Delhi: We arrived to the cold evening air and wide boulevards of Delhi, breathing a sigh of relief (finally we weren’t sweating!). In general, I was pleasantly surprised with the city as a whole.  Delhi was my first city to visit on my previous trip to India back in 2004.  At the time, and considering it was my first time traveling alone and my first time traveling in a developing country (unless you count Costa Rica or the Yucatan peninsula of Mexico), I was completely overwhelmed by Delhi and went away with an impression that it was the armpit of India.  I’m not sure what factors influenced my opinion of the city this second time around – perhaps because it was our last city and we had built up our travel savvy, perhaps because we were two instead of one, or perhaps because it has changed a bit in 6 years – but I gotta say that I really, really liked it.  The city has a fantastic metro system (that strangely resembles the Tube in London), there is a city ordinance that all cars and motorized rickshaws use CNG instead of petrol (which makes a HUGE difference in air quality), and Delhi boasts a lively arts scene and outdoor shopping/cafe culture.  Igz and I discovered the latter on our final day in country and wished we had more time to explore this aspect of the city.  Like in many of the other cities and towns we visited on our trip, we aimed to spend part of our energy exploring “the sights”  and part of it just walking around, taking photos, and popping into establishments that advertised espresso.  Due to this factor, while Delhi has A LOT of “must-see attractions”, we only saw a couple of them.  Also, we were saving ourselves for the motherload (!!!)…

While in Delhi, we arranged to take a 24-hour trip to Agra to see the Taj Mahal.  Agra is a mere 2.5 hours by train from Delhi (at least according to the train timetables), so we set out for a day trip with nothing but our cameras, some cash, and a change of clothes, leaving our packs at our hotel in Delhi.  It was freeing to travel so light!  It was exciting to be headed to the Taj!   Our grand plan was to catch the 230 pm train out of Delhi, which dropped us in Agra around 500 pm, leaving us plenty of time to reach our hotel before dark and before the cold set in (Agra is higher and drier than Delhi and subsequently much colder in winter).  At 230 pm we were on the train platform, chatting with a friendly German guy when we heard the announcement that our train had been delayed 4 hours.  Being used to travel being more arduous than expected, this little delay did nothing to ruffle our feathers and we made the best of it by grabbing a bite to eat and poking around an underground (literally) bazaar.   So what if we got to Agra a little late…  At 630 pm we arrived back at the train station to find that the train was delayed (again) until 730 pm, and then again until 830 pm.  At 945 pm, our train started to move, only to stop at several places and just sit on the tracks (we think the delays were due to fog but there was never any explanation).  Around 1030 pm, we began moving pretty steadily – fast enough for a SERIOUS wintry draft to blow through the sleeper class bunk we were hunkered down on, yet still slow enough for the journey to last a very long time.  The others on the train somehow got the memo because they all brought along thick blankets and were cozied up and snoring.  We, on the other hand, were not prepared.  Remember that bit about traveling light?  All we had were the clothes on our backs, very light jackets, and the change of clothes in our day packs.  So we huddled.  And we shivered.  And we did not sleep like the rest of our traveling companions.  And I wept (semi-dramatically).  And at 3 am, we finally arrived.  And we hauled our frost-bitten booties onto the nearest rickshaw that shuttled us, at roaring speed, to our hotel (we estimated the temperature outside to be around 40 F and in the speed of the open rickshaw, with us lacking any semblance of warm clothing, we estimated the temperature to be about minus 1000 F).  After arriving in our hotel room (sans heat) at around 330 am, we tucked under two measly wool blankets and slept for almost 3 whole hours.  Since we were after the early morning light and wanted to get some shots of the Taj without a hundred million tourists, we had to motivate early.  By 7 am we were entering the gates, the grounds were practically empty, the light was perfect…. and the Taj was…. obscured by fog.  I’m not kidding.  And that is the story of how I got pneumonia.  OK, I’m kidding about that part.  But yes, the Taj really was obscured.

Delhi to San Francisco: 48 hours later, Igz and I were in a cab on our way to Delhi International to begin our journey home.  The cab ride was most bittersweet: full of excited anticipation to return home to our lives in San Francisco, and equally full of sadness that our adventure in the subcontinent was coming to a close.  We almost welcomed the flight to be delayed (cuz that’s how traveling is in India), but surprisingly it wasn’t.  Surprisingly, our flight departed and arrived (in Tapei) and departed again and arrived again (at SFO) all according to the timetables listed on our e-ticket.  As the hours of the flight breezed by, I knew I was coming closer to living out my fantasy of a hot bath, a big salad, a delicious glass of California wine, my kitties, and a peaceful night of sleep in my bed.  But I also knew that I was pulling up the tenuous roots laid down on Indian soil, and searching to understand how best I could hold on to the lessons I learned and the sprinkles of radiant brilliance that country offers.

]]> http://blog.allisonbusch.com/?feed=rss2&p=135 1 http://blog.allisonbusch.com/?p=122 http://blog.allisonbusch.com/?p=122#comments Sun, 24 Jan 2010 17:50:46 +0000 akb http://blog.allisonbusch.com/?p=122 We spent our penultimate week along the central western coast in the states of Goa and Karnataka.

Goa: Famed as the vacation hotspot for middle and upper class Indians, and a top spot on the travel circuit for Israeli kids finishing their obligatory military service as well as British college students on winter break, Goa has a bit of a party reputation.  It’s like a little slice of Ibiza on the Arabian Sea.  To be clear, this was not the draw for me.  I was pretty deterred by this aspect having witnessed the obnoxious shenanigans at Koh Phangan, Thailand (probably the number 2 spot for the aforementioned vacationers, minus the Indians, add a bunch of Aussie youngsters looking to get their party on), but I was curious enough to check Goa out. Beyond hoping for white sandy beaches, clean blue water, and proper beach shade structures (the sun in India is intense!), my expectations were low.

Having many beaches to choose from, Igz and I opted for the “most mellow and idyllic” beach, Palolem – advertised as being a blissful escape from the craziness of the big cheezy rave party beaches of Vagator and Anjuna.  Palolem was nice.  We were two of a few Americans rubbing elbows with Israelis, Russians, Germans, and Britishers (as the Indians refer to them), and a sprinkling of Indian tourists.  I definitely enjoyed the relaxed “island vibe”, the ease getting at cappuccinos and beer, the bountiful coconut palms and gentle ocean breeze, and the mommy and baby kitten that lived on the porch of our little beach bungalow.  While the Goan beaches are fairly nice (though a bit dirty), I must reiterate for folks who are beach lovers – Sri Lanka’s beaches are a perfect ten.  Ahh… Unawatuna!  Curiously, Palolem had “silent noise” parties on some evenings.  Silent noise parties are events where multiple DJ’s spin music concurrently onto different channels and party-goers sport headphones, tuned to the channel of their liking.  The concept was a little intriguing, but by the time late night rolled around, I was too tired for headphone dancing and alas never attended one of these events.

After a few days of beach lazing, we took a bus to the capital of the state – Panjim.  To give some background, Goa is the smallest state in India and until the 1960’s, was a Portuguese territory.  Considering this, much of the state, and especially its capital city, has maintained  the Latin colonial feel with oodles of large and lovely cathedrals, street names in Portuguese, and quaint winding lanes of houses that look like a snapshot from Lisbon (or how I imagine Lisbon to look, having never been there).  We were pleasantly surprised at how charming Panjim was and made the most of it’s calm feel, quiet (if sweltering) cathedrals, and scenic streets.

Next stop Hampi!  Heading straight east and leaving Goa for the state of Karnataka, Iggy and I were excited about exploring the ruined city of Hampi after hearing rave reviews from multiple people we knew who’d been there.

Hampi: The “town” of Hampi is a series of clustered ruins scattered around a town center.  The town center itself – with its bustling bazaar and plethora of eateries – is actually a long row of establishments that are illegally squatting in building structures that are ruins themselves.  Walking down the road, one could spot crumbling stone pillars and façades behind the storefronts.  Overall we found Hampi to be quite awesome, and by accident were in town for a major Tamil festival – Pongal.  In addition to the locals, people from the villages and rural areas surrounding Hampi poured into town for the festival and the quiet-ish streets became an exploding bustle overnight.  Pongal is essentially a celebration of the winter harvest, and the way in which it is celebrated in Hampi involves a lot of merrymaking, river bathing, and the creation of large, elaborate kolams (decorative designs made of brightly colored rice powder placed at people’s doorsteps).  Besides the diverse and dazzling array of these beautifully designed ground decorations, Iggy and I were struck by the centerpieces of most of the kolams.  Cow dung.  Holy cow dung, to be exact.  But not just dung au natural, these centerpieces were sculpted, garlanded in flowers, anointed with glitter, and one even had a carrot stick fortress built around it.  It’s gestures like this that make me love this country.  We also witnessed the eve of Pongal kirtans (devotional chanting) at the town’s main temple.  Loved it!

From Hampi, we began our journey north for our final week in country.  We kissed goodbye the heat, the humidity, the mosquitos, and “relaxed” pace of South India and headed to wintery highlands of New Delhi.  Stay tuned….

But I am more compelled to write about my reflections on women in Indian (and to a lesser extent Sri Lankan) society.  As I mentioned in my last post, being a woman in India and Sri Lanka is VERY different from being a woman in the “developed countries” of the west.  Yes, I’m stating the obvious here. But I think even having this awareness does not preclude one from taking many, many freedoms for granted.  It’s usually the people with the most privilege who don’t see their own privilege, right?   The very fact that I can sit here and blog about my travel experiences in India speaks of a privilege beyond what most Indian or Sri Lankan women would ever have.  That I am 35 years old, single, and childless is almost unbelievable to most of the women here with whom I’ve  shared my personal details.  Actually, they can’t believe I’m 35.  The typical story here, for women from the working class, is that by the age of 35, after 15, or even 20, years of being a wife and having children, and doing incredibly difficult work every day, their bodies and their faces show their wear.  Just today, I was talking with a woman named Gita who told me of her 6 children (aged 10 years to 2 months), her abusive husband that is not around anymore (she left him?  he died?), her regret at never being able to attend school or learn to read, her emigration from her home village in Rajasthan due a lack of potable water, and all the while I’m thinking she is 40-ish, maybe 45 years old.  She is 28.  She is 7 years younger than me.   And I don’t think that Gita’s story is particularly unusual.  From the age of 18 (and sometimes many years younger), women are expected to become wives and subsequently mothers – and thus, serve their husbands and children, and often their husband’s extended family.  They are expected to keep a house, gather and prepare food, and sometimes work some sort of additional job outside of those immediate duties.  They are not expected to be literate.  They are not expected to go to college.  They are not expected to build careers.  I’m speaking in broad, general terms, and the literacy rate and education level varies wildly between states/provinces and rural vs. urban (the literacy rate  for women in Sri Lanka is significantly higher than in India).  I’ve no doubt there are multitudes of families that hold their women getting an education as a high priority.  And the growing middle class – the “New India” – is also challenging these societal norms.  But the “New India” is a tiny drop in the bucket compared to the hundreds of millions of Indians still living in conditions, and with traditional ideas about gender, that seem (from a westerner’s perspective) to be from an era long, long ago.  It was one of India’s own, Nobel Prize-winning economist Amartya Sen, who said that the most powerful way to lift a society out of poverty (and in turn change that society for the better) is to educate the women and girls.  There are many grassroots movements here to help women (mostly from rural areas) learn job skills that give them opportunities to financially support their families.  But for now, there is a long road ahead.  For now, one does not see many women out and about unless they are with their husbands.  I have gotten into a habit of surveying how many other women are in the establishments that Iggy and I patronize (sometimes 2, sometimes 1, sometimes 0).

On a practical level,  what does this mean for me when I leave this place and go back to my life in San Francisco – where I come and go as I please, where I have a great career, where I have a circle of bodacious and beautiful and boldly independent women friends whom are all forging their own paths, where I have a partner who encourages me learn more, to grow, to use my voice?  The last time I left India, it was with an awareness of how privileged my life was.  But that awareness was heavy with guilt and light with action.  Sure, I cut back on my consumption and tried to “only take what I needed”.  But I felt in many ways that I could do more.  With this second visit, my awareness is recharged for sure.  This time, I don’t feel guilty for the things I have.  On the contrary, I want to translate my privilege into action.  I’m just not sure what action…

Week Five marked our third and final week in Sri Lanka.  Our time in Sri Lanka ended up being fairly evenly divided between the southwest coast (Week 1) , the hill country (Week 2), and cultural triangle/ancient cities (Week 3).  So the cultural triangle – the most heavily beaten path by tourists (though we still saw few) – boasts several towns that are surrounded by clusters of ancient temple ruins (and many temples still very much alive and running).  The main draws in these areas are the ruins at Sigiriya, Polonnaruwa, and Anuradhapura.  These sites were cool.  Yes, even awesome at times.  But the effort involved in getting to these places, the weather endured in the travel and in the actual site seeing (monsoon! sweltering! mosquito armies!), and the accrual of seeing temple after temple after stupa after stupa after dagoba after dagoba (ho-hum) summated to warrant an underwhelmed response.  Even writing that makes me feel a bit spoiled, but that was my honest experience.   Iggy’s musings on this and about our third week in SL are  more complete…

I will also note that a major force contributing to my overall lack of a sense of free-spirited, joy-filled adventuring is witnessing how women live in this part of the world.  While India and Sri Lanka are decades ahead of some of their neighboring countries, it’s still unsettling to be moving about in a “man’s world”, sometimes being the only woman in sight.  But I’ll save that for another post…

Our final 36 hours in Sri Lanka involved yet another very long, very crowded bus journey (though my elbows and knees were sharpened at that point so no one’s crotch touched me) that had us debarking in a little town called Negombo that was near the Colombo airport.  After the sticky and sweaty and stressful bus ride, Iggy and I were literally dropped kicked out of the bus on a dark, mostly deserted street that we were told was Negombo.  The bus stopped just long enough for our feet to touch the ground and our bags to be tossed to us (inexplicably soaking wet).  That might have been the  nadir of our time in SL but perhaps not…  So we trudged down the road with our water-laden (and heavier than ever!) packs, praying that everything inside wasn’t wet, until we found a very kind rickshaw driver named Mouhammad who delivered us safely to the hotel at which we had a reservation.  There we found a clean (!) and inviting room with air-con (!!!) that had plenty of space for us to hang a line to dry our soaked clothes.  We spent the following day hanging around the lovely hotel garden reading, chatting with other travelers, waging war on mosquitoes, and playing with a cute little kitten that we temporarily adopted (we named her Tabitha).  Not a bad way to finish our time in the land of Ceylon. 

Week Six: Kerala coast…. coming soon!

After Ella, we put on our game faces and headed to Dalhousie, the base camp so-to-speak for Sri Pada (aka Adam’s Peak) which translates as the Mountain of the Sacred Foot.   This refers to the footprint-shaped mark at the summit (7,400 feet), which is believed by Buddhists to be that of the Buddha, , Siddartha Gautama, while others assert that it is the footprint of Adam, left by his entrance into the world after being cast out from Eden.  Ascending Sri Pada is a sacred pilgrimage that all Sri Lankans are expected to make at some point in their lifetime.  Always keen on a physical challenge, Iggy and I naturally were enthusiastic about summiting the peak.  The tradition is to begin the climb about 2 am to ensure you reach the summit around sunrise.  It went someting like this… 145 am: alarm goes off, coat my feet and ankles in DEET and the ayurvedic leech deterent called Siddhalepa.  215 am: bleary-eyed and with the silliness that sleeplessness can bring on, we exit our hotel and walk up the road to the trail head.  300 am: pause to set-up tripod for some night-shots, energy and mood high.  4:00 am: climb becoming steeper but exercise endorphins going strong, mild dizziness and light-headedness but determination in full effect. 5:00 am: believing the summit was “right around the corner” and knowing my muscles couldn’t take much more, i made the mistake of asking a young boy how close we were to the top.  1 km?!  assume the boy must be lying. 5:15 am: beginning to wonder if i have it in me.  starting to see the beginning of lightness in the sky even though the sun doesn’t officially rise for another hour.  ask someone else how far to the top.  1 km?!  blast!  5:30 am: close to weeping.  iggy begins to carry my pack (and his) and becomes my coach.  i think i fell in love with him a little more on that mountain for his unconditional love and encouragement in the midst of my dramatic displays of exhaustion.  he sees the summit and points it out to me, thinking it will make me feel better.  i can’t believe how fucking far away it is and crumple in defeat.  he convinces me to keep going.  5:45 am: we reach the summit.  all of the pain in my legs melts away.  gorgeousness abounds. 6:15 am: descent begins. 7:15 am: descent in progress. legs feel like spaghetti. 8:15 am: wow, i can’t believe we really climbed all these steps.  my legs hurt. my knees really hurt.  how did that Sri Lankan grandma make it up to the top and back down?! 9:15 am: waddling. broken.  9:30 am: BREAKFAST! 10:30 am: BEDTIME!

And 3 days later, we’re still waddling a little.  As the universe would have it, the next guesthouse we checked into put us on the fourth floor so we are going up and down the stairs like a couple of octogenarians.

We are currently in Kandy, the second largest city in Sri Lanka.  Kandy is famous for its scenic landscape and lovely lake, but one of its main draws is its Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic.  Yes, it does sound a little strange.  We went from the place of the sacred foot to the place of the sacred tooth.  The temple (supposedly) houses a tooth of the Buddha, which was taken from his funeral pyre a long, long, long time ago.  The tooth has survived many location reassignments, wars, ransacks and pillagings, and is encased in a series of golden dagobas… behind locked doors.  Igz and I have our doubts about there being any tooth behind those doors or within those dagobas but we checked out the temple nonetheless.  We have another day to poke around the lovely country side in this area and then we head north on Xmas eve for the Ancient Cities.

More to come from the ruins of the Sinhalese empire…

Happy holidays n stuff!

Love-

Allison

To be clear, Sri Lanka is a BEAUTIFUL country.  I am so grateful to see so much of it and definitely recommend it to anyone curious enough to wander this way.  Iggy has written much more describing our time along the coast in Colombo and southward.   I plan on writing more about the Hill Country in the Week Four digest (coming soon!)

OK, so with that preamble, here are some realities of traveling in Sri Lanka.  I am compelled to write these things as I need to exorcise these inner-wimp demons that have plagued me.

1) It is really, really, really eff-ing hot here.  And humid.  Average daily: 90 F and 98% humidity.  Did I mention I wilt in the heat?  I mean, like really dramatic, defeated, instant-gripey kind of wilting.  This might sound surprising as I spent the first 23 years of my life in Texas.  But at least in Texas, most places are air-conditioned 9 months out of the year.  Air-con is an uber luxury here.  Available only mid-range and luxury establishments (and sometimes (though rarely) in places like banks or cell phone offices), air-con has become a bit of an obsession with me.

2) Sri Lanka has A LOT of mosquitos.  And, leeches. So much so that I have become a little OCD with being a mosquito-killer and a leech avoider.  Okay, I know leeches are found everywhere….  but in the shower with me?! outside our hotel room door and of the size of a jumbo hot dog?!  (seriously, that one was almost comical in its girth if it wasn’t so heeby-jeeby-inducing)  On the mosquito front, at least malaria is not a big health issue here, though dengue fever is increasingly becoming one.  So much for taking a break from the DEET…

3) Sri Lankans do not share the western sense of “personal space”. This is true of many densely populated, Asian countries, and I have experienced a fair-share of my space invaded while traveling in India.  But nothing compares to using public transportation in Sri Lanka.  Picture yourself on the most crowded bus or subway train you can remember.  Now double (maybe triple) the number of people crammed in.  Now imagine that journey lasting 5 hours.  (And remember, it’s 90 F. )  I’m not one to mind crowds much, but to have people literally sitting on you, resting their bags on you, leaning much of their weight against you, and the worst – pervy men pressing their, uh… members into whatever area of exposed body part is available for pressing, becomes a wee bit taxing.  For one such journey, Iggy and I got separated (he in the front of the bus and me in the rear) and had to share our horror stories during the quick bathroom break at a roadside shack.  (Even he was getting frotteured!)  If there were air-con luxury bus options (like what are plentiful in Thailand and India), we would be all over it, but so far we haven’t seen evidence that they exist.  Yet anyway… give this place another 5 years.

4) As much as we (as westerners) are a browsing society, Sri Lankans are a “if you are walking down this street you must come into my shop and buy something NOW” society. While this is not unique to Sri Lanka, I have hit my saturation point with it while being here.  To be fair, this aggressive advertising (?) is all over India, but India has enough western tourists that no one person bears the brunt of it too much.  But there aren’t that many western tourists in Sri Lanka.  And according to many of the proprietors at the guest houses we’ve been staying in, this year has seen a particularly low numbers of visitors.  So, needless to say, we have had to ignore many animated attempts to lure us into shops and hotels (aka restaurants).

With all that being said, I think I can confidently say I have mostly pushed past these challenges.  For today, anyway.  :)

More soon…

Love-

Allison

Next, we did some brunching at a sweet little guesthouse near the beach that served “home-made” Sri Lankan coffee.  This coffee was in fact sourced from genuine Sri Lankan coffee beans, but what was so special about this coffee, so  hand-clapping outstanding, was that it was  – are you ready? – freshly ground, and delivered to our table in a large french press (!!!).  Mind you, we’ve been mostly existing on Nescafe and other instant varieties.  And tea, obviously.  But that coffee was bomb.

We then spent most of the remaining day being utterly self-indulgent on the one of the most spectacular stretches of beach I’ve ever laid eyes on.  Unawatuna!  The name was so catchy and sing-songy, we made a point of singing the horribly irritating and catchy hakuna-matata song (from the Lion King) and inserting Unawatuna in for the chorus.  It means no worries! 

Throughout the day, Iggy made a point of telling people it was my birthday.  Aside from the slight embarrassment, I was touched by the consistent response from Sri Lankans.  They heartily reached out for a handshake every time.  I guess that’s how you say ‘Happy Birthday’ in Sinhala…

While birthdays rarely make one suddenly feel one year older or wiser, I have to say I feel a shift on turning 35.  I know I said this when I turned 30, but I really, really feel now like I’m a bona-fide adult.  A force to be reckoned with and such.  Like, like, seriously.    Like many of my San Francisco brethren, I’ve enjoyed a period of prolooooonged post-college adolescence.  Building a career working at a university has been interesting in that I started my job fresh out of grad school – still feeling more aligned with the students than with the “adults” working there.  But now, after too many semesters finding myself shrugging my shoulders at what those darn kids are wearing, I’m definitely one of the adults.  Definitely.

Big life changes are on the horizon and I fully embrace what’s ahead.  I’m 35, world!

Dec 14, 2009-Unawatuna Beach, south coast of Sri Lanka

But all that aside, we are being very well fed on the travel-adventure-jumping-into-uncertainty tip.  We’ve already learned to approach each new place with the Zen Mind/Beginner’s Mind.  Everything to learn and nothing to know.

After a not-so-relaxing first week, we were rewarded with the sweet gem of a town – Pondicherry – on the southeast coast, in the state of Tamil Nadu.  We soaked up the small town hospitality, enjoyed the colonial french flair that colored the town, and got soggy with neem oil over ayurvedic treatments (seriously, that was a shit-load of oil!).

After Pondicherry, we hopped a plane to Colombo, Sri Lanka.  Much like the big cities in India (and really anywhere in developing countries), Colombo was traffic-clogged, loud, difficult to navigate,  and air-polluted.  But that being said, it was also a bit slower, a bit more relaxed, and a lot cleaner than the cities we had just come from.  After one full day in Colombo, we were ready to leave to City and head for the slower-paced villages and towns.  Right now, we are in a cute little place called Bentota – easing into island time, observing the local goings-on (sea turtle hatcheries – cute overload!!, palm tree-climbing men tapping coconut flowers to make the local homebrew called arrack – yum!, and soaking up the sand-sea-sun).  More reflection coming soon on Sri Lanka in general.  It’s quite different from India in ways I am still articulating.  In the meantime, I’ll be slathering myself in sunscreen and DEET and waiting for the next moment to unfold.

I hope to post some short videos soon as we’ve been chronicling little moments here and there.

Love-Allison

City #1: Mumbai (aka Bombay)

Let me preface my summarized experience with a disclaimer that I don’t pretend to understand the enigma that Mumbai is (or India as a whole, for that matter).  I can only share anecdotes that left impressions and reflect on those impressions.  Home to almost 17 million people, half of which live in the slums, Mumbai seems to be the epitomy of the “New India” (girls in jeans with short hair, bars and nightclubs, air-conditioned shopping malls, barista coffee cafes, people of all ages on cell phones).  Yet the destitute poverty of so many millions of Mumbaikers (the ones who aren’t buying cafe lattes and talking on cell phones), whose suffering is so crushingly, painfully apparent in almost every nook and cranny in the City, makes the rising middle class seem a little… surreal? unjust?  I’m not sure what the word is…  I don’t really know how to feel about it either.  I mean, I’m buying the cafe lattes and paying as much for a hotel each night that the Mumbaikers living in the “Darkness” earn in 1 or 2 months.  What does that say about me?  I’ll be revisiting this, I’m sure…

On a lighter note, at least I know I’m contributing to the livelihood of many of the tourist site photographers.  At many of the tourist attractions, men hang out with digital cameras and mini-printers and take potraits of people in front of <insert monument here> for a fee.  Curiously, the Indian tourists at these sites really want to have their photo taken with white foreigners, or perhaps just pale-skinned blondies (?).  I remember this happening quite frequently last time I was in India, but this time around it’s sort of hilarious.  Kids, teenagers, families, even older Indian couples, ask for “”just one photo” (which usually means about 5 photos and posed with multiple members of the family).  At first the requests felt a little awkward – I mean, why would they want a photo with a stranger? – but then again, I take photos of strangers…  Usually, the people requesting photos are so happy and grateful for the photos that it’s hard to say no.  So, that is how Iggy and I have spending much of our time here.  Posing for photos that will end up in many strangers’ photo albums and vacation keepsakes.  That, and taking photos of strangers (often at their request).

On our last eveing in Mumbai, we went to the local beach – Chowpatty Beach – to sunset and people watch.  Iggy was taking many long exposure, night shots which the beachgoers seemed to find quite fascinating.  Iggy would set the camera up on his tripod and within seconds a small crowd would gather to watch the amazing spectacle unfold.  Click.  At one point, a young boy asked Iggy to take his photo and as Iggy clicked away, the boy busted out with some crazy-ass yoga asanas.  So of course, Iggy had to show the youngster some capoeira moves.  Skip to the next scene (20 seconds later): it’s a capoeira-yoga off with no less than 35 or 40 people gathered around watching.  It. was. awesome.    Once Iggy and the boy ran out of moves, and Iggy wisely decided to end the showmanship, we continued our stroll along the beach promenade with our entourage of about 10 boys (aged 6ish to 18ish).

City #2 (Ellora: cave temples and monkeys!) and City #3 (Hyderabad: smog and car horns! mutton! women in burkhas!) to be described in additonal post, as this post is already of epic proportions.

More soon…

The past fews days, I’ve been reflecting a lot on my last trip to India.  I took a (mostly) solo trip to the northern part of the country for about 6 weeks just after finishing grad school.  It was my first experience backpacking for any extended period of time and it was the first time I truly understood how much privilege I have.  While that journey was not always an easy and pleasant one, I consider those six weeks to be some of the most transformative ones of my life.  I remember being flooded with gratitude upon returning to San Francisco.  I was grateful for the obvious things like having a beautiful home in a beautiful city with a beautiful group of friends and loved ones.  But even more salient was my gratitude for being an educated, financially-independent woman.  Unlike many Indian women (and people from lower Castes), I had a voice.  I had choices.  My entire life was a cornucopia of opportunities.  And it is.  Along this train of thought, as I pack my backpack and clean my apartment and drop off my kitties to their Auntie Lolo in preparation for my second journey to India, I am filled with an open curiosity for what sort of internal journey and teachings await.

Our first city to explore will be Mumbai.  Beyond that, we’re leaving it open.  More updates soon from half way around the world!

Love and Blessings-

Allison