My train is scheduled to depart from Delhi's H. Nizamuddin station at 20:50, and arrive two days, or about 34 hours later, at Bangalore CYJN at 6:35. I will spend two nights on the train, which I am excited for. I love train rides, and I've just started The Kite Runner, so I have an excellent read for the ride. Once I am on the train, I discover that all my meals were include in the ticket price, as this is how the Rajdhani Express caters to its passengers. We are continuously being fed meals of rice, dhal (lentils), subji (cooked vegetables), curd, a sweet, pani (water) and a juice box. In between meals, there are snacks--chai and biscuits, bread with butter and jam. It is difficult to be bored when continuously served culinary surprises.
Along the ride I meet a Pakistani-American man who is about my age. He is in India with a group of Muslims that do service projects. He had already spent some time in an impoverished community in India, and he will eventually head to Bangladesh and Pakistan. I am jealous because he paid the same price as me and got a Bangladeshi and Pakistani visas that last several years, I suppose because he plans to return to these places to do service work and visit family. We talk for a while about values and religion. He tells me about his wife, how they met and fell deeply in love, how she respects his decision to leave for a while and do these service projects, how they have very open communication. When he is in the US, he does IT work for large corporations. It seems good for him.
Later, I join the Muslim-American man in his cabin and meet his two Uzbekistani cabin mates. They are a couple; the man is of Russian heritage, and the woman of Uzbek heritage, but both citizens of Uzbekistan. They are traveling in India to meet a religious teacher they have been following, especially the man. I think the woman works for the Uzbek government, and I cannot recall the man's line of work, but he seems very intelligent. We talk about Uzbek culture and history, Russian culture, and the future of the Russian federation as it relates to Uzbekistan and other former satellite states. The man seems to be very interested in conspiracy theories and the impact of Christian/Western mythology on the development of the world.
I also finish reading The Kite Runner on the train. I am thankful for the time to read. Several times the book makes me cry as I lay in my bunk, hopeful that my Indian cabin mates don't see the tears.
In my last hour or so on the train, I make friends with my cabin mates so that they can help me find a taxi or rickshaw at a decent rate. The group of young men find a ride for me and try to get a good rate, as I stand back so that hopefully the driver will not realize he is taking a white person that he should be charging more.
I thank the men and head off to the Swami Vivekananda Yoga Anusandhana Samsthana (SVYASA) center in Bangalore. It is early morning and the streets are surprisingly calm. My first impressions of Bangalore, and of the South, are positive. It seems like a smaller, more navigable city than Delhi. But maybe this is only because it is morning. We drive past some impoverished areas, and then finally find the SVYASA office.
Showing posts with label Delhi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Delhi. Show all posts
Monday, August 10, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Thanksgiving and Terrorism (Gurgaon, November 25-28, 2008)
I take a taxi from Old Delhi to Austin's Google guesthouse in Gurgaon. It is the first time I have had to get a cab from Delhi, and I bargain hard just to get the maximum price Austin told me I should pay. Because evening is falling, I will not be able to find a better price. I get to Austin's at night. I'm sure Aarif greeted me and told me the staff missed me.
I inform Austin that I'm planning to stay in India a bit longer, and thankfully he is okay that I will leave my things in his room while I travel. We plan to celebrate Thanksgiving at his guesthouse, and he will invite some of his friends to the celebration. I also reserve my train ticket from Delhi to Bangalore, where I will attend the one-month Yoga Instructor's Course (YIC) at the Swami Vivekananda Yoga Anusandhana Samsthana ashram called Prashanti Kutiram (which, I think, means abode of peace). SVYASA is a yoga university based in Bangalore, but the ashram is in nearby Jigani. There is also a yoga hospital (arogyadhama) on campus, where research is conducted on the healing effects of yoga for a number of physical and mental ailments.
One evening, Austin and I go to his acquaintance's apartment for a party with a bunch of Indians and ex-pats. I don't think Austin knows the host as well as he knows some of his co-workers at the party. I'm quite awkward all-around, because I really don't know anybody. I am thrust into the kind of ex-pat life I saw in Hong Kong, and I don't really like it.
Austin and I plan for Thanksgiving. I spend most of the day at the Internet cafe while he is at work. We meet up and Manbir takes us to grocery stores that tend to have Western fare. Austin finds a smoked turkey that is more like a processed lunch meat than the real bird. I can't remember what else we find, but I know we cannot find pumpkin pie filling. We might also have mashed potatoes. The guesthouse cooks will make our American food, and also Indian food in case the Indian guests don't like the American dishes. We are fortunate to find some nice pastries at a bakery, and these will suffice instead of pumpkin pie.
I learn that on Thanksgiving day, there has been a huge terrorist attack at two expensive hotels in Mumbai. After Thanksgiving dinner, I call home to talk to the family. I tell my mom that I have decided to stay about three months longer in India, and she is worried. She said she was doing so well with my being gone, until she heard about the Mumbai blast. Now she wants me to come home. I assure her that when I am in the ashram, I will not be mobile for an entire month, and I will be in the middle of nowhere, a place not likely to be attacked. She finally says it is okay for me to stay. I talk to everyone, especially Andrew.
I take the next day to finish laundry and pack, and Manbir brings me to the Delhi train station for my 34-hour train to Bangalore on the Bangalore Rajdhani Express.
I inform Austin that I'm planning to stay in India a bit longer, and thankfully he is okay that I will leave my things in his room while I travel. We plan to celebrate Thanksgiving at his guesthouse, and he will invite some of his friends to the celebration. I also reserve my train ticket from Delhi to Bangalore, where I will attend the one-month Yoga Instructor's Course (YIC) at the Swami Vivekananda Yoga Anusandhana Samsthana ashram called Prashanti Kutiram (which, I think, means abode of peace). SVYASA is a yoga university based in Bangalore, but the ashram is in nearby Jigani. There is also a yoga hospital (arogyadhama) on campus, where research is conducted on the healing effects of yoga for a number of physical and mental ailments.
One evening, Austin and I go to his acquaintance's apartment for a party with a bunch of Indians and ex-pats. I don't think Austin knows the host as well as he knows some of his co-workers at the party. I'm quite awkward all-around, because I really don't know anybody. I am thrust into the kind of ex-pat life I saw in Hong Kong, and I don't really like it.
Austin and I plan for Thanksgiving. I spend most of the day at the Internet cafe while he is at work. We meet up and Manbir takes us to grocery stores that tend to have Western fare. Austin finds a smoked turkey that is more like a processed lunch meat than the real bird. I can't remember what else we find, but I know we cannot find pumpkin pie filling. We might also have mashed potatoes. The guesthouse cooks will make our American food, and also Indian food in case the Indian guests don't like the American dishes. We are fortunate to find some nice pastries at a bakery, and these will suffice instead of pumpkin pie.
I learn that on Thanksgiving day, there has been a huge terrorist attack at two expensive hotels in Mumbai. After Thanksgiving dinner, I call home to talk to the family. I tell my mom that I have decided to stay about three months longer in India, and she is worried. She said she was doing so well with my being gone, until she heard about the Mumbai blast. Now she wants me to come home. I assure her that when I am in the ashram, I will not be mobile for an entire month, and I will be in the middle of nowhere, a place not likely to be attacked. She finally says it is okay for me to stay. I talk to everyone, especially Andrew.
I take the next day to finish laundry and pack, and Manbir brings me to the Delhi train station for my 34-hour train to Bangalore on the Bangalore Rajdhani Express.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Mahananda Express to Old Delhi (New Jaipalguri-Old Delhi, November 21-23, 2008)
I usually book my train tickets online and it has overall been very convenient. At the time of booking a train from New Jaipalguri to Delhi, the only open train I can find is the Mahananda Express, which travels this route every day of the week. Little do I know, it also has a reputation to be one of the slowest trains. I am scheduled to depart at 11:15am on November 21, and arrive at the Old Delhi station at 6pm on November 22. That's already a 31 hour train ride. In the middle of the night, I wake up and realize we are often stopped for long periods of time. It seems the Mahananda Express is no "express" at all; it must have a low priority on the tracks. We stop for long periods of time on and off throughout the journey. The train ends up arriving at the Old Delhi station about seven hours late, at around 1am, making the journey a 38 hour ride.
I don't mind a slow train. I really love train rides, just sitting back and enjoying the scenery, both outside and inside the cabin. And getting through books I want to read. Time stops when I am in transit, and I like the opportunity to relax.
I cannot recall who shares my cabin. It may be a mother and her two daughters on the long bunks, and a man on the short window bunk, with a few bunks to spare. Somehow the conversation turns to dance, and I learn that the mother is a classical Indian dance instructor near Delhi--maybe in Chandigarh. I ask if she can recommend places to study dance in India, and she says she can teach me! I am too timid to ask how this might work--fees, housing, other logistics. But I politely say that would be nice, though I might be leaving the country in just four days. I also have a conversation with the older daughter about Bollywood. I tell her my friend's co-worker at Google is the cousin of Deepika Padukone, one of the biggest heroines at the moment. Smart and mature, she says, "Eh, these things pass. In a little while, there will be someone new." At one stop, the mother and daughters meet some relatives on the platform. The relatives hand them some fresh food. The younger girl looks like she's crying because she had to say goodbye to her relatives so quickly. The man at the short window bed offers us bananas throughout the trip, always saying, "take, take."
I cannot recall if I am confusing train trips, but I believe that at one point the mother and daughters disembark. The short window bed man stays on. This might be a memory from another trip, or it might be from this trip. I also remember sharing a cabin with two men who are apparently powerful members of the Indian police. They tell me that if I need anything, they can help. Near the end of the trip, they seem to drink some alcohol and get a little tipsy. The higher-up in the police force keeps inviting me to his mother's village home. He says that 70% of Indians live in villages, and if I haven't been to a village yet, then I haven't seen the "real" India. He says his mother will treat me like a daughter. It sounds interesting, but I am much too wise by now to accept such an offer as a single female traveler. Luckily, I have an excuse because I have a flight scheduled to leave the country in a few days.
The other memorable passenger from this train ride is the only other Western traveler on my train car. I avoid talking to him for the first part of the journey. I am sick of small talk with other travelers by now, repeating questions such as, "Where are you from? What have you seen? How long will you be in India?" But then, maybe halfway into our journey or so, after having stepped out on the platform and staring out the open door for a while, he comes and sits across from me.
"This train is so slow. We're already so late," he complains to me. "Yeah, this is India," I reply. This short sentence is often used by travelers and Indians alike as a comprehensive explanation of situations here. He doesn't seem placated. I can tell he needs someone to complain to, and that someone is me. He says he's taking the train back to Delhi because he has to go to a travel agent to pick up a refund on a flight that was canceled. This is another thing he's angry about.
At one point in our conversation, a very young newspaper wala sells us the newspaper. I don't know the real price, but I am happy to pay the five rupees he requests. I reason that if he is ripping me off, I don't mind because I am supporting a child who's working rather than begging, and it's only five rupees. But the Westerner across from me argues with the mere child. "It's really supposed to be three rupees, but you blacked out the price on the front. I'll only pay the real price." Then the man brushes the child away. At another point I give a child who is sweeping the cabin a tip, and the man again shoos the child away. "Sometimes you have to tell 'em to fuck off," he says, "Sometimes it's the only way to get 'em away."
I am certainly not impressed by this man, but it's nice to be able to talk to someone, and I have nothing else to do, so we continue our conversation. I soon realize that the conversation is basically one-sided, that this man doesn't want to listen to my India stories, and merely needs to voice his. I learn he is from Germany and has just started receiving his pension, and so decided to revisit India. He had been here many years ago and wanted to see how it changed. He looks young to be receiving a pension, so I ask how this was possible. "My medical condition," he says, "I went to the doctor and they filled out the forms, and the government approved."
A little later in the conversation, I ask him what his condition is. It may seem like I am asking very personal questions, but I find that travelers usually open up to each other because we'll probably never see one another again. "AIDS," he says. I am a bit taken aback, although I do my best to hide this. He is the first person I've met who I know has the disease. I always thought I'd meet a person in a third-world country with AIDS, or in a shelter or something. But he looked so normal. Which is, of course, the point. AIDS is not obvious.
I continue to probe whenever I feel this is appropriate in the conversation. He says he worked in Japan as a young man, learning how to translate Japanese and German. He seems very intelligent. The type of person who is maybe too intelligent to know how to interact with others. He says he believes he contracted AIDS sometime while he was traveling in Asia. I'm thinking he got a bad blood transfusion or stepped on a used needle. He didn't find out he had the disease until maybe 10 years after being infected.
I am just baffled by how this could happen to a person. Later, I ask if he knows more specifically where he was infected. "Thailand," he says. Oh. Sex industry, I realize. Wow. This is the first person I meet with AIDS, and I am sorry to say I have no sympathy for him. He has complained to me, acted uncaring toward street children, and now I learn that it was his own risky (and, in my mind unethical and disgusting) behavior that caused his situation. Writing this now I feel terrible. But at the time, I was just stuck with this gruff man talking at me.
We continue talking. He says his antiretroviral drugs are working the way they are supposed to. He got an early pension because he needs to take mid-day naps and tires easily at work. But he doesn't seem to be in a terrible situation. Yet, he will not tell his doctor about his India trip until he returns to Germany. And one of his medications is supposed to be refrigerated, which traveling in India does not allow. He says he has three chances to relapse, and this hasn't happened yet. He'll get his blood tested when he returns. He also thinks he contracted Hepatitis B while traveling, another thing to deal with when he gets home.
The train is so late, it's looking like we'll be arriving at the Old Delhi station past midnight. I am beginning to be worried about navigating Old Delhi alone to find a hotel, so I ask what the German man's plans are. He thinks he'll just sleep at the traveler's room at the train station, or in the station waiting room. I don't want to do this, and finally I convince him to split a rickshaw with me to get from the station to Old Delhi. I call a hotel listed in the Lonely Planet and make a reservation--two single rooms--for us. Then we go to our bunks and sleep for the beginning of our second night on the train. We are woken up at around 1am to disembark. I try to bargain hard for a rickshaw, but at this hour in such a touristy destination, we have little luck. Because we got in so late, when we arrive at the hotel, our rooms have already been occupied. The hotel owner recommends another place and promises we'll get the same price. One of his workers walks us to the second place, probably owned my the first owner, or by a close relative.
We are given two rooms--one cheaper room on the first floor just across from the reception desk, and a much nicer room upstairs. Somehow the German man manages to get the nicer room, and I am stuck with the noisier reception area room. He goes up to sleep and I double-check on the prices to make sure they're really the same rate. Not surprisingly, both rooms are more expensive than the original hotel--especially the upstairs room. I bargain hard to make sure we only have to pay the first price we were quoted.
The next morning I see the German guy (I cannot remember his name) and he thanks me for getting him a beautiful 400 rupee room for 200 rupees, which he will stay in for the next few days before his flight. Apparently he had heard my bargaining. He says he'll buy me breakfast as a thanks, and we head off to a nice cafe he remembered from the first time he was in Old Delhi.
At breakfast I divulge my dilemma. I don't know if I should leave with my scheduled flight on November 25, or if I should extend my ticket and study yoga at an ashram and see more of India. Thanksgiving is coming up and I am getting a little homesick. It will be hard to be away for Thanksgiving and Christmas. But I have this nagging feeling that there is still more for me to do in India... I haven't accomplished all I had set out to do...
I don't mind a slow train. I really love train rides, just sitting back and enjoying the scenery, both outside and inside the cabin. And getting through books I want to read. Time stops when I am in transit, and I like the opportunity to relax.
I cannot recall who shares my cabin. It may be a mother and her two daughters on the long bunks, and a man on the short window bunk, with a few bunks to spare. Somehow the conversation turns to dance, and I learn that the mother is a classical Indian dance instructor near Delhi--maybe in Chandigarh. I ask if she can recommend places to study dance in India, and she says she can teach me! I am too timid to ask how this might work--fees, housing, other logistics. But I politely say that would be nice, though I might be leaving the country in just four days. I also have a conversation with the older daughter about Bollywood. I tell her my friend's co-worker at Google is the cousin of Deepika Padukone, one of the biggest heroines at the moment. Smart and mature, she says, "Eh, these things pass. In a little while, there will be someone new." At one stop, the mother and daughters meet some relatives on the platform. The relatives hand them some fresh food. The younger girl looks like she's crying because she had to say goodbye to her relatives so quickly. The man at the short window bed offers us bananas throughout the trip, always saying, "take, take."
I cannot recall if I am confusing train trips, but I believe that at one point the mother and daughters disembark. The short window bed man stays on. This might be a memory from another trip, or it might be from this trip. I also remember sharing a cabin with two men who are apparently powerful members of the Indian police. They tell me that if I need anything, they can help. Near the end of the trip, they seem to drink some alcohol and get a little tipsy. The higher-up in the police force keeps inviting me to his mother's village home. He says that 70% of Indians live in villages, and if I haven't been to a village yet, then I haven't seen the "real" India. He says his mother will treat me like a daughter. It sounds interesting, but I am much too wise by now to accept such an offer as a single female traveler. Luckily, I have an excuse because I have a flight scheduled to leave the country in a few days.
The other memorable passenger from this train ride is the only other Western traveler on my train car. I avoid talking to him for the first part of the journey. I am sick of small talk with other travelers by now, repeating questions such as, "Where are you from? What have you seen? How long will you be in India?" But then, maybe halfway into our journey or so, after having stepped out on the platform and staring out the open door for a while, he comes and sits across from me.
"This train is so slow. We're already so late," he complains to me. "Yeah, this is India," I reply. This short sentence is often used by travelers and Indians alike as a comprehensive explanation of situations here. He doesn't seem placated. I can tell he needs someone to complain to, and that someone is me. He says he's taking the train back to Delhi because he has to go to a travel agent to pick up a refund on a flight that was canceled. This is another thing he's angry about.
At one point in our conversation, a very young newspaper wala sells us the newspaper. I don't know the real price, but I am happy to pay the five rupees he requests. I reason that if he is ripping me off, I don't mind because I am supporting a child who's working rather than begging, and it's only five rupees. But the Westerner across from me argues with the mere child. "It's really supposed to be three rupees, but you blacked out the price on the front. I'll only pay the real price." Then the man brushes the child away. At another point I give a child who is sweeping the cabin a tip, and the man again shoos the child away. "Sometimes you have to tell 'em to fuck off," he says, "Sometimes it's the only way to get 'em away."
I am certainly not impressed by this man, but it's nice to be able to talk to someone, and I have nothing else to do, so we continue our conversation. I soon realize that the conversation is basically one-sided, that this man doesn't want to listen to my India stories, and merely needs to voice his. I learn he is from Germany and has just started receiving his pension, and so decided to revisit India. He had been here many years ago and wanted to see how it changed. He looks young to be receiving a pension, so I ask how this was possible. "My medical condition," he says, "I went to the doctor and they filled out the forms, and the government approved."
A little later in the conversation, I ask him what his condition is. It may seem like I am asking very personal questions, but I find that travelers usually open up to each other because we'll probably never see one another again. "AIDS," he says. I am a bit taken aback, although I do my best to hide this. He is the first person I've met who I know has the disease. I always thought I'd meet a person in a third-world country with AIDS, or in a shelter or something. But he looked so normal. Which is, of course, the point. AIDS is not obvious.
I continue to probe whenever I feel this is appropriate in the conversation. He says he worked in Japan as a young man, learning how to translate Japanese and German. He seems very intelligent. The type of person who is maybe too intelligent to know how to interact with others. He says he believes he contracted AIDS sometime while he was traveling in Asia. I'm thinking he got a bad blood transfusion or stepped on a used needle. He didn't find out he had the disease until maybe 10 years after being infected.
I am just baffled by how this could happen to a person. Later, I ask if he knows more specifically where he was infected. "Thailand," he says. Oh. Sex industry, I realize. Wow. This is the first person I meet with AIDS, and I am sorry to say I have no sympathy for him. He has complained to me, acted uncaring toward street children, and now I learn that it was his own risky (and, in my mind unethical and disgusting) behavior that caused his situation. Writing this now I feel terrible. But at the time, I was just stuck with this gruff man talking at me.
We continue talking. He says his antiretroviral drugs are working the way they are supposed to. He got an early pension because he needs to take mid-day naps and tires easily at work. But he doesn't seem to be in a terrible situation. Yet, he will not tell his doctor about his India trip until he returns to Germany. And one of his medications is supposed to be refrigerated, which traveling in India does not allow. He says he has three chances to relapse, and this hasn't happened yet. He'll get his blood tested when he returns. He also thinks he contracted Hepatitis B while traveling, another thing to deal with when he gets home.
The train is so late, it's looking like we'll be arriving at the Old Delhi station past midnight. I am beginning to be worried about navigating Old Delhi alone to find a hotel, so I ask what the German man's plans are. He thinks he'll just sleep at the traveler's room at the train station, or in the station waiting room. I don't want to do this, and finally I convince him to split a rickshaw with me to get from the station to Old Delhi. I call a hotel listed in the Lonely Planet and make a reservation--two single rooms--for us. Then we go to our bunks and sleep for the beginning of our second night on the train. We are woken up at around 1am to disembark. I try to bargain hard for a rickshaw, but at this hour in such a touristy destination, we have little luck. Because we got in so late, when we arrive at the hotel, our rooms have already been occupied. The hotel owner recommends another place and promises we'll get the same price. One of his workers walks us to the second place, probably owned my the first owner, or by a close relative.
We are given two rooms--one cheaper room on the first floor just across from the reception desk, and a much nicer room upstairs. Somehow the German man manages to get the nicer room, and I am stuck with the noisier reception area room. He goes up to sleep and I double-check on the prices to make sure they're really the same rate. Not surprisingly, both rooms are more expensive than the original hotel--especially the upstairs room. I bargain hard to make sure we only have to pay the first price we were quoted.
The next morning I see the German guy (I cannot remember his name) and he thanks me for getting him a beautiful 400 rupee room for 200 rupees, which he will stay in for the next few days before his flight. Apparently he had heard my bargaining. He says he'll buy me breakfast as a thanks, and we head off to a nice cafe he remembered from the first time he was in Old Delhi.
At breakfast I divulge my dilemma. I don't know if I should leave with my scheduled flight on November 25, or if I should extend my ticket and study yoga at an ashram and see more of India. Thanksgiving is coming up and I am getting a little homesick. It will be hard to be away for Thanksgiving and Christmas. But I have this nagging feeling that there is still more for me to do in India... I haven't accomplished all I had set out to do...
Sunday, September 14, 2008
August 26-September 10, 2008
It is hard to believe I arrived in India about 3 weeks ago! Time has passed so quickly.
Here is a summary of what has happened since then:
1) Delhi/Gurgaon (in Haryana state)
I am staying with my very gracious and hospitable friend Austin. He works for Google and has an apartment in Gurgaon along with other "Googlers." This first leg of my trip has been an education not only in Indian culture, but also in Google culture! It seems like a wonderful company to work for.
I spend my first days seeing the major sights in Delhi with the help of Austin's driver. I try to absorb all the Hindi I can from him. Here are the most important phrases I have been using:
ab kesa he?=how are you doing?
me achi ho=I am well.
kitney rupie?=how many rupees does it cost?
ba hood ja da he=too expensive
nahee chaiei=I don't want itshubratrie=good night
ache, do, teen, char, panche, che, sat, ot, no, dos=numbers 1-10
uska nam kie he=what is it called?
apka nam kie he=what is your name?
mera nam Jenni=my name is jenni.
One of my favorite sites in Delhi is the Gandhi National Museum. I learned a lot about the life of the Mahatma here. I cannot believe such an incredible man was alive just decades ago!
Another of my favorite sites is the Jamma Masjid, a major mosque. Another is Lodi Gardens, a huge park and escape from the city. In the middle of the park are old tombs. It feels like I have seen almost every tomb in Delhi by now!
2) Leh (in Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir state)
I travel by plane with Austin and some of his coworkers to this northern region of India, in Jammu and Kashmir. Don't worry-this is not the section of Kashmir that has seen so much political chaos as of late. Leh is very safe. One of the options to reach Leh is to travel by land, which I had thought about, but I thought for my first trip in India, better to go with Austin, who must fly due to time constraints because he has to work!
This might end up being my favorite place in India. It reminds me of the mountains of Northern Pakistan. They feel oppressive and isolating they are so huge, but I do love them. You can imagine the thrill of flying over the mountains and the plane landing.
Our trip to Leh is only 3 days, so we must pack a lot into each day. The first day we walk around the old city and see the markets, a mosque, a palace and gompa (Tibettan buddhist monestary). The second day we drive to the Nubra Valley. The drive is long, but beautiful through the mountains. We cross the "worlds highest motorable pass" (and later find out that this is not true--that there are higher ones in Tibet). But still, it is high and the air is thin. We do a short camel (two humps!) ride in the Nubra valley and visit a Tibetan monastery and sample local Tibetan food before heading back along the mountainous journey to Leh. Signs along the road creatively warn drivers to be careful. They read:
If married, divorce speed
Love thy neighbor, but not while driving
Don't gossip-let him drive
Driving and day dreaming do not go togetherSpeed is a knife that cuts life
Be gentle on my curve
Life is short. Don't make it shorter.
There are also some that testify to the beauty of Ladakh and the wonder of the mountainous road:
God made Ladakh, we connect it to the rest of the world.
Sky is the limit-we take you there.
The third day in Leh we try to go into the mountains to a lake that stretches into Tibet. But there is a little snow on the road and we turn back. Instead, we visit some more wonderful gompas. The highlight is witnessing a group of monks of all ages reading sacred text, and an army officer tithing while they read and sound their instruments. There is a child monk in the corner whose voice can be heard above all the others-very cute.
3) Agra (Uttar Pradesh state)
A few days after returning to Delhi from Leh, I go for a day trip to Agra (in Uttar Pradesh) with two of Austin's co-workers. We go to the Taj Mahal and Agra Fort.
Here is a summary of what has happened since then:
1) Delhi/Gurgaon (in Haryana state)
I am staying with my very gracious and hospitable friend Austin. He works for Google and has an apartment in Gurgaon along with other "Googlers." This first leg of my trip has been an education not only in Indian culture, but also in Google culture! It seems like a wonderful company to work for.
I spend my first days seeing the major sights in Delhi with the help of Austin's driver. I try to absorb all the Hindi I can from him. Here are the most important phrases I have been using:
ab kesa he?=how are you doing?
me achi ho=I am well.
kitney rupie?=how many rupees does it cost?
ba hood ja da he=too expensive
nahee chaiei=I don't want itshubratrie=good night
ache, do, teen, char, panche, che, sat, ot, no, dos=numbers 1-10
uska nam kie he=what is it called?
apka nam kie he=what is your name?
mera nam Jenni=my name is jenni.
One of my favorite sites in Delhi is the Gandhi National Museum. I learned a lot about the life of the Mahatma here. I cannot believe such an incredible man was alive just decades ago!
Another of my favorite sites is the Jamma Masjid, a major mosque. Another is Lodi Gardens, a huge park and escape from the city. In the middle of the park are old tombs. It feels like I have seen almost every tomb in Delhi by now!
2) Leh (in Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir state)
I travel by plane with Austin and some of his coworkers to this northern region of India, in Jammu and Kashmir. Don't worry-this is not the section of Kashmir that has seen so much political chaos as of late. Leh is very safe. One of the options to reach Leh is to travel by land, which I had thought about, but I thought for my first trip in India, better to go with Austin, who must fly due to time constraints because he has to work!
This might end up being my favorite place in India. It reminds me of the mountains of Northern Pakistan. They feel oppressive and isolating they are so huge, but I do love them. You can imagine the thrill of flying over the mountains and the plane landing.
Our trip to Leh is only 3 days, so we must pack a lot into each day. The first day we walk around the old city and see the markets, a mosque, a palace and gompa (Tibettan buddhist monestary). The second day we drive to the Nubra Valley. The drive is long, but beautiful through the mountains. We cross the "worlds highest motorable pass" (and later find out that this is not true--that there are higher ones in Tibet). But still, it is high and the air is thin. We do a short camel (two humps!) ride in the Nubra valley and visit a Tibetan monastery and sample local Tibetan food before heading back along the mountainous journey to Leh. Signs along the road creatively warn drivers to be careful. They read:
If married, divorce speed
Love thy neighbor, but not while driving
Don't gossip-let him drive
Driving and day dreaming do not go togetherSpeed is a knife that cuts life
Be gentle on my curve
Life is short. Don't make it shorter.
There are also some that testify to the beauty of Ladakh and the wonder of the mountainous road:
God made Ladakh, we connect it to the rest of the world.
Sky is the limit-we take you there.
The third day in Leh we try to go into the mountains to a lake that stretches into Tibet. But there is a little snow on the road and we turn back. Instead, we visit some more wonderful gompas. The highlight is witnessing a group of monks of all ages reading sacred text, and an army officer tithing while they read and sound their instruments. There is a child monk in the corner whose voice can be heard above all the others-very cute.
3) Agra (Uttar Pradesh state)
A few days after returning to Delhi from Leh, I go for a day trip to Agra (in Uttar Pradesh) with two of Austin's co-workers. We go to the Taj Mahal and Agra Fort.
We also drive down some rough roads (ubiquitous in India) to Fatehpur Sikri, the short-lived capitol of the Mughal empire from 1571-1585, during the reign of Emperor Akbar. Akbar visited Sikri to consult the Suri saint Shaikh Salim Chisti, who predicted the birth of an heir to the Mughal throne. When the prophecy came true, Akbar built his the capital here. The architecture is Indo-Islamic.
We have a quick dinner at McDonald's on the way home, and I have a McVeggie burger-wish they had those in US!
4) Delhi/Gurgaon
Take a break, see some more Delhi sights. Go to Bollywood film, "Bachna Ae Hasino." Now I know the context for some of the music I keep hearing on the radio (all the music on the radio is from Bollywood films).
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