Parasailing Into the Sunset

I have arrived in Goa. The village at which I am staying is a beautiful little place called Benaulim and is full of an eclectic mix of locals, backpackers, hippies, and tourists. Normally, a large number of tourists bothers me, but this place is so damn relaxing and peaceful that I'm not upset. I feel like I'm taking a small vacation from India, away from the hordes of people and away from the pollution of the cities. I plan to stay a few days.

To get to Goa, I rode 2-tier sleeper air-conditioned, and it was significantly nicer than typical sleeper for a few reasons. First, there are fewer people crammed into the cars. Second, the people are wealthier. This makes me sound elitest, but riding regular sleeper class one ends up with real, salt-of-the-earth working class Indians. Consequently, they're somewhat less hygenic and they barely speak any English. One ends up crammed into a tiny space for 12 hours listening to Hindi pop music and screaming babies. It is an interesting experience to have, and I imagine I'll do it again. Still, riding AC sleeper in more comfort and finding Indians fluent in English to converse with is probably worth the 8 extra dollars.

I arrived in Goa around 10 in the morning. As I was leaving the train station a local offered to give me a ride to Benaulim on his motorcycle. My other options were to either pay 180 rupees to have a taxi take me straight to Benaulim, or pay 50 rupees for a taxi to take me to a bus stand where I would wait for 30 minutes on a bus, pay 10 rupees for the bus, and then have to walk from the center of Benaulim to the coast. So, I opted for the motorcycle.

Now, imagine me on a motorcycle, a small Goan man with a Tom Selleck 'stache driving, and my massively large backpack balanced in front. If this weren't India it would have been a comical sight. As it is, Indians regularly carry absurdly precarious loads by motorcycle. It's common to see families of four (I've even seen a family of five) riding through town on motorbikes.

My hotel is decent. It is muggy and not terribly clean, but it's right on the beach. I spent the afternoon reading in the sand and swimming in the ocean. In the evening I was looking for a place to eat along the beach when a couple young guys approached me and asked if I wanted to parasail. After very brief bargaining we agreed on a price of 500 rupees, and they immediately strapped me into a harnass. I expected some sort of discussion about safety, or landing, but when I turned to ask them I was suddenly jerked forward and into the sky.

There are few experiences in my life that can compare with parasailing at sunset above the Arabian Sea. It was not at all frightening. It was liberating, even strangely tranquil. Hanging suspended above the waves of sea made me feel like I was in a different plane... as if I were seeing the world from an entirely different realm, and what I saw was beautiful - local fishermen bringing in their nets for the evening, happy couples strolling along the beach, children playing with coconuts beneath countless palm trees. Methinks I heard Vishnu chuckling delightedly in the clouds.

After landing, I grabbed some fresh prawn curry at one of the restaurants on the beach. I washed this down with some Kingfisher beer and followed it with bebinca - a delicious Goan dessert made primarily with flour, butter, and coconuts... somewhat akin to bread pudding. After eating I decided to take an evening stroll along the beach. The sun had set, and I rolled up my pants and walked in the surf. The strangest thing happened. I sometimes get lost in my thoughts and fail to notice my surroundings, but last night when I finally left my musings I realized I was very far from the village. In what had felt to me like a brief moment I had apparently walked for hours, nearly to the next village. I must have been over 10 km from my hotel. It was rather bizarre, and I began to wonder about my mental state. Anyway, after a tiring walk back I arrived at my hotel shack and went to sleep.

From Ahmedabad to Goa

Above is a photo I snapped inside the Ahmedabad train station. India has the largest, most utilized train system in the world. Millions and millions ride the trains on a daily basis. Consequently, they also have the most rail accidents in the world. Just the other day a train crushed a herd of 30 cows passing through a narrow gorge. Last night, a train derailed outside Calcutta killing over a dozen and injuring hundreds. Still, train travel is safer than automobile travel.

Anyhow, I had to wait in line for nearly three hours to get my tickets. India ought to make online ticket reservations more widely available, but to do such a thing would eliminate thousands of jobs in the national rail service. India hates automation. Most Indians seem to view automation, and even efficiency, in unfavorable terms because they eliminate jobs. Why have another bus when 20 auto rickshaw wallahs will do the work for 20 times the cost? Why spend two days digging the ditch for a new sidewalk with a machine when 50 laborers can do it in two months? This seems to be the logic of India. It is Bastiat's broken window parable througout the country. It can be quite maddening. More still, among the 20 ticket counters at the train station, one window was designated for handing out the paper reservation slips. Why? The obvious consequence was that all of the people from the 19 other lines had to queue up at this one window simply to have a man hand us a worthless piece of paper. Why is this man not replaced by a stack of paper? Why was I once asked to pay for one train ticket in rupees and another in dollars, simply because I am a foreign tourist? And yet, despite the madness of its streets and trains, its religions and its massive population, India marches on.

A final, curious thing about getting train tickets is the line for foreign tourists is usually designated "Foreign tourists and freedom fighters." Somehow, the line always appears full of neither.

Tonight I will take a sleeper train to Mumbai. I'll spend tomorrow afternoon hanging out in Mumbai before taking another sleeper train to Goa. I'm trying to work my way over to Hampi.

India is for Lovers

I've observed a few things about tourists in India. First, they do not leave the beaten path. In every city I visit I intentionally wander at least a short distance outside the Lonely Planet's map. Every single time I have done this, the tourists have disappeared. It's like magic - poof! everyone is suddenly brown. In fact, this is one of many reasons why I think a good traveler ought not use Lonely Planet like a bible. One has to be at least a little contrarian to obtain a more authentic taste of the culture.

My second observation is that India is for lovers. This place is full of couples. There are two primary groups - older, retired couples and young, recently wed couples. I've been speculating as to what, if anything, this means. Do thirty somethings and forty somethings lack the time? Do they lack the desire? Is it the children and the career? It must be the kids. Also, spotting a lone backpacker is about as likely as seeing a woolly rhinoceros. I suspect most people have (good) reasons for not wanting to travel India alone.

One final thing I've noticed about tourists is that they seem to be acting out a fantasy. The older, white men all wear travel vests with lots of pockets. They frequently have on a white, safari hat, and they are usually sporting sandals. The young couples usually wear hippie backpacker attire - loose, color faded shirts and capri-like pants. Once adorned, these travelers run from one location to another, snapping pictures. Most of them are not so much enjoying their time or observing their surroundings. Primarily, they seem to be documenting and constructing narratives. "I was here, I saw this, here is my photo evidence." The journey is valued as a story to recapitulate - not as an experience to be enjoyed. What do you think?

I posted some more photos to Facebook. The photo at top is a view of Jodhpur. Currently, I'm in Udaipur, but I will be leaving for Ahmedabad in the morning. After that I might visit the Ellora cave temples, or I might go straight to Goa. Unfortunately, it's likely I'll have to spend at least one day in Mumbai in transit... all roads lead to Rome.

Desert, Bus, Streets

So, I had a nice little excursion in the Thar Desert. The camel ride was fun... even if uncomfortable. I've always found deserts beautiful, and interacting with my driver and his family offered a good glimpse into village life. My guide was named Kamal (he didn't find it so funny that he is a camel guide named Kamal). He has been working with the same driver for 12 years, and they get along very well, but there is a strange distance between them because of their different caste backgrounds. Caste is still very much alive in the village.

To get back from the desert I had to ride a bus. This was my first bus experience in India. Like everthing else in this country, the bus was severely crowded. We had two people in every seat and about a dozen people standing. I was sure the bus was full, but then another dozen people crammed in. I began to wonder at what point a person suffocates in such a situation. It was very awkward. I was practically sitting on some older Hindu lady's shoulder. Still, trains and buses will remain as crowded because India is immensely poor. I might be willing to pay more, on occasion, for a little comfort, but the average Indian cannot. Given the option, they must take the overcrowded bus for 15 rupees rather than pay 25 rupees for more comfort.

I want to share a quick bit about streets in India. I've explored a few cities now, and I think I have witnessed enough to say that Indian cities are impossible. Most streets have no names. The streets that have names often have two completely different names - a colonial era name and nationalist revision. This means that even if one can obtain a map (which itself is a challenge) then the name on the map may not match the name on the street. Hence, one can only rely on landmarks, but even with landmarks navigating twisting, tiny streets in cities larger than Louisville, with no map and no street names, is as daunting as it sounds. Thank God for cheap rickshaws.

A Morning Monologue

India is surreal. It is intoxicating and sobering, uplifting and depressing - in all places you witness the most bizarre juxtapositions of life's circumstances. There are slums next to luxury apartments, and the cows, camels, and rickshaws move with the traffic flows beside Mercedes and Marutis. You may at one moment find yourself talking to a Muslim about karma, and in the next moment watch a Jain drive past on a scooter - face mask in place - so as not to accidentally swallow an insect. Hindus and Muslims, Sikhs and Jains. This is a land blanketed with religious diversity, held tenuously together by ancient threads of tolerance, then tensely interwoven with prejudice and caste, and patterned with a new consumerism. It is surely the strangest country on Earth.

I spent a very enjoyable three days with Ricky and Ashik. We traveled around Jaipur and we drove to Bundi and Bikaner. Bundi was a fantastic little town. It was Indiana Jones meets Agrabah meets the 21st century. Every twisting little street was lined with quaint shops selling cookware, shoes, and a hundred other trinkets. Interspersed throughout the town were a dozen miniature temples and shrines to Ganesh and Hanuman and Ganesh (he is a very popular god). And, in the evening huge swarms of bats filled the twilight sky over the town.

Our second day in Bundi we traveled to a waterfall (water trickle) 20km north of the town. After a short hike we found ourselves bathing in Varuna's sacred water with an eldery, half naked Hindu priest. All the while the sadhu's assistant was relentlessly grinding some green substance with a morter and pestal. When we were finished bathing we were instructed to drink this green substance - which was apparently bhang. I was expecting, at some point, to be asked for money, but the whole thing was apparently a legitimate religious experience. The sadhu was greatly ammused by my presence and participation and cackled almost non-stop with delight. Other pilgrims were trekking to the waterfall as we left.

The following day was spent mostly back in Jaipur. We drove around the city until we got a flat tire. You see, when I first arrived in India I marveled that there weren't more traffic accidents and flat tires. The road conditions are often terrible. People drive at unnerving speeds. There seem to be practically no traffic laws. Everywhere there are goats, cows, rickshaws, and children weaving in and out of immensely congested streets. I have now come to realize that there are accidents occuring - all the time. The city buses are full of dents from the relentless pounding of auto rickshaws and other vehicles. I saw a woman get clipped by a car the other day. So, our flat tire came as no surprise. Of course, rather than change it ourselves Ricky paid a lower caste/status repair man to do it for about 100 rupees (two dollars). Labor is immensely cheap in India, but that is a topic for another post. The repair man was easy to find because, I've now noticed, there are tire shops all over the place because flat tires must be incredibly common. Indeed, we only had to walk one block.

Yesterday was spent traveling around Bikaner. Ricky, Ashik, and I were supposed to go into the desert in the evening to camp out. However, much to my disgruntlement Ricky and Ashik were apparently not good guys. It was hard for me to accept, but they had apparently been trying to sweeten me up to con me out of money. They wanted to leave me in the desert to wait on a camel and guide that would supposedly come while they went back to Jaipur to fix Ricky's rickshaw. They expected me to "let them borrow" 14,000 rupees. They offered a very emotional and heartfelt story about their financial woes, and told me what a good friend I had become and how I needed to do it for my karma. So, I told them I didn't have any money and that they needed to drive me back to town to the ATM. (They didn't seem to anticipate this. I think everyone here assumes Americans travel everywhere with massive wads of cash.) Once I was back in town I grabbed my pack and hopped out of the car and told them that the money would be impossible. They became rather upset and continued to beseech me, offering entirely new reasons for needing money. The whole experience was very upsetting. I'd spent three days with these guys, and the fact that it was all just a ruse saddened me. I told them I did not want to see their faces again. By this point there was more darkness than light, and they tried to usher me away into the shadows. Somehow, their continuous deceit and increasingly nefarious intentions caused something in me to snap. I told them "take it easy or I'm going to have to take it hard." (This was something Ricky had told a rickshaw driver a couple days ago, so it had a sort of special meaning to him.) Ricky and Ashik tried to laugh this off, but I told them once again to "get lost" or I would contact the police. Knowing that I'm in a better position (financially) to bribe an officer than they are, they finally left. The whole experience has made me a more cynical person.

Alright, I need to go. I'm still in Bikaner, and I'd like to enjoy the city for a day or two. I've posted photos on Facebook, if anyone is interested. Chow.

Concerning Confidence Men, Gem Scams and Basements

Something has transpired. A very curious something involving exactly the elements described in the title of the post - con men and a gem scam. It feels rather surreal in retrospect, but I will start back at the beginning.

The train ride to Jaipur took 23 hours. Yes, I spent 23 hours being transported across the country much like a chicken is transported to the slaughterhouse. I traveled "sleeper class" with hundreds of Indians and two Israelis from Dubai. The train wasn't pretty. It did not smell like a bed of roses. There were more rats at the train station than I care to remember (a seething, throbbing mass of them). There was no toilet, naturally, just a hole in the floor. Still, the families on the train were, in a word, quaint - eating their samosas, drinking chai, listening to obnoxiously loud music. I'd say I enjoyed the experience. I'll do it again.

I arrived in Jaipur at about 8 in the evening. I caught an auto rickshaw to the Vaishnavi Guest House. I was able to get a better room than I had in Mumbai for less than half the price. Anyhow, the rickshaw driver agreed to meet me the following morning to show me the sights. Which, is exactly how I spent yesterday morning and afternoon. Jaipur is a beautiful city. It's more relaxed and is a welcome break from the chaotic drudgery that characterized Mumbai.

Unfortunately, rather than taking me back to my hotel my rickshaw driver, Khan, insisted on taking me to visit his boss. I acquiesced when he promised a decent meal, but thought it rather peculiar. We arrived at a typical looking, middle class residence. We took off our shoes, and Khan took me down to a sort of half basement. There were a half dozen men lurking about, all very smartly dressed and immensely friendly. More still, there were rows and rows of supposedly precious stones, diamonds, and gold. I was growing very suspicious, but I ate some very enjoyable vegetable thalis with Khan and "the boss" on the floor, in the middle of a beautiful, handmade Indian carpet. After dinner, the sweet talking commenced.

It's hard to describe, but the entire thing felt immensely staged. They flattered me, they lamented about customs duties and taxes, and they told me how much money I could make if I would only transport precious stones for them - to Paris or New York or Antwerp. In the middle of the conversation "the boss" took a call on the speaker phone from the "Venice Exposition." They flattered me some more, told me how honest I looked, told me how I could make 12 thousand dollars "don't you want to make 12 thousand dollars?" the boss asked. I said "not terribly, I just want to live a simple existence as a sadhu." This threw him, but they wouldn't give up, so I promised to go out for drinks with them later in the evening. I had Khan drive me back to my hotel, I paid him for driving me around during the day, and I told him I didn't want to see him again. After he departed I spoke with a couple of the Nepalese porters about it. They admitted that quite a few of the rickshaw drivers are involved in the tourist gem scam business.

I spent the latter half of the evening with a couple guys who work at the hotel across the street, drinking Kingfisher beer on a rooftop under a beautiful crescent moon. I might be going out to the desert with them for a day or two. We're supposed to go to a little town called Bikaner.

I hope everyone back home is doing okay during the snows and power outage.

Ticket to Ride

That's right, I have a ticket to ride - a train to Jaipur. A ticket to Ahmedabad was not to be had, so I went with the next best thing. I even bought another ticket to Delhi. How much does a 1100 km, 14 hour journey cost? About 7 dollars. That includes a pallet for sleeping. Pretty fair, I'd say.

Therefore, my plan is to leave Mumbai tomorrow evening, arrive in Jaipur the following evening, stay in Jaipur for a few days, and then depart for Delhi. I think it will feel good to be in a smaller city for a bit. (I believe Jaipur only has about 4 million people.)

In other news, I took the ferry out to Elephanta Island today. Incidentally, I struck up a conversation with a fairy whilst waiting on the other ferry. The fairy was a very friendly, affable gay man named Micky. He's a dancer and dance instructor from Calcutta. We talked for over an hour about Indian and American culture, romance, the terrorist attacks, and the overarching unity of all existence. Micky is traveling to perform in Alaska in March. An interesting fellow.

I also spoke with one of the ferry operators about the Mumbai attacks. He said it was a pretty crazy thing to witness. Apparently, he watched the entire thing unfold from the landing dock. He said he was amazed how long it lasted. I'm rather amazed as well. The state police headquarters are practically right next to the Taj Mahal Palace hotel.

Anyway, the photo up top is from Elephanta Island. This island is famous for its carved Shiva cave temples. In the Shaiva tradition of Hinduism, Shiva is both the creator and the destroyer. His frenzied dance brings about the destruction of the universe while his slower, more graceful steps bring a new world into being. He's really a very fascinating and useful vehicle for explaining an important philisophical concept. Destruction breeds creation. Creation requires destruction.

While you're brooding over that, I'm going to find something spicy to eat. Peace.

Republic Day

Today India... sleeps. Or, supposedly celebrates its Constitution, but the city seems rather quiet for the moment. I'm seeing preparations and set-up for a celebration or two. There were men in their snazziest suits and women in their most beautiful saris outside the National Mint. Mostly though, I think people are relaxing.

Yesterday, Sunday, was also a rather slow day. Traffic was strangely nonexistent. The taxi drivers were mostly asleep in their cabs - their bare feet dangling out the open side doors. Hundreds and hundreds of young boys played cricket in streets throughout the city. I strolled over to the Churchgate train station, hoping to reserve a ticket to Ahmadabad. I was told, rather brusquely, by an agitated ticket window operator that I should "go zee-sst!" Which I later interpreted to mean "go to CST - Chattrapati Shinvajji Terminus." So, today I'm going to try once again to reserve a ticket out of this city.

Despite my better judgment, I bought another book yesterday. Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children. It's a very good read, so far, but it means more weight in my pack. I might have to lose something to compensate... maybe my hair product or my aftershave balm? Why did I bring either of those things to India? They seem so totally useless.

Oh, I had a nice chat with an Australian bloke this morning. In typical white-man-in-India fashion he had on a hammer and sickle t-shirt and shorts. Friendly chap, though. We talked about the various types of train tickets to be had. His outfit was less obnoxious than the American I saw yesterday in a Gandhi shirt, shorts, and flip flops. It must be intensely amusing for the locals.

Day Two

I really don't understand how this city functions. The thousands of taxi cabs are like bumper cars. The traffic lights are few, and where they are to be found they are largely ignored. Sanitation is... severely lacking. I cannot even find a store to buy soap. In fact, I have yet to see any soap in India.

Basically, I figured a city this populous would have to have some similarities to Western cities - i.e. Rome or Barcelona. Those were the two comparisons I had in my mind before I arrived. I imagined Rome with more pollution and poverty and a little less order. Such a comparison cannot be made. Mumbai is unique. It is a sprawling, crawling mass of humanity with seemingly little regard for organization.

I'm going out in search of food. And, maybe a new hotel.

Mumbai

This place is twice as dirty, three times as polluted and immeasurably more impoverished than I anticipated. And, my expectations were already pretty low. I am overwhelmed. It's partly the jet lag that has me feeling down, but this is certainly the most difficult experience of my life.

The flights were relatively uneventful. I had to go through special security in Frankfurt due to the Mp3 player Monica bought me. One would think the Krauts had never seen one. They actually ended up doing a chemical test on it before they allowed me to pass. I actually appreciated it because it gave me something to do during my seven hour layover.

My flight to Mumbai was delayed slightly, causing me to arrive at three o'clock in the morning, local time. (By the way, India is 10 1/2 hours ahead of Indiana. The half hour is referred to as Indian "stretch" time.) So, in the middle of the night I arrived in a city more populous than Australia. I had some difficultly getting a hotel, despite using the airport's reservation desk. Everyone is trying to rip me off. I'm white, therefore I'm basically wearing a sign that says I am rich and ignorant. Thankfully, even getting ripped off 25 rupees here and 50 rupees there means I have still wasted less than 2 dollars.

The 45 minute taxi ride to my hotel was... enlightening. Maybe revelatory is the word. I watched from the window with both a broken heart and a sense of morbid fascination. The slums are immense. Beyond immense. They give new meaning to squalor. More yet, beyond the millions living in the Dharavi slums (the largest slums in Asia) there were thousands sleeping homeless on the street. Literally, on the street, because all of the benches and building overhangs were already taken. I found the homeless population when I lived in Washington DC heartbreaking, but this is something altogether different. Imagine driving past women and babies - young children sleeping on the same street as rabid dogs. The sulphurous cloud of pollution hanging everywhere, coupled with the stench of human and animal waste. I am not exaggerating.

I felt guilty, but I couldn't help but hope that my hotel was in some clean, Western quarter of the city. A place with plenty of white people where I might feel safer. Such was not to be. My taxi stopped at the Sea Lord hotel (no sea view). I had intended to stay at the marginally nicer Sea Palace hotel, but there was some confusion at the airport. Still, I have a quasi cleanish room with a working (cold) shower and an inner lock for my door. I'm paying an exhorbitant lodging fee (by Indian standards) of about 1700 rupees a night - about 25 dollars a night.

Well, I hope everyone back home is well. You are all in my thoughts.

Namasté

Greetings! Namasté is a way to say "hello" in hindi. This will be my blog for the duration of my Asian travels. I plan to spend the majority of my time in India, but I also hope to see Singapore and maybe even Vietnam before I return stateside. I have a one-way ticket to Mumbai, and I do not plan on returning until I burn through the majority of my cash. I estimate this will take somewhere between 2 and 7 months. Yippee.

I have received a number of questions about this trip (you all seem to think me nutty), and I would like to address the question I have received incessantly - why India? My reasons are many, but chiefly I chose India because travel there is cheap, English is widely spoken, and there are a billion people to meet (literally). Also, the social scientist in me is fascinated by a country in such a period of rapid transition - economically, culturally and ecologically. Does that satiate your curiosity? I doubt it, but it will have to do for the moment.

Moving on, I fly out on January 20th. It now occurs to me that I am leaving on Inauguration Day, and it saddens me that I will only enjoy a few brief hours of the new Obama presidency. It's a funny thing to wait so long for the end of the Bush era (error) and then not stick around to gloat and bask in Obama's glory, as I was intending. Still, I am certain I will follow U.S. political news from abroad.

Alrighty, that is enough for tonight. I will post once more before I leave.