Vietnam days 16-18: Stumbling into Paradise

(Photos from Wikipedia until I can get mine put up on Flickr.)

Vietnam has been kind to us so far. By pure dumb luck, and for the price of a Herald Square hotel room, we just spent a weekend on our own private island. The trip involved kayaking, solitude, and views so sublime they're on the UNESCO preservation list.

Natacha has wanted to visit Halong Bay ever since spotting it in a travel magazine while planning our honeymoon a few years back. It's a bay full of thousands of tiny, uninhabited, sheer islands (limestone karsts, actually) amongst emerald water. If it hasn't been the setting for a james bond speedboat chase, it should be. (UPDATE: It has.)

there are hundreds of tours offered in the area, where you take a boat for a day and two nights and view the islands, swim on some beach for an hour, etc. But somewhere Natch saw the word "kayak" in relation to the area and that's what we set our sights on.

Our research showed us that there was one reputable agency that had kayak tours, good guides, and we later found out, "the good kayaks" in the area. We signed up with them, knowing that we'd be sharing the trip with 6-8 other kayakers, even thought it was a bit pricier than the dozens-of people-on-a-big-junk tours. We didn't care. We love kayaking and this seemed like a great way to get up close to these amazing structures in a way the big boats couldn't.

So we pry ourselves our of our bed at Hanoi's lavish $20-a-night Golden Buffalo hotel(!) to make it on time for our 6 AM pickup, to discover that we were the only folks on the trip. Which means essentially a private car to the ferry. Then a private taxi to the other boat. Such luxury!

After 4 hours of private transpo, we arrived bleary-eyed and loagy to Cat Ba island the largest island in the Bay and our departure point for the tour. the company came to pick us up in a tour boat--a BIG one, in which we were the only passengers. On the way, we saw a series of floating villages, where people live in houses on pontoons and operate cottage-industry fisheries or oyster farms. they all have guard dogs, too. None of whom get walked, but who I imagine get to pee wherver they like.

After picking up the "good" kayaks, we made it to where we were staying. Which was a small karst. i.e. an island. The place consisted of a dining hut, a relaxing hut, a shower/toilet hut, and off to the side, five or six guest huts. and we were the only guests. Like it was our private island getaway.

And the VIEW. just water and dramatic karst islands, and the odd fishing boat. nothing else. NO ONE else. Lucky? Yes. And, as Don adams used to say, loving it.

By day, we kayaked around these UNESCO-listed wonders, buzzed another floating villages, entered caves and paddled through lagoons. by night, we ate huge meals of fresh fish (like caught-next-door fresh) and slugged rice whiskey with the staff. The best cooked oysters and the bar-none freshest crab i've ever eaten.

The tide moved in and out so quickly that we could walk to the karst across from us in the morning, and by afternoon we would kayak around it & past it to other sights.

We kayaked across emerald waters to hidden lagoons, past floating fishing villages where guard dogs chased us to the end of their pontoon but didn't dare jump in the water (thus saving us any ugly No Country For Old Men dog-chase scenes).

We ate with the three guys who cooked the food and took care around the island. They kept trying to feed us fresh oysters and mussels (picked up from a floating next-door neighbor) after we'd stuffed ourselves at dinner. One of them was a park ranger, one of them didn't speak, and the third guy, and 24-year-old pistol named Lam (which means "dragon," we're told), kept trying to get us drunk on rice whiskey. On the second night, we pulled out our last little bottle of duty-free Glenfiddich and tried to share it. They hated the taste and sheepishly poured their shares back into our glasses, which I couldn't really bitch about. "We like Baileys," Lam told us.

But the real surprise? Going swimming at night to discover that the water has bio-luminiscent plankton. Each swimming stroke bequeathed dazzling below-surface light trails and tinkerbell-like sparkles.

We loved it so much that we asked to stay a second night. Turns out we had the place to ourselves that night too. It's an amazing thing to wake up in the morning and look out on your beach.

After two days, we got another "private" boat back to Cat Ba and stayed in a hotel overlooking the harbor. More boats and floating villages. Turns out we ate something that didn't agree with us on the island (my money's on the funny-smelling potato soup), so we spent most of the time laying in bed, walking to the rain-drenched outdoor market, and looking for new books to read. I scraped up a Sue Grafton thriller (note: not so thrilling) and some Michael Connally book I haven't cracked open yet. But I still think back on our little private island, and the cinema-worthy scenery, and the lights in the water, and I hope I will for a long time to come.

Out of Rajasthan

(Photo source: BBC) Well, it's been almost a month since we left India, but after reading about these caste riots in Rajasthan (which N brought to my attention), I feel like we dodged a bullet. The Gujjar tribe has been protesting their position, blocking roads and stopping train service, preventing passage between Delhi and Agra (where the Taj Mahal is), among other places. Oh, and both police and protesters are being killed.

The best Article I've found on the piece so far is from the UK Guardian. Here's a snippet:

The violence began when police shot four protesters dead in running battles with thousands of Gujjars, traditionally sheep-rearers, who had gathered on a main highway and blocked traffic near Jaipur, early this morning.

When the news of the shootings spread, crowds gathered in Bundi, three hours drive from Jaipur, and police again resorted to baton charges, teargas and finally, bullets, to end the blockade. Four more protesters were left dead by the fighting.

In retaliation, a police officer was said to have been beaten to death. Riot police were also kidnapped before being released unharmed.

The caste system in India is a complex, and certainly by most outsiders' opinions, unfair system. The Gujjars are protesting for more seats in University and more government jobs. Indians see that education is the catapult over caste, and the quotas for lower castes for seats in university are (some might say pathetically) few.  And if there's one thing I learned from Edward Luce's book In Spite of the Gods, it's that a government job is the holy grail of Indian employment: job security and plenty of opportunity to skim.

Pair that with what must be 40c-plus temperatures in the area, and you've got, well, this:

What with roads being blocked into Delhi, (as well as two major tourist routes) and over 2/3 of Rajasthan fraught with violence, I could not be happier that we're not there now. Rajasthan was a fantastic place to visit, and our travel hassles there seem very small in comparison to this.

Vietnam Day 3-4: Dow-now-NYEAH-nyow, DOW-now-neyow-now

...Which is guitarspeak for "We're on the Mekong Delta and I can't get 'Purple Haze" out of my head." Call me Ugly American all you want, but I dare you to come from my generation, take a boat up these admittedly gorgeous rivers, and NOT think of every Vietnam War movie you've ever seen.

We've just finished up a two-day tour of the Mekon Delta, primarily so Natacha could get an up-close look at the noted Floating Markets of the Mekong. Pretty great things to see: boats from all over VN and Cambodia carrying all kinds of produce, selling to boats from all over. The good news is we saw two of them. The bad news is that they start at 2 AM(!), and by the time we got to them (11 AM and 8 AM, respectively), they've started to wind down.

(Photos at some point, promise)

But we had some good times nonetheless. The ass-early-morning bus they poured us into at Ho Chi Minh City hauled us three hours to a riverboat, which sped us up the delta. On the way, we saw how people lived on the delta. I'll post some pictures when I have a chance.

We passed one of the (tail-ended) floating markets, which consisted of, well, boats that sold things,primarily produce. You could tell selling boat and what it sold because it had a long pole with the items in question attached to it. I pineapple boat had pineapples on their pole, etc. I noticed no one sold wide-screen TVs.

Although we didn't see too much, I was impressed with the idea of these floating markets. The Mekong delta consists of rrivers, tributaries and islands galore, which means that people come in from miles around to buy & sell at these things, even as far as Cambodia, as the border isn't too far off.

Our 2 day/1 night tour also included yet more gorgeous Mekong river-and-jungle scenery, and stop at a couple of islands. One was a tourist trap where they showed demonstrations of how they made puffed-rice ( like popcorn but with hot sand instead of oil) and coconut candy, a fillings-tugging taffy that was flavor-free and generally horrendous. Natacha and I ditched the demos and found a coconut to drink.

Island #2 was lunch and bicycle rental. We grabbed a couple of bikes and Natch found us a side road where we could bike along the delta and over to some villages not on the tourist path, thank god. Again, it was a pleasure to see how people lived on these tiny islands: bathing in the river, poling longboats here and there, letting their oxen get a cool dip in the waters.

Oh, and did I mention that our guide was a compete tool? Obviously going from some sort of corny-joke-laden guide script with jokes like:

"And remember, when you leave bus, take bag with you. Take camera with you. And take wife with you, because driver single. HA ha ha."

"And remember, make sure you have hotel key. If you lose key, you can come to my room. HA ha ha."

And other relatively misogynist yuks that surely play with the rubes from the midwest.

We also hit a land market with some fantastic produce. And people selling a lot of snakes. To eat, use their venom, and god knows what else. But there they were. Snakes. All kinds. For sale.

By the time we'd hit Can Tho, where we spent the night in an under-construction guest house, we'd developed a little retinue for ourselves: A (slightly) older, terribly attractive French couple living in New Caledonia who adored travel so much that they'd taken their infant children up mountains and what not. Good to know that's possible. Also met an equally adorable young couple, he from Finland, she from Italy, who had been maintaining a long-distance relationship (he in Fin, she in various NGO gigs in various countries) since meeting in an international college program in Malta several years back. I told them my cousin had spent something like seven years in a long-distance relship, and was now living with her man and they'd just had their first child. It's hard to tell if a story that ends in a nice now-they-have-a-baby ending has any sort of positive effect on kids in their early 20's. We had some nice meals with these folks and spent a pleasant evening along the riverside in Can Tho. Where they have a lovely statue of Ho Chi Minh apparently wearing an incredibly thick suit.

Next morning we got up around 6, let's say, and still got to the Can Tho market too late to see much floating-marketing going on. Granted, the market was open. There were boats, and they were selling their pineapples and what not. But it was 9AM, the market had been open for a whopping 7 hours already. Cruising around in our 12-person boat full of gringos, we were just another target for the pineapple boat to sell their wares to at a drastic mark-up.

We also took the boat to a rice factory--a legitimate one this time, with dangerous-looking processing machinery that, were it the West, they wouldn't allow tourists anywhere near. After that it was back to the bus and a too-long trip back to Saigon.

But what was so striking about it was this place we were, that we boated through. The place I'd seen in some of my country's most critically acclaimed movies: Apocalypse now, The Deer Hunter, Platoon, hell, even Forrest Gump. And I was IN it, fortunately in a much more aesthetically and politically pleasing context. Well, it just affected me is all. I guess in that holy-shit-I'm-walking-through-Scorsese's-New-York way I used to get in NYC. But Jake Lamotta never napalmed the Lower East Side.

Vietnam Day 2: Cu Chi, Cu Chi, Cu

Has it been a lifelong dream of mine to crawl through old Viet Nam war tunnels? Of course not. But. Some of you know that umpty-ump years ago, I worked in New York City as a comic book editor. One of the books I helped Howard Zimmerman edit was a series of war comics, a revival of the classic war comics series TWO-FISTED TALES, called HARVEY KURTZMAN'S NEW TWO-FISTED TALES.

One of my favorite stories I worked on was written and drawn by a Viet Nam war vet (two tours), the gruff but amicable writer/artist Don Lomax. Don churned out a half-dozen eight-to-twelve pagers for us with lightning speed, each one a note-perfect TFT-style two-thirds-splash-page-with-twist-ending war-is-hell tale about 'Nam.

But my favorite one was "Queen of Cu Chi," a tale about the tunnel rats of the Vietnam war (soldiers assigned to flush out the network of underground tunnels the Viet Cong established to get around the US Army), and the dogs who were trained to support those soldiers. A heart breaker, not least of which because it had a dog in it. And you know me.

But little did I know that I'd get a chance to visit the place where the story was set. Our two days in Saigon stretched into three, and with that our chance to take a couple of tours into the outerlying areas. I saw a half-day trip to Cu Chi and the next day we were off.

The historical background you need to know is this: The Viet Minh dug tunnels in the 40s and 50s in order to hide from, escape from, and otherwise fight the French. In the 60s & 70s, the Viet Cong used them to do the same for the US.

The tunnels were narrow, dark, claustrophobic, and made it extremely difficult for the US Army to find the Viet Cong. So the Army trained soldiers, called Tunnel Rats, to fight the Cong in the tunnels. Grim stuff.

And now, for the price of a movie and popcorn, we took a boat up the Mekong delta, trekked through the jungle, and crawled around the tunnels.

N & I took a motor boat up the Mekong, to the Cu Chi area, where we hooked up with another tour group, led by an oder Vietnamese guy who as it turns out worked with the U.S. agaist his own people. He later came back to Viet Nam (or was he captured? I forget) where he underwent "rehabilitation" --for which he has no regrets--and now likely makes decent scratch as a tour guide with all the cheesy jokes a tour guide is likely to make. Mostly about how all tourists in Vietnam eat hamburgers and drink Tiger Beer. Oh, and he made the obvious "booby trap" joke, which offended my wife to no end.

So our guide led us through this jungle path, on which were a number of exhibits along the way, including:

-A below-ground sniper hole that would freak out even the slightest claustrophobe.

-A display of a variety of spike traps (hence the "booby trap" line)

-Several tableau of VN soldiers doing typical VN soldier activities, like cooking food, sharpening sticks, sawing open unexploded shells for explosives & scrap metal, etc.

-A firing range where you could shoot an AK for something like a dollar a shell.

-Oh, and there was a fantastic VN propaganda film praising the local villagers and soldiers for building the Cu Chi tunnels and killing so many American Soldiers. I'll upload video I took of that, and photos for the above, when I can.

All with lots of jokes from our guide among all the seriousness. So the tour was not without cheese. And the thing I came there for, the tunnels themselves, was of course held until the end.

There were over 200 kilometers of tunnels in this area, and we were allowed to crawl through about 200 meters of them. There were a series of "chicken exits" every 10 meters or so, and most of the tourists bailed out early. Not me. I insisted on crawling every dirty step of the way.

Was I able to "put myself in their shoes?" Hell no. Okay, maybe a little. Those tunnels are pretty scary. Even the big slavic guy who hung on our guide's every word and egged him on at every gory joke bailed out after the first exit.

So it was fun, if touristic in a morbid sort of way. But here's what I realized: after working my ass off on HARVEY KURTZMAN'S THE NEW TWO FISTED TALES and having the publisher pull out after just two issues, maybe it helped me get a little closure on that whole part of my life. Whether it needed it or not.

So I'd like to dedicate this post to my old boss at Byron Preiss, Howard Zimmerman, who edited HKTNTFT and let me cut my editorial teeth on it, and my co-worker at BPVP, Steven Roman...because they were there, man. In the shit.

Cambodia day 6: In Which I am a F@$*&ing Rock Star

At least I think it was day 6. We're moving so fast now that I barely have enough time to blog...but I absolutely HAVE to document our Saturday night in Siem Reap...easily one of the most fun nights in my thirty-some-odd years.

John had been talking up the possibility of my performing in Cambodia (stressing a dearth of live music) since we told him we were coming. And sure enough, during a trip to his old stomping grounds of Siem Reap, I got my chance.

All the elements transpired to make it happen, thanks to much "working it" on John's part. His married musician friends, Jet and Melanie, brought up guitars (they each did a set as well). John's friend Renaud, who owns a magnificent bar/grill in town, the Abacus Cafe, gave us a slot on Saturday night.

And then there were the African musicians and acrobats.

See, there's this school of acrobats from Guniea touring in Cambodia. And Renaud had invited them to perform at Abacus's outdoor spaces the night before. They came with their own band--mostly drummers, singers, one guitarist and one xylophone player. We attended that Friday night show of acrobatics and dance, culminating with the band playing and folks dancing 'til the morning. Enormous fun. And he invited the musicians to come back the following night. Would we play with them? Could we? With no rehearsal, no less? Um, shyea!

Natacha and I showed up to soundcheck, and met Jet there to discuss logistics with Renaud. Renaumd supplied the PA (left over from last night's circus), Jet brought the guitars (shlepped up from Phnom Penh by Melanie). And the Centre d’Art Acrobatique musicians showed up. Turns out the only euroish language they spoke was French. But Jet and I and their bandleader/xylophone player, Baba set up in a corner to figure out how in the world we were going to make this work. We got together in a little bandstand in the corner and worked it out. I discovered that Baba's best key was G, which is pretty much my favorite guitar key, and it was on. Jet and I altered our sets to include songs that would help showcase the band's talents.

I dragged Natacha over to translate (which she gladly did) and work out the plan. I asked Baba if it would be okay if Jet/Melanie/I did a few songs ourselves, then invited the band up for each set? Baba gave an easy nod and replied, "All musicians come from the same mother and father." Which touched me so much I almost teared up. Seriously.

I did my set first, doing the various covers I do when I don't have rehearsal time ("Centerfold," "Surrender," "Tainted Love"). Enthusiastic, polite applause from a mostly-french-expat audience who had never heard most of these songs before. I've had worse audiences.

Then I invited the musicians up, adding two songs in G which I could do with more of a world beat. Go time.

I sounded out the first beat: "Bom-Bom-Bom-Bom. PAK! Bom-Bom-Bom-Bom. PAK! " The band picked it up immediately and put some extra spin on it. And I launched into "Oh, Dear," A song I wrote back in college and still one of my favorite compositions. A little pop song with a quirky latin beat. Perfect.

And it was like I'd accellerated into another dimension, one that was bright and clear and powerful and full of the kind of energy I hadn't felt what seems like years. The band was as on as on gets. I left space for Baba to solo, which he did with fluid excellence. I gave the singers some room sing, the dancers room to move, and I felt like I was in a Youssou N'Dour video.

The sheer alchemy of the evening was unexpected and incredibly joyous, showcasing me and my little song as if I was David Freaking Byrne doing Once In a Lifetime.

I did one more song with the band, "Walk on the Wild Side," Which was every bit as jamming as the first song. I'll put up some video once I'm back using big American bandwidth. And I appeared a couple of times later in the evening, jamming with Jet during his set, and later jamming with the musicians, just filling out their songs with licks for another hour or so. Which I loved.

At 17, I traveled through Europe with two friends, busking in the streets, and we landed a gig at a bar in Amsterdam, playing for some Dutch and a bunch of Brits having a bachelor party. we played for 3 hours, I broke 10 strings, and at one point jumped up so high to do a pete townsend move that I hit a ceiling light. I hi That was the greatest night of my life up to that point, and this night in Siem Reap was on a par with that. No question.

John managed to record some of "Oh Dear." on his phone. It's mostly me jamming on the tail end of the songs with the African musicians and it's not the highest quality, but holy crap there it is. A cherished moment in my life as quicktime file.

Kudos and thanks to my new brothers and sisters at Centre d’Art Acrobatique Keita Fodeba / Tinafan, who made this evening the incredible blowout that it was. Thanks to Jet and Melanie, without whom there would have been no guitars (awesome SG Mel!) And of course props to Renaud for allowing the whole blissful experiement to happen. And to Natch for translating and supporting as is her wonderful way. But most of my gratitude goes to my longtime buddy and almost-as-long-Cambodia-resident John Weeks, without whom none of it would have taken place.

NEW MEME: Create the sitcom based on your life

Make something of your life: entertainment. I made this up as a travel game for Natacha & I, but it's too fun a creative exercise not to share. Here's the challenge: Take as many elements of your life as possible and construct a sitcom pitch out of them. You don't have to tell a true story...just take your life and morph it into something you think people might want to watch.

Here's Mine:

SERIES PITCH: "Half Lotus"

He's trying to start his life over. But which one?

"A 40-year-old former advertising creative has just finished five years in an Indian ashram to recovering from a work-related nervous breakdown. He returns to San Francisco a yogi, only to discover that in order to support himself and his 14-year-old runaway godson, he has to return to the very job that put him there.

Yes, 40-year-old Ben Roebling has found himself in a seriously twisted position. His last job, at a bigtime ad agency, ended in a nervous breakdown and a 5-year retreat to India to become a yogi. He returns to San Francisco with his head on straight and his priorities in order, only to find out his wife has filed for divorce and his 14-year-old godson has run away. Realizing he can't support the two of them on a yoga instructor's salary, Ben goes back to his old advertising job, where he has to deal with the egos, the pressure, and general craziness that put him in the ashram in the first place.

Hilarity--and pathos--ensue as Ben tries to use his spiritual teachings to deal with his past, win back his wife, and raise a rambunctious teen at the same time. All without going crazy. Again.

I stress that while many aspects of my series pitch reflect my life (that's the whole point of the exercise!), I did NOT go crazy, did NOT spend five years in an ashram, and I do NOT have a 14-year-old runaway godson. And I'm still married.

I have plenty more material for the show, including character descriptions and episode ideas. Maybe I'll put that up later.

By the way, the most fun you'll have with this: Choosing your cast. Calling Paul Rudd!

Bangkok Day 4: Bangkok, USA

So I'm finally recovered from a full day of upset tummy...only one day, thank god. Nice to know that my life doesn't turn into an epi of ER every time I get sick. Great day today, all told. Started gingerly, with a breakfast of steamed rice and fresh coconut milk. The former because it's easy on the tummy, the latter because it's easy on the tummy, it's a good rehydrater, and cmon, if you were in thailand, wouldn't you drink a freshly opened coconut every day? I know I plan to.

Then it was off to the malls. Not particularly cultural, no. I accompanied Natacha on a shopping venture to the middle of the city, Siam Square. She's been dreaming of buying a handheld video camera ever since she passed one up on the B & H website before we left, and we got a few reccos on where to go, so we did.

A gorgeous boat ride and a clean, cool skytrain ride later, we were in the IT Center, a 6-story mall filled with nothing but tech. mobile phones, laptops, desktops, and all the pirated software you could shake your discs at. Quite a scene.

Of course, we had to go up to the top floor to find Natch's bounty...a sanyo handheld WATERPROOF video cam. Can you imagine anything better for travel? We'll certainly find out, as we walked out with it, plus a couple of cheap SD cards.

Then it was off to the mall I wanted to go to, the infamous MBK, where supposedly all the teenagers go. I was hoping to find some cutting edge J-pop (or even T-pop) trinkets. And while the place was pretty interesting, all the stuff there was...well, there were t+shirts, toys, all sorts of fantastic food...pretty much the stuff I would have dug as a teenager...but currently find old and boring. Oh cruel irony.

So we spent the day in AC malls, which was fabulous for my tummy recovery, and in the evening, we saw the IRON MAN movie. which was great fun. As I wrote my dad, "you'd love it...its about a munitions dealer who sees the error of his ways, and along the way he gets to kick some terrorist ass." AND there's superheroes!

So. Shopping and eating. Chalk this day up to further recovery from India...just another day in a major metropolitan city. Except for the coconut thing.

India Day 8: City Palace, yes. Lake Palace...?

I write this from one of India's many internet cafes (roughly 80 cents an hour!), and there is another one right next door...or rather, there was. Their servers were down all day today, and this evening they place seemed to be gutted, and there are construction noises coming through the wall as I write this.

So. Udaipur Day Two started off in a very india-style fashion, with Natacha and I waiting on the roof of our guest house for the yoga instructor who supposedly gives classes there every morning. He arrived 45 minutes late, saying he was sorry, he was out late as his office party was last night. We later found out that he's a government employee who is a friend of the guesthouse owner. Most likely he just does this so he can get a practice in every morning and juice the guests for donations. Which he did. He led us through a practice that was fine for him but too advanced for us, with no instruction but "change" (positions) We have yet to understand why India is the yoga captial of the world, and not, say, Marin County.

After that was breakfast at the guesthouse's rooftop resto, some chatting with the other diners, and off to Udaipur's City Palace. This is the one in the middle of the Old City; we decided to hold off on seeing the lake palaces until the end of day, so we could take a boat around them at sunset.

The Udaipur City Palace was impressive, more so than Jaipur's. plus we had a tour guide giving us the lowdown. Like the courtyard is so big the entertainment there was elephant tug-of-wars. And there is a huge centuries-old tree that seems to be rooted on the fourth floor of the palace. Think about that for a moment. (HInt: the palace is built on a hill).

I know, we've seen a couple of palaces already, and we'll see more before we're done, but Udaipur's was nothing less than sensational. Tiles from Holland. Ornaments from Russia. Gold this, gold that. Humongous courtyards, inside and out. Magnificent views of the city. Complex rope-and-pulley systems that allow the servants to operate (read: pull) the fan that keeps the prince cool in his room round-the-clock. But I guess when you can afford a pair of palaces on the lake and one in the city, a decorating budget is easy to scare up.

Turns out the latest Maharaja of Udaipur is a young man at Uni in Australia. And I understand he's single, ladies.

After that, there was a long lunch at another rooftop restaurant, this one with an insane view of a huge Jain temple smack dab in the middle of the city. And a long conversation with a lovely British couple (he a biologist, she a nurse) on the cusp of finishing a year of traveling. And just in time, as she was pregnant. Planned but sooner than planned. So long lunches were par for them at this point.

(We've met a number of couples travelling for a year or more, mostly european, and while they've all been great to talk to (my faves being Marie and Greg), I'm jealous as hell of them. Compared to them, our three months looks wimpish. I have to remind myself that they are europeans, and as such get tons of vacation time, they get to have "career breaks," etc. Considering we suckers in the USA get barely a third of the vacation time that they do), our three months is comprable--and to Americans, it's HUGE. So there, Ken. Okay, that's my one paragraph of whingeing I'm allowed.)

By the time we get to the boat to the lake palaces, it was POURING rain. in the friggin' desert for frick's sake! So the boat to the palaces isn't going. But we are, out of Udaipur, to Jodphur, the next day. So no Octopussy moment for us.

And Udaipur? Not so romantic. and the heavy foot & rickshaw traffic kinda takes the shine off those narrow european type streets. If I had the choice again, I might just give it a miss.

Ah well. We had an amazing sunset the day before. And there is a lot of beauty here. Gotta appreciate what you've got. And there's dinner with the charming Marie and Greg, whom we first met & dined with in Pushkar and Natacha ran into here later in the eve. Travel, it giveth and it...well, it mostly giveth. Which is nice.

India Day 7: Guilt and Papayas

So. We get up at the f'n CRACK, throw on our clothes & packs, and stumble through the streets of Pushkar in efforts to meet Ramesh at the 6:30 am meeting time.

While stumbling, it occurred to us that, this early in the morning, we were less likely of being harrassed by priestouts at the ghats, and took a quick detour to visit one of the larger ghats. And so were 15 minutes late to meet Ramesh.

Which normally wouldn't have been a problem.

Turns out there were some seriously crossed wires going on. See, we told him that we'd call him if we wanted to get picked up later than 6:30. No call meant "6:30 A-OK!" We thought.

But HE thought that we were going to call to check in regardless. So he got there at 6 AM, and when we showed up, boy was he pissed.

Once we got on the road, he really let us have it. He told us all the cautionary tales about Pushkar, dangerous land of backpacker grifts.

There was the couple who went to a crooked guest house (run, in Ramesh's telling, by Muslims, of course) and got robbed, drugs planted on them, some such. Then there's the infamous "Bang Lassi" story, in which a hapless femalie is given a drugged yoghurt drink. Think "roofie." We later heard the story of a friend of a fellow traveler who did have one of those, but it was by choice (like an Amsterdam "space cake."). Then there was the guy who got dope planted on him by his guest house, so he had to pay off the cops (and the guest house got a piece).

Or there are the stories of Pushkar men who work in the shops & restaurants, who seduce & marry tourist women, go back to their country, then take all their money, go back to Pushkar, and start over. Beware, Ladies!

Were any of these stories true? Ramesh seemed to think so. But more important, he said that when a professional guide is in charge of tourists that go missing, the Guide gets arrested for losing track of them! And since cars weren't allowed in Pushkar, he couldn't check on us. So we felt bad. We apologized and in return got stonewalled by Ramesh. Which didn't suck.

Regardless, it was a long drive to our next stop, Udaipur.

If you've ever looked at Udaipur on a map, you know that it's out of the way on the standard Rajastan loop--5-7 hours south of Pushkar, 5-7 hours south of Jodphur. But the Lonely Planet said the lake palace was amazing, and other travelers told us that it was "romantic and european," so we put it on our itinerary.

Because of the length of the drive, it was late in the day when we asked Ramesh if we could stop for lunch. There weren't any of his beloved tourist trap commission places along the way, so we ended up at a little roadside stand just outside the hills surrounding Udaipur.

We sat down on woven flats to eat a couple of very spicy dishes with Parantha (bread), sitting with Ramesh as he told jokes about us in Hindi to the men at the stand. Everyone was laughing but N & I.

But as we ate, a bunch of girls gathered at the stairs leading behind the stand. They were the wives, mothers, and (mostly) daughters of the men who ran the place. They looked at us a giggled a while. Because, of course, we are white and foreign and therefore hilarious.

Finally one of them said something to one of the men, who said something to Ramesh, who passed it to us: Could they take Natacha to their home? It was right behind & just below the stand. Natacha agreed and went with these 7 or so females. 20 minutes later, she returned, carrying a huge green papaya. Turns out they'd shown her the kitchen, and were just generally mezmerized with her. We stayed a while longer to talk with them (via Ramesh) and take some photos.

Natacha, kind soul that she is, worried about not having any gifts to given them in return. So she dug into her pack and gave them hair chopsticks and cough drops. Hey, what would YOU have done?

Finally heading into Udaipur, Ramesh offered once again to find us a place to stay. Since we still felt guilty about the Pushkar thing, we let him lead the way. He took us to a place that the Lonely Planet did mention, a lovely hotel with a swimming pool that was roughly double what we'd dream of paying. Big "R" was in top form.

After getting lost a few times in the center of Udaipur old town, we located a place ourselves and sent him on his way so we could spend two Ramesh-less nights in Udaipur.

We spent that first afternoon walking through the narrow, crowded streets and sitting on the Ghat overlooking the lake. You can see the golden palace in the lake, an immense white structure immortalized in the film "Octopussy." We found a fancy hotel with a rooftop restaurant, ordered the cheap dishes, and watched the sun set over the lake, the twin palaces, a mosque, and a very busy day.

(UPDATE: Many) Indians are short

(Caveat: this post was written after bumping my head on yet another doorway here in India. What can I say? It gets me mad. Apologies to my peeps Lakshman, Kapil and Rahul, who are all quite tall, and to anyone of Indian persuasion who is not in the business of planning or building doorways in India. And now, the post:) Is this a generalization? I say no.

How do I know this? Because in our thirty days thus far, I have bumped my head on like A HUNDRED FUCKING DOORWAYS.

Goddamn OUCH!

Granted, I've met Indian people who are tall. Okay, like three. But they're not the ones building the fucking DOORWAYS, are they?

Nothing makes me want to hulk out and smash stuff like bumping my head on a doorway. And I'm a sloucher, for god's sake!

No, it's not the Indians' fault that they're a short(ish) people...but it IS their fault that they don't build their doorways higher.

And I imagine I'm going to have a BALL in Southeast Asia. :-(

Did I mention OUCH?

India Day 6: Huckster Ghats and Hippie Ghettos

I have discovered that no matter where we are in the world--or how FREAKING hot it is in our room--nothing puts me to sleep faster than listening to people talk on my MP3 player. So far my talk of choice is comedy--I downloaded the Comedy Death Ray collection before we left--something like two hours of mostly-great standup for the price of lunch at In N Out. But I had no idea I'd be listening to it so often. You can only listen to Paul F. Tompkins do his bee fetish routine so many times.

So I'm frantically downloading as many talkshow & comedy podcasts as I can shove over this Internet Cafe's broadband connex. Jimmy Pardo, do not fail me as a sleep aid or I swear I will geld you.

Anyways, the long download times let me get into a really interesting destination on our trip: Pushkar.

We were picked up at our Jaipur guest house by Ramesh, who was noticeably grumpy, likely because we stayed at a place that was actually comfortable and popular, and therefore had no need to pay him a commission for taking us there. Good. We piled in and headed to Pushkar, a place we were told was a very spiritual one: 130 temples surrounding a lake in the middle of desert. not on our orig itinerary but sounded great. Ramesh thought that we'd stay in Amer, the larger city outside of Pushkar, and got a bit pissy when we told him,no, we wanted to stay in Pushkar proper. Obviously he wanted to get us into a commission hotel. obviously we were itching to be rid of him for a day and a night.

He drove us as far has he could into Pushkar (cars aren't allowed there) and we agreed to meet him at the same spot at 6:30, and that we'd call him on his cel if we wanted to leave later. As soon as we left the car, we were set upon by one priest after another. Or rather, "priests." See, Pushkar is filled with these guys who try to give you ceremonial flowers to throw into Pushkar's famous Ghats, then lead you through the ritual, then ask for a donation. Really annoying. and of course Ramesh did nothing to ward them away from us. Y'know, like a guide is paid to do.

So we shook him, and them, off and headed down the main drag, getting touted by more priests, auto-rickshaw drivers, guest houses, clothing, shops, etc. every step of the way. It was like we were back in Delhi. It was hot and annoying but we eventually found our way to the guesthouse that was recco'd to us by a French woman we met at the Pearl Palace. It was a quiet (yay!) cheap oasis from the Pushkar chaos.

Once we got a little space, we noticed that the town was full of backpackers, all making themselves comfortable as only backpackers do: eating jaffles, drinking tea, trying not to look too stoned, etc. That, and the plethora of restaurants advertising Israeli food, made us realize that this was a total backpacker's ghetto. Skinny Dutch dudes in sarongs with no shirts and braided facial hair. That kind of thing. It's a place where backpackers come, and stay for days. And why not? Plenty of home-type food, cafes to hang out in, and stuff to buy. It's also a place where you can take a a course in painting, yoga, etc.

But except for the temples and the ghats, it's also a place sans culture.

The lake, and the ghats & temples that surrounded it, were peaceful & sublime, but hard to enjoy without getting touted everywhere.

we did manage to walk around the lake, even in the intense heat.

At the opposite side we met a charming israeli couple, who confirmed the Israelis-are-everywhere-in-India syndrome. After their army service, they go travelling. He said, that these young, newly free kids settle in somewhere and change it to suit them. "Well," I replied, "If you can do it to the desert, you can do it anywhere, eh?" We had a good laugh at that.

We also met a crazy dutch guy who talked in travel-vernacular non-sequiturs and proved to us that too much solo travel isn't necessarily a good thing.

Eventually we got back to the town center and took a yoga class. Just us in a room full of open shutters. He took some time to explain yoga was, but his accent was so think I didn't get all of it. I gathered it was mostly about balance- each position has it's active & passive muscles, etc.

By The end of the practice, the wind really picked up outside. The lights went out so the teacher lit the practice with his cel phone. Then all the shutters started slamming open & shut. It was really interesting to have the elements outside be so active during our session.

When we finished, we walked into the courtyard, which the yoga place shared with a large temple. Which was holding a festival of some sort. Which infolved everyone pushig a huge wooden idol on a wheeled altar around the courtyard while the people sang, held torches near it, and banged drums. Facinating.

The wind continued to pick up and then, rain. Then a blackout--everything on the streets, dark.

WE found a restaurant that was serving despite that, a rooftop place atop a four-story building. They served Mexican food, played Bob Marley. One of Pushkar's many hippie backpacker joints. After we ordered, the wind REALLY picked up. So much that the 15-foot-high sign outside the restaurant broke a tether and threatened to fall four stories to the ground. AS it swung to & fro, we heard screams from the ground. Fortunately the staff grabbed it and brought it inside in time, propping it up on the wall near us.

We and the other customers were ushered into a room indside the building and served there. People kept coming in, and eventually the room was crammed with Canadian college jocks, mixed-race couples in flowing fabrics, middle-aged women talking about their side businesses selling fabrics and jewlery, even the dutch guy with the hair showed up. It was a real microcosm of backpacker culture.

Later that night, when the lights were back on everywhere but the streets, I did something stupid. After trying to upload my photos at a cyber-cafe and failing--until midnight, mind you--I walked home, after all the stores were closed, which meant I had to walk the 4-5 blocks back through the dirt streets in pitch darkness. I tried to use my camera flash to light my way (see photos below)...which was just as stupid. I stepped into at least one puddle, and at some point a dog barked at me and aI almost shat myself. So that was Pushkar.

India Day 5: Jaipur, Fort, Shopping

EXTREMELY productive day today, travel-wise. Our second day in Jaipur, and the one which Natacha & I were able to enjoy together.

We started in the morning with a quick drive through the Old City of Jaipur. It's called the "Pink City" because like 150 years ago some important British royal came to visit, and the people of Jaipur painted the old city his favorite color, pink. Said royal reportedly really appreciated it. Now, it's clay-brown with pink piping, which is probably more low-maintenance; shows less dirt and whatnot. I can respect that.

Then it was on to the Amber Fort, one Rajastan's absolutely humongous forts. Here, a "fort" isn't just a military emplacement. It's where they kept everything royal-family-oriented, surrounded by a huge wall and defended by arrow-shooting turrets. The forts are big enough to hold palaces, temples, harems, etc., and Amber is by far no exception.

The decor was astounding. We saw harem quarters, a temple decorated with thousands of tiny ceramic-backed mirrors, even an ancient air conditioner,which used running water for coolant. We also saw elephants, which you could ride up the hill into the fort.

And there were monkeys!

Then we had Ramesh drop us off (which is always a "Whew) and had lunch across from the Old City, I got a haircut (about which more later)...

...and like 3 hrs of shopping. We found a great local sari shop with just amazing colors, wall to wall people, and no tourists (except us).

Then it was off to shop for one of Jaipur's famous exports--precious stones.

Later in the day, I took Natacha to a place I knew she'd love: Janter Manter, a centuries-old observatory the Maharaja of Jaipur built. No telescopes here, and sadly, no LaserRock. But they did have really fascinating devices to measure the paths of the sun and stars and the location of the earth in relation to it all. Think "giant sundials" and you've got half the idea.

I liked Jaipur quite a bit. It's the capital city of Rajahstan, but more low-key (compared to Delhi, certainly), with a beatiful old city and few touts except for the autorickshaw drivers. And it wears its history proudly on its clay-with-pink-piping-colored sleeve. I wouldn't have minded staying another day, but our next destination beckoned.

India Day 4: Musical Guesthouses

Not the best day for Natacha, but it ultimately worked out ok.

The previous night was a sleepless one, in a very cheap guesthouse (which our driver recommended), where the heat was sweltering, and the screens on the windows were busted. meaning we slept drenched in DEET with the fan on--and 'Tach was so concerned by skeeters that she slept fully clothed. I don't know if you've ever done this yourself, but your first time out just traumatizes your body. She ate nothing for breakfast & spent the morning sleepingin the car on the way to our next destination, the Rajastani city of Jaipur.

Ramesh our driver told us from the beginning that he was from Jaipur, so we gave him the benefit of the doubt and asked him to suggest a guesthouse that had, for Natacha's sake, had AC, and fit our budget. So.

He took us to a place that seemed servicable at first, so we dropped off our stuff and hung out in the room to relax. Until I realzed the bed was dirty. and had human hair in it.

And there was a docrot's office two floors down, directly above the restaurant. which is one of those tourist grifts they tell you about--the restaurant gives you food poisoning, and you're immediately taken to the doctor. oH but there's more.

Because the hotel was in the middle ofr what seemed to be a parking lot for tour busses. And for some reason, these (parked) tour busses seened to need to test their horns. Constantly. How much are we hating our driver right now?

So, despite the fact that Tash needed to rest in an A/C room, I took us out of there and made Ramesh take us to another hotel. Which turned out to be too expensive, but he got to collect his commission anyway, just for taking us there. And then another. Which turned out to be more than we wanted to pay, but less than the other one, and was clean, comfortable, and all around fantastic. The Pearl Palace Hotel in Jaipur, if you're wondering.

I got Tash settled in to rest, left her to sleep and went to visit Jaipur's charming-but-after-the-Taj-unimpressive City Palace.

Then back to the Pearl, where I had a lovely dinner convo with an 80 yr old British lady named Una, a retired child psychologist who was in the middle of a sort of "These are all the sights I want to see before I die" trip: Petra, Jodphur, Angkor Wat, etc. Natch slept that whole day and night, and after that we knew better than to put our trust in ol' Ramesh.

Good Name/Bad Name game

I'll populate this  with actual travel news soon, promise. Stuff's just been so hectic. But on a particularly long train trip from Jaisalmer to Delhi we made recently,  I talked Natcha into playing this travel game I made up, just to keep our brains working and our pop culture senses relatively fresh.

It's called "GOOD NAME FOR A TV OR MOVIE--BAD NAME FOR YOUR GENITALIA."

Simple game: Find a TV show or movie with a name that would would be the worst possible thing to name you genetailia.

And c'mon, you know you name your junk.  We all do it.

Finalists listed here. Scroll down to the bottom of each list for the winners.

[MALE Division]

"Monk"

"Dragonball Z"

"Gentle Ben"

"Woodstock"

"The Thing"

"The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly"

"Gentle Ben"

"Grizzly Adams"

"The Fountainhead"

"Battlestar Galactica"

"Eraserhead"

"The Breakfast Club" (accent on that last word)

"The Sting"

WINNER: "James and the Giant Peach"

[FEMALE Division]:

"Jaws"

"The Comfy Chair"

"The Wall"

"The Thing"

"The Closer"

"Patch Adams"

"Get Shorty"

"Lost In Space"

"Underworld"

"A Fish Called Wanda"

"Pretty In Pink"

"Monster in a Box"

WINNER: "The Last Temptation of Christ"

Suggestions? Hit the comments below.

A few thoughts while natacha's off using skype

-We're about to take our first night train. 14 hours in what apparently will be the low(er) class sleeper car. no a/C but it's night train so we may not need it. wish us luck! -i got offered two freelance gigs while here; managed to refer friends for both of them. friend one booked his; friend two's in the process of connecting with the other. i am an international power broker.

-there are cows fucking EVERYWHERE here. in the streets, the alleys, the backyards, the highways, by the sides of roads. (UPDATE: "fucking" is used as an intensifier here. I never actually saw cows having sex)

-there are about as many stray dogs as there are cows. not cute dogs, no. hungry, mangy, desperate dogs. the look in their eyes is the same as that in the men who try to get us into their retail stall/autorickshaw/travel agency. so far i've only seen one dog that i actually wanted to pet, and that was because it was a hungry desperate puppy.

-There is a lot of shit in the streets, more even than in paris, by a long shot actually. i'll spare you further detail.

-i have seen two different forts here that are simply unbelievable. massive structures that take up entire tops of hills and are so huge that they have anyhere from one to two temples and one to four palaces on the grounds.

Jaw-dropping stuff.

-The song 'Mad Dogs and Englishmen" is truer than i ever realized.

India at 80 KPH

Call it an advantage or a disadvantage, but one of the unique aspects of Rajahstan by road is the things you see from your car seat. Needless to say, driving in India is like little else--you see thatched roof huts next to under-construction A/C shopping malls next to churches--all interspersed with patches of seemingly unarable land that, a half-hour down the road, you see wheat being grown on.

LOVING my Powershot 850 whatever camera for this, as it incredibly captured these images while we were zooming along. More of these at the flickr site and as I can get 'em up.

India Day 3: Boo-yah

It never occurred to me how long I'd wanted to see the Taj Mahal. Maybe all my life. And when we passed through the gate above, to see this amazing structure in its glory, It was an emotional moment for me. Scratch that one off the bucket list.

After four hours of Delhi to Agra traffic, lunch at a tourist trap our driver "recommended" to us (ie he gets free lunch and a commission), we made it to the Taj at the hottest time of the day...and none of that f***ing mattered. It was one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen.

And it's not just the structure that's beautiful. Here's a few details from various parts of the Taj:

Here's the interior dome of the mosque:

Part of me just wanted to stay there all day...have lunch...cocktails...do laundry...curl up on one of the marble floors...but or course none of that's allowed. Except for the laundry thing--I forgot to ask.

From there, it was off to the "Ghost City," Fatehpur Sikri, a kingdom built centuries ago, but abandoned due to drought. It's still intact, right down to the walls and temples.

One of them, called the "baby taj," is supposedly the building that inspired the architecture of the Taj Mahal.

One of the temples had an altar covered with little ties of brilliantly colored yarn. If you wanted to pray to someone, for their good health, success, etc., you took a piece of yarn, tied it there, and said a little prayer.

It's an amazing place, but the touts are thick as flies in this place...including some of the most annoying children, constantly trying to touch you, beg you for money, and generally keep themselves entertained at your expense.

We also had a young man glom onto us, offering to be our guide, asking no donation, as he was supposedly the equivalent of a park ranger. We let him, but ditched him when the "tour" stopped by the "best" craft vendor. Odds are he was lying and this was yet another grift. Does that make us sound like jerks? Sorry. I guess you'd have to be there.

From there, we drove another two hours to Baratpur, a town on the way to Jaipur. we chose from one of two guide-"recommended" guest houses, took the cheaper one, and in our first non-AC bed in India, almost got heatstroke as the power quit for most of the night and we learned a valuable lesson about (1) choosing a place with ventilation, and (2) NOT choosing a place that our guide recommends. Well, actually we didn't learn that lesson until the next day. But that's a "day 4" story.

Okay. So day one was great. We landed, the hotel guys came and took us to our mid-priced-but-swanky-for-us hotel (which I splurged on as a sort of "culture shock airlock"). Headed across various highways towards Delhi, seeing two and three people per motorcycle, cars that looked simultaneously new and forty years out of date, and impossibly thin dirty children living under the overpasses. That, and everything around us looked oven-baked. Welcome to Delhi. We got to the marble-floored (did I mention swanky) hotel lobby, and no sooner than we do does Natacha spot a french accent and starts up a convo with the young couple checking in next to us. They're grad students doing a semester in India, and they're helping get two friends of theirs checked in.

So we end up going to lunch with the four frenchies at a dynamite southern indian place in nearby Connaught Place, learning about the dos and dont's of India, and generally having a great time. This barely 90 minutes after touching down in the country. We joined them for a bit of a walk-around CP, spent some time at a city temple where people stopped by to pay worship ($, food, flowars) at the altars of a dozen different gods. As Chuck's girlfriend Debbie warned us, many of these people brought their animals with them, and since you have to remove your shoes before entering a temple, I had my first real exposure to the "everything in India is covered in a thin layer of shit" theory one of Natacha's friend shared with us. We then headed to the room to wash thoroughly and sleep off the 20-odd hour flight.

So that was Day One.

Day Two, we spent walking around CP (the city center) and formulating travel plans. Needless to day, Delhi is an incredibly vibrant city, teeming with life and color. It's also teeming with dirt, traffic, and people who seemed to view us as wallets with legs. Beggars galore, and also what the Lonely Planet calls "touts:" people who latch onto you in the street and try to sell you things, mostly transportation or tours, or they're trying to "direct" you towards the "good" travel agency. A typical tout enconter is this:

You're walking down a street in Delhi. An Indian man keeps pace with you for a while, then greets you, sympathizes with how hot it is, and immediately tries to offer you things. And doesn't stop. And doesn't take no for an answer the first 50 times. Occasionally, you'll get one who says that he's not trying to sell you anything, but is trying to "helpfully" guide you towards the "real," i.e. govenment-approved, travel agency. after the first dozen of them you catch on. And your sense of humor is all that will keep you from an international murder rap.

So after hours of these guys--including one at the restaurant who I though was being a genuinely nice guy, but Natacha knew better--we FINALLY find the ACTUAL government-approved travel agency, i.e. the one that won't rip us off. And it's our second day. And we (mostly I) REALLY want to visit the sights of Rajastan, which hosts most of the "classicly india" sights like the Taj Mahal and the Jaisalmer fort. And we have 13 days before we have to meet Natacha's friend at the southernmost tip of the country. And the sights of Rajastan loop takes most people two weeks minimum. And after hours of Delhi heat and touts affecting our judgement. So we, as I put it, punted. We took the decidedly tourist move of hiring a car & driver to take us around Rajastan.

Now, it's not entirely unheard of to do this. My dad, who's covered more ground than Alexander the Great, does this in most places he goes. People we talked to who'd been here, had suggested it as a viable alternative to India's oft-chaotic bus and train process. And we'd just gotten there, for christ's sake, and didn't know if we could handle the classic forms of backpacker transport, at least not when faced with a deadline.

So we did it, pondered our decision for hours, but were still genuinely glad we'd made one. It's not going to sink us financially...we'll do the night trains and bus station slaloms in the last 3 weeks of our time here.

Anyhoo, as I write this, we've continued to have a wonderful time, despite almost getting heatstroke in the middle of the night, Natacha getting sick for a day but bouncing back in time to go shopping, and my getting my breath taken away by the Taj Mahal. One of the Seven Wonders, folks.

Desperately trying to upload photos and failing. More later!

Day Two/Delhi: In Which We Punt

Okay. So day one was great. We landed, the hotel guys came and took us to our mid-priced-but-swanky-for-us hotel (which I splurged on as a sort of "culture shock airlock" for us).

Headed across various highways towards Delhi, seeing two and three people per motorcycle, cars that looked simultaneously new and forty years out of date, and impossibly thin dirty children living under the overpasses. That, and everything around us looked oven-baked. Welcome to Delhi.

We got to the marble-floored (did I mention swanky) hotel lobby, and no sooner than we do does Natacha spot a french accent and starts up a convo with the young couple checking in next to us. They're grad students doing a semester in India, and they're helping get two friends of theirs checked in.

So we end up going to lunch with the four frenchies at a dynamite southern indian place in nearby Connaught Place, learning about the dos and dont's of India, and generally having a great time. This barely 90 minutes after touching down in the country. We joined them for a bit of a walk-around CP, spent some time at a city temple where people stopped by to pay worship ($, food, flowars) at the altars of a dozen different gods. As Chuck's girlfriend Debbie warned us, many of these people brought their animals with them, and since you have to remove your shoes before entering a temple, I had my first real exposure to the "everything in India is covered in a thin layer of shit" theory one of Natacha's friend shared with us. We then headed to the room to wash thoroughly and sleep off the 20-odd hour flight

So that was Day One.

Day Two, we spent walking around CP (the city center) and formulating travel plans. Needless to day, Delhi is an incredibly vibrant city, teeming with life and color. It's also teeming with dirt, traffic, and people who seemed to view us as wallets with legs. Beggars galore, and also what the Lonely Planet calls "touts:" people who latch onto you in the street and try to sell you things, mostly transportation or tours, or they're trying to "direct" you towards the "good" travel agency. A typical tout encounter is this:

You're walking down a street in Delhi. An Indian man keeps pace with you for a while, then greets you, sympathizes with how hot it is, and immediately tries to offer you things. And doesn't stop. And doesn't take no for an answer the first 50 times. Occasionally, you'll get one who says that he's not trying to sell you anything, but is trying to "helpfully" guide you towards the "real," i.e. government-approved, travel agency. after the first dozen of them you catch on. And your sense of humor is all that will keep you from an international murder rap

So after hours of these guys--including one at the restaurant who I though was being a genuinely nice guy, but Natacha knew better--we FINALLY find the ACTUAL government-approved travel agency, i.e. the one that won't rip us off. And it's our second day. And we (mostly I) REALLY want to visit the sights of Rajastan, which hosts most of the "classicly india" sights like the Taj Mahal and the Jaisalmer fort. And we have 13 days before we have to meet Natacha's friend at the southernmost tip of the country. And the sights of Rajastan loop takes most people two weeks minimum. And after hours of Delhi heat and touts affecting our judgement. So we, as I put it, punted. We took the decidedly tourist move of hiring a car & driver to take us around Rajastan.

Now, it's not entirely unheard of to do this. My dad, who's covered more ground than Alexander the Great, does this in most places he goes. People we talked to who'd been here, had suggested it as a viable alternative to India's oft-chaotic bus and train process. And we'd just gotten there, for christ's sake, and didn't know if we could handle the classic forms of backpacker transport, at least not when faced with a deadline.

So we did it, pondered our decision for hours, but were still genuinely glad we'd made one. It's not going to sink us financially...we'll do the night trains and bus station slaloms in the last 3 weeks of our time here. But I've no doubt shamed myself in the eyes of my buddy James Murphy.

Anyhoo, as I write this, we've continued to have a wonderful time, despite almost getting heatstroke in the middle of the night, Natacha getting sick for a day but bouncing back in time to go shopping, and my getting my breath taken away by the Taj Mahal. One of the Seven Wonders, folks.

Desperately trying to upload photos on this crappy guest house PC, and failing. More later!