What the Delhi-O?

I should have wrote this entry two weeks ago when the impressions were fresh and the size of this story was manageable. I'm in Northern India right now. The people here are almost entirely Buddhist and I am finally relaxed. I'll be heading toward the border of Tibet tomorrow. Or at least as close as I am allowed to go. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Lets travel back to the beginning of September when the adventure truly began. The story you are about to hear is entirely true. I suggest you go find some snacks and prepare before you continue any further.

Here are my first impressions upon leaving customs in Delhi... Everyone is Indian. Pretty insightful right? Well it may seem obvious, but it is an inevitable conclusion that everyone has to make when they arrive. And it's hot and humid. Let me elaborate on that... I was sweating profusely within 30 seconds of stepping outside. The initial adjustment to your surroundings are like taking a slap in the face, if your like me. You just try not to cry. Thank god we had an airport pickup. I don't know how I could have coped with the hoards of taxi drivers that are dying to scam you.

I should also mention that I have acquired a new traveling partner. Her name is Lindsay. She is yet another coworker from Wilderness Inquiry with enough adventurous spirit to join me. So we left together and caught a ride to a Tibetan Refugee Colony on the outskirts of town. Guess how much our hotel room cost? About $2 each!! And how much do you think our first lunch was? 15 cents! That's all I'm going to mention about the various prices we paid. Please be aware, however, that nothing gives me greater pleasure in life than a good deal. We spent the evening in jetlagged fits of sleep, lying in our own sweat on top of the sheets. Sounds nice huh? Just wait...

So we woke up the next morning and prepared ourselves for a day of exploration around Delhi. But, there is no way to prepare... Please allow me to paint a picture of what it is like riding into town. We took an autorickshaw. They look like a buggy, the engine starts like a lawn mower, and all you can do is close your eyes and pray for atonement when you find yourself in one. Now imagine 35W or your local interstate highway. Take away the lanes and the vehicles and replace them with these items from my running list: Rickshaws (passenger bycycles), auto-rickshaws, mini-taxis, wildly decorated buses, small children, beggers, boys selling coconuts, boys in wheelchairs, horse and carriages, donkeys, yaks, and elephants. This is a city of over 12 million and I am positively sure that there are no traffic laws. It is complete anarchy. If there is space in front of you, then you take it. Sometimes that means that you have to hit a couple people on the way.

Here's one good thing about Delhi for me. I feel completely anonymous walking the streets with Lindsay and I haven't made one baby cry yet. All stares are reserved for her and I am free to stare back all I want without being noticed. It's like I'm invisible. We estimate that she recieves a visual undressing or catcall every 2.5 seconds. India is not the country for a single white female.

So with freshly white knuckles, we arrived at Hanuman's Tomb. I'll spare you the history of it and give you a quick description. It is the temple from Disney's Aladin. We spent the afternoon trying to process what had we had already been through and wandered around taking pictures. I am still surprised when I see such an awesomely preserved relic and someone has the audacity to scratch "Rafy was here 2004" into the wall... Thank you Rafi, I will never forget you. I made the comment to Lindsay about how rude that was. She responded that maybe the family behind us thought I was rude for continuing to belt out the lyrics from "Arabian Nights" (Aladin's Theme Song)... Touche.

Our only real piece of business that day was finding out how we could buy train tickets to Agra to see the Taj Majal. I am sad to report that I was duped. It serves me right for thinking I was such a knowledgable traveler. Shortest version of the story is that we were convinced by a taxi driver that we should head to a travel agency instead of the train station to purchase our tickets. He recieved his commission and we were delivered into a tourist agent's lap. His was Shaquille btw, no joke. And I thought there could be only one person with a name as ridiculous as that. He told us that there were no tickets to Agra left for the next day (lie number one). Then that we couldn't catch a bus North because it would be too long and uncomfortable (lie number two). Before we knew it, we had bought plane tickets to Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir. What just happened? We're going to Kashmir? Isn't there a war there or something? Those were our retrospective thoughts at the time.

So we decided that was enough Delhi for one day and took a ride back to our nice little Tibetan Village. Only the driver dropped us on the wrong side of the highway. Remember my description of the roads? Well, now picture us in race stances on the wrong side waiting for our window to cross. We tensed and it was almost 5 minutes before we were able to run screaming across the road. I learned then that many Indian drivers will actually swerve towards you and not away. No theories about why yet... Over population? Please bear in mind that this is all happening in the first 24 hours. But, what's done is done and we started the next leg of our journey towards Kashmir.

I'm sitting here staring at the computer screen now. I have no idea how to describe what it's like to spend time in this particular part of the world. Kashmir is like a paradox. Our ride from the airport was delayed sitting in traffic so a military convoy could drive through. There are men with Oozies or Ak-47s on every corner. Surprisingly, they made me feel more comfortable because I didn't like the way everyone else looked at us. But in the midst of all the tension and squalor is the most beautiful place I have ever laid eyes on. I'm finally in the Himilayas. They are beautifully green here and there are virtually no other tourists. I couldn't decided if we were geniouses or fools. We spent the next two days living on a house boat. We rode boat taxis to water markets and relaxed watching golden sunsets on a crystal clear lake. It was a great way to get the Delhi out of your system.

So we decided that we weren't ready to leave just yet and booked ourselves into a 7 day trek. We camped next to raging blue creeks and saw only gypsys and shephards the entire time. Seeing gypsys? This was a major selling point on the trip for me and I have no idea why in retrospect. They have these giant dogs that look like wolves. I was attacked by one while day hiking to a glacier. I stabed at him with my trekking pole while the gypsy woman threw rocks. She seemed to think it was funny! He didn't get to bite me, though. Thank god too because I learned afterward that the closest rabies vacine is in Bankok. It was a reminder of just how far away from home I am. And also a little bit of foreshadowing.

Lindsay started to get sick that day. She was having pains all over and her throat closed shortly after dark. Her breaths were in gasps and I had no idea how to get this girl to Bankok. We were not consoled when our uneducated and sexist guide, Ashref, decided that she must be on her period and that everything would be ok. This was coming from a man that thought California was the capital of the USA and spent the week trying to convince me to give him 100 Euro so he could mail me maryjuana back home. Thanks, but no thanks Ashref. But we stuck out the night without much sleep and learned what the cause was in the morning. Our hired tent was made out of old ripped canvas and apparently also pretty moldy. Lindsay learned that she is allergic to mold and I learned how to handle Anaphelactic shock (sp?). We spent the rest of the trip sleeping under the stars and I get to call her the glass woman now. So even this story has a happy ending.

So those are the highlights of Kashmir. Except that we watched our pony fall through a rotten bridge into a river. He fell about 20 feet, but was ok. Our pony men (Zuhur, and Gwalom) loaded with up again with luggage as soon as they got him out of the river. Someone call PETA! Then I found god sitting on a cliff... but I lost him again in the hate and suffering that makes up so much of Srinagar. It's easy to find God when you're surrounded by the beauty of the world. The hard part is holding onto that feeling. Kashmir is a great example of the point and counterpoint for belief or disbelief in the supernatural.

9 days near the border of Pakistan and we were ready for a change. We took a 2 day bus straight into the himilayas (which was actually not that bad). At the end, we found ourselves only 450km away from where we started. That's an average of about 20km/hr. But the road was narrow with no guard rail and we felt the we were going fast enough. So now I'm in Leh, deep in the Himilayas. The culture is Buddhist and the feeling is relaxed. There is no place I'd rather be. It's a time for digestion and recooperation before returning to Delhi and then to Nepal. We've earned it.

Ireland is Splendid!

The last two weeks have been spent in recooperation. I past the time enjoying the beautiful scenery and my father's company... and his wallet. This particular entry does not have one single story that can compare to the others that I've already told, so I forgive you if you choose to skip it.

Here is an example of my mind-state entering Ireland. I'm standing at the customs desk and the officer asked me what my golf handicap was... What's this man up to? He had stamped my passport before I even had a chance to respond. I stood there for a few seconds and said "is that it?" He said "yes" and I was in Ireland. No language barrier and not one person asked me for my shoes. Yep, I was free to go wherever I wanted. I just didn't know where. So I stopped by the tourist info desk (they actually have one) and they booked me a room without any surcharge. Then they sold me a bus pass and I was on my way. I had completely forgotten how easy things are supposed to be.

It was dark by the time I arrived in the city center and it occured to me that I haven't really been outside at night for almost 3 months... So I went for a walk. Just because I could. I popped on the old mp3 player and tried my best to get lost... but I couldn't. There are signs directing you to various points of interest. Can you believe that? I couldn't. I spent most the night with a big smile on my face. It was like all of the more difficult parts of African travel were being washed away from me. It was raining and I couldn't have cared less. I mean, it's supposed to rain in Ireland right? Wrong. It hasn't since that night.

And I got to see my dad in the morning! It was like getting the band back together. We started our crazy adventures by renting a car and finding ourselves a nice B and B (Bed and Breakfast). He thought the place where we stayed that night was too noisy... I informed him that I did not hear one rooster crowing or cow mooing and, therefore, it could not have been loud.

I should give a quick description of my dad before I get too far. He's 63 years old and he doesn't move as fast as he used to. But I want to put the qualifier on that statement. It's a mental choice, not a physical ailment (he has a lot of those too). It seemed like he was always a few steps behind reading a sign, or taking a picture. For me, looking at him is kind of like seeing your reflection in one of those circus mirrors. We're so similar that it's scary sometimes. We both have a cheesy sense of humor, for instance. But, there are parts of him that separate us too. There are so many things that I admire about him. He has this uncomprimising sense of right and wrong. He is appalled by litter (there was a lot here). So much that it will undoubtedly be part of all his accounts of our trip. And he seems to have a very categorical mind. His journal of our trip was more like an itinerary of events and places.

My mind is not categorical. Here is how our days went by: Wake, eat, walk or golf, drive, eat, walk or golf, eat and drink, sleep. There you have it. 14 days of events in one sentence. But, let me elaborate of some of the finer points.

The good:
Traditional music played in bars. People will just show up with their instruments and start playing. Sometimes they don't even know eachother. There were some incredible muscians too. Not all of them, though. We listened to this lady belt out a song i've never heard before. But it wasn't hard to tell that she might have been in the wrong key. "WAH- DER- FERD!!!!!" (waterford). That's not going to be easy to forget.

Ms McCarthy. She was one of the ladies who ran one of our many B and B's. One of the most maternal people i've ever met. Dad made me take a picture with her.

The laughs. We had a lot of them. I also learned that I am very good at helping other people finish their meals. But not the other way around. Dad reached for my powerade once and I blurted out "you have your own!" before I could think about the ramifications. He kept "his very own powerade" for the rest of the trip. I never heard the end of it. He even slept with it on the pillow next to him once. He past it down to me when we said goodbye, and I lost it before I could drink it. I honestly didn't know if I wanted to laigh or cry.

The Bad:
Our last B and B. We should have known better. The house smelled like old people and it was filled with teddy bears wearing sunhats. The lady informed us on our arrival that there would be no breakfast in the morning... So what does the second "B" stand for? Her dog barked all night and Dad gave her a piece of his mind. The end product was that we got a refund and an awkward departure in the morning.

The Ugly:
My golf game... It's terrible and no one on the course was safe. I was playing beautiful courses and usually shooting my second shot from the opposite fairway... If I could find my ball.

I've never had two weeks pass so fast. It felt like we had just hit our stride and then it was time to part ways. This traveling thing has become a cycle of hellos and goodbyes and it feels like I've been dumped every time.

I got over it by heading to Belfast in Northern Ireland and here I am. There is so much recent history here. Actually, it doesn't feel like history at all. All job applications ask whether you are catholic or protestant and religion is a difficult subject to discuss. I got lost yesterday and wandered into a parade. A man on the street told me that they were celebrating "a fella that died in the troubles." I walked a few steps away and had to turn around to learn more. I guess this guy was shot and killed by the police 10 years ago. He was part of the Ulster Fighting Forces and had been on his way to kill a member of the IRA when he died. Now he's been martyized as a part of "the troubles."

Here's what I saw. Broken glass everywhere and everyone was drunk. Every building had these elaborately detailed murals of men in black masks and carrying guns. The messages were things like "never surrender" and "our revenge will be the laughter of our children." You could feel the tension and hate. But I never really felt unsafe. Just that I could never really understand what it must be like to be on either side of that kind of hatred. I spent the rest of the day walking until I couldn't think anymore. Then I watched "Team America" with all the German people in my hostel. It was sureal.

And now I'm on my way to London. I'll be living the good life with with my stepdad for the next few days. I heard that he'll be bringing me some clean trousers too. Apparently they don't approve of zip-off pants at the London theater. And I'm four days away from heading back into the developing world... I hope I'm ready. Wish me luck.