The Relocation Chronicles: Driving

"Whyyyyyyyyyyy? Why would you do that??? Why? Why? Why??"

"Are you DRUNK?? You MUST be drunk - wait, it's 7:15 AM! Oh, maybe you're high on the bath salts!!"

"Don't do that, don't you do that, don't you think about - gahhh!! You @&;#$*!!! You dirty, slutty @&;#$*!"

No, these quotes aren't plucked from the police transcript of a domestic violence call. These are screeches that can be heard, several times a day, emanating from my car. More specifically, from me, inside my car.

Driving has been one of the biggest adjustments for me since my Big Move. Luckily for the motorists of the greater New York area, I happily relinquished my car when I moved to New York 13 years ago. I was never very good at driving.  It took me four tries to pass my driving test when I was sixteen.  Before the fourth attempt, Mr. Spicer, my examiner, glared at me from over the top of his glasses.  "We WILL pass this time, won't we, Miss Megan?"

We did. Barely. 

After victimizing several mailboxes, one parked Mac truck, and more or less leaving a path of destruction and terror in the wake of my 1990 Honda, I handed the keys to my brother when I moved to NYC and never looked back.  When people in New York complained about missing driving, I looked at them like they had a second head.  What is there to miss? The hassle of parking? The gas and insurance costs? The speeding tickets? (Okay, maybe that one is just me.)

Alas, moving back to Kentucky meant getting back behind the wheel, come what may. 

What has come, to my total lack of surprise, is frustration. Lots of frustration, coupled with utter bewilderment, and topped off with a new appreciation for my creative cursing skills.

There are a few idiosyncrasies I've noticed to Louisville driving that are especially infuriating.  There's what I call the "Louisville Drift", where motorists slip nonchalantly from lane to lane, turn signals be damned.  There's also the "Friendly Cut-Off", where someone will peel out in front of you, and apologize by way of a cheerful "sorry I almost murdered you!" wave. 

The thing that drives me the craziest, though, and leaves me sputtering out non-words, has no catchy name. The simplicity of it is maddening:  It's turning. People here come to a near dead stop every time they turn. Every. Single. Time. Cruising down the road at a comfortable 45 MPH? HAHA! Nope!! The idiot in front of you needs to turn off, and he must come to a COMPLETE FREAKING STOP before he can do so. 

I'm getting back into the swing of driving. I haven't taken out any mailboxes (yet). Every day I get into my car, I tell myself, "Today is the Zen day! No cursing today!"

My pal + my wheels

Hasn't happened yet, but that doesn't mean there's no hope.

The Relocation Chronicles: Entry 1

I never thought I'd leave New York. Never ever, ever, in a million years.  And then a million years came, and I left.

It happened quickly, as things with me tend to do. Love, loss; it all happens very quickly. One day, I was talking with my boyfriend about moving in together.  The next day, he had broken up with me and I was sitting on my best friend's couch, staring into space. I didn't have a Plan B.  All I knew, all I wanted to know, was my life in New York with This Guy.  And he didn't want that.  He didn't want that at all.

Do you know that feeling that comes with a fresh breakup, that feeling of additional mourning because you now can't hang out with his best friend's girlfriend (who you really liked), or go to that coffee shop, or that bar, or that bookstore? Because you'll definitely run into him, and even if you don't, you'll be terribly reminded of him? That was how I felt about the entirety of New York City.  This breakup had taken something so deep from me that I didn't even have a word for it.  Everywhere I went, everyone I ran into, everything I saw, reminded me of him. And of my failing. And I had to get the hell out of there. As soon as humanly possible.

So I shook off this horrible feeling by buying a car and packing some stuff into it, and driving far, far away from there.  And then, about a week later, that horrible feeling, it tracked me down in Kentucky. That bastard.

And so I went about trying to make a life here.  I tried to make friends. I felt impossibly out of place. I think it was culture shock in a much more profound way than I felt when I moved to New York. But I tried. I am trying.  I am trying to make this work.

I'm dating.  I'm hanging out with my weird, crazy family. I've got some friends. I found a job. I'm doing this thing.

Dammit, I'm doing this thing.

Put your safety belts on, kids. Gonna be a bumpy ride.

Reflections on a journey: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

When you spend two months in India, people expect you to come back with something. Not like a scarf or a tan,  but something equally tangible. So, what am I bringing back? Besides several scarves, some sparkly bangles, and a new found appreciation for probiotics and Imodium? Lots of things. Most of them I'll keep to myself, but I have been composing a list in my head for the past few days. Actually, it's two lists - Things I Will Not Miss About India and Things I Will Miss About India- but like most things having to do with India, the opposites intersect and edges blur and intertwine in such a way that they are sometimes indistinguishable. 


Appropriately, a mashup ensued - please see below. In the coming days, I'll be going back and adding photos to the blogs I previously posted (sorry, the Internet situation in India goes snugly in the "WON'T MISS" category; posting photos while there was a three-step process that was usually hampered by slow or non-existent WiFi connections). Also, one of the immediately tangible items from my trip is my shiny new blog, The Skeptical Yogi. It can be found here: http://theskepticalyogi.wordpress.com/. It will be primarily focused on healthy living topics and yoga. I'll keep this site for personal use, but I'll be updating regularly over there.


Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.



1) I will not/will miss the driving. My driver, BK, told on the first day of my Rajasthan road trip that Indian drivers require only three things: Good brakes, good horn, and good luck. I've been to some countries where traffic "laws" have been treated more as "suggestions", but never anywhere like India. In India, there aren't even any discernible suggestions. It's total mayhem all the time. It's great and it's terrible. It's loud and noisy and stinky, but teeming with life and more representative of real life in India than any museum diorama could ever hope to be.


2) I will not/will miss the cows. In India, cows are everywhere. It's not unusual to see traffic stopped because some cows decided to take a midday snooze in the middle of the road. They have free reign of the place (meaning, the whole country), and as such, walking anywhere should never be a mindless activity. The smell of cow dung permeates the air, sometimes bringing a whiff of freshness and life, other times a malodorous tiding of a ruined shoe, moments too late.


3) I will not/will miss the complete lack of privacy in India. I will miss it because it really made me appreciate American culture, a lot, on a daily basis. We may be considered prudes in the eyes of more liberal countries, but in the U.S., we take our personal space and privacy seriously. I didn't realize how much I valued that until it vanished. In India, there are very few boundaries. Few questions are off limits, and "personal space" isn't part of the national vocabulary. In a country where it's not uncommon to see a dog and a person sharing the same strip of grass to do their morning business, such notions are laughable. 


4) I will not/will miss the food. Lots of my fellow students complained about the food we had during our month of training. I thought it was great. I happily ate (most) everything we were served, and occasionally paid for it. I will miss the wonderful flavors and aromas of the food. I am looking forward, however, to some variety! It won't be long before I try my hand at cooking some of the meals we were served regularly.


I mostly won't miss the hygiene situation in general. Both the bathrooms and the cultural hygiene mores I am happy to leave behind. The morning routine is one I especially won't miss. The first time I heard it, I had just settled down to a delicious-looking breakfast at my hotel in Jaisalmer - a fresh mango lassi, paradtha and pickles, and piping hot Marsala chai. I was starving and began to dig in, when I couldn't help but notice a ghastly sound coming from a nearby outdoor bathroom. It sounded like someone was getting horribly ill. Retching and hacking sounds emanated from the poor fellow inside. I felt bad for him, and the barf concerto in B flat put me off my breakfast completely. 


It wasn't until that guy skipped out of the bathroom looking fresh as a daisy, and the next guy stepped in and began a new series of horrible retching sounds, that I realized this was just part of the daily routine. It doesn't have a name that I know of, but it's a terrible-sounding sort of throat clearing process that most Indian men do every morning after brushing their teeth. I can happily live the rest of my days without hearing that sound again. 


The last thing that bears mentioning is treatment of women. Even though living it gave me a new appreciation the why, I still found myself chafing daily at the assumptions that were made about me again and again, just because of my gender.  I understand that women there are, for the most part, respected and revered. The part I couldn't wrap my head around was the "I'm such a delicate flower" part, where because I'm a woman, I can't walk around by myself, or drive, or wear a tank top because my lady powers might make the menfolk crazy and then who knows what could happen!! The part where I walked into a shop to buy some pencils and have to  run out because the proprietor of the shop  thinks it's okay to put his arm around me and try to kiss me because I'm a delicate flower (also, because I am a hoochie momma Westerner, thanks a lot, Hollywood) - that part?! That part I won't miss. 


As I was getting off the plane in Helsinki, I was flooded with relief that I was back in the "West". Not surprisingly, some Indian dude tried to elbow past me on the jet way, and at first I acquiesced. Then I remembered, I'm not in India anymore! "You're in my house now, bitch!" I thought, as I elbowed him back and strutted off without the slightest bit of remorse.

I Try Too Hard and Help Me Choose A New Vice

Last night, I left the mountains.  Light rain streaked the windows of the Volvo bus I was seated in as we careened our way around the terrifying, hairpin turns I had come to know and love. There was a Bollywood action/adventure/romance film playing on the TV overhead, but I paid it no mind. I was thinking about all that had happened over the course of the past month. I was contemplating the strange nature of change - how it never seems to happen when you're inside looking out. 


But change I have, there is no question. The trousers I wore to India, once snug, now sit loosely around my waist.  It's not just phsyical, though. There's something different about the way I feel. I feel balanced - centered. (Although shame on anyone who spends a month meditating in the Himalayas and doesn't walk away feeling at least a bit more centered.)  It's more than a mere feeling of balance, though. Over the course of the last two months, I've had to face a few personal demons. I felt like Atreyu from The Neverending Story, when he looks into the Mirror of Truth. It's scary, and it takes some guts, but in the end, it's worth it. And in my case at least, it wasn't so bad. 


Two items of note emerged over the course of the past two months. One is:


I sometimes try too hard.


I always have to be the first one in class finished. I always have to get the highest score on a test. There's photographic evidence of this from my childhood - a ballet recital where the rest of the class is doing a plie and I'm doing what appears to be a bodybuilder's squat, my butt hovering inches from the floor. They plied, I plied harder. 


The problem with this is, there's an error in the circuitry somewhere. In my bulldog-like refusal to accept anything less than absolute perfection, I have caused myself to miss out on a lot. Because somewhere along the line, a competitive streak got mixed in with the Quest for Ultimate Perfection in Everything. The logical conclusion to this was: Anything that I cannot be the absolute best in is not worth doing.  Naturally, the circle that included these things widened with age, and continued to grow until, before I realized it, I had stopped trying at just about everything. If I couldn't be the best of the best, what was the point?


I've decided to try to strike a sort of balance. The pathological perfectionism can't be helped. Nor can the competitiveness. However, I can use these to my benefit, as long as I am able to find balance. I will continue to seek perfectionism in yoga, even though I know it doesn't exist. I will also be the absolute best yoga teacher I know how to be. I will be constantly trying to improve (in order to beat myself, see?).  At the same time, I have to practice acceptance. I can't be the absolute best at everything all the time. 


Another small item (not nearly as heavy, I think):


I need a new vice. 


I enjoyed the crap out of my vices before I came to India. Particularly smoking. That expensive, life-shortening, stinky habit made me so happy. I loved smoking. I won't lie, if there was a way to reconcile a pack-a-day smoking habit with my aspirations to pursue a career in healthy living, I would have found it and would now be puffing cheerfully away at an Indian cigarette. But, alas, there isn't. Not even in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way. Booze doesn't really fit in, either, except for the ocassional glass of wine. Shopping? Being that I'm presently unemployed, this might not be the best choice. Eating? Please see "fits in with a healthy lifestyle" above.

Trying on new vices! Not as fun as smoking but more delicious.

Hm. I'm currently flummoxed. Cussing is at the top of the short list at the moment, but that's all I've come up with. Since I'm in "vacation" mode this week, I have induldged a bit in some shopping and eating (how have I never experienced Red Mango frozen yogurt before today?!). When both of my feet are again firmly planted in reality, I will need to find a vice or two that is sustainable. 


Suggestions are highly #*!@ing appreciated.

Buggin' Out

The monsoon rains have arrived at the ashram, and with them came bugs. Lots of bugs.  The rains have been a welcome respite from the heat and humidity, but I would happily bear the heat over the insect invasion any day. 


In the beginning of the course, there were flies and some mosquitoes. Mostly they were just an annoyance during yoga class - Shavasana Pete, as I call him, is the fly who lands on your nose during relaxation (he has a brother - Meditation Maury). The peaceful quiet of morning yoga class is always punctuated by the sound of people slapping away mosquitoes. 


Since the rains, though, the mosquito population has mushroomed. There are a lot of them, and they are ravenous. Today during afternoon yoga class, I got three bites. During dinner, two. By now, I am the Bruce Lee of mosquito swatting, so those are the lucky ones who managed to get a bite in. I have given up any reservations about chemicals and cover myself in DEET whenever I leave my room, and still, I am covered in bites.


In addition to the mosquito plague, the monsoon has brought cockroaches. I live in New York, so I have seen my share of cockroaches. These aren't your garden variety NYC cockroach. These are small-bird-sized monsters who descended from the Himalayas on WINGS. Yes! Enormous, winged cockroaches! My roommate and I had the ill fortune of having one visit our room the other night. After our subsequent freak-out, our teacher, Krish, assured us there was nothing to worry about because they don't bite. WHO CARES IF THEY BITE! Just the look of them is the stuff of nightmares.


I had been very proud of myself because I hadn't had any major freak-outs over the spiders. The spiders here aren't very big, but they jump. *Shudder* I have mentioned on here before that I am not fond of spiders. This is a vast understatement. My Australian classmates think it's hilarious when I scoot myself across the floor during class to avoid the path of a nickel-sized spider. What they don't realize is, that scoot is an exercise in restraint for me. Usually a spider sighting means a full-on spaz attack from yours truly. The Australians can roll their eyes all they want - the huntsman spider is the sole reason I may never visit that continent.


It's not all bugs and rain, though. It's mostly pretty fun. Our days are jam packed, and there's always something new going on. In the evenings, we sometimes gather around for bijans, which are songs in Sanskrit. It's usually during those times that I take a moment to look around and appreciate how lucky I am to be right here, right now.

Consciousness + 4: An Education in Yoga

I'm well into the third week of Yoga Teacher Training, and it's been quite a ride so far. Much like India itself, it's completely different from what I expected, in a mostly good way.

We begin each day with 40 minutes of meditation. This doesn't sound like much, but for me, it's a lot. My instructor, Krish, likens the mind (when you're trying to meditate) to a monkey that's eaten a chili and then been stung by a scorpion. This is very accurate. I do like the practice, though, and plan to continue the daily battle to pacify my mind when I go home. At least 10 minutes a day seems reasonable.

After meditation, I find myself staring out at the adjacent farm's verdant pastures. The Himalayas rise up behind it, and the sun is usually just starting to crest over the distant peaks. In this bucolic setting, we perform our daily kriyas, or cleansing rituals. This is a decidedly un-beautiful, un-glamorous process that involves neti pots and lots of nose blowing.

I wasn't expecting our education to be so heavy on the philosophy. I am enjoying it very much, and that is mostly thanks to the excellent instruction of Swami. Swami has been studying philosophy (and the Yoga Sutras in particular) for 15 years and usually doesn't teach beginners. He is a disciple of logic and dismissed Descartes with a wave of his hand. In between cracking us (and himself) up with jokes, he has opened my mind wide open about what yoga is, exactly. 

Life here is very busy, and always full of surprises. There's a surly monkey named Randall that lurks around whenever we have our afternoon snack (usually someone tosses him a banana). The other night we did an evening dancing meditation, which is something I never thought I'd ever do.  On our last day off, they offered a class in Reiki healing, so I took it and now have my certification. 

I'm off to class in a minute, but I'll close with a Swami joke: An old woman looked in the mirror one morning and saw she had only 3 hairs left on her head. She thought for a moment, and then pleated the hairs into a braid.

The next morning, she looked in the mirror and saw she had only 2 hairs left. "I guess today it's a center part!" she said.

The next morning, she only had 1 hair left. "Ponytail today!" she thought.

The fourth morning, she looked in the mirror and saw she had no hair left on her head. "Thank goodness," she exclaimed, "I don't have to fix my hair today!"

:)

A Game of Thrones

Everyone told me it would happen. Lonely Planet assured me of it. Even my doctor, as he gave me a typhoid shot, cheerfully chirped, "Oh, you'll definitely get sick while you're over there." Way to give a traveler confidence! 
But, as I type this, my classmates are up enjoying a philosophy class while my roommate and I are sequestered to our room. The ailment responsible goes by many names, but here it's known as Delhi Belly. Or, "traveler's tummy" to put it delicately. It, in some form or another, has taken down one classmate after another, like so many dominoes. After two weeks, I was beginning to feel pretty confident that I had developed some kind of intestinal immunity during my travels. With a mixture of pity and superiority, I watched fellow students miserably shuffling to the kitchen for their bananas and rice while the unafflicted feasted on wonderful meals.
Until today.
Maybe it was the over-confidence that overrode the (sometimes excessive) cautiousness I had thus far taken with food, but yesterday, in spite of some misgivings, I shoveled our "special snack" into my mouth with reckless abandon. In spite of its shocking, off-putting shade of orange. In spite of the fact that I don't like sweets. And today, I'm paying for it. Along with a good number of my fellow would-be yogis. We learned today that, instead of being prepared in the kitchen like the rest of our lunches, it was procured from the village nearby. The shroud of mystery that encircles the exact bacteria and its origins is not one I am eager to dispel.
With Delhi Belly, and with its many insidious cousins, timing is everything. In between spasms of stomach pains, I am trying to feel grateful that it happened when it did, where it did. I could have fallen ill somewhere on the road, where the only restroom option was a fly-swarmed "squatter" with no toilet paper.  Here, my only problem is splitting up bathroom time shares with my equally ill roommate.
After all, it was just a matter of time, right? That's it for now; it's time for my rice and bananas.

Mountains and Mantras: Life in the Himalayas

We left Delhi around 7 AM on Friday morning. There were three vans full of us - prospective yoga students from all around the world. We had congregated in the hotel lobby before the vans loaded up, making small talk and taking in the new faces that would soon be so familiar. As the vans lurched through the smog and heavy traffic, I felt a huge sense of relief. I was finally headed to the place I would be calling home for the next month.
The trip took about 12 hours. I noted with some satisfaction that the scenery was nowhere near as dramatic and diverse as I had encountered in Rajasthan. That is, until we reached the base of the Himalayas. 
I had dozed off, and woke up to the van careening around a hairpin curve in the road. The small towns and farms had given way to hilly forests. As we climbed and climbed, we passed through towns that seemed to dangle off the hillsides. About two or three hours into our ascent, I noticed a strange cloud formation in the distance. When I focused my attention on it, I realized it was not clouds. It was a vast, snow-capped range of mountains. We had reached the Himalayas.
Our ashram is situated between small farms at the base of the mountains. Every morning, I wake up to cows lowing in the pasture and the Himalayas stretching gloriously up to meet the sky. The farmers work the fields while we meditate, and at night when class is done, the sky is littered with stars. The beauty is beyond compare.
My days are now filled to the brim. A typical day goes as such: 
5 AM - Wake up, take a shower (usually the end of which is cold, but I'm used to it now - it's a more effective wake-up than coffee!)
6 AM - Meditation
7 AM - Yoga class
9:30 AM - Brunch
10:30 AM - Yoga Theory and History
12:30 PM - Break
1 PM - Yoga or chanting workshop
2:30 PM - Snack/lunch (usually fruit)
3 PM - Yoga Sutras (philosophy)
5 PM - Teacher workshop
7:30 PM - Dinner
8:30 PM - Chanting class
It doesn't leave much time for, well, anything. We have reading and other assignments to complete during our scant free time. 
I do feel that I am getting my money's worth here. My teachers are all Indian and have studied traditional Hatha yoga for many years. Our philosophy teacher, Swami G, is a bona fide monk. The fancy yoga centers in New York and other places have many wonderful qualities, I'm sure, but this feels like I am getting an authentic education by instructors who are the Real Deal. I mean, who would you rather learn Sanskrit from, a Lululemon-clad white lady in New York, or an actual monk in India? 
I'm off to class now, but will post as I have time! :)

The Taj!

It's hard to describe what it's like to see something like the Taj Mahal for the first time. Entering through the huge, stone gate, which is covered with intricate, inlaid designs, and seeing the marble spectacle for real, in person, is beyond description. It's much like seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time. It at once takes your breath away, and causes you to doubt your own eyes. It must be a very convincing backdrop! Or a mirage!

But no, it was real. As our guide explained the history of the marble moseleum, one member of my group sobbed and the rest of us gasped and gawked in wonder. Upon approach, it was even more spectacular. It's so big. And so white. Standing on the terrace that surrounds the main building, the whiteness of the marble is almost blinding. We went on an overcast morning, and still I had to wear sunglasses. 

Afterwards, we were taken to (can you guess??) a marble shop! This family had (supposedly) descended directly from the stone carvers who worked on the Taj Mahal 400 years. They had a huge variety of marble wares, which were inlaid with various stone designs. 

Maybe I was still entranced by the romance of the Taj, but I became determined to own one of these beautiful pieces.  They were quite pricey, but I rationalized that I had gone two weeks without smoking. I would have spent more money on cigarettes than I did on the beautiful little box I ended up purchasing. I walked away feeling like I was taking a piece of the Taj home.

We left right from there and headed to Delhi. From Delhi, we were bound for Dharmasala, the location I would be spending the next month as I pursue my yoga teaching certification. 

This entry is very late. Most from here on will likely be sporadic, as I have started the program. To call it rigorous would be putting it lightly. But more on that later. 

Elephants, Jewels and Mystics: All That Glitters

Jaipur 

Jaipur, or the "Pink City", was one of my favorite places in Rajasthan. I toured the city palace and saw one of Jaipur's famous gem "factories", which was little more than a family-owned shop that specializes in polishing and setting precious and semi-precious stones. I have a deep and abiding love of all things shiny, and this was no exception.
The next morning, my new yoga friends and I headed to the Amber Fort, which overlooks Jaipur. At that point, I had toured what felt like every fort in India, so I wasn't overly excited about it. We arrived at the fort's entrance, which was at the base of a long and winding road that led up to the main fort. This was when I realized this was going to be different. For the first time since I arrived in India, I saw a large group of pachyderms, colorfully adorned. We were going to take elephants up to the fort!
After fighting through the most aggressive group of salespeople I had encountered to date, we reached the elephant boarding area. As touristy as it was, and in spite of the ethically questionable nature of it, the elephant ride was really fun. Our elephant was slow (even for an elephant), and we were lapped by about seven elephants before we made it to the top, but it was the coolest fort experience I'd had since Jaisalmer. The fort itself was also truly unique, with narrow, winding alleyways and hidden staircases to explore. 
Afterwards, we headed back to Jaipur. Our tour guide had promised he would introduce us to his brother. My companions were much more excited about this than I was, I will admit. The guide claimed his brother studied Kundalini Yoga (a particularly esoteric branch of yoga) and had psychic powers. He promised his brother's predictions would "make us cry". I inwardly rolled my eyes at this claim, guessing (somewhat correctly) that there would be a dollar sign at the end of this tunnel. 
When we reached his brother, though, even I was surprised by how un-psychic he looked. He was a regular, mustachioed Indian guy working in (surprise!) a gem shop. We were invited to peruse the wares while our mates were having their fortunes read.   
My turn came, and I walked into his office, not knowing what to expect. He asked me to hold out my hand and he closed his eyes, breathed deeply and held his hand out over mine. His eyes snapped open.
"You having very strange dreams lately," he announced.  "Also, this," he said, pointing to my jaw, "this no good. You biting at night."
I was stunned. He was exactly right. Completely random, but completely correct. My dentist has been after me for years to get a mouth guard for my nocturnal tooth grinding. Also, I have been on Malaria pills the whole time I've been here, and one of the side effects are strange, vivid dreams. He hovered his hand over mine again.
"You have kidney infection last year," was his next utterance (also correct). "You be careful or you will have one again."
He continued in this fashion for another ten minutes, rolling out one random announcement after another. I won't get into all he said, as some of it was rather personal, but I was stunned at his accuracy. Color me corrected.
We all walked out of the gem shop quiet. It was a silent, meditative ride to Agra for the four of us. It wouldn't stay that way for long, though. The next morning, we were bound for the Taj Mahal.

No lions, but tigers and bears

Jaipur - Day 12(? or is it 11? losing track...)

June 4

Yesterday, I woke up at the crack of dawn in Ranthambore. I had to be at the hotel reception area by 6 AM sharp. I got there five minutes early, but our safari was detained as we waited for the other passengers from my hotel (two sour-faced French tourists - do the French have any expressions besides sour and disdainful?). We were headed to Ranthambore Tiger Reserve to see if we could spot any tigers.

By the time our rattletrap canter (basically a large, open-topped jeep that seats about 15 people) jostled into the forest, it was almost 7 AM. The guide warned us against talking, as it would scare away the animals. I wondered what the animals thought about the horrible din our squeaking, roaring beast of a vehicle made. Apparently, it doesn't bother them.

We cruised through the forest, spotting deer, peacocks and monkeys. But no tigers. We stopped a few times to "listen to the forest for the sound of the tiger". I thought these dramatic pauses smacked of cheap dinner theater, but still, I listened. 

After about two hours, we started heading back. No tigers had been spotted. We were all feeling a bit dejected even though we knew seeing tigers is a crap shoot (the enormous forest holds only 46 tigers, notoriously private and solitary animals). Suddenly, one of the passengers in the back of the canter stood up, shouting in Hindi. He had spotted something, but I didn't know what. "Baloo!" he finally shouted clearly, pointing. Ah! A bear! (Thanks, "Jungle Book"!)

Our canter lumbered towards the spot where he indicated, and sure enough, there were two black bears sniffing among the rocks. We watched silently, snapping photos feverishly, until the pair waddled off into the woods and out of sight. So the safari wasn't a total bust after all! We saw some wild bears!

Satisfied, we all settled back into our seats and our canter roared to life. We jerked forward, but our back wheel just spun wildly in the loose dirt. We kicked up a lot of dust, but we weren't going anywhere. The driver got out to look under the vehicle, and we could hear his muffled yells in Hindi. He didn't like what he saw, from his tone.

It turns out we were stuck upon a huge rock. No amount of revving the engine or pushing budged the canter. Luckily, another canter happened to roll by and our guide motioned it over. We were all herded into the other canter, where we squeezed in and watched the men attempt to release our canter. As they worked, someone from the new canter called out, "Baloo!" Sure enough, another set of black bears was poking around the rocks. The men glanced at them nervously and picked up the pace of their rescue mission. Luckily, the bears didn't seem to notice them, or didn't care. They continued sniffing around and left soon after.

As soon as the excitement over seeing the bears had subsided, we settled back into our shared, cramped canter. The sun was getting higher in the sky, and the day was growing warmer. The group was starting to grow restless when we suddenly heard an outburst by a large number of birds in the forest nearby. A good number of them flew off in the opposite direction and there was, for a moment, stillness. Then came a horrible, deafening roar. Everyone in the canter froze. The roar had emanated from the forest that wasn't 50 feet from where we were stranded. The exposed men working on the car paused and raised their heads in the direction of the roar.

When nothing happened, the men resumed their work, and after another 15 minutes, managed to free our canter from its rocky imprisonment. We all cheered (even the French couple nearly cracked smiles) and piled back into it.

That is the true story of my tiger-less tiger safari.

Now I am sitting in a room in Jaipur, the "pink city". It is one of my favorite cities so far. It's what I hoped all the other cities would be - a charming mix of colonial and Indian influences. It has a buzzing central market and curious landmarks. Tomorrow, we head off to Agra, home to the famed Taj Mahal. I finally have met up with three of my fellow students! It is so nice to finally have people to talk to!

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Pushkar – Days 8 and 9

Yesterday we arrived in Pushkar after a rather grueling six hour drive. The drive wasn’t as pretty as the one to Udaipur – the scenery this time was mainly marble and granite quarries, interspersed by dusty little towns and parched, barren fields.

When we came over Snake Mountain and saw Pushkar nestled in the valley, all green and small-towny, my spirits lifted immediately. Finally, a small town! I would have the freedom to walk around and explore as I wanted.

I was even happier when we arrived at the hotel. My room is large and tidy, and features a balcony overlooking the hotel’s pool, with the mountains providing a dramatic backdrop. I decided that once I got settled, I would head into town for a look around.

I followed the meandering dirt road from my hotel to the main drag. I realized this town was going to be a bit different when I saw a sign for the Pink Floyd Inn. Hmm. Indeed, as I made my way through town I spotted my first Euro-hippie. It seems that Pushkar is a magnet for the dred-locked traveler. I wound my way through the usual spread of shops and yelling men (“Miss! Miss! What country you from!” or, “Miss! You look here at my shop! You spend Rupee!” – yes, they seriously do say that) and found my way to the small lake in the middle of town. THIS was a romantic sight. Buildings rise gently up in a curve around the lake, on the ghats of which are bathers and women in colorful saris. I had dinner at the aptly named Sun Set Café and followed a camel back to my hotel in the waning twilight.

This morning, I woke up and decided that I would climb to the Saraswati Temple, perched at the top of a nearby mountain. At 7:30, I made my way into town, though the street hawkers (they apparently get up early), past the Brahma Temple and its attendant beggars and priests, into the countryside. The sun had not yet risen too far in the sky, and there was a nice breeze when I started my ascent.

An hour later, I was nearing the peak, and the temple. By then, it was hot. The breeze had subsided, and the climb became grueling. The neat steps had long ago given way to steeply inclining rocks. At that point, I was resting every five minutes so as not to overheat. My brother gave me a water mister for my birthday, which came in extremely handy. When I reached the top, it was well worth it, though. Views of the entire valley spread out below me.

So far, I’ve taken the rest of the day “off”. There’s really not much more to see in Pushkar, and I could use a break from sightseeing. Well, truthfully, I need a break from the ceaseless onslaught of people trying to sell me stuff and/or take my photo. This morning, on the way up the mountain, a group of boys asked me if I would pose for photos with them. I was hot, sweaty, and not in the mood to pose for a picture, so I politely declined. They proceeded to follow me the rest of the climb, harassing me for a photo (until the Polite in me broke down and I finally snapped, “I said NO. Back. Off!”). They probably meant no harm or ill will, but I’m just tired of it.

Tomorrow should be good! I’m headed off to the Rathambore Tiger Reserve! While I’m sure the locals will find a way to try to squeeze Rupees from the tourists, I’m hoping it will be a little less intense.

This is bat country!

Udaipur – Day 7

I woke up in my comfortable hotel room and met BK, who immediately informed me there was a problem.

“Madam, today is strike,” he explained apologetically. Strike? I looked around, and noticed that all the shops were closed. The streets weren’t as crowded as usual, and the traffic was strangely thin (I later learned from the newspaper the strike was due to raising gas prices). It was sort of a relief, to be honest. While I am used to urban living, the traffic and crowds in India are something else entirely. The best comparison I can think of is New York’s Chinatown on a particularly busy day.

We headed off to the City Palace, which overlooks Lake Pichola. Udaipur is supposedly one of the most romantic locales in India - a title I think is a bit remiss, but more on that later. We reached the palace, resplendent and white, with carefully tended gardens, and I hopped out to check it out. At this point, the palaces, forts, and temples are all starting to run together in my head. They are all ancient, magnificent, and huge. After the Palace tour, I found the boathouse and waited to board my tour boat for a ride around the lake.

As I sat under a tree, admiring the view of the city and mountains overlooking the lake, I noticed a strange sound emanating from the tree overhead. At first I thought it was birds, but there was something off about the tone. To my horror, I realized I was sitting under a tree filled with sleeping (some stirring, hence the screeching) bats. Huge, furry bats. Most were bigger than the typical squirrel; some were the size of small dogs. They were hanging upside down, their immense, leather-like wings folded around them – right over my head.

I inched my chair out of the range of any potential guano and spent the rest of my waiting time eyeing them nervously. The boat finally appeared, and I boarded with an Indian family of three. We stopped at Jagniwas Island to look at the fancy hotel, and as I happily snapped photos the memory of the bats receded. We all re-boarded the boat for the mainland, and as I went to grab my camera to take a parting photo of the island, I spotted a huge, yellow spider on my hand. I shook it off, but remained completely freaked out (I HATE spiders). Between the bats and the spider, the city on the lake’s romance quotient had evaporated for me.

That evening, I was hoping to make it to a Haveli (“wind house” in English – beautiful old manors with exquisite arches, stone lattices and courtyards), but it, too, was closed due to the strike. I was bummed (it had the world’s largest turban inside!), but not as bummed as I became when I learned BK had planned yet another Medieval Times India dinner for me that evening. It, as luck would have it, was still scheduled to go on, in spite of the strike.

I managed to talk BK out of making me go. They are expensive, and at the last one, I felt like a bit of a side show (people were taking almost as many photos of me as they were of the dancers). Instead, he took me to a great restaurant that reminded me of New York’s Vatan. I was content, and happy to know that in the morning we’d be heading out of Bat City (as I now refer to it) and towards Pushkar.

Paging Peter from New York! And, tales from the road

Jaisalmer - Jodhpur - Udaipur

May 30

After the camel safari, I didn't write anything for a whole day because I was so irritated by the whole experience. The particulars are now irrelevant, but I will say that, for the amount of money I spent that evening, I could have started saving towards purchasing my own camel. However, the camel ride itself was nice, and watching the sun set on the Sam Sand Dunes was beautiful.

Speaking of camel purchases:  My camel driver, upon finding out that I am from New York, launched into a soliloquy about the last guest he had from New York – a fellow named Peter. Peter enjoyed his camel ride so much that he decided he would like to purchase a camel, and asked the young man to arrange the sale. So, Peter from New York, you jackass, you have a teenaged boy in Sam, India, waiting desperately to hear from you regarding this exchange! He probably stands to make considerable money off the commission, and actually took you seriously, you ignorant blowhard – he’s tried to call you several times but hasn’t been able to get through. He spoke about it almost non-stop the whole ride.

Afterwards, I was taken to something that amounted to Medieval Times Rajasthan. Traditional music played and girls in richly decorated dresses twirled around a circular dirt stage while the audience was served snacks and beverages. Afterwards, we went into a dining hall and had a meal of traditional Rajasthani food. All told, the evening ended up costing me nearly $50, which may not sound like much but is a freaking FORTUNE in India, where a typical dinner at a nice restaurant costs around $5 (including beverages). To put it in perspective, my driver earns around $80 a month.  It wasn't as much the money that vexed me; it was the fact that I wasn't given a choice.

Ahem. Moving on. The next day we headed off through the desert to Jodhpur, the "Blue City". When we first arrived, I was bitterly disappointed to discover there was not even a single blue building in sight. It wasn't until I headed to Mehrangarh Fort, which is perched on top of the mountain range that overlooks the city, that I realized I was wrong. From a distance, many (and in some places, most) of the building are blue. It's quite beautiful.

Yesterday evening, I went to dinner at the house of a local family. I assumed, rather cynically, that it had been pre-arranged by the tour service and that I would be expected to pony up some Rupees at the conclusion. I was somewhat humbled when, at the conclusion of the dinner (which was delicious home-cooked food, served on the patio of a modest but tidy house), the family merely thanked me for coming and waved goodbye.

This morning, I met BK at around 9:30 and we headed for Udaipur, the "city of lakes". Or maybe it's the "city on the lake". I'll figure it out tomorrow. The drive here was very cool, probably the coolest yet. We traveled through small villages and towns, stopping twice at interesting temples (one Hindu and one Jain; the Jain temple was incredible) and passing through an animal sanctuary (where we saw monkeys!).  The coolest part was the scenery, though. The landscape seemed to change every hour of the nine hour journey. We started out in the desert and then climbed some mountains, which turned into rolling hills, which turned into farmland, which turned back into mountains. The day went by very quickly.

Tomorrow I'm going to tour Udaipur - check out the City Palace and apparently, go for a boat ride. Should be interesting; so far, if anything, India has proven to be anything but boring.

Into the Desert - Hotter, not harder

Jaisalmer Day 3/4

May 28

Yesterday, I awoke at 4:30 AM on the train to Jaisalmer. We had stopped at Jodhpur and when the woman in the bunk below mine vacated her seat, I seized the opportunity to climb down and enjoy her window. We rolled out of Jodhpur and into the desert to Jaisalmer.

It was quite remarkable, the desert in the early morning. It was the direct antithesis of everything Delhi. It was serene and quiet. There were no garbage heaps lining the train tracks, only miles of endless desert, pocked with scrubby brush and sparse grasses.

By the time we arrived in Jaisalmer at 11 AM, the searing desert heat was beginning to overwhelm the train's puttering air conditioning. I put my palm to the train window and felt the warmth pulsing through. In Delhi, people kept telling me with a smile, "Rajasthan much harder than Delhi!" It wasn't until then that I realized I had misunderstood them. They were saying hotter, not harder. Hotter than 115 F?

When I got out of the train, I realized they weren't exaggerating. It must have been close to, if not actually, 120 F.  As I pushed through the crowd (I'm getting the hang on this India-style crowd surging), I was relieved to see my driver holding a sign with my name on it. It wasn't going to be another fiasco like Delhi.

He is a cheerful fellow who goes by the name BK. He informed me he will be accompanying me until I meet up with my fellow students in Jaipur. He has since proven to be an excellent driver with a good sense of humor, which is good news because he's my only companion. Last night he took me out to see some very nice Jain temples in the desert, urging me to run though a herd of goats while he snapped a photo with my camera.

Today I toured Jaisalmer fort. It's a majestic, massive structure that rises, golden, out of the desert. It's a beautiful, fascinating place that is still inhabited by some 4,000 people. I had an excellent tour guide, who I was reticent to use at first but am very glad I did. Tonight I head to Sam Sand Dunes for more touristy fun with the desert gypsies.

If India is teaching me anything, it's how much I take for granted living in the States. Right now, at the peak of the desert heat, I'm sitting in my hotel room (too hot to do anything else) with some fans blowing. The AC stopped working this morning because it runs on a generator which needs to juice up before it can turn on again. I hurriedly emailed my mom and lovely boyfriend from an Internet cafe this afternoon, because the hotel (which is a very nice hotel, it's not some hole in the wall!) has no Internet or WiFi. I am glad I have my driver because, as I learned the first day I was in Delhi, going around unaccompanied causes quite a stir. I try to ignore the blatant sexism and just pretend I'm on "Mad Men: India". While the people are warm, hospitable, and cheerful, most of them are so desperately poor, I spend at least a full hour of each day saying "no" to some tout or another (or on days of weakness, I cave). While the surroundings are astonishingly beautiful, when you look down, the streets are still filled with garbage and cow poop. It's a land of extremes, and it's still taking some getting used to.

No Sleep Since Brooklyn

Day 2 - Delhi (May 26 2012)

I'm writing this now from the top bunk of a train bound for Rajasthan. My day in Delhi was highly uneventful. I went to bed last night at 7 PM after a decent dinner at a vegetarian restaurant near my hotel. I woke up at 3 AM and couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided to just wake up and take a nap later. I managed to keep myself occupied until 7 AM. After I had breakfast, I felt my eyelids getting heavy, so I laid down for a "quick nap".

I woke with a start. My room had no outside facing windows, so it was pitch black day or night with the lights off. I turned on the light and fumbled for my watch. I guessed it was about noon, and I was mentally kicking myself because I had things to do - I needed to buy a cell phone and I wanted to find an internet cafe (the internet service at my hotel was nonexistent, except for the first morning when I managed to steal a neighboring place's WiFi for about 5 minutes before I lost the signal). I hoped I had enough time to accomplish both, and maybe some time left over to check out the local market before I had to leave for the train.

When I saw my watch, my jaw dropped. It was 3:30 PM! My car was coming to pick me up at 4! I scrambled to pack my things up in time to meet my taxi. Apparently the 3 days with minimal sleep finally caught up to me.

The train station was only about 3 km from my hotel, but it took about 40 minutes to get there. I am finding this to be par for the course in Delhi. Traffic is horrible.  Also, it's not "traffic" in the way we think of it in the States. Cars, lorries, bicycles, rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, ox-drawn carts, motorbikes and pedestrians all vie for the same strips of unevenly paved road. There are no "lanes" as far as I can tell. Much like the concept of "queuing up" or "standing in line", this seems to not exist here. Everyone just crams themselves and whatever form of transport they have in the same general direction, laying on their horns incessantly. It's loud, smelly, and confusing.

Which is exactly how I found the train station to be! Delhi station is a huge cluster of old cement buildings with dim lighting. Inside, it's filthy, hot and crowded. People push and shove their way through throngs of passengers. I was actually glad the travel agency sent a guide to get me on the right train. Carrying a heavy bag, navigating the snaking passages to the tracks, and trying to hear the track announcements over the din of the crowd on my own would have been difficult, if not impossible.

We got to the right track, and as the guide led me to my seat, some clown stuck out his foot and tripped me, which prompted a wave of giggles behind me. What a dick.

So now I'm here, on the top bunk of an overnight train. I hate the top bunk (no window!  Also, it requires acrobat-like skills to get up and down). I am looking forward to getting to Jasailmer tomorrow. I've only had one real meal since I arrived, which may be contributing to my crankiness and overall lack of humor at the moment. Rajasthan is supposed to be even hotter than Delhi, a fact that my brain cannot even comprehend. My guide told me it was supposed to be about 48C tomorrow (around 120F).  

Temples, Touts, and the High Price of Fame

Delhi, Day 2

When my plane was landing in Delhi, I saw the local fire department outside, playing a game of volleyball. It was 5 AM. "Hm," I thought, "Things seem to be different here."

I had no idea how right I was. One of the first things I realized when I got to India was that I was going to have to forget everything I knew and start from scratch.  Basically, press the reset button on my whole understanding of "how things work".  None of that applies here.

My first day was very long. I got in at about 5:45 AM local time after a 7 hr flight from Helsinki. I had managed to eke out about 2 hours of sleep on the plane, so when I arrived I was  exhausted. Since I left New York two days earlier, I had gotten a total of around 5 hours of sleep. A driver was supposed to meet me at the airport, but when I didn't see him I jumped into a taxi and went to my hotel. Immediately I went to my room and after a quick breakfast of toast and tea, passed out.

About half an hour into my nap, there was a knock at my door. I stumbled for the door, still half asleep, and opened it to find the proprieter of the hotel standing there with a small, mustachioed man. "This is your driver, he wait for you at the airport since 5 AM!" They both stood there, looking at me expectantly. The driver looked so dejected you'd think I had stood him up for prom. He clutched a now hot bottle of water and a neat folder holding my typed itinerary. Still dazed and groggy, I accepted both items, apologizing profusely. I explained that I went to all 6 gates at the airport looking for him, but I was carrying a heavy backpack and was very tired, so I gave up after about 20 minutes. They both nodded and left, giving me disappointed looks. I felt terrible, but sleepiness soon overwhelmed the guilt and I fell back asleep.

I woke up about an hour and a half later and spent the rest of the day sightseeing. I was shocked to learn that the travel agency had booked a driver (same guy! augh!) to take me to all the major sightseeing spots. I am a pretty independent person, so I was a bit chafed at first. I was all set to do the sightseeing by myself - I had even mapped out my routes on the metro before I learned about the car.

In the end, I was very grateful for the car for three reasons:  One, Delhi is huge. It's probably the largest, most sprawling city I've ever seen. Trying to navigate the metro would have been a nightmare. Two, it's hot here. Really, really hot. Yesterday was around 47 C (which is about 115 F). Walking around is exhausting. After five minutes in this heat, even my sweat is sweating.

Three, it turns out that a white woman traveling by herself in India is a Pretty Big Deal. All day long, everywhere I went, I got the full celebrity treatment. Long stares (one guy even rolled down his car window to stick his head out for a better look), random people touching me (nothing pervy, usually just on the shoulder), and hoardes of school children waving and yelling "Hi! Hello!". I had experienced a bit of that in Vietnam, so I wasn't too fazed. I just smiled back at people and took photos with them when they asked (which they did, a lot).

The only time it was actually a problem was at Jama Masjid, India's largest Muslim mosque. It's a breathtakingly beautiful structure in the middle of Old Delhi that can hold up to 25,000 worshippers at once. I made sure to follow all the rules - I removed my shoes and made sure my head was covered with a scarf. I wandered around in awe, snapping photos and trying to take it all in. A young man approached me and asked me to take a photo. I obliged, and his friend snapped our photo. Then it was his friend's turn. Okay, sure. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by young men, eager to get a photo on their cell phone with the White Lady. I took a few more photos and then beat a hasty retreat back to my rickshaw. That was the only time it was a little unnerving.

This country isn't a place that is easy to describe. It's one of extremes - extreme beauty, extreme hospitality, but also extreme poverty and extreme need. The need is something I will struggle to get used to; the endless touts (my driver took me to no less than FOUR "special shopping for you!" pit stops yesterday) and feeling like everyone is definitely trying to scam you (but being really nice about it!) can wear on a person.

Tomorrow I have a "free day" before I board a night train to Jaisalmer. I will try to purchase a cell phone and practice my woeful haggling skills. I have a feeling being a keen haggler will come in handy.

Day 1: Finland - Yeah, no, it IS the destination...

24 May - Helsinki

I'm sitting in the Helsinki airport now, wondering what the hell I was thinking when I booked a flight that had a 12 hour layover.  I actually know what I was thinking - "Oh! That will give me enough time to check out Finland for a bit!" Bad move, Past Meg! Bad move! The crucial element that I overlooked when I pressed "complete purchase" was the time factor. I just got off a red eye from New York. I haven't slept in almost 24 hours. I don't really feel up for sightseeing just now.

Scandinavia has its own unique charms, though.  I look forward to checking out the city on my way back from India. I imagine it will be a bit like Iceland with neat, low buildings and shockingly tidy streets. The airport is very similar to Reykjavik - all clean lines and wood with exposed metal ceilings. It looks just like an Ikea store.

At 7:30 local time tonight (about 12:30 PM NY time), I will board my second flight, which will take me to Delhi. Just the other day, my lovely boyfriend and I had a conversation about antipodes, or polar opposites. I can't help but think about that now, as I sit in the carefully climate-controlled, extremely clean and orderly Scandinavian airport.  In a matter of hours, I will be in Scandinavia's antipode - chaotic, hot, and (this is just a guess but I don't think it's that big of a stretch) dirty Delhi.

By the time I actually arrive, I will undoubtedly be roadkill and ready to fall into the nearest bed I can find.  Whoever said "It's the journey, not the destination" was definitely not referring to a 36 hour haul across the planet. It's a special kind of eye-watering, slowed-thinking, bone weariness. At the end of it, you're ready to sell non-essential organs for a shower and a bed. And on that note, there's a cheerful lounge chair across the way that is calling my name. It's the closest thing I'll see to a bed until tomorrow. :)