaming and smiling amid the lights of the rides. I tried some cotton candy - tastes just like the ones at home. We later met up with the group and brought them back here for George's birthday ride on a rocket ship. Then, we had more extraordiary seafood. We chatted on my balcony deep into the evening as it overlooked the water. We left too early the next day. I want to return to Alexandria. An entire temple and two cities fell into the water and is aviailable for scuba viewing. They plan on building the world's first ever underwater museum. Diving before it is built is costly. Perhaps I can study arabic, teach english, and scuba dive on the side with my income...we'll see...
As we headed to the desert, we stopped at Cleopatra's beach, where she was rumored to escape to with Mark Anthony. It was nice to see waves crashing over rocks and feel the sand beneath my feet. We stopped for only 10 minutes, so no swimming. But lovely. Next, we went to the giant oasis of Siwa. Thousands of palm trees and mineral springs and an ancient dilapidated city center consisting of salt-sand walls that fell to pieces during a rain storm. The resulting structures spilling over the top of the hill reminded me of Gaudi park in Barcelona, Spain - but all natural. There were several mosques here, so the call to prayer was very, very audible. Here, the women were even more conservative and I rarely say a woman's face as it was under a heavy veil - most with no eye-slits. We visited a mountain where tombs for the common people were built. The art was crude and very roman influenced. We then went to the Oracle's temple where Alexander the Great came several times for guidance and to inquire if he was indeed the son of Zeus. No one knows the answer. I asked the ruined temple what my purpose was and had the thought that it is whatever I make it. We then went to Cleopatra's bath - a mineral spring - and had a brief swim - I swam in pants and a t-shirt. Cleopatra never came here - Alexander did. There were men around waiting for the opportunity to see bare flesh. We travelled by donkey cart, by the way. At the mountain of the dead, one donkey started braying inconsolably as we walked away - Twinkle and I felt horrible - but that's the working life among donkeys, I suppose. We smoked shishas here at night b/c there wasn't much to do. Siwa was really beautiful. Very calm. Very nice. Very muslim. In the desert.
Gandhi and I discussed marriage in islam. He told me about the ability to marry and divorce so sex isn't illegal. He told me how no one touches unless the girl is bad and she is VERY bad if you can kiss her before marriage. As a result, sex is like war, he says. The women is terrified and never wants to do it. The man has no idea what to do. When he tried to touch his wife's breast and asked what was wrong she replied "I've been hiding them for 25 years." She also had a genital "adjustment" when she was younger, so her sensual pleasure is gone. He said for many women, the wedding night is the worst night of their life if the husband is not patient or kind. Many men reach the age of 40 having never touched a woman and even knowing what their wrist feels like or what her hair smells like is a source of intrigue. This is the reason the men touched me in the Aswan market and why I get so many marriage proposals. Western women are so much more liberated - the men want to learn. It's natural. Crazy.
We next travelled to a smaller oasis and into the white desert. We passed a crystal hill where the rocks are all giant mounds of crystal sparkling in the sun. "Crystal Energy is Good!" I sang. The whole group started singing this song thereafter. We swam in another mineral spring and ascended a hill in the Black Desert overlooking dozens of black volcanoes peppered along the blackened desert horizon. We arrived to the White Desert at sunset and everything was gleaming pink and pearl like. The moon was full and illuminted the giant white rock formations all night long. It looks very similar to Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia/Chile. It looks like snow and Dali drew pictures of the Bolivian rocks - tall, strange contorted white formations jutting out of sand - but everything is bone dry and surrounded by sand and sun.
Gandhi and I walked into the desert as everyone slept. It was too mystical for sleep. He told me I should stay in Egypt and offered to marry me and give me a house as his second wife. It was a nice offer, I said, but there was no way I could live in Islamic society. Then he said he was kidding. He later said he wasn't. Either way, I told him that I want to marry a western man - and I do. An islamic life is not for me, even if my husband is a good man, like Gandhi. I hope we remain friends. He taught me a lot about Islam. I even shook his hand and hugged him when we said goodbye in Cairo. Other than that, no touching. Just talking. Thank you, Gandhi.
We returned to Cairo and had a farewell dinner at a famous kebab place in islamic cairo. Cats were everywhere and it felt ancient eating outisde in a labrynthian alley. Gandhi brought Twinkle and I to a place where we could buy shisha pipes (I bought one for my friends who have a new restaurant in Goa). On the way, we had to step over a calf that had its throat slit and had blood gushing onto the stones beneath its dead body being bludgeoned by two men. This is islamic Cairo. The streets are so old and ancient that they can't even install plumbing. Everything is done in the old tradition. The next day, I reconnected with Ed (the Englishman I met in Aswan) and returned to islamic cairo with Ed and Ben. We walked through downtown Cairo to get there and saw the streets teeming with activity. A vendor gave me a delicous glass of juice which I drank with no unsavory after-affects. We stumbled upon a coffee house that dated back 140 years. We sat for an hour in the courtyard of a giant mosque and spoke with an Egyptian about life, politics and religion. A man came along and gave me several books on islam. I sat veiled and at peace in this sanctuary in the middle of a thriving city of 20 million people (80% islam, 20% christian, btw). Then, we went back into the bazzar and did some haggling and shopping. We finally relaxed in a famous shisha cafe and had exceptionally delicious fresh pomegranate juice (served with spoon and straw) and a strawberry tobacco flavored shisa. Next to us was a lovely lady in her 70s who has been travelling most of her life. She was vibrant and beautiful and inspired me that I could live a life on the road if I desired. She saw Omar Sharif here once, she said. I wish I could see him. Gorgeous man. Egyptians passed by selling everything under the sun and I bargained very hard for a scarf. I felt bad at the low price I got b/c the state of affairs is very grim for many. I gave all of my food away as we were walking through Cairo. You can't help everybody. We ended the night with a tea and shisha on a beautiful hill overlooking all of Cairo. We drove past the citadel on our way up and down. The minarets and spires of the thousands of mosques on the Cairo skyline was truly dazzling.
That night, Ed and I went for Italian food in the ex-pat part of town on an island in the middle of the Nile, which was delicious. We found a way to buy a bottle of wine and left to find a place to drink it. Not allowed in the restaurant. We explored a beautiful ancient house with an open door to try to get to the roof, but no access. I saw a sign that said "apartment for rent for foreigners" and a man sitting near the sign inquired if I was interested. We proceeded to check out what an apartment in Cairo was like for 3000 egyptian pounds. We walked forever and he asked several doormen along the way in several apartments something and turned around to take us to the next place. Eventually, we found two vacancies and they were both dives with giant furniture and tiny windows. We carried on to the Nile and went into a glitzy bar/restaurant that reminded me of Miami. The prices were outrageous and we had no cash, so we walked on to find an ATM and a different option. We met several felucca captains and arranged to have a one hour tour for 50 pounds (about $10USD). We passed a private club where a wedding party entered and they invited us in. We carried on to town where there were cafes and rich egyptians and expats having coffees and shisas al fresco. We found an atm, bought some chocolate pastries and went back in the direction from whence we'd come. There were weddings in every river club and restaurant and park and giant feluccas were sailing past with egyptians dancing and celebrating with the bridal couple. We entered the club to find the couple that invited us in. The doorguy begrudgingly let us enter for 'two minutes only' and told us where the party was. We entered and just kindof observed the couple on the stage smiling out at the dancing crowd. Then, a man whispered into the ear of the groom and they both looked at us and the man called us over, smiling. We took pictures with them at their request, then the crowd pulled us on to the dance floor and everyone was snapping our photos and requesting dances - kids, old people, men, women. Ed kept saying we needed to leave b/c we were stealing the attention from the bride and groom and I kept saying we had to leave b/c security was going to come for us. But the crowd would not let us out of the circle. We had no choice but to keep dancing! We were finally pulled out of the crowd by the door man who was laughing and smiling while saying we weren't allowed. Imagine our surprise when we walked a bit farther up the road and saw a different wedding party in the same club dancing outside. THIS was the couple that invited us in. So, we actually crashed someone's wedding and they were as warm and welcoming as anyone I've ever met! We went for the felucca ride with red wine and chocolate - we paid the captain extra baksheesh for the illegality of the action - and toured around gorgeous Cairo with its towering lights on one side and the luxury villas of the embassies on the island. It was really romantic as we sat there taking it all in, side by side, as mates. The word that came to mind was "captivating" and Ed agreed. I fell absolutely in love with Cairo and finally understood a line in a book I read: "When you first arrive in Cairo, you can't wait to leave. When you finally leave Cairo, you can't wait to come back."
We tipped the captain and walked along to find some live music. I asked a tall Egyptian man with funky glasses whether he worked at a nightclub with live music and he said "yes." He was a sound engineer and took us for free to the swankiest club in all of Cairo. A famous Egyptian singer would be performing that evening (morning, actually, 4 am) and he kept tryign to tell us we should come back later, but we decided to stay and check the progress of the evening. We had one prohibitively expensive cocktail, then switched to tea and shisha. What transpired was weird. The DJ was incredible; truly one of the best I've ever heard. Only women danced and they were clearly prostitutes but incredible belly dancers in their tight jeans and tank tops. Every once in a while, a song would play in an arbic language and the men would come out and sing and dance. They clearly were gay, but since homosexuality is illegal, they weren't. No one was allowed to touch anyone else, but the indications were pretty darn stark! Then, it became crowded with people from Saudi Arabia and Quatar and Morocco. The Egyptian singer and band walked out onto the dance floor dressed in white galabeas and the picnic-looking head scarves of a sheik and sang while walking between the dancers. Men would say something in his ear while he was singing then throw giant wads of cash into the sky. Five men in white shirts had the job of picking up the bills. No one else touched them. There were giant body guards dressed in black suits that held up their hands to keep me from coming too close to who knows who on the dance floor (I danced once) and otherwise watched the women dancing at a very uncomfortable range. The rich men continued to throw money as they danced in increments of 50 pounds as Ed and I gasped in astonishment. I asked the bathroom attendant why they did this: "Because they are Crazy - not from Egypt - crazy people!" she said.
Mohammed, our friend that we met on the street, later told us that they were sons of oil sheiks and danced like this every night. They collected 30,000 pounds in this manner that evening = split evenly between the singer and the house. We finally left at 5 in the morning when the singing had ended. It was wild!
Mohammed had invited us to his house for lunch, so Ed picked me up at 1 pm for a 3pm lunch. We hopped in a cab with Mohammed and for about an hour to a suburb outside the citadel. Mohammed lives like so many Egyptians in a shoddy high rise apartment next to dozens of other shoddy high rise apartments. We arrived on the top floor to a clean and elegant little place with big furniture and a wailing baby boy. His son is 1.6 and a beautiful little boy. His wife came out blushing with a headscarf and said "hello." She spoke no English. Nonetheless, she took me into her bedroom and gave me egyptian kohl eyes and wrapped my head in my scarf in the muslim fashion. She was very sweet and said "I love you very much" as she insisted I take a plastic pearl necklace as a gift. We viewed photos of their family and life and played with their son while waiting for her fasting period to pass before eating. During Ramadan, she couldn't pray for four days due to her period and was now catching up. At 5:30, she served us a delicious Egyptian feast which she took four hours to prepare. We talked about the repression of Egyptians and rituals of islam. They were a truly kind couple. We were very lucky to have such an expose into Egyptian life.
On our way back to the hotel, we stopped at the same hill overlooking Cairo and I got to say goodbye to this incredible city. I jokingly kissed Ed on the cheek, to which the driver with his ever watchful eye exclaimed. Mohammed immediately told me "Kyra, please don't kiss Ed - the driver has requested." Islam. I made a special point to smile, make direct eye contact with the driver and say goodbye to him when I got out of the cab. He smiled back and I wondered if he thought I was a demon. Likely. Ed and Mohammed carried on and I returned to the hotel to pack and go to the airport. At the airport, I had two men pull a scam that they could help me get through the lines faster. I knew it was unnecessary, but gave both of them backsheesh of 20 ponds each. I generously tipped the bathroom attendant as well. When I realized I didn't have enough pounds to get a cup of coffee, the service guy said I could have it for free. So I gave him the rest of my money as a tip ( 7 pounds, but 12 pounds for a cup of coffee). He smiled very large and so did I. I love Egypt.
And now I'm back in India. In Goa...I am unfazed by crazy traffic, cows, leering men, substandard accomodation, veiled women and the overall bizarreness of India. It's nice to be back. Really nice. Astshti
And also the unexpected - a large reason I went to Egypt. What is Islam? Repressive to women? Full of American-hating terrorists? Belief in jihad? Intolerant of other religions? Will they stone me if I accidentally show my ankle or show a little too much curve with form fitting clothes and speak with an american accent? Do they hate us? Who is us? What is the truth about Islam? What is the truth about the middle east? What does THEIR media say truth?
I received answers to all of these. Islam is love and universal connectedness. They view women as needing to be protected b/c men can't be responsible for their own sexual urges. They love Americans - they hate George Bush. Jihad as it is currently being used as a justification for hate and death and murder is the result of bad men, not Islam. Islam recognizes other religions and has respect for their teachings, but believe Islam is the right religion. They tolerate westerners and feel that yes, we're immoral, and yes we don't respect our bodies by not covering them, but we are different and therefore are not overtly offensive - only mildly. The men, especially appreciate the opportunity to see some skin and the ability to walk close to and actually smell, and possibly brush against an actual women. Men and women don't touch - even husband and wife between sunrise and sunset - and they certainly don't have love affairs as we do in the west. They get married (a marriage, btw, can be annulled within hours, if desired). They liked my american accent as I practiced my arabic and smiled broadly when I told them where I was from. I received gifts everywhere I went and was always invited to sit for a cup of tea. They recognize that "us" is not the united states in that not all of us support our president. You see, their president is a dictator, but none of them can speak out against him or they will be harrassed, imprisoned or killed. EVERY Egyptian I spoke to expressed hatred for their president, but frustration at their inability to speak out about it out of fear. They expressed hatred b/c they had no civil rights or liberties to travel outside the country. The economy is horrible and people are starving, but the money is being taken by the president. They MUST declare a religion - either muslim or christian (the only choices) to get any sort of identification. They can't leave the country unless they pay 12,000 Euros. The last man who went up against the president during "elections" was imprisoned for something (no one really knows) and came out silent, crazy and crippled. No one has questioned anything in public since. When the president dies, his son will take over. The oppression will continue. They love Egypt, but they hate their president? Sound familiar? "Us" is more common than we thought. The truth about Islam is that it doesn't say women must veil and hide in corners. It doesn't say westerners are the spawn of satan. It doesn't say maim and destroy. This is merely the way some people have chosen to interpret islam either forcefully or otherwise. Islam actually says that a guest is God and should be treated with all due respect. As a muslim, these people are blessed to recognize right living and treat every person with respect and courtesy. They see women as someone to be protected - pure and virtuous. The way women veil is subjective - many women love to adorn their outfits with matching scarves on their heads - this was particularly apparent in Cairo. Of course, their are exceptions, fundamentalists, abusive husbands, repressed victims, as in every culture - that take it too far - this is what we've seen. It's not good. At all. I saw that, too. The Middle East is complicated and requires much more exploration to even begin to understand. Some countries are more repressive than others. Some hate westerners. Some love America. Oil is important. Geography is important. History is important. Respect for islam and the culture is key. Always. That said, I don't believe isolating ourselves and demonizing muslims, a la the media's inculcations, is the proper way to achieve peace. We need a dialogue. Not out of fear - just respect for differences. That's it. Their media doesn't demonize westerners - it just covers the news. The economic crisis, for instance. Every Egyptian I met hopes, really really really hopes Obama will win. They hate what Bush has done to demonize thier religion and culture b/c it is gravely untrue. That is the truth. I hope all of you visit the middle east and see the truth for yourselves.
I started in Dahab and stayed in a luxury resort that overlooked the Red Sea and had a domed ceiling of brick above my bed and a whitewashed veranda. I slept on pillows on the veranda a couple of nights b/c the breeze felt so nice. I scuba dived one day and it was clear and lovely with bright corals and fish and manta rays - I dived Castle and the Island. I had succulent calamari at a bedoin restaurant with pillow seats on the floor, shesha pipes, billowing fabric for walls on the north and south sides only with sea on one side and sand mountains on the other. The next day, I went further north to the blue hole with a nice Dutch lady I met and we snorkeled around the blue hole and actually dove in one meter. Gorgeous once again. Thereafter, I wanted the calamari, so I caught a taxi, i.e. a camel, and rode along the Red Sea for about 1 km so I could taste the delicious calamari again. When I got there, the proprietor exclaimed with joy that he would give me his eyes if I asked, he was so happy to see me. The Egyptians, you see, are very romantic and use such comments regularly. They're also very funny. I can't tell you how many times I would walk past a man and he'd ask "how many camels?" I made friends with the manager of the resort and he invited me to breakfast (sunset breaking of the ramadan fast) with he and his brother at his home. His brother had been preparing the food all day and it was delicious. Beef, onions, pita, tahini, salad - all very fresh and delicious. They had the tv turned on during the breakfast. I expected something holy. Nope. But, delicious and a great experience to be invited. The following day, I met him at sunrise and we climbed the mountain behind the hotel. It had a gorgous view of the resplendent sun rising over the mountains of Saudi Arabia across the Red Sea ("Mecca is just there," he pointed). Then he leaned in for a kiss to which I protested. "Don't stop me," he stated. I stopped him. No more invitations for me to dinner. : (
I next flew to Cairo as Ramadan finished. I gasped as I first laid eyes on the Nile and saw the three pyramids of Giza from so high in the sky. It was incredible! The taxi driver had a scratch, low voice like Joe Pesce and looked like an aged and weathered gangster with a pocked face and leather jacket. He explained that he had a wife and was looking for a western wife. He wantd her young like me even though he was 57. Was I interested? No thanks, just the hotel please. Cairo at dusk appeared dirty and noisy and the streets had only men wandering around the hotel. I didn't like it. The next day was different - I saw women out en masse. The three days after Ramadan are like Christmas - no one is working and everyone is celebrating and eating. Girls are allowed to roam free. Imagine my surprise at seeing boys and girls walking arm in arm through the streets of Cairo! The girls wore tight fitting denim skirts and pants with sparkles on them and garish tight t-shirts over long sleeved form fitting shirts. Of course, thier heads were covered with bright scarves tucked tightly under their chins and surrounding ounces of thick makeup and heavily lined kohl eyes. They were gorgeous and young and happy and touching!!! What a trip! I later learned that this is a special time of year. When I later returned to Cairo, no one was touching, but the girls still dressed the same.
Cairo is modern with peppered history dating back thousands of years, i.e. islamic and coptic cairo, and on the west of the Nile River b/c the east is reserved for the dead. They believe that the dead rise to the afterlife with the rising sun. Simple. There are lots of cars, traffic, smog, people from all over the world and many women on the streets, as well as men. Men only smoke in the sheesha shops - as well as the occasional western women. These shops are prolific. I explored Cairo on foot and got lost in downtown amid the post-ramadan revelry, visited the astounding Egyptian museum and saw the treasures of King Tut's tomb as well as mummified pharohs and the supernumerary wonders of pharonic egypt. I visited Saqquara and another place that begins with a C to see pyramids and tombs with beautiful inscriptions and paintings of everyday life and the passage to the everafter. I learned of the various Gods and what their purpose is. I learned of the celebration of life. I learned that no one is sure how these temples were erected. I learned that they weren't slaves, but masters, who erected the pyramids during the winter season when the Nile flooded and they couldn't tend to their farms - a "solution for unemployment," apparently.
I met with my group to go on a two week tour - a young australian couple, two fashionista kids from Queens, a dirk-like Canadian exploring the world and hoping to get to oxford on a rugby scholarship and an eccentric Kiwi guy that I couldn't really label. Everyone was nice and young. Our guide, named Gandhi b/c he looks like him and is named Mohammed like every other Egyptian, was a bit older than I and very organized and nice. I was irked to have a time schedule, but very lucky to have a guide and such nice people with which to explore Egypt. I reminded myself that I used to have such a regiment that I had to account for every six minutes - if I could do that this would be no problem. We went to the Pyramids of Giza which were truly awe-inspiring and visited the Giant Sphyx. As I was walking up to this mystical piece of ancient egypt majestically situated in front of the middle great pyramid, I heard on my right "camel, camel" which I ignored b/c I knew it was someone selling a stuffed animal camel. I walked on and marveled at the majestic state of all this. Then, however, the voice said "dancing camel" and I turned around to see stuffed animal camels dancing on the white alabaster hallway - the voice was hidden behind an ancient pillar. I just had to laugh. Welcome to Egypt. A place where ancient majestic history rich and resplendent is met with people needing money, yet maintaing their humor all the time. A common greeting is "welcome to alaska." Very funny people. I didn't buy the dancing camel. I kindof wish I had.
We took an overnight train to Aswan which was conservative and beautiful and calm. It's more african than the rest of Egypy b/c it is Nubian. The people are dark skinned and they sell more spices and play drums and chant in an africanized fashion. We shopped in the souq where two different shopkeepers brushed against me and I balked - they acted surprised. It irked me. One other shopkeeper was all googley-eyed and gave me great discounts b/c I agreed to shake his hand for a lower price. Selling myself, I guess. Not too bad - I got a great price. I also was offered seven thousand camels as I walked solo along the Nile River one day. I met an English man along the way who asked if I'd join his feluca. I declined, but suggested a cup of coffee as I was exhausted. We walked to a gorgeous view and it happened to be McDonalds! It had the most beautiful view of the Nile and delicious turkish coffee (mud like and small and very, very strong). Who knew?
We took a feluca up the Nile and stopped overnight for a fireside dance and singing with several other touring feluccas. I had a bad case of diarreaha and missed the party, but no worries. It was lovely to be there. We visited Abu Simbel which was a giant temple for Ramses and another one for his wife Nefrititi carved in to two giant stone mountains. UNESCO moved the site to avoid flooding when the damn was built. I was in awe as to the beauty and magnitude of these temples as well as the feat of moving them! We also visited an island that had a temple for Isis on it - I can't remember the name right now. Again, there were carvings and ruins and temples that were larger than life and absolutely awe-inspiring. We swam in the Nile with no crocodiles and it was cool water with a strong current. I had to pinch myself that I was actually IN THE NILE RIVER!!! We visited a nubian village and I bought candy for the children. Two fruit sellers proposed marriage in 10 minutes.
We carried on to Luxor which was magic. Luxor had Karnak, the Temple of Luxor, the Valley of Kings, the Valley of Queens, Ramses' Temple, the Laborer's Valley, Hatsheput's Temple and so many other places. Luxor is still being excavated b/c it has so many antiquities dating back thousands of years. They are regularly discovering new antiquities and resituating entire villages (and parts of Luxor itself) due to discoveries of towns atop tombs. Even today! Karnak was breathtaking in detail and grandeur. Many generations of phaorohs added their mark here and the statues, carving, obelisks and ruins defied description. The Valleys all contain(ed) dead people and were stuffed with beautiful objects and art for the afterlife of the deceased. The Royal people obviously had much more than the laborers. I learned that these valleys were forgotten in history b/c their location was known only to the ruling pharohs and of course the laborers (specially skilled people who built and decorated the tombs as soon as a pharoh took the throne). The laborers lived in nearby village specially built for to work on the temples regularly. When the government changed sometime after the Romans accepted Christianity, the bulding of the temples ceased and these people had no source of income. They would go into the temples and take only what they needed to survive. When we went to their tombs, we saw equally skilled work on the walls - they worked six days on the pharohs tombs and one on their own. Their was also a greco-roman church in this village, which illustrated the acceptance of egyptian religion fused with greco-roman influence. Emporers were dressed as pharohs and going through the same afterlife process as the pharohs with the egyptian gods dressed somewhat differently (with roman cross-hatched design) and carrying knives. I took a hot air balloon with Twinkle (from New York - an awesome 22 year - beautiful, brilliant and super cool) over all of the temples at sunrise. It was pricey, but I loved feeling like I was one of the gods flying over the temples to see if the giant statues and temples pleased me enough to grant eternal life. We were mostly pleased up there in the sky. It was truly awe inspiring to see the reverence for pharohs and life. We went to McDonalds - the first time I had food there in over 20 years! - and it overlooked the beautiful Luxor Temple. I think McDonald's must have prime real estate all over Egypt! Luxor Temple had an avenue of Sphinxes and dozens of temples and statutes richly adorned. We went at night and everything was illuminated beautifully. It felt out of this world. We took a horse and buggy back to the hotel that night along the Nile. As we were trotting along past ancient relics and marvelous hotels overlooking the Nile, I once again gave thanks for my life. I smiled the whole way home.
We next took a train to Alexandria, which was breezy and beautiful. Most of the historical places were destroyed. The New Yorkers and I teamed up. We had a drink on the water, then visited the library (closed for Friday prayer). We got lost downtown, then took a taxi to the famous fort which was built over a famous ancient lighthouse that fell into the sea during an earthquake. There, we had a delicous seafood lunch, then went shopping for nubian jewelry. We walked back along the water's windy edge and I felt so revived - I felt like I was in San Francisco. Married couples were walkig arm in arm and smiling at the water. Fisherman cast their lines in formation along the entire coast. It was lovely. We stumbled upon a gorgeous mosque with a giant fountain. Alongside this was a carnival with families beaming and smiling amid the lights of the rides. I tried some cotton candy - tastes just like the ones at home. We later met up with the group and brought them back here for George's birthday ride on a rocket ship. Then, we had more extraordiary seafood. We chatted on my balcony deep into the evening as it overlooked the water. We left too early the next day. I want to return to Alexandria. An entire temple and two cities fell into the water and is aviailable for scuba viewing. They plan on building the world's first ever underwater museum. Diving before it is built is costly. Perhaps I can study arabic, teach english, and scuba dive on the side with my income...we'll see...
As we headed to the desert, we stopped at Cleopatra's beach, where she was rumored to escape to with Mark Anthony. It was nice to see waves crashing over rocks and feel the sand beneath my feet. We stopped for only 10 minutes, so no swimming. But lovely. Next, we went to the giant oasis of Siwa. Thousands of palm trees and mineral springs and an ancient dilapidated city center consisting of salt-sand walls that fell to pieces during a rain storm. The resulting structures spilling over the top of the hill reminded me of Gaudi park in Barcelona, Spain - but all natural. There were several mosques here, so the call to prayer was very, very audible. Here, the women were even more conservative and I rarely say a woman's face as it was under a heavy veil - most with no eye-slits. We visited a mountain where tombs for the common people were built. The art was crude and very roman influenced. We then went to the Oracle's temple where Alexander the Great came several times for guidance and to inquire if he was indeed the son of Zeus. No one knows the answer. I asked the ruined temple what my purpose was and had the thought that it is whatever I make it. We then went to Cleopatra's bath - a mineral spring - and had a brief swim - I swam in pants and a t-shirt. Cleopatra never came here - Alexander did. There were men around waiting for the opportunity to see bare flesh. We travelled by donkey cart, by the way. At the mountain of the dead, one donkey started braying inconsolably as we walked away - Twinkle and I felt horrible - but that's the working life among donkeys, I suppose. We smoked shishas here at night b/c there wasn't much to do. Siwa was really beautiful. Very calm. Very nice. Very muslim. In the desert.
Gandhi and I discussed marriage in islam. He told me about the ability to marry and divorce so sex isn't illegal. He told me how no one touches unless the girl is bad and she is VERY bad if you can kiss her before marriage. As a result, sex is like war, he says. The women is terrified and never wants to do it. The man has no idea what to do. When he tried to touch his wife's breast and asked what was wrong she replied "I've been hiding them for 25 years." She also had a genital "adjustment" when she was younger, so her sensual pleasure is gone. He said for many women, the wedding night is the worst night of their life if the husband is not patient or kind. Many men reach the age of 40 having never touched a woman and even knowing what their wrist feels like or what her hair smells like is a source of intrigue. This is the reason the men touched me in the Aswan market and why I get so many marriage proposals. Western women are so much more liberated - the men want to learn. It's natural. Crazy.
We next travelled to a smaller oasis and into the white desert. We passed a crystal hill where the rocks are all giant mounds of crystal sparkling in the sun. "Crystal Energy is Good!" I sang. The whole group started singing this song thereafter. We swam in another mineral spring and ascended a hill in the Black Desert overlooking dozens of black volcanoes peppered along the blackened desert horizon. We arrived to the White Desert at sunset and everything was gleaming pink and pearl like. The moon was full and illuminted the giant white rock formations all night long. It looks very similar to Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia/Chile. It looks like snow and Dali drew pictures of the Bolivian rocks - tall, strange contorted white formations jutting out of sand - but everything is bone dry and surrounded by sand and sun.
Gandhi and I walked into the desert as everyone slept. It was too mystical for sleep. He told me I should stay in Egypt and offered to marry me and give me a house as his second wife. It was a nice offer, I said, but there was no way I could live in Islamic society. Then he said he was kidding. He later said he wasn't. Either way, I told him that I want to marry a western man - and I do. An islamic life is not for me, even if my husband is a good man, like Gandhi. I hope we remain friends. He taught me a lot about Islam. I even shook his hand and hugged him when we said goodbye in Cairo. Other than that, no touching. Just talking. Thank you, Gandhi.
We returned to Cairo and had a farewell dinner at a famous kebab place in islamic cairo. Cats were everywhere and it felt ancient eating outisde in a labrynthian alley. Gandhi brought Twinkle and I to a place where we could buy shisha pipes (I bought one for my friends who have a new restaurant in Goa). On the way, we had to step over a calf that had its throat slit and had blood gushing onto the stones beneath its dead body being bludgeoned by two men. This is islamic Cairo. The streets are so old and ancient that they can't even install plumbing. Everything is done in the old tradition. The next day, I reconnected with Ed (the Englishman I met in Aswan) and returned to islamic cairo with Ed and Ben. We walked through downtown Cairo to get there and saw the streets teeming with activity. A vendor gave me a delicous glass of juice which I drank with no unsavory after-affects. We stumbled upon a coffee house that dated back 140 years. We sat for an hour in the courtyard of a giant mosque and spoke with an Egyptian about life, politics and religion. A man came along and gave me several books on islam. I sat veiled and at peace in this sanctuary in the middle of a thriving city of 20 million people (80% islam, 20% christian, btw). Then, we went back into the bazzar and did some haggling and shopping. We finally relaxed in a famous shisha cafe and had exceptionally delicious fresh pomegranate juice (served with spoon and straw) and a strawberry tobacco flavored shisa. Next to us was a lovely lady in her 70s who has been travelling most of her life. She was vibrant and beautiful and inspired me that I could live a life on the road if I desired. She saw Omar Sharif here once, she said. I wish I could see him. Gorgeous man. Egyptians passed by selling everything under the sun and I bargained very hard for a scarf. I felt bad at the low price I got b/c the state of affairs is very grim for many. I gave all of my food away as we were walking through Cairo. You can't help everybody. We ended the night with a tea and shisha on a beautiful hill overlooking all of Cairo. We drove past the citadel on our way up and down. The minarets and spires of the thousands of mosques on the Cairo skyline was truly dazzling.
That night, Ed and I went for Italian food in the ex-pat part of town on an island in the middle of the Nile, which was delicious. We found a way to buy a bottle of wine and left to find a place to drink it. Not allowed in the restaurant. We explored a beautiful ancient house with an open door to try to get to the roof, but no access. I saw a sign that said "apartment for rent for foreigners" and a man sitting near the sign inquired if I was interested. We proceeded to check out what an apartment in Cairo was like for 3000 egyptian pounds. We walked forever and he asked several doormen along the way in several apartments something and turned around to take us to the next place. Eventually, we found two vacancies and they were both dives with giant furniture and tiny windows. We carried on to the Nile and went into a glitzy bar/restaurant that reminded me of Miami. The prices were outrageous and we had no cash, so we walked on to find an ATM and a different option. We met several felucca captains and arranged to have a one hour tour for 50 pounds (about $10USD). We passed a private club where a wedding party entered and they invited us in. We carried on to town where there were cafes and rich egyptians and expats having coffees and shisas al fresco. We found an atm, bought some chocolate pastries and went back in the direction from whence we'd come. There were weddings in every river club and restaurant and park and giant feluccas were sailing past with egyptians dancing and celebrating with the bridal couple. We entered the club to find the couple that invited us in. The doorguy begrudgingly let us enter for 'two minutes only' and told us where the party was. We entered and just kindof observed the couple on the stage smiling out at the dancing crowd. Then, a man whispered into the ear of the groom and they both looked at us and the man called us over, smiling. We took pictures with them at their request, then the crowd pulled us on to the dance floor and everyone was snapping our photos and requesting dances - kids, old people, men, women. Ed kept saying we needed to leave b/c we were stealing the attention from the bride and groom and I kept saying we had to leave b/c security was going to come for us. But the crowd would not let us out of the circle. We had no choice but to keep dancing! We were finally pulled out of the crowd by the door man who was laughing and smiling while saying we weren't allowed. Imagine our surprise when we walked a bit farther up the road and saw a different wedding party in the same club dancing outside. THIS was the couple that invited us in. So, we actually crashed someone's wedding and they were as warm and welcoming as anyone I've ever met! We went for the felucca ride with red wine and chocolate - we paid the captain extra baksheesh for the illegality of the action - and toured around gorgeous Cairo with its towering lights on one side and the luxury villas of the embassies on the island. It was really romantic as we sat there taking it all in, side by side, as mates. The word that came to mind was "captivating" and Ed agreed. I fell absolutely in love with Cairo and finally understood a line in a book I read: "When you first arrive in Cairo, you can't wait to leave. When you finally leave Cairo, you can't wait to come back."
We tipped the captain and walked along to find some live music. I asked a tall Egyptian man with funky glasses whether he worked at a nightclub with live music and he said "yes." He was a sound engineer and took us for free to the swankiest club in all of Cairo. A famous Egyptian singer would be performing that evening (morning, actually, 4 am) and he kept tryign to tell us we should come back later, but we decided to stay and check the progress of the evening. We had one prohibitively expensive cocktail, then switched to tea and shisha. What transpired was weird. The DJ was incredible; truly one of the best I've ever heard. Only women danced and they were clearly prostitutes but incredible belly dancers in their tight jeans and tank tops. Every once in a while, a song would play in an arbic language and the men would come out and sing and dance. They clearly were gay, but since homosexuality is illegal, they weren't. No one was allowed to touch anyone else, but the indications were pretty darn stark! Then, it became crowded with people from Saudi Arabia and Quatar and Morocco. The Egyptian singer and band walked out onto the dance floor dressed in white galabeas and the picnic-looking head scarves of a sheik and sang while walking between the dancers. Men would say something in his ear while he was singing then throw giant wads of cash into the sky. Five men in white shirts had the job of picking up the bills. No one else touched them. There were giant body guards dressed in black suits that held up their hands to keep me from coming too close to who knows who on the dance floor (I danced once) and otherwise watched the women dancing at a very uncomfortable range. The rich men continued to throw money as they danced in increments of 50 pounds as Ed and I gasped in astonishment. I asked the bathroom attendant why they did this: "Because they are Crazy - not from Egypt - crazy people!" she said.
Mohammed, our friend that we met on the street, later told us that they were sons of oil sheiks and danced like this every night. They collected 30,000 pounds in this manner that evening = split evenly between the singer and the house. We finally left at 5 in the morning when the singing had ended. It was wild!
Mohammed had invited us to his house for lunch, so Ed picked me up at 1 pm for a 3pm lunch. We hopped in a cab with Mohammed and for about an hour to a suburb outside the citadel. Mohammed lives like so many Egyptians in a shoddy high rise apartment next to dozens of other shoddy high rise apartments. We arrived on the top floor to a clean and elegant little place with big furniture and a wailing baby boy. His son is 1.6 and a beautiful little boy. His wife came out blushing with a headscarf and said "hello." She spoke no English. Nonetheless, she took me into her bedroom and gave me egyptian kohl eyes and wrapped my head in my scarf in the muslim fashion. She was very sweet and said "I love you very much" as she insisted I take a plastic pearl necklace as a gift. We viewed photos of their family and life and played with their son while waiting for her fasting period to pass before eating. During Ramadan, she couldn't pray for four days due to her period and was now catching up. At 5:30, she served us a delicious Egyptian feast which she took four hours to prepare. We talked about the repression of Egyptians and rituals of islam. They were a truly kind couple. We were very lucky to have such an expose into Egyptian life.
On our way back to the hotel, we stopped at the same hill overlooking Cairo and I got to say goodbye to this incredible city. I jokingly kissed Ed on the cheek, to which the driver with his ever watchful eye exclaimed. Mohammed immediately told me "Kyra, please don't kiss Ed - the driver has requested." Islam. I made a special point to smile, make direct eye contact with the driver and say goodbye to him when I got out of the cab. He smiled back and I wondered if he thought I was a demon. Likely. Ed and Mohammed carried on and I returned to the hotel to pack and go to the airport. At the airport, I had two men pull a scam that they could help me get through the lines faster. I knew it was unnecessary, but gave both of them backsheesh of 20 ponds each. I generously tipped the bathroom attendant as well. When I realized I didn't have enough pounds to get a cup of coffee, the service guy said I could have it for free. So I gave him the rest of my money as a tip ( 7 pounds, but 12 pounds for a cup of coffee). He smiled very large and so did I. I love Egypt.
And now I'm back in India. In Goa...I am unfazed by crazy traffic, cows, leering men, substandard accomodation, veiled women and the overall bizarreness of India. It's nice to be back. Really nice. Astshti
Friday, September 26, 2008
Sweetness in the Belly
I spent today online downloading travel documents and buying supplies in Delhi for my trip to Egypt tomorrow. It's funny - I feel so at home in India that I want to make sure I transact all of my e-business and purchase of toiletries here. Chances are Egypt is every bit as e-resourceful and western consumer oriented. But, one never knows until one goes. All I know is that I really like India. A lot. Things continue to unfurl in a lyrical wave of motion and movement: unbroken wholeness in flowing movement, indeed!
So, a while ago, friends from Leh who owned La Pizzeria offered me a free beach shack if I'd teach yoga at their new resort/restaurant in Mandrem Beach, Goa. I said maybe, but thought not, b/c I imagined Goa to be a party place. Then, I looked into it and found it to be idyllic, peaceful and beautiful. I have really been missing the water in my travels. I also miss a rigorous yoga routine and want to study a bit more. What do you know? I looked at the only yoga school near Mandrem and they have a teacher training course from 10/19-11/16 and it's vinyasa, ashtanga, dancing, creative arts, bhakti...in short, all the stuff I love - on the beach! So, I applied with a hopeful wish and a chant to Ganesh and whoopdeedoo I was offered the last slot - a walk in slot - that is perfect for me b/c I'll live in the beach shack nearby. Kismet coalesces again! (BTW, my spelling skills are clearly atrophying as I can't remember how to spell "coalesce," but you know what I mean...) Thank you, India! The teacher training url is here:
http://www.yogagoaindia.com/yoga_teacher_training.php
On either 10/18 or hopefully 10/17, I fly straight from Cairo to Bombay to Goa to make it in time. Phew! I'm really looking forward to a dedicated practice again. I wanted one more teachers training or a serious ashram stint to conclude the India tour. Now it will be complete and blissful. That is the future. Now, back to the past: Rajastan - also complete and blissful.
We left rainy Mt. Abu and headed for Jodhpur. I wanted to skip this city. I'm glad I didn't. I stayed at Yogi's guest house. Yogi is a young Indian guy who lived two years in San Francisco. We have a bunch of mutual friends - my international party pals of whom Ben, the DJ inBangkok who I first stayed with on this journey, is a part. Small world. Yogi explained that he has an entire warehouse full of Rajastani furniture in CA waiting to be sold. Throughout Rajastan, I've repeatedly found myself saying "perhaps I should become a buyer or an interior designer, specializing in India and Mughal design" b/c I take pictures like crazy of color combinations, architectural detail and rich tapestries by the hundred. The stuff just fascinates me. As if I had a light on my head indicating the same, one out of every three shopkeepers or hoteliers would ask me if I was in the design business. Of course, they all thought I was french, too, but that only adds to this fantasy, right? Anyway, when Yogi said this and further explained that his friend in CA is a trusted friend who has handled the matter thus far, but works too hard as an engineer, my interest prongs went up. I postponed my departure from Jodphur for a few hours so I could see his warehouse. The furniture is unique, beautiful, distinctive, custom designed and cheap! This is a real possibility. Yogi also took me to Maharani something-or-other that makes textiles and fabrics. They create fabrics used by Hermes, Versace, etc. and they are gorgeous! I splurged on a silver and golden woven tapestry made in the 17C Mughal style that reminds me of Klimt's 'The Kiss' and wanted to swim in the gorgeous miles and miles of fabric! Now, I have two very solid contacts if I do this business. An interesting prospect, indeed.
We drove through Jaisalmer, stopping at a lovely palace on the water, and on to Sam Desert National Park in time for sunset. We settled into one of the luxury tent villages and for 1800 rupees (I usually pay 300 rupees max for a room), I got two camel rides (sunset and sunrise), dinner, a cultural performance, a tent w/toilet and shower (bucket water) and breakfast. The best deal I could find.
I invited Kalyan to hop on the back of the camel for the sunset ride and he was elated as this was his first time. He was terrified and made little sounds the entire time. He's very funny! We hopped off atop a sand dune and the gypsy dancers who were following us did a song and dance on the dunes as the sun set behind them. The dunes were small, but lovely. Tourists had spilled out on camels by the busload, so the place was crowded with tourists, gypsies, camels and muslim camel riders in turbans and long flowing white garments. There were also beatles and the little tracks they made across the sand were every bit as intricate and decadent as the mughal motifs adorning the palaces of Rajastan.
We returned for tea and dinner, after which the resident Gypsy troupe of three sisters did a dance replete with spinning, clanging bells, dark eyes, brilliant uniforms and graceful moves including brass bowls balancing on one beautiful lady's head, walking on nails and hopping along inside a bowl with said brass bowls balancing on her head. The muslim band sang and played traditional instruments. I was the only westerner at the camp along with two Indian families who looked at me with pity in their eyes as I sat for the performance. Shortly after the performance began, a group of young, hipsters joined the group - they looked Italian in style, but they were Indian. The young daughter of one of the families pulled my hand up to dance with her and the gypsies in the usual touristish bit where the audience dances with the performers. She said during a graceful turn: "that man is a famous bollywood actor - he's on tv." They were all joining us as we danced around the fire. Their moves were good - typical Bollywood. You ever know what can happen in India. Dancing with Bollywood and gypsies around a desert camp? Who knew?
After dinner, I asked if they were from Bombay and asked for suggestions as to where to go. Asif Basra, the actor, gave me his e-mail and cell phone number and an invitation to explore the set with him to see what a day was like. "You can even perhaps get a small part if you're interested," he said. Perhaps. The rest of his pals wrote their cell phone numbers after I told them that I loved Royal Enfields and rode on the back of one across Nepal and throughout Leh. They have a bike club, you see...it's an Enfield thing. They immediately to tout me around Bombay on their bikes when I arrive. I feel very fortunate to have a band of Bollywood crew ready to roll when I hit Bombay. Perhaps the film will roll, too. Asif made a file about a westerner travelling in India, a love story of India, called "Outsourced." I'd like to see it. The gents left to their camp in the dunes and I pulled my bed out of the stifling tent under the stars for a sweet, desert sleep.
The next morning, I went for the sunrise camel safari. It was peaceful and calm and quiet. There was only one other camel out on the dunes. I was alone with the young camel driver. We ran through the dunes for quite some time and spotted a deer. I felt bad for the guy, as this was his only income and he was sweet and innocent. I tipped him 500 rupees just b/c I felt like being very, very generous. The look on his face was priceless - he was beyond thrilled. As soon as we returned to camp, he ran to the others and told them.
Shortly thereafter, the owner, Karim, shouted to me on his way out: "Kyra, you are family now. You have made my cousin very happy. We hope you do not leave. Stay here as my guest, pay what you'd like. And I said "300 rupees?" to which he responded "yes, please stay with us." "You are family." So, I decided to stay another night and see what life in the desert was like. It was hot and boring. The resident gypsies came out of their tents and they tried to show me how to balance the bowls on my head - useless. I braided the youngest gypsy's (about 11 years old) hair and then the beautiful leader asked me to braid hers, too. Kalu, the owner's younger brother (a little older than me), invited me to go to the larger sand dunes about 5 kms away on his motorcyle. I suggested that we take the three gypsy women and Kalu in the a/c car instead. We did. The gypsies and Kalyan sat under the shade of a bush while Kalyan and I walked to the highest dune and chatted in the sun. I covered my head with a scarf and felt very muslim. He told me that he had many western friends and I was like a man to him - part of the family - and not to worry - he could be trusted. Okay. I said I was hot, he stood up and beckoned to me "Come!" and I felt even more muslim as I followed behind him back to the car. When we returned to camp, Karim was there. He professed his undying love to me and asked that I stay as his wife. I politely declined. I later confirmed with Kalyan that Kalyan would sleep somewhere close to my tent. Kalu offered to show me a woman's life (I'd previously said I wanted to know where the women were in India as I never interact with them) and took me to the tent village next door. The women were constructing a wall and we cooed as we petted eachother's clothes and looked at nails, jewelry and eyes. They braided my hair. They asked for chocolate. What woman anywhere in the world doesn't love chocolate? A common bond.
That night, the gypsy girl came to my tent and pulled my hand to her tent. They were getting ready for the night's festivities and put gypsy makeup on me, including kohl eyeliner and glitter. It reminded me of Burning man. We were giggling and having lots of fun being girly and glitzy. They selected an outfit from my comparatively dull wardrobe and cooed as I left for the sand dunes. In the dunes, the Indian men stared at me and the gypsies from the previous night squealed and hugged me in delight as they exclaimed in their native tongue while looking at my sparkling face and dark eyes. We walked to a high dune and were entertained again by another troupe of gypsies. That night, dozens of Indian executives were hamming it up while the gypsies were dancing. The party went on all night. Kalu took us out to the dunes and we slept there. Kalu left and picked us up in the morning. He was angry at Kalyan for sleeping out there with me b/c he wanted to stay with me. Kalyan told him he had no respect. I didn't hear any of this until later. I'm so glad Kalyan was with me. The sand dunes were quiet and lovely - it was very calm and sandy to wake up at sunset and there were little tiny fox footprints next to my head in the sand. I gave the gypsies some clothes, a bra, bubbles and blistex. They gave me a set of colorful bindis and a barrett. The whole camp lined up outside the car as we left and waved until we were out of sight. Both Karim and Kalu have since called me and expressed "I want you." Thank God Kalyan was with me!
We passed through Jaisalmer and I took a tour of the city with another scam artist commission tour guide while Kalyan relaxed in the car. I had Mueslix at a restaurant that was actually puffed rice. When I pointed out that this wasn't mueslix, he said "it's jaisalmer mueslix" - touche. That's what I get for bringing my western notions to India. Good remider. We drove on to Bikaner that night. We saw the fort swelling with Bikaner pride, had a thali, then visited a Disneyized temple with a giant lion's mouth opening up to a giant Ganesh. On either side of the lion's head was a Kali figure and a Hanuman figure. It was just there - on the side of the road - giant cartoon deities larger than life. India is crazy and full of surprises!
That night, a fierce wind and rain storm blew trees across the road as we drove to Mandawa. Of course Kalyan, who stops for chipmunks, stopped the car until it was welll past. Although he's a gentlemen, Kalyan belches openly b/c all men in India do - they never say excuse me and I never get used to it. On our way, we saw two foxes, a herd of deer and two peacocks. A little safari. That night we arrived in the haveli-filled town of Mandawa. The hotel was filled with construction workers who were erecting a Bollywood set for a film to be shot the following month. I was surrounded by men in the lobby and felt just a little bit the minority in color, culture and gender. Whatever. I went to my room and didn't come back out until morning.
The next day, the tour guide touted the cleanliness of Mandawa (due to a small population) as he threw a candy wrapper onto the littered road and spat thereon. He and Kalyan shared a love of singing and during lunch, I heard many a bollywood tune with wagging heads and swooning eyes. This guide spoke six languages - he was very smart - yet he bragged about how good looking he was and how tough he and his friends were as he grabbed his groin and spat. Charming. We visited a school of darling children. We sang the Gayatri Mantra together and I taught them 'The Morning Song' from my preschool days. On the roof, the headmaster pulled a branch off the Neem tree and showed me how to brush my teeth. It was sour, but he promised it would get better after 10 days. I donated another 500 rupees to this destitute school filled with bright minds and a charming headmaster. Not your typical city tour. I liked it. We saw a palmist in one place who told me I should've married at 30, but that just means when I do marry, it will last longer (20 years, to be precise - then he'll divorce or die) and I will marry very soon (to a man who wears something other than a watch on his left wrist). He also told me I will become more genuine in personality and consciousness now. Good news on both fronts. I'm ready. A circus girl on a tightrope picked her nose as she performed (everyone picks there nose here - even when chatting with buddies). I explored several private havelis and hotels and took many, many photos b/c I just loved the color, architecture and design. This really may be a new career for me.
That night, we changed hotels and I splurged on a super romantic Maharani (queen) room that was painted with royal scenes of princesses and queens in nature and at court in golds and reds. It was opulent and splendid and super romantic. Of course, I was alone. I wanted to get away from the swarming men of the other hotel. But, I felt like celebrating my femininity and treating myself to something nice and romantic. The room was so beautiful that it took my breath away. Very special. At dinner, I explained a little to Kalyan about my liberal lifestyle as a teenager and he was utterly shocked. He is very innocent. I realized how much of myself I gave away or numbed without any feeling or consideration for the person that I was. It made me a bit sad. I thought perhaps India has a better way by preserving one's virtue and innocence until marriage. There's something very real about it. Then again, my life has been fun, although not too meaningful or full of self-respect. I woke up feeling anxious and lonely. Then I reminded myself of how fortunate I was to be here at all - even if alone - perhaps fortunate b/c I was alone. Whatever. However. It's beautiful to be me. Here. Now. And I'm grateful.
We left the next morning for Jaipur. Kalyan played my favorite Indian morning song - Jai Ram - and I swooned as we passed farmers in bright saris and turbans with their animals living so calmly in this beautiful land. I love India. We passed a camel fair and I asked Kalya to stop. We walked in and explored the fair. It was the last day of one week where 10,000 camels, yaks, cows and (some) horses had been sold. A vendor showed me the camel nose rings he had for sale; another the bells he had for sale; another man invited me to see his camels and take a photo of him preparing his lunch. I did. I was surrounded by men in the camel industry. I saw only two other women present during the fair. We had chai, tried some pakoras and generally relaxed and shot photos with the people there. It was very calm. I got used to men just staring and following wherever I go. It didn't bother me. One of the men asked if I wanted a ride on his camel cart. We got on and after circling the entire area, he dropped us off at the road where our car was. We shot more photos and he shot me the hugest smile this side of the Indus. It was very sweet. Only in India.
We returned to Jaipur and Kalyan was elated b/c he was so close to home. His singing and dancing increased. He danced like mad with the gypsies and the executive Indian men in Sam Desert. He's quite talented. He's been offered a spot on the "Explore India" tour in Russia for his Rajastani singing and animal sounds. I hope the tour will make it to CA someday. I told him he always has me as his sister there to show him around. I mean it. He's a really special guy. I'm very lucky to have had such a person as a guide, bodyguard, driver, entertainer, spiritual cohort and friend. Thank you, India! After errands including the post office and the bank, we made it to Tiger Fort (a palace fort built for nine queens - very feminine) for a final tour and the sunset with a beer. It was a lovely way to say goodbye to Rajastan and to Kalyan.
The next day, I saw the Wind Palace, Hawa Mahal and did a little bangle and pashmina shopping. The shopkeeper, Ajay, gave me incredible deals and offered me gifts, lunch, a movie, etc. He wants to meet me when I return from Egypt. I asked what for. He said friendship. Friendship here means being lovers. I'm not interested. I told him that. He was very persistent and very sweet. I accepted his gifts of a free scarf and a leh of fragrant flowers. Then, I left as he swooned. This place is full of die-hard romantics.
I ate a giant thali just before getting on the train and stocked up on water, bananas and chocolate for the journey. I was full as a tick. Little did I realize that my first class ticket included food and drink service (including veg thali, bananas, chocolate, water, plus, plus, plus) - none of which I could eat. I took stuff I could save and put it in my purse to give to pour people. I'm sure the Indian man next to me thought I was a kook. Whatever. When we stopped at a station, it was littered with people lying on the platform. I almost threw my food to the people, but realized they were simply waiting for the train. They weren't homeless. Sometimes, it's hard to tell. It just goes to show how culturally insensitive I can still be even though I've been here for a while. I have been relatively isolated and protected with Kalyan, even though I was often the only westerner around. Now, I'm back to being solo and immersed in India (see today's blog about my visit to the toilet museum). It's sweet as can be and my whole self is filled with gratitude and the chaos, romance and surprises of India. A book I once read called love "sweetness in the belly." I can honestly then say that I love India.
My solo love affair with India will have to wait until November, however. I fly to Egypt tomorrow for one week on the beach and then join a two week tour. Something about Egypt calls me. I don't know why. I'll return to India 10/17 or 10/18 then rush down to Goa for a month long teacher's training. Then....??? I'd really like to see my old highschool cohort Freeman who lives in Pune now. Why did he move here? Does he have that sweetness in the belly, too? Why? The plot continues to unfurl...
So, a while ago, friends from Leh who owned La Pizzeria offered me a free beach shack if I'd teach yoga at their new resort/restaurant in Mandrem Beach, Goa. I said maybe, but thought not, b/c I imagined Goa to be a party place. Then, I looked into it and found it to be idyllic, peaceful and beautiful. I have really been missing the water in my travels. I also miss a rigorous yoga routine and want to study a bit more. What do you know? I looked at the only yoga school near Mandrem and they have a teacher training course from 10/19-11/16 and it's vinyasa, ashtanga, dancing, creative arts, bhakti...in short, all the stuff I love - on the beach! So, I applied with a hopeful wish and a chant to Ganesh and whoopdeedoo I was offered the last slot - a walk in slot - that is perfect for me b/c I'll live in the beach shack nearby. Kismet coalesces again! (BTW, my spelling skills are clearly atrophying as I can't remember how to spell "coalesce," but you know what I mean...) Thank you, India! The teacher training url is here:
http://www.yogagoaindia.com/yoga_teacher_training.php
On either 10/18 or hopefully 10/17, I fly straight from Cairo to Bombay to Goa to make it in time. Phew! I'm really looking forward to a dedicated practice again. I wanted one more teachers training or a serious ashram stint to conclude the India tour. Now it will be complete and blissful. That is the future. Now, back to the past: Rajastan - also complete and blissful.
We left rainy Mt. Abu and headed for Jodhpur. I wanted to skip this city. I'm glad I didn't. I stayed at Yogi's guest house. Yogi is a young Indian guy who lived two years in San Francisco. We have a bunch of mutual friends - my international party pals of whom Ben, the DJ inBangkok who I first stayed with on this journey, is a part. Small world. Yogi explained that he has an entire warehouse full of Rajastani furniture in CA waiting to be sold. Throughout Rajastan, I've repeatedly found myself saying "perhaps I should become a buyer or an interior designer, specializing in India and Mughal design" b/c I take pictures like crazy of color combinations, architectural detail and rich tapestries by the hundred. The stuff just fascinates me. As if I had a light on my head indicating the same, one out of every three shopkeepers or hoteliers would ask me if I was in the design business. Of course, they all thought I was french, too, but that only adds to this fantasy, right? Anyway, when Yogi said this and further explained that his friend in CA is a trusted friend who has handled the matter thus far, but works too hard as an engineer, my interest prongs went up. I postponed my departure from Jodphur for a few hours so I could see his warehouse. The furniture is unique, beautiful, distinctive, custom designed and cheap! This is a real possibility. Yogi also took me to Maharani something-or-other that makes textiles and fabrics. They create fabrics used by Hermes, Versace, etc. and they are gorgeous! I splurged on a silver and golden woven tapestry made in the 17C Mughal style that reminds me of Klimt's 'The Kiss' and wanted to swim in the gorgeous miles and miles of fabric! Now, I have two very solid contacts if I do this business. An interesting prospect, indeed.
We drove through Jaisalmer, stopping at a lovely palace on the water, and on to Sam Desert National Park in time for sunset. We settled into one of the luxury tent villages and for 1800 rupees (I usually pay 300 rupees max for a room), I got two camel rides (sunset and sunrise), dinner, a cultural performance, a tent w/toilet and shower (bucket water) and breakfast. The best deal I could find.
I invited Kalyan to hop on the back of the camel for the sunset ride and he was elated as this was his first time. He was terrified and made little sounds the entire time. He's very funny! We hopped off atop a sand dune and the gypsy dancers who were following us did a song and dance on the dunes as the sun set behind them. The dunes were small, but lovely. Tourists had spilled out on camels by the busload, so the place was crowded with tourists, gypsies, camels and muslim camel riders in turbans and long flowing white garments. There were also beatles and the little tracks they made across the sand were every bit as intricate and decadent as the mughal motifs adorning the palaces of Rajastan.
We returned for tea and dinner, after which the resident Gypsy troupe of three sisters did a dance replete with spinning, clanging bells, dark eyes, brilliant uniforms and graceful moves including brass bowls balancing on one beautiful lady's head, walking on nails and hopping along inside a bowl with said brass bowls balancing on her head. The muslim band sang and played traditional instruments. I was the only westerner at the camp along with two Indian families who looked at me with pity in their eyes as I sat for the performance. Shortly after the performance began, a group of young, hipsters joined the group - they looked Italian in style, but they were Indian. The young daughter of one of the families pulled my hand up to dance with her and the gypsies in the usual touristish bit where the audience dances with the performers. She said during a graceful turn: "that man is a famous bollywood actor - he's on tv." They were all joining us as we danced around the fire. Their moves were good - typical Bollywood. You ever know what can happen in India. Dancing with Bollywood and gypsies around a desert camp? Who knew?
After dinner, I asked if they were from Bombay and asked for suggestions as to where to go. Asif Basra, the actor, gave me his e-mail and cell phone number and an invitation to explore the set with him to see what a day was like. "You can even perhaps get a small part if you're interested," he said. Perhaps. The rest of his pals wrote their cell phone numbers after I told them that I loved Royal Enfields and rode on the back of one across Nepal and throughout Leh. They have a bike club, you see...it's an Enfield thing. They immediately to tout me around Bombay on their bikes when I arrive. I feel very fortunate to have a band of Bollywood crew ready to roll when I hit Bombay. Perhaps the film will roll, too. Asif made a file about a westerner travelling in India, a love story of India, called "Outsourced." I'd like to see it. The gents left to their camp in the dunes and I pulled my bed out of the stifling tent under the stars for a sweet, desert sleep.
The next morning, I went for the sunrise camel safari. It was peaceful and calm and quiet. There was only one other camel out on the dunes. I was alone with the young camel driver. We ran through the dunes for quite some time and spotted a deer. I felt bad for the guy, as this was his only income and he was sweet and innocent. I tipped him 500 rupees just b/c I felt like being very, very generous. The look on his face was priceless - he was beyond thrilled. As soon as we returned to camp, he ran to the others and told them.
Shortly thereafter, the owner, Karim, shouted to me on his way out: "Kyra, you are family now. You have made my cousin very happy. We hope you do not leave. Stay here as my guest, pay what you'd like. And I said "300 rupees?" to which he responded "yes, please stay with us." "You are family." So, I decided to stay another night and see what life in the desert was like. It was hot and boring. The resident gypsies came out of their tents and they tried to show me how to balance the bowls on my head - useless. I braided the youngest gypsy's (about 11 years old) hair and then the beautiful leader asked me to braid hers, too. Kalu, the owner's younger brother (a little older than me), invited me to go to the larger sand dunes about 5 kms away on his motorcyle. I suggested that we take the three gypsy women and Kalu in the a/c car instead. We did. The gypsies and Kalyan sat under the shade of a bush while Kalyan and I walked to the highest dune and chatted in the sun. I covered my head with a scarf and felt very muslim. He told me that he had many western friends and I was like a man to him - part of the family - and not to worry - he could be trusted. Okay. I said I was hot, he stood up and beckoned to me "Come!" and I felt even more muslim as I followed behind him back to the car. When we returned to camp, Karim was there. He professed his undying love to me and asked that I stay as his wife. I politely declined. I later confirmed with Kalyan that Kalyan would sleep somewhere close to my tent. Kalu offered to show me a woman's life (I'd previously said I wanted to know where the women were in India as I never interact with them) and took me to the tent village next door. The women were constructing a wall and we cooed as we petted eachother's clothes and looked at nails, jewelry and eyes. They braided my hair. They asked for chocolate. What woman anywhere in the world doesn't love chocolate? A common bond.
That night, the gypsy girl came to my tent and pulled my hand to her tent. They were getting ready for the night's festivities and put gypsy makeup on me, including kohl eyeliner and glitter. It reminded me of Burning man. We were giggling and having lots of fun being girly and glitzy. They selected an outfit from my comparatively dull wardrobe and cooed as I left for the sand dunes. In the dunes, the Indian men stared at me and the gypsies from the previous night squealed and hugged me in delight as they exclaimed in their native tongue while looking at my sparkling face and dark eyes. We walked to a high dune and were entertained again by another troupe of gypsies. That night, dozens of Indian executives were hamming it up while the gypsies were dancing. The party went on all night. Kalu took us out to the dunes and we slept there. Kalu left and picked us up in the morning. He was angry at Kalyan for sleeping out there with me b/c he wanted to stay with me. Kalyan told him he had no respect. I didn't hear any of this until later. I'm so glad Kalyan was with me. The sand dunes were quiet and lovely - it was very calm and sandy to wake up at sunset and there were little tiny fox footprints next to my head in the sand. I gave the gypsies some clothes, a bra, bubbles and blistex. They gave me a set of colorful bindis and a barrett. The whole camp lined up outside the car as we left and waved until we were out of sight. Both Karim and Kalu have since called me and expressed "I want you." Thank God Kalyan was with me!
We passed through Jaisalmer and I took a tour of the city with another scam artist commission tour guide while Kalyan relaxed in the car. I had Mueslix at a restaurant that was actually puffed rice. When I pointed out that this wasn't mueslix, he said "it's jaisalmer mueslix" - touche. That's what I get for bringing my western notions to India. Good remider. We drove on to Bikaner that night. We saw the fort swelling with Bikaner pride, had a thali, then visited a Disneyized temple with a giant lion's mouth opening up to a giant Ganesh. On either side of the lion's head was a Kali figure and a Hanuman figure. It was just there - on the side of the road - giant cartoon deities larger than life. India is crazy and full of surprises!
That night, a fierce wind and rain storm blew trees across the road as we drove to Mandawa. Of course Kalyan, who stops for chipmunks, stopped the car until it was welll past. Although he's a gentlemen, Kalyan belches openly b/c all men in India do - they never say excuse me and I never get used to it. On our way, we saw two foxes, a herd of deer and two peacocks. A little safari. That night we arrived in the haveli-filled town of Mandawa. The hotel was filled with construction workers who were erecting a Bollywood set for a film to be shot the following month. I was surrounded by men in the lobby and felt just a little bit the minority in color, culture and gender. Whatever. I went to my room and didn't come back out until morning.
The next day, the tour guide touted the cleanliness of Mandawa (due to a small population) as he threw a candy wrapper onto the littered road and spat thereon. He and Kalyan shared a love of singing and during lunch, I heard many a bollywood tune with wagging heads and swooning eyes. This guide spoke six languages - he was very smart - yet he bragged about how good looking he was and how tough he and his friends were as he grabbed his groin and spat. Charming. We visited a school of darling children. We sang the Gayatri Mantra together and I taught them 'The Morning Song' from my preschool days. On the roof, the headmaster pulled a branch off the Neem tree and showed me how to brush my teeth. It was sour, but he promised it would get better after 10 days. I donated another 500 rupees to this destitute school filled with bright minds and a charming headmaster. Not your typical city tour. I liked it. We saw a palmist in one place who told me I should've married at 30, but that just means when I do marry, it will last longer (20 years, to be precise - then he'll divorce or die) and I will marry very soon (to a man who wears something other than a watch on his left wrist). He also told me I will become more genuine in personality and consciousness now. Good news on both fronts. I'm ready. A circus girl on a tightrope picked her nose as she performed (everyone picks there nose here - even when chatting with buddies). I explored several private havelis and hotels and took many, many photos b/c I just loved the color, architecture and design. This really may be a new career for me.
That night, we changed hotels and I splurged on a super romantic Maharani (queen) room that was painted with royal scenes of princesses and queens in nature and at court in golds and reds. It was opulent and splendid and super romantic. Of course, I was alone. I wanted to get away from the swarming men of the other hotel. But, I felt like celebrating my femininity and treating myself to something nice and romantic. The room was so beautiful that it took my breath away. Very special. At dinner, I explained a little to Kalyan about my liberal lifestyle as a teenager and he was utterly shocked. He is very innocent. I realized how much of myself I gave away or numbed without any feeling or consideration for the person that I was. It made me a bit sad. I thought perhaps India has a better way by preserving one's virtue and innocence until marriage. There's something very real about it. Then again, my life has been fun, although not too meaningful or full of self-respect. I woke up feeling anxious and lonely. Then I reminded myself of how fortunate I was to be here at all - even if alone - perhaps fortunate b/c I was alone. Whatever. However. It's beautiful to be me. Here. Now. And I'm grateful.
We left the next morning for Jaipur. Kalyan played my favorite Indian morning song - Jai Ram - and I swooned as we passed farmers in bright saris and turbans with their animals living so calmly in this beautiful land. I love India. We passed a camel fair and I asked Kalya to stop. We walked in and explored the fair. It was the last day of one week where 10,000 camels, yaks, cows and (some) horses had been sold. A vendor showed me the camel nose rings he had for sale; another the bells he had for sale; another man invited me to see his camels and take a photo of him preparing his lunch. I did. I was surrounded by men in the camel industry. I saw only two other women present during the fair. We had chai, tried some pakoras and generally relaxed and shot photos with the people there. It was very calm. I got used to men just staring and following wherever I go. It didn't bother me. One of the men asked if I wanted a ride on his camel cart. We got on and after circling the entire area, he dropped us off at the road where our car was. We shot more photos and he shot me the hugest smile this side of the Indus. It was very sweet. Only in India.
We returned to Jaipur and Kalyan was elated b/c he was so close to home. His singing and dancing increased. He danced like mad with the gypsies and the executive Indian men in Sam Desert. He's quite talented. He's been offered a spot on the "Explore India" tour in Russia for his Rajastani singing and animal sounds. I hope the tour will make it to CA someday. I told him he always has me as his sister there to show him around. I mean it. He's a really special guy. I'm very lucky to have had such a person as a guide, bodyguard, driver, entertainer, spiritual cohort and friend. Thank you, India! After errands including the post office and the bank, we made it to Tiger Fort (a palace fort built for nine queens - very feminine) for a final tour and the sunset with a beer. It was a lovely way to say goodbye to Rajastan and to Kalyan.
The next day, I saw the Wind Palace, Hawa Mahal and did a little bangle and pashmina shopping. The shopkeeper, Ajay, gave me incredible deals and offered me gifts, lunch, a movie, etc. He wants to meet me when I return from Egypt. I asked what for. He said friendship. Friendship here means being lovers. I'm not interested. I told him that. He was very persistent and very sweet. I accepted his gifts of a free scarf and a leh of fragrant flowers. Then, I left as he swooned. This place is full of die-hard romantics.
I ate a giant thali just before getting on the train and stocked up on water, bananas and chocolate for the journey. I was full as a tick. Little did I realize that my first class ticket included food and drink service (including veg thali, bananas, chocolate, water, plus, plus, plus) - none of which I could eat. I took stuff I could save and put it in my purse to give to pour people. I'm sure the Indian man next to me thought I was a kook. Whatever. When we stopped at a station, it was littered with people lying on the platform. I almost threw my food to the people, but realized they were simply waiting for the train. They weren't homeless. Sometimes, it's hard to tell. It just goes to show how culturally insensitive I can still be even though I've been here for a while. I have been relatively isolated and protected with Kalyan, even though I was often the only westerner around. Now, I'm back to being solo and immersed in India (see today's blog about my visit to the toilet museum). It's sweet as can be and my whole self is filled with gratitude and the chaos, romance and surprises of India. A book I once read called love "sweetness in the belly." I can honestly then say that I love India.
My solo love affair with India will have to wait until November, however. I fly to Egypt tomorrow for one week on the beach and then join a two week tour. Something about Egypt calls me. I don't know why. I'll return to India 10/17 or 10/18 then rush down to Goa for a month long teacher's training. Then....??? I'd really like to see my old highschool cohort Freeman who lives in Pune now. Why did he move here? Does he have that sweetness in the belly, too? Why? The plot continues to unfurl...
Night Soil
Today, I took a rickshaw for an hour drive outside of Delhi for one purpose only: to visit the 'Sulabh International Museum of Toilets.' I figure in a city thousands of years of history and thousands of men openly urinating on any and every street corner, field and mountain at any time of day, plus an omnipresent struggle to find an operational and sanitary toilet, plus a constant wonder about what the Indians do if they don't use toilet paper, I should finally take a plunge right in to 4,500 years of the history of the toilet. Why not? I've seen dozens of museums, mosques, bazaars and temples - it's time to get back to the basics.
Little did I know that this museum was a part of a NGO called Sulabh International Social Service Organisation that has the objective of providing safe, sanitary and environmentally responsible toilets to the poor, disabled and elderly throughout the world. They have built millions of latrines around India and consequently sussed out a way to turn human feces into bio-gas (usages include electricity and inclusion in manure provides a great source of manure after about 1.6 years "fermenting" in a closed container as long as the moisture is sucked back into the soil through holes in the container - feces is 95% water). With my own eyes, I saw a lamp illuminate with 40-watt voltage, a gas fire of stones start so that stones could later be used for warmth hours after the fire went out, a fan start, a generator turn on, and gas stove boiling tea water (not urinary water). All of this came from the center's six thousand public toilets - one rupee per person - and one person produces 1 cubic foot of gas per day. There are over one billion people in India! That's a lot of gas, folks. They also figured out a way to make doorways out of feces mixed with dirt - it doesn't smell and is solid. There are some sculptures on display. But, I was far more impressed with the technology of shit. Perhaps I'm behind the times, but wow - what an eye opener this museum was! We can recycle waste in so many ways!
It doesn't stop at feces, though. They also turn urine into non-potable water that can be used for irrigation, agriculture and further flushing of toilets where water is scarce. The water has nitrogen and phosphate, so is great for agriculture. There are two ways. One: they simply funnel urine into a sedimentation tank for 30 minutes, let it sit in a sand filter, then add some air to it then add some carbon and let it get some sunlight....voila! Clear, usable water. Who knew? Two: they add duckweed to large vats of standing urine ("dirty pond"), the duckweed multiplies quickly as it sucks up the volatile compounds from the urine water. The water is then transferred to a different, cleaner pond. They then extract portions of the fat and porous duckweed from the dirty pond and place it in little fish pond containers in the clean pond. The proteins inside the duckweed are so potent, that fish grow to twice their original size by feeding on the duckweed. So there you have it! Our pee with duckweed and two ponds plus a fish farm can make fish much bigger. A beautiful spiral of recycling again! Who knew?
Of course, the museum of toilets contained fascinating information and exhibits for every kind of person.
For the sybarites: There are 300 plus types of toilet paper that can be seen at a special toilet paper museum in Madison, WI. Japan created a toilet for only $100 that at the touch of a keypad button either, cleans the bowl, blows either air or water 'up' and can provide a massage and air freshner. The Americans on the other hand have created a $2,000 electric toilet that burns excrement within two minutes to a mere 1 teaspoon of ash. The problem is of course a very high electric bill. The French aristocrats, King Louis XIV and used to hold meetings at night with their court while on the crapper. Apparently, the king took his dinner and meetings all night long sitting on the loo and "frequently excreted" until the pot was full, at which time the chamber pot was passed under the noses of those in attendance until the person closest to the door could empty it as a reminder of the King's (or their lowly) rank. Ben Affleck allegedly bought J Lo a $105,000 jewel encrusted toilet adorned with rubies, sapphires, pearls and diamonds. "Jennifer is my princess and she deserves only the best even whe it comes to toilets," he said on April 18, 2003. And the winner? The USA!! NASA bought a $19 million space toilet from Russia that includes straps, vaccums and a filter to convert urine to drinking water.
For the destitute and elderly: India is a poor country. If a village can't afford a 10,000 rupee toilet made of brick outhouses and concrete containers, there are options going all the way down to 1,000 rupees made of whitewashed jute outhouses and wood or clay containers. For the elderly who don't like to break the habit of going in the great outdoors, an open air spiral outhouse can be built so they don't feel suffocated and uncomfortable.
For the spiritualist: Sai Baba has the largest collection of toilets in India. The excrement of his disciples provides electricity to 30,000 people. Toilet ettiquette was addressed in the Manusmriti Vishnupuram in 1500 BC India. For married people: cover the head with a cloth. If a cloth is not available, roll a sacred threat and put on right ear, bring over head to hang on left ear. Observe silence. Face north during the day. Face south during the night. Don't touch water why defecating. Use left hand for cleaning and right for the bowl. For unmarried or celibate people: observe the married's rules twice more intensely. If a sain, observe four times more intensely than the married. All of these rules apply to daytime. If evening, frequency of wash reduced by half. If travelling, rules further reduced by half. If sick, observe rules per capacity. The Manusmriti Vishnupuram also had some ecological precautions: urinate 10 hands (meaning forearm to fingers) from the source of water. Defecate 100 hands from the source of water. And urinate 40 hands from a river or temple.
For the sybarites, artists and romantics: the art of defecation, termed "night soil" was the subject of Swift and Voltaire's musings, plus many a comedy through history (especially the dumping of chamber pots on unwitting victims - mostly in romantic comedies.) There are side by side toilets adjoined for lovers who can't bear to part. Some toilets are very creative. They are painted beautiful colors, designed as flowers (a San Franciscan is currently doing this) and hidden in chairs under cushions. The French built a toilet appears to be a pile of books - all with English titles on the books - how very French of them to desecrate the Brits.
For the naturalists: In Chiang Main, the thai elephant facility frequented by tourists has installed elephant sized human toilets and trained the elephants to sit on the toilets and relieve themselves in order to avoid unnecessary droppings around the facility. There is a portable toilet used for tents and websites that has biodegradable bags as a toilet. There is a new model that has a 3.5 foot tower with a fan on top that is both solar and wind powered for the flush. The toilets that the center is providing to Indians has two containers (only one in use at a time, while the other is fermenting) ensures that excrement containers are 1 meter away from another container b/c bacteria can only travel that far through soil. In case of a fire, occupants of a western toilet are advised to jump into the toilet and flush. The toilets that the center is providing to Indians uses only 2 liters of water, as opposed to the usual 10-12 to flush. The US still uses 10-12 in most cases.
For the historians: India claims to be the first to have sanitary toilets (2500 BC) in Harapa during the Indus Civilization. This technology was flushed away with the loss of the Indus Civilization. The first flushing toilet was created in 200 BC. In BC 33, Plinius claimed that urine has medicinal values. John Harrington, NOT John Crapper, created the first WC, i.e. water closet wherein "necessaries" were flushed into a sewage system, in 1596 AD. In the 18th and 19th century, Austrian Bucketmen and women used to stand around public places with a long coat and a bucket. For a small fee, a member of the public could conceal him/herself under the coat and relieve him/her self in the bucket. Believe it or not, there have been many such instances when I would have gladly payed for a Bucketwoman in India!
For the skeptic: Here's why this is interesting. The act of excretion, as one of the most fundamental processes of all life, requires much more attention that it has been accorded until now in order that we may enjoy healthy and pleasant lives. Think about it: how many times have you walked into a public toilet and almost vomited at the lack of sanitation? At least you have toilets in the US. In India and Nepal and other developing countries, a toilet is very, very hard to come by. I vividly remember the outhouses in Africa: they were so old and moist from years of bush rain that the wood morphed out of shape and would congeal when the door was shut. There was no form of waste removal and it was rank! In order to open the door for an escape, one had to take a deep breath and not panic that the door wouldn't open, and instead figure out the angle in which to push a certain portion of the door for an opening.
So, a toilet culture is a very good thing to have. The Museum of Toilets, with the Kobe Int'l Toilet Counsel aims for: 1) world health and sanitation for elderly, disabled and poor; 2) private and public faciities that are safe and clean; and 3) a source of global environmental solutions for overuse of paper and contaminated land and water and consequent disease irradication. The Counsel believes that overcoming these many issues requires an exchange of information, experience, technology and inter-disciplinary research on an international level.
So, in line with my bretheren and sisteren (sounds like cistern, doesn't it?), I hope that this blog has effectively created and promoted toilet culture to all you readers out there! Go night soil!!!
Little did I know that this museum was a part of a NGO called Sulabh International Social Service Organisation that has the objective of providing safe, sanitary and environmentally responsible toilets to the poor, disabled and elderly throughout the world. They have built millions of latrines around India and consequently sussed out a way to turn human feces into bio-gas (usages include electricity and inclusion in manure provides a great source of manure after about 1.6 years "fermenting" in a closed container as long as the moisture is sucked back into the soil through holes in the container - feces is 95% water). With my own eyes, I saw a lamp illuminate with 40-watt voltage, a gas fire of stones start so that stones could later be used for warmth hours after the fire went out, a fan start, a generator turn on, and gas stove boiling tea water (not urinary water). All of this came from the center's six thousand public toilets - one rupee per person - and one person produces 1 cubic foot of gas per day. There are over one billion people in India! That's a lot of gas, folks. They also figured out a way to make doorways out of feces mixed with dirt - it doesn't smell and is solid. There are some sculptures on display. But, I was far more impressed with the technology of shit. Perhaps I'm behind the times, but wow - what an eye opener this museum was! We can recycle waste in so many ways!
It doesn't stop at feces, though. They also turn urine into non-potable water that can be used for irrigation, agriculture and further flushing of toilets where water is scarce. The water has nitrogen and phosphate, so is great for agriculture. There are two ways. One: they simply funnel urine into a sedimentation tank for 30 minutes, let it sit in a sand filter, then add some air to it then add some carbon and let it get some sunlight....voila! Clear, usable water. Who knew? Two: they add duckweed to large vats of standing urine ("dirty pond"), the duckweed multiplies quickly as it sucks up the volatile compounds from the urine water. The water is then transferred to a different, cleaner pond. They then extract portions of the fat and porous duckweed from the dirty pond and place it in little fish pond containers in the clean pond. The proteins inside the duckweed are so potent, that fish grow to twice their original size by feeding on the duckweed. So there you have it! Our pee with duckweed and two ponds plus a fish farm can make fish much bigger. A beautiful spiral of recycling again! Who knew?
Of course, the museum of toilets contained fascinating information and exhibits for every kind of person.
For the sybarites: There are 300 plus types of toilet paper that can be seen at a special toilet paper museum in Madison, WI. Japan created a toilet for only $100 that at the touch of a keypad button either, cleans the bowl, blows either air or water 'up' and can provide a massage and air freshner. The Americans on the other hand have created a $2,000 electric toilet that burns excrement within two minutes to a mere 1 teaspoon of ash. The problem is of course a very high electric bill. The French aristocrats, King Louis XIV and used to hold meetings at night with their court while on the crapper. Apparently, the king took his dinner and meetings all night long sitting on the loo and "frequently excreted" until the pot was full, at which time the chamber pot was passed under the noses of those in attendance until the person closest to the door could empty it as a reminder of the King's (or their lowly) rank. Ben Affleck allegedly bought J Lo a $105,000 jewel encrusted toilet adorned with rubies, sapphires, pearls and diamonds. "Jennifer is my princess and she deserves only the best even whe it comes to toilets," he said on April 18, 2003. And the winner? The USA!! NASA bought a $19 million space toilet from Russia that includes straps, vaccums and a filter to convert urine to drinking water.
For the destitute and elderly: India is a poor country. If a village can't afford a 10,000 rupee toilet made of brick outhouses and concrete containers, there are options going all the way down to 1,000 rupees made of whitewashed jute outhouses and wood or clay containers. For the elderly who don't like to break the habit of going in the great outdoors, an open air spiral outhouse can be built so they don't feel suffocated and uncomfortable.
For the spiritualist: Sai Baba has the largest collection of toilets in India. The excrement of his disciples provides electricity to 30,000 people. Toilet ettiquette was addressed in the Manusmriti Vishnupuram in 1500 BC India. For married people: cover the head with a cloth. If a cloth is not available, roll a sacred threat and put on right ear, bring over head to hang on left ear. Observe silence. Face north during the day. Face south during the night. Don't touch water why defecating. Use left hand for cleaning and right for the bowl. For unmarried or celibate people: observe the married's rules twice more intensely. If a sain, observe four times more intensely than the married. All of these rules apply to daytime. If evening, frequency of wash reduced by half. If travelling, rules further reduced by half. If sick, observe rules per capacity. The Manusmriti Vishnupuram also had some ecological precautions: urinate 10 hands (meaning forearm to fingers) from the source of water. Defecate 100 hands from the source of water. And urinate 40 hands from a river or temple.
For the sybarites, artists and romantics: the art of defecation, termed "night soil" was the subject of Swift and Voltaire's musings, plus many a comedy through history (especially the dumping of chamber pots on unwitting victims - mostly in romantic comedies.) There are side by side toilets adjoined for lovers who can't bear to part. Some toilets are very creative. They are painted beautiful colors, designed as flowers (a San Franciscan is currently doing this) and hidden in chairs under cushions. The French built a toilet appears to be a pile of books - all with English titles on the books - how very French of them to desecrate the Brits.
For the naturalists: In Chiang Main, the thai elephant facility frequented by tourists has installed elephant sized human toilets and trained the elephants to sit on the toilets and relieve themselves in order to avoid unnecessary droppings around the facility. There is a portable toilet used for tents and websites that has biodegradable bags as a toilet. There is a new model that has a 3.5 foot tower with a fan on top that is both solar and wind powered for the flush. The toilets that the center is providing to Indians has two containers (only one in use at a time, while the other is fermenting) ensures that excrement containers are 1 meter away from another container b/c bacteria can only travel that far through soil. In case of a fire, occupants of a western toilet are advised to jump into the toilet and flush. The toilets that the center is providing to Indians uses only 2 liters of water, as opposed to the usual 10-12 to flush. The US still uses 10-12 in most cases.
For the historians: India claims to be the first to have sanitary toilets (2500 BC) in Harapa during the Indus Civilization. This technology was flushed away with the loss of the Indus Civilization. The first flushing toilet was created in 200 BC. In BC 33, Plinius claimed that urine has medicinal values. John Harrington, NOT John Crapper, created the first WC, i.e. water closet wherein "necessaries" were flushed into a sewage system, in 1596 AD. In the 18th and 19th century, Austrian Bucketmen and women used to stand around public places with a long coat and a bucket. For a small fee, a member of the public could conceal him/herself under the coat and relieve him/her self in the bucket. Believe it or not, there have been many such instances when I would have gladly payed for a Bucketwoman in India!
For the skeptic: Here's why this is interesting. The act of excretion, as one of the most fundamental processes of all life, requires much more attention that it has been accorded until now in order that we may enjoy healthy and pleasant lives. Think about it: how many times have you walked into a public toilet and almost vomited at the lack of sanitation? At least you have toilets in the US. In India and Nepal and other developing countries, a toilet is very, very hard to come by. I vividly remember the outhouses in Africa: they were so old and moist from years of bush rain that the wood morphed out of shape and would congeal when the door was shut. There was no form of waste removal and it was rank! In order to open the door for an escape, one had to take a deep breath and not panic that the door wouldn't open, and instead figure out the angle in which to push a certain portion of the door for an opening.
So, a toilet culture is a very good thing to have. The Museum of Toilets, with the Kobe Int'l Toilet Counsel aims for: 1) world health and sanitation for elderly, disabled and poor; 2) private and public faciities that are safe and clean; and 3) a source of global environmental solutions for overuse of paper and contaminated land and water and consequent disease irradication. The Counsel believes that overcoming these many issues requires an exchange of information, experience, technology and inter-disciplinary research on an international level.
So, in line with my bretheren and sisteren (sounds like cistern, doesn't it?), I hope that this blog has effectively created and promoted toilet culture to all you readers out there! Go night soil!!!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Royal Rajastan
It's true that Rajastan is a land of palaces, forts, romance and pride. At times, I have to pinch myself for the incredible luck I continue to enjoy in such a place. At Amber Fort, I saw the palaces inhabited by royalty and as I trod through the grounds, I was stopped at virtually every second step for a photograph by Indian tourists visiting from the nearby villages. I was even followed down a corridor by a family wanting to take my photo. I got lost after a while b/c I tried to escape the masses and suddenly music started to waft through the fort. I followed the music to a group of Indian teenagers who promptly led me back to a place I could find my way out from. I had a lovely thali that was spicy and delicious and visited several palaces and temples with incredible architecture. I wasn't such a celebrity at these places, which were less incredible than Amber Fort, but far more comfortable to observe.
My luck was shaky to begin with. The rickshaw driver, Chandra ('moon' in Hindi), who drove me around Jaipur for two days took me to the sights I wanted on day 1, but on day 2, he pulled scam after scam to get a commission from shopkeepers all the way to taking me to a "guru" who worked from a jewelry store. My mistake, I guess, for asking Chandra earlier in the day what his star sign was - gave him a new angle to scam. When I saw this "guru" and his gem shop, I turned around, walked out without a word and sat in the rickshaw. When he returned to his auto with feigned confusion, I told him in no uncertain terms that I'd had it! I was so angry that tears came from my eyes - the death knell to any Indian man, even a con artist - and then - everything changed.
At that moment, I decided I didn't care about budget travelling anymore, I was NOT going to trust rickshaw driver after rickshaw driver to take me around from place to place in all of the towns I wanted to visit in Rajastan. I was determined to find one driver - and only one driver - to take me all over Rajastan. I demanded that he take me to the govt. tourist information office (NOT a place where he'd get a commission) so I could book a driver for a tour of Rajastan. Miraculously, he took me to the govt. tourist office. I paid him and thankfully watched as he drove away.
I walked into the park like setting and peacocks started to meow as the sun was setting. This calmed me instantly as I grew up with peacocks across the lake and it was somehow reassuring to hear a childhood sound in this strange and unfamiliar place. An Indian lady smiled broadly at me as I walked past and I returned the smile - grateful that another woman was nearby in this land of men, men, men always staring, always scamming, always wanting something from me. I asked the universe to please give me a trustworthy, peaceful, safe driver who was honest, respectful, a Hindu, a yogi, married and could take me all around the state and share with me Indian culture without harrassing me or trying to make extra money via commissions.
The universe clearly heard me. For starters, I booked the non a/c economy vehicle for a certain price, approx. $33 USD/day for 16 days. After agreeing on the price, the company (called by the tourist bureau) discovered it had no more economy cars and had to upgrade me to a luxury a/c vehicle with a/c for the same price. They also stated that Kalyan would be my driver. The govt. tourist agent said he knew Kalyan and he was a good, trustworthy man. Well, Kalyan isn't married - he's 28 and caring for his widowed mother who is in turn searching for a suitable wife for him. But, he is a yogi, a hindu, respectable, a ridiculously safe driver, a virgo (my FAVORITE star sign for a companion), not interested in commission, very proud of Indian culture and thrilled to share the religious and cultural aspects of country and religion with me. He meditates and does yoga every morning. He makes 175 animal sounds and wrote to the Guiness Book of World Records b/c this well exceeds the record, but got no response. He also has a beautiful singing voice and sings all the time. It only took three days for me to establish that just because he liked me, it was NOT okay for him to hope that we would have anything more than a platonic friendship as we toured the state together. So, the universe has heard me. He's the safest driver I've ever seen in India. Really. He makes suggestions for the itinerary, takes me to cheap and delicious thali restaurants and we go to pujas and temples all around India and share in the hindu culture. Of course, everythig is safer in India with a companion and a male Indian at that, by my side. He bargains for me, finds answers to my zillion questions from locals at the places we visit and has a great sense of humor and grasp of the English language. Thank you Universe!
The luck continues. Our first stop was Ajmer to go to a famous mosque where a Sufi saint from Persia came and died about 500 years ago. I came here because I thought it would be nice to pay my respects to my friend Reza. He's a sufi and shared some Rumi with me before I left that made me feel much more grounded and sane in taking this journey. Rumi explained that many more before me had done very similar journeys. We arrived in mostly Muslim Ajmer and Kalyan stayed with the car b/c it wasn't safe. I walked through old town with my head covered, but my ankles were showing (it's tough to be so tall in a Muslim place). The women kept staring at my ankles and the men stared at the rest of me. Shopkeepers called to me, beggars pulled on my clothes - it was the most aggressive place I'd been yet - but I kept walking, eager to get to the Mosque. At the entrance, they told me I couldn't take my camera or my purse inside. I looked into the lady's eyes who was sitting at the gate and she extended her hand for my bag. I knew I could trust her. I was right. Inside the mosque, I bought an offering of flowers and went into the main temple where the saint was buried. A man took my flowers and gave me prasad (sweets) and blessed me with a cloth over my head. I didn't know what he was saying or what I should be doing, but I just wished Reza and his family health, happiness and love. I wished for Reza to find a nice wife. I also thanked Reza and Rumi and thought "God Bless the Sufis," to which I instantly shuddered and wondered if I'd just committed blasphemy to Allah. I was the only non-muslim westerner in the entire mosque and it was obvious. People were looking at me as if I was blue. Men pushed me out of the way and I kindof slinked into the courtyard to watch what was going to happen next. But, at this point, I was so paranoid and insecure that all I wanted to do was leave. So I did. The lady smiled at me as she gave me back my purse. I stopped at a tourist shop to buy Reza a gift, but had no idea what anything was - there was writing on trinkets and fabric, etc. - so I decided the prasad was enough and kept walking. I saw two young muslim men feeding prasad to a cow who was licking it from their hands, and was reminded that islam and hinduism go hand in hand in this place. Why couldn't I fit in, too? I felt better. As if they sensed my confidence, the beggars stopped pulling and the shopkeepers stopped hollering. I didn't care that people were still looking at my ankles. I looked funny b/c I was faking it, but at least I was being respectful of the culture. Next time, I'd do it with a little more class.
Our next stop was Pushkar. Kalyan recommended a beautiful hotel on the lake and I got a room literally floating on top of the lake perched between Ghandi Ghat and another Ghat. The indians splashed the water on their limbs b/c it was good karma. Pujas were performed with rose petals and poured water from silver bowls. The Indians were happy to be there. Husbands and wives splashed water on eachother. Small children splashed around. Young ladies gingerly placed a toe in the water with their male relatives helping them step into the water. Singing resonated across the lake until 11 pm and started up again at 5:00 a.m. The moon was almost full as it glistened atop the water with the ever present spirituality wafting through the air in sound and feeling. The people were friendly and non-pushy. I ate thalis with the locals, sat with Rajasthani women who dressed me in a sari and put bangles on my arms for fun, was the first purchaser of a brand new shop opened by a 20-year old boy named Punkaj. His grandfather proudly beamed at his grandson's first customer loaded with two bags of gifts for her own family back home. They both agreed I had very good energy and would bring good luck to the business. I saw several westerners in town, but none were staying at the hotel. I don't know why not. It was beautiful.
Punkaj told me there was a local fair outside of town. That evening, Kalyan and I drove there. The fair was several food stands and a stage. They were holding a raffle on the stage and the women were seated on one side, while the men were on the other. I joined the beautifully adorned women and started snapping photos. They LOVED having their photo taken and I was soon surrounded by women in bright pinks, yellows, reds, etc. I felt like a pollen filled flower to a swarm of colorful honey bees. The men's jaws dropped as they stopped in their tracks and just plain stared at me. Kalyan bought a coconut so we could make an offering to the cobra deity (an instrument of Lord Shiva). I made my offering and a man handed me a handful of ash. Kalyan promptly smeared it on my third eye. I have no idea where the ash came from. I decided I didn't want to know. The fair was full of villagers - many of whom had not seen a westerner before - so I was quite the show stopper. A lady invited me to sit with her family and try her food. It was delicious as I ate it from my dirty fingers. Her husband then sternly told me that I would have to pay 500 rupees. I said "okay and you pay me 1,000 rupees," to which they all laughed and gave me the namaste as I walked away smiling and namaste'ing in return. As we left the fair, the villagers were also departing on tractors and motorcycles, horses and carts pulled by camels and oxen. God, I love India.
We next went to Kumbulgargh - highly recommended by the man at the tourist office. The luck increased. We stopped at a cheap guesthouse which was unacceptable to me b/c it had no windows and appeared to have bedbugs. We then stopped at a luxury tent resort b/c the location was beautiful. Tents usually go for 2,000 rupees. I told them my budget was 300. They said 'no' and I gave up. Kalyan said something and they changed their mind. I was the only guest and had VIP treatment for two nights in a giant luxury tent atop a gorgeous mountain in the middle of the jungle. Peacocks meowed and danced at dawn and the sounds of the forest played like a symphony all night and day. The food was delicious, the service impeccable and the experience nothing less than royal. All for 300 rupees a day. The fort at Kumbulgargh was gorgeous. I explored various temples and places on the land, feeling utterly safe, for 4 hours as Kalyan waited at the tea shop. I was reminded of exploring Tikal on my own, where ancient temples were overrun by jungles with leaping monkeys and gorgeous birds. Camels also passed by. A village teenager accompanied me to the jain temple and explained the history to me. I thought she wanted money, but she declined, wished me happiness and sauntered back into the forest from whence she came. I sat on the edge of the sun temple and birds whizzed by my neck so quickly that I could hear the wind underneath their wings. It was magic and beautiful and enchanting. At night, they lit up the fort so it illuminated like a christmas tree dating back to the 1500s. It was pure magic!
As we drove through the country road to Udaipur, I asked Kalyan to stop for the first time solely to take the picture of a beautifully adorned man. He wore jewelry, a bright turban and literally shined like a bright peacock. I took many photos of he and others dressed like him that appeared out of nowhere. Kalyan discovered that they were gypsies who were going to perform at a festival 16 kms from whence we came. They invited us to join them. We went. We took three of them in the car with us. They suggested we first go to a Shiva temple, which we did. The Indians were more enthralled with these three gypsy traveller/dancers than they were with me. Sunner, Ganesh and Babu didn't wear shoes or eat green veggies for 30 days in preparation for this festival b/c they believe it helps them dance better. They were kind and respectful and vibrant. On our way down hundreds of stairs to the Shiva temple (located inside a cave with stalagtites dripping with water (or stalagmites?), they bought local fruit "cita full" which they gave to me to enjoy. It was delicious - looks like a little artichoke but is sweet, white and fleshy. Babu carried my water. When we got to the temple, they gave me a tikka on my forehead. When we walked up the path, they shared their coconuts with passers by. Sunner asked if I wanted glitter, to which I ascented. He put it on my face. He then asked if I wanted kohl on my eyes. I agreed. They were thrilled at the after effects as they admired my 'indian eyes' and swelled with pride at my transformation. When we finally got to the top of the hill, I changed out of my sweaty black pants and blue cottor top into a colorful silk skirt, blue shirt and colorful scarf. They smiled from ear to ear and we made a VERY colorful bunch as we approached a festival with literally hundreds of villagers dressed in every possible color watching dances, songs, comedy routines and people possessed by spirits in the middle of a giant field. These festivals happen rarely and the gypsies are always on the move. We were VERY lucky to experience this event. When it started raining, Kalyan and I jumped in the car and drove on.
We passed another village about five hours later and the people were sprawled next to a lake. We stopped. As we approached the Krishna being carried up the hill, the entire village stopped and watched me. Again, I was a spectacle. I felt horrible for usurping Krishna's rightful place at center stage. But, I pretended I didn't notice and gave all my attention to the puja. After the puja, children surrounded me and said hello, shook my hand and asked for 'photo.' They offered me an apple, which I took and when I took a bite and smiled, they broke into applause. They then gave me a banana. They then showed me a black cobra that they stoned to death. I was getting a little too smothered by the kids, so Kalyan pulled me away and told them we had to go. A boy told him he'd never seen anyone like me before and asked where I was from. They waved and smiled as they swarmed around the car yelling "Bye Bye." Further up the road, the villagers were blocking the road and dancing for Krishna. They didn't move from the front of the car until Kalyan started laughing. This is a land of celebration and spirituality and wonder. The poverty and hard work is everywhere, but so is the celebration. So is my luck.
We arrived late in Udaipur, which was nice, but I expected something more. I think I had been spoiled. We are now in Mt. Abu. We ascended the mountain in a downpour of rain. Today, I walked through the jungle hoping to see a bear on a trek, but had no such luck. We then went to a gorgeous Jain temple and took a boat around the lake at sunset with no rain. It was lovely. We also visited Rama Krishna spiritual university and I found it a bit cultish and bizzarre. Tomorrow, we leave for Jodphur and I look forward to dry weather again, although the thunder and lightning is incredible to experience.
Christian and I decided to forego Morocco and I have confirmed my return from Egypt to Bombay, thanks to the help of my mother and stepfather. Thank you! All is well and as it should be. I am at times very lonely, especially when the Indian tourists in all of these places (mostly from Gujarat) stare at me like I'm insane for eating or walking alone. But then again, I'm American. Things are different. Independence is different. I'm different. It's okay. There is no harm or danger that I feel here. Only curiosity. Isn't this part of why I travel, too? It is a pleasure and an honor to be here. They can stare all they want. I am lucky to be alive. Lucky to be in India. And I welcome these ups and down in my travels.
Rajastan, like India, is a magical journey. And the cows continue to be revered more than anything. Something I still find hysterical every single time. Increidible.
My luck was shaky to begin with. The rickshaw driver, Chandra ('moon' in Hindi), who drove me around Jaipur for two days took me to the sights I wanted on day 1, but on day 2, he pulled scam after scam to get a commission from shopkeepers all the way to taking me to a "guru" who worked from a jewelry store. My mistake, I guess, for asking Chandra earlier in the day what his star sign was - gave him a new angle to scam. When I saw this "guru" and his gem shop, I turned around, walked out without a word and sat in the rickshaw. When he returned to his auto with feigned confusion, I told him in no uncertain terms that I'd had it! I was so angry that tears came from my eyes - the death knell to any Indian man, even a con artist - and then - everything changed.
At that moment, I decided I didn't care about budget travelling anymore, I was NOT going to trust rickshaw driver after rickshaw driver to take me around from place to place in all of the towns I wanted to visit in Rajastan. I was determined to find one driver - and only one driver - to take me all over Rajastan. I demanded that he take me to the govt. tourist information office (NOT a place where he'd get a commission) so I could book a driver for a tour of Rajastan. Miraculously, he took me to the govt. tourist office. I paid him and thankfully watched as he drove away.
I walked into the park like setting and peacocks started to meow as the sun was setting. This calmed me instantly as I grew up with peacocks across the lake and it was somehow reassuring to hear a childhood sound in this strange and unfamiliar place. An Indian lady smiled broadly at me as I walked past and I returned the smile - grateful that another woman was nearby in this land of men, men, men always staring, always scamming, always wanting something from me. I asked the universe to please give me a trustworthy, peaceful, safe driver who was honest, respectful, a Hindu, a yogi, married and could take me all around the state and share with me Indian culture without harrassing me or trying to make extra money via commissions.
The universe clearly heard me. For starters, I booked the non a/c economy vehicle for a certain price, approx. $33 USD/day for 16 days. After agreeing on the price, the company (called by the tourist bureau) discovered it had no more economy cars and had to upgrade me to a luxury a/c vehicle with a/c for the same price. They also stated that Kalyan would be my driver. The govt. tourist agent said he knew Kalyan and he was a good, trustworthy man. Well, Kalyan isn't married - he's 28 and caring for his widowed mother who is in turn searching for a suitable wife for him. But, he is a yogi, a hindu, respectable, a ridiculously safe driver, a virgo (my FAVORITE star sign for a companion), not interested in commission, very proud of Indian culture and thrilled to share the religious and cultural aspects of country and religion with me. He meditates and does yoga every morning. He makes 175 animal sounds and wrote to the Guiness Book of World Records b/c this well exceeds the record, but got no response. He also has a beautiful singing voice and sings all the time. It only took three days for me to establish that just because he liked me, it was NOT okay for him to hope that we would have anything more than a platonic friendship as we toured the state together. So, the universe has heard me. He's the safest driver I've ever seen in India. Really. He makes suggestions for the itinerary, takes me to cheap and delicious thali restaurants and we go to pujas and temples all around India and share in the hindu culture. Of course, everythig is safer in India with a companion and a male Indian at that, by my side. He bargains for me, finds answers to my zillion questions from locals at the places we visit and has a great sense of humor and grasp of the English language. Thank you Universe!
The luck continues. Our first stop was Ajmer to go to a famous mosque where a Sufi saint from Persia came and died about 500 years ago. I came here because I thought it would be nice to pay my respects to my friend Reza. He's a sufi and shared some Rumi with me before I left that made me feel much more grounded and sane in taking this journey. Rumi explained that many more before me had done very similar journeys. We arrived in mostly Muslim Ajmer and Kalyan stayed with the car b/c it wasn't safe. I walked through old town with my head covered, but my ankles were showing (it's tough to be so tall in a Muslim place). The women kept staring at my ankles and the men stared at the rest of me. Shopkeepers called to me, beggars pulled on my clothes - it was the most aggressive place I'd been yet - but I kept walking, eager to get to the Mosque. At the entrance, they told me I couldn't take my camera or my purse inside. I looked into the lady's eyes who was sitting at the gate and she extended her hand for my bag. I knew I could trust her. I was right. Inside the mosque, I bought an offering of flowers and went into the main temple where the saint was buried. A man took my flowers and gave me prasad (sweets) and blessed me with a cloth over my head. I didn't know what he was saying or what I should be doing, but I just wished Reza and his family health, happiness and love. I wished for Reza to find a nice wife. I also thanked Reza and Rumi and thought "God Bless the Sufis," to which I instantly shuddered and wondered if I'd just committed blasphemy to Allah. I was the only non-muslim westerner in the entire mosque and it was obvious. People were looking at me as if I was blue. Men pushed me out of the way and I kindof slinked into the courtyard to watch what was going to happen next. But, at this point, I was so paranoid and insecure that all I wanted to do was leave. So I did. The lady smiled at me as she gave me back my purse. I stopped at a tourist shop to buy Reza a gift, but had no idea what anything was - there was writing on trinkets and fabric, etc. - so I decided the prasad was enough and kept walking. I saw two young muslim men feeding prasad to a cow who was licking it from their hands, and was reminded that islam and hinduism go hand in hand in this place. Why couldn't I fit in, too? I felt better. As if they sensed my confidence, the beggars stopped pulling and the shopkeepers stopped hollering. I didn't care that people were still looking at my ankles. I looked funny b/c I was faking it, but at least I was being respectful of the culture. Next time, I'd do it with a little more class.
Our next stop was Pushkar. Kalyan recommended a beautiful hotel on the lake and I got a room literally floating on top of the lake perched between Ghandi Ghat and another Ghat. The indians splashed the water on their limbs b/c it was good karma. Pujas were performed with rose petals and poured water from silver bowls. The Indians were happy to be there. Husbands and wives splashed water on eachother. Small children splashed around. Young ladies gingerly placed a toe in the water with their male relatives helping them step into the water. Singing resonated across the lake until 11 pm and started up again at 5:00 a.m. The moon was almost full as it glistened atop the water with the ever present spirituality wafting through the air in sound and feeling. The people were friendly and non-pushy. I ate thalis with the locals, sat with Rajasthani women who dressed me in a sari and put bangles on my arms for fun, was the first purchaser of a brand new shop opened by a 20-year old boy named Punkaj. His grandfather proudly beamed at his grandson's first customer loaded with two bags of gifts for her own family back home. They both agreed I had very good energy and would bring good luck to the business. I saw several westerners in town, but none were staying at the hotel. I don't know why not. It was beautiful.
Punkaj told me there was a local fair outside of town. That evening, Kalyan and I drove there. The fair was several food stands and a stage. They were holding a raffle on the stage and the women were seated on one side, while the men were on the other. I joined the beautifully adorned women and started snapping photos. They LOVED having their photo taken and I was soon surrounded by women in bright pinks, yellows, reds, etc. I felt like a pollen filled flower to a swarm of colorful honey bees. The men's jaws dropped as they stopped in their tracks and just plain stared at me. Kalyan bought a coconut so we could make an offering to the cobra deity (an instrument of Lord Shiva). I made my offering and a man handed me a handful of ash. Kalyan promptly smeared it on my third eye. I have no idea where the ash came from. I decided I didn't want to know. The fair was full of villagers - many of whom had not seen a westerner before - so I was quite the show stopper. A lady invited me to sit with her family and try her food. It was delicious as I ate it from my dirty fingers. Her husband then sternly told me that I would have to pay 500 rupees. I said "okay and you pay me 1,000 rupees," to which they all laughed and gave me the namaste as I walked away smiling and namaste'ing in return. As we left the fair, the villagers were also departing on tractors and motorcycles, horses and carts pulled by camels and oxen. God, I love India.
We next went to Kumbulgargh - highly recommended by the man at the tourist office. The luck increased. We stopped at a cheap guesthouse which was unacceptable to me b/c it had no windows and appeared to have bedbugs. We then stopped at a luxury tent resort b/c the location was beautiful. Tents usually go for 2,000 rupees. I told them my budget was 300. They said 'no' and I gave up. Kalyan said something and they changed their mind. I was the only guest and had VIP treatment for two nights in a giant luxury tent atop a gorgeous mountain in the middle of the jungle. Peacocks meowed and danced at dawn and the sounds of the forest played like a symphony all night and day. The food was delicious, the service impeccable and the experience nothing less than royal. All for 300 rupees a day. The fort at Kumbulgargh was gorgeous. I explored various temples and places on the land, feeling utterly safe, for 4 hours as Kalyan waited at the tea shop. I was reminded of exploring Tikal on my own, where ancient temples were overrun by jungles with leaping monkeys and gorgeous birds. Camels also passed by. A village teenager accompanied me to the jain temple and explained the history to me. I thought she wanted money, but she declined, wished me happiness and sauntered back into the forest from whence she came. I sat on the edge of the sun temple and birds whizzed by my neck so quickly that I could hear the wind underneath their wings. It was magic and beautiful and enchanting. At night, they lit up the fort so it illuminated like a christmas tree dating back to the 1500s. It was pure magic!
As we drove through the country road to Udaipur, I asked Kalyan to stop for the first time solely to take the picture of a beautifully adorned man. He wore jewelry, a bright turban and literally shined like a bright peacock. I took many photos of he and others dressed like him that appeared out of nowhere. Kalyan discovered that they were gypsies who were going to perform at a festival 16 kms from whence we came. They invited us to join them. We went. We took three of them in the car with us. They suggested we first go to a Shiva temple, which we did. The Indians were more enthralled with these three gypsy traveller/dancers than they were with me. Sunner, Ganesh and Babu didn't wear shoes or eat green veggies for 30 days in preparation for this festival b/c they believe it helps them dance better. They were kind and respectful and vibrant. On our way down hundreds of stairs to the Shiva temple (located inside a cave with stalagtites dripping with water (or stalagmites?), they bought local fruit "cita full" which they gave to me to enjoy. It was delicious - looks like a little artichoke but is sweet, white and fleshy. Babu carried my water. When we got to the temple, they gave me a tikka on my forehead. When we walked up the path, they shared their coconuts with passers by. Sunner asked if I wanted glitter, to which I ascented. He put it on my face. He then asked if I wanted kohl on my eyes. I agreed. They were thrilled at the after effects as they admired my 'indian eyes' and swelled with pride at my transformation. When we finally got to the top of the hill, I changed out of my sweaty black pants and blue cottor top into a colorful silk skirt, blue shirt and colorful scarf. They smiled from ear to ear and we made a VERY colorful bunch as we approached a festival with literally hundreds of villagers dressed in every possible color watching dances, songs, comedy routines and people possessed by spirits in the middle of a giant field. These festivals happen rarely and the gypsies are always on the move. We were VERY lucky to experience this event. When it started raining, Kalyan and I jumped in the car and drove on.
We passed another village about five hours later and the people were sprawled next to a lake. We stopped. As we approached the Krishna being carried up the hill, the entire village stopped and watched me. Again, I was a spectacle. I felt horrible for usurping Krishna's rightful place at center stage. But, I pretended I didn't notice and gave all my attention to the puja. After the puja, children surrounded me and said hello, shook my hand and asked for 'photo.' They offered me an apple, which I took and when I took a bite and smiled, they broke into applause. They then gave me a banana. They then showed me a black cobra that they stoned to death. I was getting a little too smothered by the kids, so Kalyan pulled me away and told them we had to go. A boy told him he'd never seen anyone like me before and asked where I was from. They waved and smiled as they swarmed around the car yelling "Bye Bye." Further up the road, the villagers were blocking the road and dancing for Krishna. They didn't move from the front of the car until Kalyan started laughing. This is a land of celebration and spirituality and wonder. The poverty and hard work is everywhere, but so is the celebration. So is my luck.
We arrived late in Udaipur, which was nice, but I expected something more. I think I had been spoiled. We are now in Mt. Abu. We ascended the mountain in a downpour of rain. Today, I walked through the jungle hoping to see a bear on a trek, but had no such luck. We then went to a gorgeous Jain temple and took a boat around the lake at sunset with no rain. It was lovely. We also visited Rama Krishna spiritual university and I found it a bit cultish and bizzarre. Tomorrow, we leave for Jodphur and I look forward to dry weather again, although the thunder and lightning is incredible to experience.
Christian and I decided to forego Morocco and I have confirmed my return from Egypt to Bombay, thanks to the help of my mother and stepfather. Thank you! All is well and as it should be. I am at times very lonely, especially when the Indian tourists in all of these places (mostly from Gujarat) stare at me like I'm insane for eating or walking alone. But then again, I'm American. Things are different. Independence is different. I'm different. It's okay. There is no harm or danger that I feel here. Only curiosity. Isn't this part of why I travel, too? It is a pleasure and an honor to be here. They can stare all they want. I am lucky to be alive. Lucky to be in India. And I welcome these ups and down in my travels.
Rajastan, like India, is a magical journey. And the cows continue to be revered more than anything. Something I still find hysterical every single time. Increidible.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Revolving Tower of Om
I wrote this last night in the revolving restaurant atop Om Tower: Even after travelling all over the world, I sit atop a revolving Om and my mind revolves in time. I miss home, community, companionship and oddly enough - the wise Sufi wisdom of my persian friend Reza. I think he'll be a good friend to me for a long, long time. He has been. He is the one who reminded me that Rum wrote about the few people that hear the call and the fewer still that heed it. Many have done the spiritual journey before me. Is this a spiritual journey or a cop out? It's up to my attitude to decide. I am growing tired of a life without purpose as I sit here surrounded by Indian families who look at me sitting alone in a nice restaurant with curiosity and pity. So, I'll make this a purposeful journey - an exploration of other cultures infused with my spiritual journey. I'll really delve in to the taste and the culture. So, I ate a Rajasthani Thali that had seven types of local dishes (mostly made of spices and dahl). When I lauged to the waiter that I heard westerns lost weight in India, he balked: no, madam, you must get fatter in India - it shows you have been enjoying the food properly. Sometimes, I just love Indian logic.
I started today with a new mission: to melt into the cultures - less tourists, more locals. Ironically, I started the day with a full-day tour from the rickshaw driver who drove us into Jaipur on Day 1. His name is Chandra, which means Moon in Hindi. When I said this, his green yellow eyes grew huge and a smile sprung across his face. I knew he'd be a great tour guide. Raymundo decided not to come and is heading out of town tomorrow.
So I went out alone - day 1 with a local, even if this is his job. I threw on a blue headscarf to avoid the exhaust and fit right in with the veiled ladies - although still terribly shoddy looking comparatively (except for my fancy orange reflective designer sunglasses, of course). I went to the City Palace which was ornate and lovely. I sat with a painter for five minutes and watched him paint miniature stills of royal life. He painted a portrait of me and gave it to me. When I passed the shops, I was reminded of aggressive Kashmiri shopkeepers vying for my business all the way across the courtyard. I kept walking - this is not the culture I want to immerse myself in. I then paid a local guide to tell me how the neighboring giant observatory functioned back in the 1500s and was firmly reminded that I am not scientifically inclined, even if I am a modern woman - at all.
I asked Chandra to take me to a real Indian thali place - cheap and spicy - and he takes me to Venus. Across the park is a temple for a water god, like Poseidon. He is surrounded by durga, ganesh, vishnu, parvati, ram, sitta, hanuman...the shiva clan..everybody is in the house. I sing little songs to all of them as I wander around the temple and feel very at home.
At Venus, the owner sits across the table from me and when he gets up, the waiter sits down. Men from the kitchen come out and just kinda hover around the table. I decide that I'm just going to be myself and chat away amiably. After the meal, the owner invites me out for the night. I tell him that "being friends" means no touching, okay? He looks taken aback and says "I understand, madam." Was this too far or necessary? Who knows? I just felt the need to let him know a woman could be friendly, but that doesn't mean she's a benefits package. The thali was terrific and I left with a few more friends shaking hands and wishing me well as they commented on my positive energy. Groovy.
We next drove 11 kms from town to sprawling Amber Fort. Along the way, men stared at me from the streets and the women that passed smiled from beneath their gloriously bedecked veils - I smiled back and loved being a woman in this place. As I looked around on the street, I realized that there really weren't too many westerners out on the street. As this was Sunday, all of the shopping stalls were closed, so the shopping tourists were gone. It was just me buzzing along blue eyed and light haired through the pink city in the ever smiling Chandra's rickshaw. This was a prelude to celebrity status...
Chandra dropped me at the bottom of Amber Fort and I started to walk through the beautiful garden. Families were sprawled out en masse b/c Sunday is the most popular time for villagers to come to the Fort and enjoy a picnic all day long. Of course, the ladies were dressed in their finest saris and the golds and oranges and yellows billowed resplendent in the bright green gardens of the palace grounds. One of the lovely ladies approached me in my rag tag skirt, black shirt and blue scarf (and fabulous glasses) and asked if I would take a picture of her family. So I did. Lovely. As I walked up the path, an intrepid youth named Raj tried to sell me pictures that his sister painted. Rather than take no for an answer, he agreed that I would meet him there later. Fine. A group of elderly ladies, thin and poor, but radiant in their bright saris sat in the shade of an ornate entryway. We smiled at eachother and I greeted them with 'Namaste,' to which they invited me to join them. I almost sat down, but saw one of the ladies gesturing that she wanted money for food. I kept walking and declined with a 'Danuvad,' then wondered if the lady was actually using sign language to invite me to eat with them. Next time, go a little slower Kyra. Every fourth man said 'hello' or something synonymous and every second woman exchanged a smile with me. I finally made it to the entrance of the fort and bought a head set.
As I listened to number 1, I noticed a group of small children wildly gesticulating at me from a nearby turret where they were having a picnic with three lovely sarie'd ladies. I smiled and waved and they broke into fits of giggles. When I got to number 2, the kids were alongside me and the mother explained they are an entire family that lives together and would I please take their picture. So I did, we shook hands, exchanged smiles and they all left in fits of giggles. When I was at number 5, one woman and five men approached me and again asked me to take their picture. THEN, everything shifted - they asked if they could take a picture with me. Sure, I said - only to then have each of them take at least two pics each with me with various cameras. I told them it would cost 500 ruppees each and they laughed and kept swapping people to sit next to me. As I walked under the Ganesh gate, number 7, I noticed several Indian tourists pretending to take pictures of eachother or the gate, but actually zooming in on me. This was weird. I checked my skirt to make sure it didn't have a giant hole or something. All well.
As soon as I walked through the Ganesh gate, I was bombarded with Indian tourists at every step, literally, asking to take my picture and asking me to take theirs. Here was a beautiful fort and palace over 500 years old with intricate carving and mirrored moghul ceilings, and the Indian tourists were gawking at me! None of them spoke much English and I only new my happy yoga words, so it was a postive exchange again and again and again. I moved on to the ancient queen and women's quarters - naturally hidden out of public view - and had an entire family of men with one matriarchal lady follow me down the corridors and into a chamber overlooking the lake - just to ask me to take photos. What?!
I decided to ditch all the Indians as well as my idea to assimilate cultures and I took a turn away from the path. One hour later, I'm in awe of the Escher (sp?)esqueness of the place b/c I STILL can't figure out how to get the hell out of the Red Fort maze. I hear music and people's voices and laughter echoing through the corridors, but can't find anyone. I finally find a group of teenagers who tell me to come with them. We all stumble around and find two security guards - both of whom have three different directions for how to get out of the place. They have no idea and join our reality show team from "Lost" as we stumble through endless stairways and pathways. I wondered if Sarah Winchester was a reincarnated lady from these days and places.
Finally, we find our way out and I take a few more photos and pose or a few more before slipping out of the Red Fort. All the Indian tourists I had seen that day shook my hand and smiled as I left the Fort. It was a very welcoming departure.
It got a little too welcoming as I descended as Raj and a bevy of young men were waiting outside. I felt like the pied piper as they all shouted "madam, madam, you buy this..." Just when I thought I was going to go nuts, I saw a group of people carrying a Ganesh statute while walking through the shallow lake below and singing joyously. On the edge of the lake, two giant elephants were on their sides receiving a bath. It was soooo sweet! I automatically smiled and stopped walking. For whatever reason, the boy swarm melted away from me - was this Ganesh's removing of obstacles or did I suddenly seem like a weird hippy westerner to them or did someone more lucrative looking come along? I don't know. It just changed - everything - in an instant and I felt very bonded with India again. Ganesh, you see, is my favorite deity to whom I sang every day before leaving San Francisco. And elephants! My god, I love elephants! They've been my favorite animal forever. I love India!
I rejoin with Chandra and ask why I got so much attention. He explained that there aren't many westerners here and many of the Indian villagers are tourists seeing a westerner for the first time. I am so used to being an "American" that everybody knows and sees, yet here I was: one of the only white people these people had ever seen in the flesh. Reality check! Whoa. We head to the floating water palace called Jal Mahal. I stop to take a stroll, hear singing from the lake and peek my head over the edge. A family is having their own little puja to Ganesh as they drop the deity in the water and watch it sink. They invite me to join them and I sing a Ganesh song with them: "Gung guna pataye namo namah..." They give me a red and yellow tikka on my third eye and I rejoin Chandra.
It starts pouring down rain and Chandra and I go to a bar for cover. This is completely taboo as drinking with a driver is a big no no in the Lonely Planet. I have one drink. He has one. I show him how to play the card game 'shithead' and we play until he finally wins - round 3 - so that he is no longer "the shithead." He's 39 and not married. This gives me a red flag. He tells me I have a nice figure. Uh oh. Then he buys me a rose. Here we go... We leave - it's still light - and he asks what I want to do this evening. I say go home unless he has a better idea for a tour. He says, "we have another drink" to which I earnestly explain that I don't drink much and I don't want an Indian boyfriend. I say we are friends - no touching - no expectations - can he understand? He has the same shocked look which then softens into understanding and agrees. I hope that I have righted the situation.
Tomorrow, Chandra will pick me up for the continued tour that got rained out and timed out by my celebrity pace and lost hour in the Red Fort. We will see whether it is possible to befriend an Indian man as a western woman and actually NOT have to deal with sexual expectations. Perhaps all it takes is simple communication, rather than not saying anything and hoping it will all magically be understood. I believe that's all it will take. I'll continue to be cautious, but as part of the cultural immersion, we'll have to understand eachother. I'd also really like to meet some Indian ladies...THAT would be great!
October is the beginning of tourist season. Until then, I'll continue to be a celebrity westerner to Indian villagers visiting special places, i.e. all the tourist forts, palaces and parks all around Rajastan. I'll do my best to be open and maintain my sense of humor about India and the ever-revolving sense of Om...
I started today with a new mission: to melt into the cultures - less tourists, more locals. Ironically, I started the day with a full-day tour from the rickshaw driver who drove us into Jaipur on Day 1. His name is Chandra, which means Moon in Hindi. When I said this, his green yellow eyes grew huge and a smile sprung across his face. I knew he'd be a great tour guide. Raymundo decided not to come and is heading out of town tomorrow.
So I went out alone - day 1 with a local, even if this is his job. I threw on a blue headscarf to avoid the exhaust and fit right in with the veiled ladies - although still terribly shoddy looking comparatively (except for my fancy orange reflective designer sunglasses, of course). I went to the City Palace which was ornate and lovely. I sat with a painter for five minutes and watched him paint miniature stills of royal life. He painted a portrait of me and gave it to me. When I passed the shops, I was reminded of aggressive Kashmiri shopkeepers vying for my business all the way across the courtyard. I kept walking - this is not the culture I want to immerse myself in. I then paid a local guide to tell me how the neighboring giant observatory functioned back in the 1500s and was firmly reminded that I am not scientifically inclined, even if I am a modern woman - at all.
I asked Chandra to take me to a real Indian thali place - cheap and spicy - and he takes me to Venus. Across the park is a temple for a water god, like Poseidon. He is surrounded by durga, ganesh, vishnu, parvati, ram, sitta, hanuman...the shiva clan..everybody is in the house. I sing little songs to all of them as I wander around the temple and feel very at home.
At Venus, the owner sits across the table from me and when he gets up, the waiter sits down. Men from the kitchen come out and just kinda hover around the table. I decide that I'm just going to be myself and chat away amiably. After the meal, the owner invites me out for the night. I tell him that "being friends" means no touching, okay? He looks taken aback and says "I understand, madam." Was this too far or necessary? Who knows? I just felt the need to let him know a woman could be friendly, but that doesn't mean she's a benefits package. The thali was terrific and I left with a few more friends shaking hands and wishing me well as they commented on my positive energy. Groovy.
We next drove 11 kms from town to sprawling Amber Fort. Along the way, men stared at me from the streets and the women that passed smiled from beneath their gloriously bedecked veils - I smiled back and loved being a woman in this place. As I looked around on the street, I realized that there really weren't too many westerners out on the street. As this was Sunday, all of the shopping stalls were closed, so the shopping tourists were gone. It was just me buzzing along blue eyed and light haired through the pink city in the ever smiling Chandra's rickshaw. This was a prelude to celebrity status...
Chandra dropped me at the bottom of Amber Fort and I started to walk through the beautiful garden. Families were sprawled out en masse b/c Sunday is the most popular time for villagers to come to the Fort and enjoy a picnic all day long. Of course, the ladies were dressed in their finest saris and the golds and oranges and yellows billowed resplendent in the bright green gardens of the palace grounds. One of the lovely ladies approached me in my rag tag skirt, black shirt and blue scarf (and fabulous glasses) and asked if I would take a picture of her family. So I did. Lovely. As I walked up the path, an intrepid youth named Raj tried to sell me pictures that his sister painted. Rather than take no for an answer, he agreed that I would meet him there later. Fine. A group of elderly ladies, thin and poor, but radiant in their bright saris sat in the shade of an ornate entryway. We smiled at eachother and I greeted them with 'Namaste,' to which they invited me to join them. I almost sat down, but saw one of the ladies gesturing that she wanted money for food. I kept walking and declined with a 'Danuvad,' then wondered if the lady was actually using sign language to invite me to eat with them. Next time, go a little slower Kyra. Every fourth man said 'hello' or something synonymous and every second woman exchanged a smile with me. I finally made it to the entrance of the fort and bought a head set.
As I listened to number 1, I noticed a group of small children wildly gesticulating at me from a nearby turret where they were having a picnic with three lovely sarie'd ladies. I smiled and waved and they broke into fits of giggles. When I got to number 2, the kids were alongside me and the mother explained they are an entire family that lives together and would I please take their picture. So I did, we shook hands, exchanged smiles and they all left in fits of giggles. When I was at number 5, one woman and five men approached me and again asked me to take their picture. THEN, everything shifted - they asked if they could take a picture with me. Sure, I said - only to then have each of them take at least two pics each with me with various cameras. I told them it would cost 500 ruppees each and they laughed and kept swapping people to sit next to me. As I walked under the Ganesh gate, number 7, I noticed several Indian tourists pretending to take pictures of eachother or the gate, but actually zooming in on me. This was weird. I checked my skirt to make sure it didn't have a giant hole or something. All well.
As soon as I walked through the Ganesh gate, I was bombarded with Indian tourists at every step, literally, asking to take my picture and asking me to take theirs. Here was a beautiful fort and palace over 500 years old with intricate carving and mirrored moghul ceilings, and the Indian tourists were gawking at me! None of them spoke much English and I only new my happy yoga words, so it was a postive exchange again and again and again. I moved on to the ancient queen and women's quarters - naturally hidden out of public view - and had an entire family of men with one matriarchal lady follow me down the corridors and into a chamber overlooking the lake - just to ask me to take photos. What?!
I decided to ditch all the Indians as well as my idea to assimilate cultures and I took a turn away from the path. One hour later, I'm in awe of the Escher (sp?)esqueness of the place b/c I STILL can't figure out how to get the hell out of the Red Fort maze. I hear music and people's voices and laughter echoing through the corridors, but can't find anyone. I finally find a group of teenagers who tell me to come with them. We all stumble around and find two security guards - both of whom have three different directions for how to get out of the place. They have no idea and join our reality show team from "Lost" as we stumble through endless stairways and pathways. I wondered if Sarah Winchester was a reincarnated lady from these days and places.
Finally, we find our way out and I take a few more photos and pose or a few more before slipping out of the Red Fort. All the Indian tourists I had seen that day shook my hand and smiled as I left the Fort. It was a very welcoming departure.
It got a little too welcoming as I descended as Raj and a bevy of young men were waiting outside. I felt like the pied piper as they all shouted "madam, madam, you buy this..." Just when I thought I was going to go nuts, I saw a group of people carrying a Ganesh statute while walking through the shallow lake below and singing joyously. On the edge of the lake, two giant elephants were on their sides receiving a bath. It was soooo sweet! I automatically smiled and stopped walking. For whatever reason, the boy swarm melted away from me - was this Ganesh's removing of obstacles or did I suddenly seem like a weird hippy westerner to them or did someone more lucrative looking come along? I don't know. It just changed - everything - in an instant and I felt very bonded with India again. Ganesh, you see, is my favorite deity to whom I sang every day before leaving San Francisco. And elephants! My god, I love elephants! They've been my favorite animal forever. I love India!
I rejoin with Chandra and ask why I got so much attention. He explained that there aren't many westerners here and many of the Indian villagers are tourists seeing a westerner for the first time. I am so used to being an "American" that everybody knows and sees, yet here I was: one of the only white people these people had ever seen in the flesh. Reality check! Whoa. We head to the floating water palace called Jal Mahal. I stop to take a stroll, hear singing from the lake and peek my head over the edge. A family is having their own little puja to Ganesh as they drop the deity in the water and watch it sink. They invite me to join them and I sing a Ganesh song with them: "Gung guna pataye namo namah..." They give me a red and yellow tikka on my third eye and I rejoin Chandra.
It starts pouring down rain and Chandra and I go to a bar for cover. This is completely taboo as drinking with a driver is a big no no in the Lonely Planet. I have one drink. He has one. I show him how to play the card game 'shithead' and we play until he finally wins - round 3 - so that he is no longer "the shithead." He's 39 and not married. This gives me a red flag. He tells me I have a nice figure. Uh oh. Then he buys me a rose. Here we go... We leave - it's still light - and he asks what I want to do this evening. I say go home unless he has a better idea for a tour. He says, "we have another drink" to which I earnestly explain that I don't drink much and I don't want an Indian boyfriend. I say we are friends - no touching - no expectations - can he understand? He has the same shocked look which then softens into understanding and agrees. I hope that I have righted the situation.
Tomorrow, Chandra will pick me up for the continued tour that got rained out and timed out by my celebrity pace and lost hour in the Red Fort. We will see whether it is possible to befriend an Indian man as a western woman and actually NOT have to deal with sexual expectations. Perhaps all it takes is simple communication, rather than not saying anything and hoping it will all magically be understood. I believe that's all it will take. I'll continue to be cautious, but as part of the cultural immersion, we'll have to understand eachother. I'd also really like to meet some Indian ladies...THAT would be great!
October is the beginning of tourist season. Until then, I'll continue to be a celebrity westerner to Indian villagers visiting special places, i.e. all the tourist forts, palaces and parks all around Rajastan. I'll do my best to be open and maintain my sense of humor about India and the ever-revolving sense of Om...
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Horn to Please
Somebody once told me that the minute India is no longer funny, it's time to leave. India is hilarious. Phew. Today I took a local bus from Delhi to Jaipur (the mughal pink city).
On the journey, I observed that my new travel partner (a gentle, quiet 50 year old Swiss man) has two arms full of bad tattos, a "freedom rock" sense of style and turrets syndrome that thrice caused the bus driver to stop honking while swerving through the traffic. Just after a bombastic "Donald Duck bellar-quacks/sneezes in frustration" filled the entire bus, Raymundo remained nonplussed as the red scarf tied around his long gray ponytail blew in the ice-cold air conditioning.
Across the aisle, I observe him from the warmth of my down sleeping bag. Outside, it is 42 degrees celscius. The camel carts are just a little faster than the hundreds of chubby Indian middle age executive men in yellow t-shirts having a relay race on the freeway in the midst of all the traffic. Grungy oil tankers whiz by us with a gale force honk and painted messages: "Highly Inflammable," "Edible Oil" and "Horn to Please."
Unlike the night bazaar in Delhi that was teeming with hundreds of aggressive male touts and touchers in the absence of not more than 10 women, the females are out in force walking and working among the lounging men - not walking and not working, rather peacefully watching the cars and animals and people flurry by. And you can't help but notice these gloriously decked ladies as we drive toward Jaipur in Rajastan. The women are wearing screaming bright sarongs of yellow, pink, green, blue...every color imaginable. They make absolutely stunning figures as they float along like garish butterflies carrying giant bundles on their brightly veiled heads (and faces) . I wonder at the ostentatious array of colors flowing from a face veiled with the same bright color - walking purdah day glow sticks who don't want to be seen. What a contrast. "There must be more to this than meets the eye," I think to myself.
And just when the contrasts can't get any more wacko, I see the courtyard of a Hindu temple and hundreds of women are dressed in white and pink alongside hundreds of men clad in white and . They are lined up beneath the trees with their hands in namaste mudra at their hearts. Their heads are bowed in unison and it is one of the most suddenly peaceful flashes on a freeway I've ever seen. Just then, Raymundo quacked again. The driver shuddered and looked back at him like he was possessed. One second later, the looked forward, renestled his bottom on the seat and as if to confirm that he was "back" on the wheel, he layed on the horn. Horn to please, indeed.
I'm not really surprised by any of this - either because everything is wacko in India (kindof) or because it's just plain obvious. India is a land of contrasts. There is always fluidity in the chaos and hundreds of years of history to explain the way things are. All you have to do is open your eyes and refrain from judgement. It's all good.
Raymundo can't help that he has turrets and is stuck in the 1960s when he takes a bus journey through India. Who am I to judge? My clothes look like a pauper's compared to the lovely saris worn by the Indians. And up until this trip, I thought the Indian ladies chose to dress like unevolved fashionistas. In FACT, they are classy and elegant and completely modern. My judgment was turned inside out.
I did, however, decide to find out a bit more about Raymundo after he quacked up a few times. But first, a little history as to how he became my travel pal. In June, I saw him in Pokhara on the street and thought he was one of those mild-eyed, skinny westerners who has been in India for a long, long time. So, when I saw him again on the rooftop of my hotel during dinner in Delhi, I introduced myself and the next day we reconvened and shared a taxi all over town. I had a list of sights and he was wide open. He was also courteous, sweet, unintrusive and quiet. He also planned on leaving to Rajastan for two weeks. "The perfect travel partner!" I thought. And he is. For somebody.
Raymundo doesn't work. His latest business venture involved buying decorated, i.e. jeweled skulls from Kathmandu for $500 USD and selling them in Zurich for $3,000.00. Apparently, Hells Angels like to buy the skulls for their choppers. Who knew? His arms have tattos with knives and "Bugs" (his former nickname) stamped in scuzzy black ink. I found myself making so many judgments with this and the freedom rock and the quacking...it just all spiraled into "be careful who you travel with" and then "you can't judge a book by its cover." Or can you? This will be a lesson in judgment. Raymundo is perfectly nice and harmless. We'll do another tour tomorrow of Jaipur and perhaps then we'll part ways.
But I must admit that it's SOOOOO much nicer to travel with another person, especially a man. Last night, Delhi was crazy and I knew I was not heckled (much) because I was with him. I felt free! However, today I decided to venture out alone (Raymundo was sleeping in his room) and I had dinner on a revolving tower (that reminded me of my senior prom dinner in San Francisco). It was less than 1 km to the hotel, so I decided to walk. Whooeee! It didn't take five seconds to have men coming up and talking to me, every person staring at me, etc. until finally a 15 year old boy rides up on his bicycle and says "hi." I look at him and he has nice eyes so we chat. He escorts me all the way home and answers my question: "there are no other women on the road b/c it is not safe for them to be out at night." When I ask if I'm in danger, he says "no b/c you're a tourist - it's different for foreigners." Another contrast.
So, do I keep a quacking freedom rock security guard or brave this alone?
The Lonely Planet threatens "beware of friendly people that meet you on the streets..." because they want to sell you something. Duh. But, really what is wrong with people trying to sell you something? Some of them are pretty darn creative.
For instance, I met three juvenile boys on the street (I pretended I was spanish and whaddya know, he spoke spanish). They invited me to their puppet show at the hotel directly across the street from my hotel. Later, I went. The puppet show was hilarious and totally amateur. They constructed a puppet stage on the hotel roof garden and had an entire cast of puppet characters. "Who is this?" asked the puppeteer. "The devil," I guessed at the freaky looking creature with blueish horn-looking things before me. "No sir, it's Michael Jackson of Calcutta!" roared the puppeteer as he had him do the moon walk and remove his freakish head from his body in a popping break dance moves. BTW, everyone calls me "sir" in India. The puppets were gorgeous (except for the freaky looking Michael Jackson). I laughed and laughed. What do you know? The puppets were for sale.
The three entrepeneurs then asked if I wanted the special one hour show on mughal history. "Why not?" I said. It's not as if I had anything else I could do since I was without a man at night, after all. And the Mughal influence is interesting, especially in Moghul influenced Rajastan. So, when it started raining after 30 minutes and the one song and dance never changed except to change the name of the historical figure killing another historical figure in a fit of homosexual gyrations on the floor that was a mix between Bollywood and the Castro, I requested that they shorten the show to the reign of Akbar and Shah Jahan (with his wife Mumtaz, for whom he built the Taj Mahal, and his evil son who imprisoned him in the Red Fort overlooking the Taj Mahal and took over the kingdom). As with everything, they said "yes" and did nothing of the sort.
I finally escaped after promising to return if I found nothing better or cheaper the following day. I paid them 200 rupees for the show. They gave me a bunch of elephants hanging from a string. The main guy/singer/drummer/talker turned up the trunks and said "welcome," "welcome," "welcome," with each upturned trunk. These guys were hilarious. Was I unfairly duped into seeing this display of creative desperation to sell puppets? Not really. Did I receive a shock to my moral sensibilities? Not really. After all, I did run alongside freakier people at Bay to Breakers in San Francisco and hello, um, Burning Man??? So, what is so bad about meeting someone and seeing their show? The experience is one I'll never forget. We were perfectly safe on the hotel roof garden with people passing through. I'd have the common sense not to go to a private place for the show. So what is the Lonely Planet so freaked out about?
I believe if you use your judgment, all will be well. But sometimes, not responding to anyone b/c you're a female and he's a male and this is India is just plain rude. And a bummer. I like people. I'll continue to use my intuition. My intuition tells me to ditch "freedom rock" and actually travel free. I'm sure I won't be alone for long. Travel companions are everywhere. But, do I want one? Perhaps this woman can take India on alone. Why not? Or perhaps I'll wake up tomorrow, go on the tour with Raymundo and decide not to be so judgmental. Quack, quack, quack...
On the journey, I observed that my new travel partner (a gentle, quiet 50 year old Swiss man) has two arms full of bad tattos, a "freedom rock" sense of style and turrets syndrome that thrice caused the bus driver to stop honking while swerving through the traffic. Just after a bombastic "Donald Duck bellar-quacks/sneezes in frustration" filled the entire bus, Raymundo remained nonplussed as the red scarf tied around his long gray ponytail blew in the ice-cold air conditioning.
Across the aisle, I observe him from the warmth of my down sleeping bag. Outside, it is 42 degrees celscius. The camel carts are just a little faster than the hundreds of chubby Indian middle age executive men in yellow t-shirts having a relay race on the freeway in the midst of all the traffic. Grungy oil tankers whiz by us with a gale force honk and painted messages: "Highly Inflammable," "Edible Oil" and "Horn to Please."
Unlike the night bazaar in Delhi that was teeming with hundreds of aggressive male touts and touchers in the absence of not more than 10 women, the females are out in force walking and working among the lounging men - not walking and not working, rather peacefully watching the cars and animals and people flurry by. And you can't help but notice these gloriously decked ladies as we drive toward Jaipur in Rajastan. The women are wearing screaming bright sarongs of yellow, pink, green, blue...every color imaginable. They make absolutely stunning figures as they float along like garish butterflies carrying giant bundles on their brightly veiled heads (and faces) . I wonder at the ostentatious array of colors flowing from a face veiled with the same bright color - walking purdah day glow sticks who don't want to be seen. What a contrast. "There must be more to this than meets the eye," I think to myself.
And just when the contrasts can't get any more wacko, I see the courtyard of a Hindu temple and hundreds of women are dressed in white and pink alongside hundreds of men clad in white and . They are lined up beneath the trees with their hands in namaste mudra at their hearts. Their heads are bowed in unison and it is one of the most suddenly peaceful flashes on a freeway I've ever seen. Just then, Raymundo quacked again. The driver shuddered and looked back at him like he was possessed. One second later, the looked forward, renestled his bottom on the seat and as if to confirm that he was "back" on the wheel, he layed on the horn. Horn to please, indeed.
I'm not really surprised by any of this - either because everything is wacko in India (kindof) or because it's just plain obvious. India is a land of contrasts. There is always fluidity in the chaos and hundreds of years of history to explain the way things are. All you have to do is open your eyes and refrain from judgement. It's all good.
Raymundo can't help that he has turrets and is stuck in the 1960s when he takes a bus journey through India. Who am I to judge? My clothes look like a pauper's compared to the lovely saris worn by the Indians. And up until this trip, I thought the Indian ladies chose to dress like unevolved fashionistas. In FACT, they are classy and elegant and completely modern. My judgment was turned inside out.
I did, however, decide to find out a bit more about Raymundo after he quacked up a few times. But first, a little history as to how he became my travel pal. In June, I saw him in Pokhara on the street and thought he was one of those mild-eyed, skinny westerners who has been in India for a long, long time. So, when I saw him again on the rooftop of my hotel during dinner in Delhi, I introduced myself and the next day we reconvened and shared a taxi all over town. I had a list of sights and he was wide open. He was also courteous, sweet, unintrusive and quiet. He also planned on leaving to Rajastan for two weeks. "The perfect travel partner!" I thought. And he is. For somebody.
Raymundo doesn't work. His latest business venture involved buying decorated, i.e. jeweled skulls from Kathmandu for $500 USD and selling them in Zurich for $3,000.00. Apparently, Hells Angels like to buy the skulls for their choppers. Who knew? His arms have tattos with knives and "Bugs" (his former nickname) stamped in scuzzy black ink. I found myself making so many judgments with this and the freedom rock and the quacking...it just all spiraled into "be careful who you travel with" and then "you can't judge a book by its cover." Or can you? This will be a lesson in judgment. Raymundo is perfectly nice and harmless. We'll do another tour tomorrow of Jaipur and perhaps then we'll part ways.
But I must admit that it's SOOOOO much nicer to travel with another person, especially a man. Last night, Delhi was crazy and I knew I was not heckled (much) because I was with him. I felt free! However, today I decided to venture out alone (Raymundo was sleeping in his room) and I had dinner on a revolving tower (that reminded me of my senior prom dinner in San Francisco). It was less than 1 km to the hotel, so I decided to walk. Whooeee! It didn't take five seconds to have men coming up and talking to me, every person staring at me, etc. until finally a 15 year old boy rides up on his bicycle and says "hi." I look at him and he has nice eyes so we chat. He escorts me all the way home and answers my question: "there are no other women on the road b/c it is not safe for them to be out at night." When I ask if I'm in danger, he says "no b/c you're a tourist - it's different for foreigners." Another contrast.
So, do I keep a quacking freedom rock security guard or brave this alone?
The Lonely Planet threatens "beware of friendly people that meet you on the streets..." because they want to sell you something. Duh. But, really what is wrong with people trying to sell you something? Some of them are pretty darn creative.
For instance, I met three juvenile boys on the street (I pretended I was spanish and whaddya know, he spoke spanish). They invited me to their puppet show at the hotel directly across the street from my hotel. Later, I went. The puppet show was hilarious and totally amateur. They constructed a puppet stage on the hotel roof garden and had an entire cast of puppet characters. "Who is this?" asked the puppeteer. "The devil," I guessed at the freaky looking creature with blueish horn-looking things before me. "No sir, it's Michael Jackson of Calcutta!" roared the puppeteer as he had him do the moon walk and remove his freakish head from his body in a popping break dance moves. BTW, everyone calls me "sir" in India. The puppets were gorgeous (except for the freaky looking Michael Jackson). I laughed and laughed. What do you know? The puppets were for sale.
The three entrepeneurs then asked if I wanted the special one hour show on mughal history. "Why not?" I said. It's not as if I had anything else I could do since I was without a man at night, after all. And the Mughal influence is interesting, especially in Moghul influenced Rajastan. So, when it started raining after 30 minutes and the one song and dance never changed except to change the name of the historical figure killing another historical figure in a fit of homosexual gyrations on the floor that was a mix between Bollywood and the Castro, I requested that they shorten the show to the reign of Akbar and Shah Jahan (with his wife Mumtaz, for whom he built the Taj Mahal, and his evil son who imprisoned him in the Red Fort overlooking the Taj Mahal and took over the kingdom). As with everything, they said "yes" and did nothing of the sort.
I finally escaped after promising to return if I found nothing better or cheaper the following day. I paid them 200 rupees for the show. They gave me a bunch of elephants hanging from a string. The main guy/singer/drummer/talker turned up the trunks and said "welcome," "welcome," "welcome," with each upturned trunk. These guys were hilarious. Was I unfairly duped into seeing this display of creative desperation to sell puppets? Not really. Did I receive a shock to my moral sensibilities? Not really. After all, I did run alongside freakier people at Bay to Breakers in San Francisco and hello, um, Burning Man??? So, what is so bad about meeting someone and seeing their show? The experience is one I'll never forget. We were perfectly safe on the hotel roof garden with people passing through. I'd have the common sense not to go to a private place for the show. So what is the Lonely Planet so freaked out about?
I believe if you use your judgment, all will be well. But sometimes, not responding to anyone b/c you're a female and he's a male and this is India is just plain rude. And a bummer. I like people. I'll continue to use my intuition. My intuition tells me to ditch "freedom rock" and actually travel free. I'm sure I won't be alone for long. Travel companions are everywhere. But, do I want one? Perhaps this woman can take India on alone. Why not? Or perhaps I'll wake up tomorrow, go on the tour with Raymundo and decide not to be so judgmental. Quack, quack, quack...
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