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.