This post has existed in several versions/forms over the past several months. It attempts to capture what I've learned from India, and at some level, have always felt. This is important to me... If you don't have 10 minutes to spare, read until the end of the paragraph, it's kind of a dry, soul-less "thesis" statement, and doesn't actually capture much of what is written (it probably captures the 'preachy' tone). Thank you Tara, for editing. And Thank you Tara's family, for being unbelieveably welcoming and for pushing me past the easy stereotypes... The benefits of globalization for the wealthy (the wealthy being you, me and almost everyone we know) should come with an increased awareness of the globe. The awareness is good enough. Awareness leads to words and action, which are intentional or unintentional results.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Old Delhi
As I wander through Old Delhi, an old lullaby floats into my head:
Halfway down the stairs there's a stair where I sit.
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
It's not at the bottom and it's not at the top,
and this is the stair where I always stop.
Halfway down the stairs isn't up and isn't down,
it isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head,
it isn't really anywhere, it's somewhere else instead.
I find myself at a dead-end in an empty lane, and a man appears out of nowhere to say:
"You are lost. Here isn't anywhere."
Halfway down the stairs there's a stair where I sit.
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
It's not at the bottom and it's not at the top,
and this is the stair where I always stop.
Halfway down the stairs isn't up and isn't down,
it isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head,
it isn't really anywhere, it's somewhere else instead.
I find myself at a dead-end in an empty lane, and a man appears out of nowhere to say:
"You are lost. Here isn't anywhere."
Sunday, December 6, 2009
The pictures
I lost all of my pictures. Here are the most memorable pictures in words:
-Decorated elephants, camels, and horses
-Flower shaped light fixtures
-A cat, flanked on either side by 2 pigs, standing on top of a garbage heap and feasting
-Cows with massive horns, lying on the beach at sunset
-The room where Percival flourished, covered in clothes and other varia
-Holly and Oliver, in the archway of a red fort, falling to pieces and covered in grass (the fort, not Holly and Oliver)
-Me, on a motorcycle--- no more proof, I'll have to do it again...
-Our disgusting huts, with a perfectly groomed tropical garden
-Train pictures, of a moving train, of things that we pass when sitting in the train....
-Pictures of children asking to have pictures taken of them.
-Many, many, many mispelled menus, signs, etc.
-Hebrew menus, with no Hindi and minimal english
Thought of the day:
It's good to wake up early. You never know when there will be a naval parade in front of your doorway.
-Decorated elephants, camels, and horses
-Flower shaped light fixtures
-A cat, flanked on either side by 2 pigs, standing on top of a garbage heap and feasting
-Cows with massive horns, lying on the beach at sunset
-The room where Percival flourished, covered in clothes and other varia
-Holly and Oliver, in the archway of a red fort, falling to pieces and covered in grass (the fort, not Holly and Oliver)
-Me, on a motorcycle--- no more proof, I'll have to do it again...
-Our disgusting huts, with a perfectly groomed tropical garden
-Train pictures, of a moving train, of things that we pass when sitting in the train....
-Pictures of children asking to have pictures taken of them.
-Many, many, many mispelled menus, signs, etc.
-Hebrew menus, with no Hindi and minimal english
Thought of the day:
It's good to wake up early. You never know when there will be a naval parade in front of your doorway.
Friday, December 4, 2009
The 'wrong' turn
India has this uncanny ability to consistently shift my perception of things, and remind me to not form judgments of things that I know nothing about...
Today, I took a wrong turn (or a right turn, depending on your Point of View). I ended up into what I think was a 'slum'. Though, if it was a 'slum', the title 'slum' is wrong.
After wandering in circles through the labyrinth of seemingly arbitrarily constructed homes and shops, I decided that this could be better described as a densely populated and wealthy village. It should be called an 'urban village'. There are chickens running around outside, but also, when one looks through a window, one sees a sparkling clean tile floor with a flatscreen tv and sofas... As a rule (though there are no rules), the outsides of homes seem to be falling apart, and the inside of homes can be nicer than many of the apartments in the McGill ghetto.
The people in the 'slum' were almost consistently better dressed than me (I really need to start dressing better). There was every possible retail outlet that one would expect in a city (and the barbers had cleaner shops than in the tourist district). Its as if the village was always there, and that as Mumbai grew around it, more people moved in and built homes, and as the people inside grew wealthier, they chose not to leave.
It is impossible to figure out direction in the urban village. I passed the same bright green building 4 times, only realizing the 4th time, not quite understanding how my centrifugal voyage through a maze brought me back to the same spot... I had no idea how to get out...
The urban village also has 'neighborhoods, some wealthy, some not so much...
I eventually made it out... The 'slums'defy logic, along with principles of sound engineering.. Our stereotype of abject poverty in the slums is false; the truly poor don't even have tin roofs, they live in tents or use the blistering hot sun as a roof.
Today, I took a wrong turn (or a right turn, depending on your Point of View). I ended up into what I think was a 'slum'. Though, if it was a 'slum', the title 'slum' is wrong.
After wandering in circles through the labyrinth of seemingly arbitrarily constructed homes and shops, I decided that this could be better described as a densely populated and wealthy village. It should be called an 'urban village'. There are chickens running around outside, but also, when one looks through a window, one sees a sparkling clean tile floor with a flatscreen tv and sofas... As a rule (though there are no rules), the outsides of homes seem to be falling apart, and the inside of homes can be nicer than many of the apartments in the McGill ghetto.
The people in the 'slum' were almost consistently better dressed than me (I really need to start dressing better). There was every possible retail outlet that one would expect in a city (and the barbers had cleaner shops than in the tourist district). Its as if the village was always there, and that as Mumbai grew around it, more people moved in and built homes, and as the people inside grew wealthier, they chose not to leave.
It is impossible to figure out direction in the urban village. I passed the same bright green building 4 times, only realizing the 4th time, not quite understanding how my centrifugal voyage through a maze brought me back to the same spot... I had no idea how to get out...
The urban village also has 'neighborhoods, some wealthy, some not so much...
I eventually made it out... The 'slums'defy logic, along with principles of sound engineering.. Our stereotype of abject poverty in the slums is false; the truly poor don't even have tin roofs, they live in tents or use the blistering hot sun as a roof.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Quest for Vitorin Saldanha
My ancestral quest for the ancestors of a friend.
Nothing compares to the feel of having a mission, of having information to discover. Adrian gave me one of the most amazing days I've had in India. The pictures are gone but the experience remains.
A few weeks ago, I rented a scooter and drove down the coast of what could easily be Portugal, but is in fact Goa (a former Portuguese colony). Adrian sent me to Siquerim, to the "Church on top of the mountain", where his great-grandfather was a priest. I arrived after a 2 hour journey to find a dark red fort on a cliff above the ocean. I saw a mountain, and thought "this must be it". I climbed. I climbed. I cut my feet on rocks, but kept climbing. Then, I slipped, sliding down the mountain as Indian people laughed at the white guy climbing a hill. I decided that this wasn't it, and asked around about the church. After a 5 minute drive around (and up) this mountain, I arrived at a fort next to a church. I asked the woman selling me water:
-Are you from here?
-Yes
-Do you know where the church of Vitorin Saldanha is?
-Its right there! (she laughs and points at the church we were right next to). But he passed away 5 years ago.
-Is he buried here?
-No, he is in Saligao,
-Where's Saligao?
(She shrugs)
I go to the church, but it is closed, so I am forced to climb over a fence. As I approach the front doors of the church, a dog starts barking at me. I pause. He runs away, I relax. Then I hear the barks of several dogs, I decide that now is when I run. I leap over the fence as 5 dogs appear, barking and baring their teeth.
Back on the scooter to Saligao. An hour of asking ends with me walking into the home of a Saligao family. They look at me, I look at them... "Do you know of a priest named Vitorin Saldanha?"
-Of course
-Do you know where his home is?
-Its now a home for nuns, next to the cathedral
After finding the cathedral, I ask for the Vitorin Saldanha house, and am instead directed to the "Victory House" of the El Shaddai Charitable Trust, a home and school for abused children. After talking to the people in charge and to some of the children, I made a small donation, (they don't accept volunteers without a background check) and left to find the home of the nuns.
At this point, I had appropriated the quest for Adrian's roots as a quest for my own roots. The imagination is an amazing thing. I found a stage built by the Adrian's great grandfather. I was living a story...
The quest ended in front of the tomb of Adrian's great grandfather. I cleaned the dead flowers off the tomb and left a pebble.As I know no Christian prayers, I searched my memory for the closest thing to something Christian and that I could share with Adrian...
Donne's Holy Sonnet X
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.
I got lost on my ride home. I ended up on small roads headed towards the ocean as I watched the sun set. I trust that I'm going in the right direction though nothing on this road is familiar. Driving down empty lanes in fields of green, I arrived at the beach in time to melt into the ocean with the sun. I left the ocean as the last rays of daylight vanished.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Bollywood Dreams
Question: What do the following have in common:
Superman
A giant foam model of Superman
Fake diamonds
Guns
Apartheid
Blackface (Indians in blackface, to be precise)
The dude from Slumdog Millionaire
A handful of Australians, French, Italians, Germans, Canadians, Americans, and [insert obscure African country here]
Explosions
Sleep deprivation
India
Popeye
Chaye-burn
South Africa
Stunt Doubles
Answer: That's right, I'm an extra in a Bollywood movie called "No Problem" set in a South African movie theatre with a Superman theme. And I met the Slumdog Millionaire Host-dude.
How cool is that?
Superman
A giant foam model of Superman
Fake diamonds
Guns
Apartheid
Blackface (Indians in blackface, to be precise)
The dude from Slumdog Millionaire
A handful of Australians, French, Italians, Germans, Canadians, Americans, and [insert obscure African country here]
Explosions
Sleep deprivation
India
Popeye
Chaye-burn
South Africa
Stunt Doubles
Answer: That's right, I'm an extra in a Bollywood movie called "No Problem" set in a South African movie theatre with a Superman theme. And I met the Slumdog Millionaire Host-dude.
How cool is that?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Percival
Day 3 in Goa
Holly says:
-Something chewed up my earbuds
-Did you have it on the beach?
-Yeah
-No problem
Day 4 in Goa
Julien says:
-Something chewed up my earbuds
-Did you have it on the beach
-Nope
-Oh...
-Remind me to throw out my toothbrush tomorrow...
Day 5 in Goa
Julien ponders to self:
-Where's my toothbrush? Good thing I resolved to get a new one, eh?
Day 5 in Goa (evening)
Holly:
-Julien, did you chew up your toothbrush and put it in my corner of the room with a nest of toilet paper as some sort of passive aggressive message?
-No, but I sincerely hope that it migrated there by itself.
-Um, what do we do?
-We should name it, that way its like a pet (reference Nagy, 2009). What would you like to name it?
-Percy.
-Percival it is.
Hoping that it was one of the geckos from the bathroom, we turned off the light and attempted sleep. Hearing ruffling from across the room about an hour later, I turn to Holly:
-Do you want to turn on the light and see what Percival looks like?
-No
-Deal
I turn on the light to discover a rat scurrying across the room.
The next 2 days were spent debating the poisoning of Percy, but we loved our pet too much to let him go.
...
NEVER BUY A CHEAP MEMORY CARD FROM A SHADY STORE #)*($&@^%_@+!)!*(#& No pictures...
Holly says:
-Something chewed up my earbuds
-Did you have it on the beach?
-Yeah
-No problem
Day 4 in Goa
Julien says:
-Something chewed up my earbuds
-Did you have it on the beach
-Nope
-Oh...
-Remind me to throw out my toothbrush tomorrow...
Day 5 in Goa
Julien ponders to self:
-Where's my toothbrush? Good thing I resolved to get a new one, eh?
Day 5 in Goa (evening)
Holly:
-Julien, did you chew up your toothbrush and put it in my corner of the room with a nest of toilet paper as some sort of passive aggressive message?
-No, but I sincerely hope that it migrated there by itself.
-Um, what do we do?
-We should name it, that way its like a pet (reference Nagy, 2009). What would you like to name it?
-Percy.
-Percival it is.
Hoping that it was one of the geckos from the bathroom, we turned off the light and attempted sleep. Hearing ruffling from across the room about an hour later, I turn to Holly:
-Do you want to turn on the light and see what Percival looks like?
-No
-Deal
I turn on the light to discover a rat scurrying across the room.
The next 2 days were spent debating the poisoning of Percy, but we loved our pet too much to let him go.
...
NEVER BUY A CHEAP MEMORY CARD FROM A SHADY STORE #)*($&@^%_@+!)!*(#& No pictures...
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Oh no, the electricity is out, lets go for a swim.
Dear Dad,
how dare you deprive me of the pleasures of scooter-riding for so long?
It's just like riding a really fast bicycle.
...
Why did the Conservative die in India?
He refused to drive with the degenerates on the left.
Or
He drove into a cow.
...
Goa has been voted one of the top 10 Hippie tourist destinations. Arambol is filled with speedoed Euro-trash, Russian mafioso types (and bimbo-prostitute types), as well as the occasional Canadian and Israeli, and the aged drug-addled Chilean who claims to be a famous and wealthy rock star in his own country.
Sometimes, I'm walking in the street, and I am overcome with the urge to shout:
"You look fucking ridiculous!"
"There is a limit to how many holes a pair of jeans should have.You've passed it."
"Get a haircut. And shave. A dread-locked beard is taking it way too far."
"Ocean water is not a substitute for taking a shower"
"The diseased-hooker look really isn't as attractive as you think it is"
I have subtle urges to sneak sunscreen tubes into the strap of certain people's speedos. I'm not sure how the logistics of this would work.
...
It rains in my bathroom. :)
The ocean water is warmer than the shower water. Imagine descending into the water with the sun, and leaving the water to see the entire beach lit up in darkness, staring up at the infinitely starry sky...
how dare you deprive me of the pleasures of scooter-riding for so long?
It's just like riding a really fast bicycle.
Why did the Conservative die in India?
He refused to drive with the degenerates on the left.
Or
He drove into a cow.
...
Goa has been voted one of the top 10 Hippie tourist destinations. Arambol is filled with speedoed Euro-trash, Russian mafioso types (and bimbo-prostitute types), as well as the occasional Canadian and Israeli, and the aged drug-addled Chilean who claims to be a famous and wealthy rock star in his own country.
Sometimes, I'm walking in the street, and I am overcome with the urge to shout:
"You look fucking ridiculous!"
"There is a limit to how many holes a pair of jeans should have.You've passed it."
"Get a haircut. And shave. A dread-locked beard is taking it way too far."
"Ocean water is not a substitute for taking a shower"
"The diseased-hooker look really isn't as attractive as you think it is"
I have subtle urges to sneak sunscreen tubes into the strap of certain people's speedos. I'm not sure how the logistics of this would work.
...
It rains in my bathroom. :)
The ocean water is warmer than the shower water. Imagine descending into the water with the sun, and leaving the water to see the entire beach lit up in darkness, staring up at the infinitely starry sky...
Monday, November 16, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Fish and Chips
Today I sat on the beach, ate fresh grilled 'kingfish', and drank watermelon juice. I swam. Then I spilled some watermelon juice on myself, because I'm a slob. In order to clean the juice off, I went for another swim.
Then, I had steak for dinner. Goa is one of the few places in India where one can eat beef. It was magnificent.
Brits are xenophobes.
Actually, most tourists are xenophobes. They also all love stereotypes. All tourists are stereotyping xenophobes.
I'm still contemplating the ephemerality of life. I took a 30 hour train from Jaipur to Goa from the 13th to 14th. The same train, from the 14th-15th, derailed, killing 9 people.
India near-death count: 2
Before Jaipur, I was in Pushkar, and as any good tourist would, I made sure to really experience Pushkar culture.
Pushkar is strange, in that alcohol is illegal (although available if requested in a hushed tone), conversely, marijuana is legal (hence the abundance of Israelis). Eggs are also illegal (although available in most restaurants), and hummus and pita seem to be the dish that most restaurants pride themselves for.
I've been in India for almost 2 months, and I still can't deal with this:
Then, I had steak for dinner. Goa is one of the few places in India where one can eat beef. It was magnificent.
Brits are xenophobes.
Actually, most tourists are xenophobes. They also all love stereotypes. All tourists are stereotyping xenophobes.
I'm still contemplating the ephemerality of life. I took a 30 hour train from Jaipur to Goa from the 13th to 14th. The same train, from the 14th-15th, derailed, killing 9 people.
India near-death count: 2
Before Jaipur, I was in Pushkar, and as any good tourist would, I made sure to really experience Pushkar culture.
Pushkar is strange, in that alcohol is illegal (although available if requested in a hushed tone), conversely, marijuana is legal (hence the abundance of Israelis). Eggs are also illegal (although available in most restaurants), and hummus and pita seem to be the dish that most restaurants pride themselves for.
I've been in India for almost 2 months, and I still can't deal with this:
Knowing the child mortality rate of India is frightening. A child could be begging me (or anyone) for food on any day, and the next could die. What difference does this child have from any child in any circumstance anywhere? Too much, in existence, seems allocated to luck. And I was upset about my medium-rare steak being overcooked.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Motorcycle riding for dummies
Things I've leant while riding a motorcycle in India:
1)It is both incredibly easy and incredibly difficult to learn how to ride a motorcycle
2) Beware of Cows
3) Ditto for dogs, pigs, goats, monkeys, children, etc.
4) Just because you can go above 80, doesn't mean you should.
5) See number 4
6) Helmets give a false illusion of security
7) Thank god this was in India and not Quebec.
1)It is both incredibly easy and incredibly difficult to learn how to ride a motorcycle
2) Beware of Cows
3) Ditto for dogs, pigs, goats, monkeys, children, etc.
4) Just because you can go above 80, doesn't mean you should.
5) See number 4
6) Helmets give a false illusion of security
7) Thank god this was in India and not Quebec.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Mini Blog
Went to Amritsar.
Golden Temple.
Pakistan border, Changing of the Guards Dance.
In Jaipur.
Saw awesome amber fort.
Going to Udaipur.
Will use mad skills to buy last minute train tickets tomorrow.
The group (which is splitting into 2 parties and meeting again down south) consists of a:
Japanese,
an Israeli
a Kiwi
a Vancouverite
a Tibetan/Californian
and me.
Golden Temple.
Pakistan border, Changing of the Guards Dance.
In Jaipur.
Saw awesome amber fort.
Going to Udaipur.
Will use mad skills to buy last minute train tickets tomorrow.
The group (which is splitting into 2 parties and meeting again down south) consists of a:
Japanese,
an Israeli
a Kiwi
a Vancouverite
a Tibetan/Californian
and me.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Dharma Police
I've written this post about 30 times in my head over the past 10 days. Then, I realized that I was writing this post in my head, and tried to watch that tendency.
I just had an unbelieveable learning experienece.
2 questions:
Have I changed?
Yes. No. Maybe.
Will it stick?
Depends.
Because I don't know what to write, I'm going to write down my meditation playlist (the songs that I became slightly aware of having entered my mind without intending them to):
Halleluya - Leonard Cohen
Sound of Silence - Simon and Garfunkel
The Eli Melech Niggun
If you want to sing out, sing out - Originally by Cat Stevens, but I prefer the Brigitte Naggar version
St Vincent (not sure which song, but she is phenomenal)
The whole world - Outkast
In any other world - Mika
The four immeasurables (Buddhist prayer)
Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd
Smile Like You Mean It - The Killers
If you expected something profound, well, um, go to the nearest mountain range, and soak up the immeasurable beauty. Or, open your eyes when you wake up, and soak in the immeasurable beauty. Or, keep them closed, look inside, and soak in the immeasurable beauty.
I just had an unbelieveable learning experienece.
2 questions:
Have I changed?
Yes. No. Maybe.
Will it stick?
Depends.
Because I don't know what to write, I'm going to write down my meditation playlist (the songs that I became slightly aware of having entered my mind without intending them to):
Halleluya - Leonard Cohen
Sound of Silence - Simon and Garfunkel
The Eli Melech Niggun
If you want to sing out, sing out - Originally by Cat Stevens, but I prefer the Brigitte Naggar version
St Vincent (not sure which song, but she is phenomenal)
The whole world - Outkast
In any other world - Mika
The four immeasurables (Buddhist prayer)
Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd
Smile Like You Mean It - The Killers
If you expected something profound, well, um, go to the nearest mountain range, and soak up the immeasurable beauty. Or, open your eyes when you wake up, and soak in the immeasurable beauty. Or, keep them closed, look inside, and soak in the immeasurable beauty.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Moo
The Indian Cow and the Swiss Cow are sitting together over coffee (2 sugars, no milk). The Indian Cow looks a bit thin, and the Swiss Cow looks a tad overweight. They are having a pleasant chat about different kinds of grass, sometimes enjoyed with a hint of lime, when Indian Cow mentions that he’s having a bit of indigestion in his 3rd stomach.
They both speak in much accented English.
Swiss Cow: Indigestion, my, I’ve never heard of such a thing!
Indian Cow: Surely you must be joking. Indigestion is very common you know. Sometimes, in my quest for food, I accidentally eat some cellophane along with my banana peel, and there you go: indigestion!
Swiss Cow: Quest for food? Where I’m from, I eat only the freshest grass, and the weather is so cool and rainy that the grass is always plentiful. I don’t ever have to search for my meal, it is provided for me!
Indian Cow: Really? That sounds wonderful! Is Switzerland
Swiss Cow: Um, I’m not sure what you mean.
Indian Cow: Well, haven’t you had the opportunity to see the whole country? To do as you please?
Swiss Cow: To do as I please? Ha, of course not! The man in charge has cordoned off a certain area of the hill, and that is where I spend my life.
Indian Cow: You mean to say that you’re trapped?
Swiss Cow: Well, not exactly… I have a schedule which I follow, and live within certain strict rules, but otherwise life is good, I’m treated well. Why? Do you get to travel?
Indian Cow: Of course! I can do what I please whenever I please. I can go wherever I want to go, in whatever way. I can even poop wherever I want!
Swiss Cow: But certainly you must be reviled, people must be upset with you!
Indian Cow: Not at all! In fact, people revere me, I am honored! Although, it can be a bit crowded, and where I am, there certainly is a bit more pollution…
…
The discussion continues until a bull walks through the door, and they start to giggle over the size of his horns.
Would you rather be the Indian Cow, free and respected, or
Would you rather be the Swiss cow, constrained but comfortable
?
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Contradictions and Redundancy
When traveling by plane, one must go through a security check before boarding and afterwards (redundant).
The cows are considered holy, and yet I have never seen such seemingly mistreated cows in that they almost all look sickly. (contradiction)
Again, when traveling, one must list the same pieces of information every time one checks into a hotel or gets on or off a plane, despite all of the information being available in the copy of the passport which ALL places require. (redundant)
Every building, road, bus, car, etc. seems like it is falling apart. Everywhere where things are not falling apart is under construction. There is no middle-ground. (contradiction)
When passing through train carts, the Wallahs will say whatever they’re selling repeatedly while walking through the cart. One will have heard them perfectly well the first time they go through the cart. “Chaye. (1 second pause), Chaye (1 second pause), Chaye…” They also pass through every 5 minutes throughout a journey. (redundant)
Even the nicest houses, or most protected monuments, etc. tend to be surrounded by makeshift slums or garbage heaps. (contradiction)
Etc. etc. etc…
India is an incredible
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Louisiana in Delhi
"Reality is myself, reality is only the perception of this instant and it can't be related to another person"
-Gao Xingjian (in his Nobel-prize winning book "Soul Mountain")
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Taj Mahal- Something's changed
As I ride the train to Agra
Something is different.
I know that I have a tendency towards trusting people. As a reaction, because of the times when a stranger has given me (wrong) directions and then asked for‘baksheesh’, I’ve developed an extreme distrust/suspicion of others. This suspicion takes the pleasure out of a lot of otherwise enjoyable experiences. As well, I’ve become relatively rude; when someone approaches, I will say “no” before they get past he word “Excuse” in the sentence “Excuse me sir”. While in 99.99% of cases, this is the appropriate response, in the 0.01% of other cases, a person just wanted to have a friendly chat. The question that I am consistently asking myself is: How do I balance being direct, clear, and rude about not wanting to be solicited, and yet being warm and kind towards what could be a helpful stranger. Some days I will swear at people who look at me like they’re about to pitch, and other days I will let the solicitor talk my head off. What has changed, I think, is that they don’t get to me anymore. I don’t dwell on being harassed; I just kind of accept it and move on…
At the Akbar mosque (a world heritage site) in Fatipur Sikri,
a man comes to me and starts acting as a guide. I tell him that I’m not interested. He says “Sir, I work for the mosque for 8 years now, this is a holy place, and I am not asking you for anything”. I try to hand him 10 rupees saying “thanks for the information, bye”. He insists that he works for the mosque and gives me back the money, saying that he can’t accept it. So I let him guide me, maintaining my suspicion but allowing him to crack jokes about Japanese people being short while showing me the different tombs throughout the mosque (including the tomb for the King’s pigeon). I eventually grow tired of the tour, and say “Thank, you, goodbye”, and he says “Wait sir, I just want to show you one more thing”. He takes me to another area, and there is a man sitting on the ground, in front of which are many ornately carved elephants, eggs, etc. He says “Sir, let me show you…” I say “I’m not interested” and I walk off. He says “Just look”, I refuse. Then he follows me, “Sir, please, Baksheesh, for my family”. Had this happened a week earlier, I would’ve probably given him something, feeling (irrationally) guilty – he’s just trying to make a living after all. Instead, I looked at him, said “You said you didn’t want money. So no, forget it”, and I left.
Something’s changed. I sat on the two and a half hour train to Agra
I had no idea why we were stopped, where we were, or for how long we would be there. Yet, none of that bothered me. In fact, I only realized that the train was delayed when I looked at my watch, noticed it was 10:15 (Arrival time was supposed to be 9:55), and inquired if we were in Agra yet (we were in Mathura
so what? Nothing is predictable here, and that’s alright.
The Agra
Friday, October 23, 2009
Humayun's Tomb
"I don't know if you have ever observed this strange thing, the self. Often the more you look the more it doesn't seem to be like it, and the more you look the more it isn't it."
-Gao Xingjian
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Chaye
Riddle
Two people (genderless, so that this can be a gender neutral riddle) are sitting in a bar. They are the exact same age and have the exact same bill of health. They order the exact same drink, scotch on the rocks, which is prepared in the exact same way for each of them. One of them is in a hurry, gulps down the drink, and then rushes off. The second drinks leisurely, sipping a little, chatting with the bartender, sipping a bit more, and then dropping dead. Why did the second one die and not the first? (The answer is at the end of this post)*
The other day, I was in a hurry, and stopped by Costa Coffee (a carbon-copy of Starbucks, with a different colour and pricing scheme), I ordered an Iced-Tea. I finished the Iced-Tea quickly, and noticed at the bottom of the glass that there was Ice in my Iced-Tea. Shock. I prayed that I had drunk the drink before the ice had melted but, I was not so fortunate.
Thanks to Imodium, the result was 3 days of nausea and nothing worse.
*(The answer: The drinks both have ice cubes. The ice cubes contain poison. The first person drank the drink before the cubes melted and released the poison, the second, well, not so much)
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Dharamshala
I'm off to meditate in the Himalayas. As of the 23rd, I will be completely disconnected.
Any posts that appear from October 19th until November 2nd are either because:
1) They are automated
2) I gave up on meditation
Love.
Any posts that appear from October 19th until November 2nd are either because:
1) They are automated
2) I gave up on meditation
Love.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
An end-of-summernight’s dream
Delhi ablaze
I awake from my nap to the sounds of a city under siege. Explosions rock the house; outside, there are near-constant flashes of white light as the dogs bark and claw at the doors in fear. Is this lightning? Is this gang violence? Is this a battle? No.
This is Diwali.
Think of Christmas lights but no snow. Add the candles of Chanuka. Exchange Mishloach Manot filled with dry fruits and nuts. Play the Indian version of poker until 3am. Append the most deafening Fourth of July activities. Imagine fireworks sprouting from the backyards of every house in the city as you drive along a smoke-filled road, barely seeing what’s ahead of you. Exploded firecracker-shells litter every millimeter of ground. The environment, along with any basic notion of safety, is forgotten.
This is Diwali.
You arrive at a house whose exterior is illuminated by hundreds of candles. In the background are the sounds of little (and sometimes big) explosions. Flower petals have been used to paint symbols and stories on the floor. The night is stuffed with hot food, cool air, and intoxicating drink. This is a dream; everything is surreal, magical, unreal.
They say that for the 3 days before and after Diwali, one cannot see a single star in the sky. Who needs stars in the sky when they flicker infinitely closer?
I awake from my nap to the sounds of a city under siege. Explosions rock the house; outside, there are near-constant flashes of white light as the dogs bark and claw at the doors in fear. Is this lightning? Is this gang violence? Is this a battle? No.
This is Diwali.
Think of Christmas lights but no snow. Add the candles of Chanuka. Exchange Mishloach Manot filled with dry fruits and nuts. Play the Indian version of poker until 3am. Append the most deafening Fourth of July activities. Imagine fireworks sprouting from the backyards of every house in the city as you drive along a smoke-filled road, barely seeing what’s ahead of you. Exploded firecracker-shells litter every millimeter of ground. The environment, along with any basic notion of safety, is forgotten.
This is Diwali.
You arrive at a house whose exterior is illuminated by hundreds of candles. In the background are the sounds of little (and sometimes big) explosions. Flower petals have been used to paint symbols and stories on the floor. The night is stuffed with hot food, cool air, and intoxicating drink. This is a dream; everything is surreal, magical, unreal.
They say that for the 3 days before and after Diwali, one cannot see a single star in the sky. Who needs stars in the sky when they flicker infinitely closer?
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Interfaith Dialoguing
A barefoot Jewish boy
visits a Muslim place of worship (mosque)
in a predominantly Hindu country
and steps on (and gets stung by) a Wasp.
How’s that for interfaith dialogue?
Friday, October 16, 2009
Getting from Point A-B ( the final part of a Kashmir story)
After Srinagar, I end up flying to Jammu to catch a train (I have yet to buy a ticket).
The swarms of people at the train station is a really beautiful image, that is until I realize that I have to stand in that line... I decide to play the lost tourist card and head straight for the head of ticketing office.
-You're not supposed to be in here
-Oh? Um, can you help me get a ticket.
-Go stand in line
-But I don't know what train to take, I need to go to New Delhi today (its true, I don't know which train to take!)
After a complicated procedure involving filling out a form with my name, age, and gender (to identify me on the train), he hands me a ticket for 300 rupees (6$) for a 2nd Class Non-AC sleeper cart, with reserved bench. I ask him if there are any seats in the A/C cart (figuring this may be more comfortable), he says "You don't need that, and its double the price". I figure, "oh, well I guess this must be fine then, what with wind and everything". I mean, everything is cheap in India, this is pretty much the price of 2 meals, so I'm sure it'll be fine.... Sure...
I get to Tara's the next day, covered in a disgusting combination of sweat (most of it my own), and dirt (most of it from my bench), and smelling of the urinals at the end of the cart. She tells me that I had actually bought a ticket to what Namrata (Tara's younger sister) charmingly calls the "cattle cart".
The train pulls up, I look at the one cart with no lights on, I pray silently "Please don't let this be my cart", knowing that it is. I stand in front of it, trying to decide whether or not to enter. I stood there dreading for a good 10 minutes. The first moment inside the cart, I inhale the fragrat smell of crap (bathrooms next to the door of course), which invades the whole cart. I find my seat. There are 2 numbers above the bench, that must mean that I have half a bench to sleep on. Right...
Then 3 guys sit next to me.
AW CMON!
Then 1 of the guys leans close to me
"My friend, where are you from?" "where are you going:" "are you married?" "No? Why not? You have a girlfriend, no?" "whats your girlfriends name?" "why is she not travelling with you" "May I have Canadian souvenir of this conversation? Canadian money?" "whats your phone number in Canada?"
I invent a story about my "girlfriend" who is travelling through Europe while I travel across India, we will meet in Turkey and then get married on the isles of Greece.
I didn't actually, although I should've... Instead, he tells me about his life, while squeezing ever closer to me.
I can't believe that I'm going to be on this train for 12hours.
He is a soldier, posted at the Kashmir border, and is going home to Jaipur to see his wife. He sits closer to me still (The way he looks at me has me convinced that his wife and him don't have very good intimate marital relations) (The way he relates to some of the other male soldiers has me convinced that he doesn't have very good marital relations). Then the guy on the bench above lets his feet hang down. He is barefoot and strategically positioned so that his feet block my view of the rest of the cart. Probably a good thing.
All I can think is: 12 hours....
I take out my book and pretend to read. This works, he looks away. Then he looks back, takes my book from me and starts looking at it, showing it to his friend (see prior post about the close relations between soldiers and monkeys). My book was rifled through several times during that night, not once with my permission...
12 hours....
I just noticed that a baby has been crying this entire time.
12 hours...
And then, the Deus Ex Machina. A man who I totally ignored in the train station ended up in the same cart as me. He comes up to me and says "is this your seat?", I look at him, feeling helpless, "Yes"- I wonder if he's going to try to squeeze in too... He says "Then why are these 3 people sitting here?", and I say "I don't know, aren't they allowed?". He looks at my ticket, and then starts yelling at the guys next to me in Hindi. Next thing I know, I'm alone on my bench. I thank him profusely.
And the feet? The conductor came along, and yelled at the guy saying something along the lines of "You have a whole bench and you stick your feet in people's faces!"--- I can only assume that thats what the conductor said as the result was the dude moving his feet out of the way.
I lock up my pack. I pull out my newly bought sleeping bag (I had an intuition before getting to the train station that I might need one), and sleep on top of it with the window open. Best sleep ever. Once you embrace the smell, the crowded space, the sweat, and the utter crazyness of it all, everything becomes alright. The train rocks you to sleep. Through the isolating music of your iPod, you hear a distant lullaby of "Tea, samosa" as the "wallas" move past you throughout the night.
The next morning, I'm awoken by the many people who decide that despite the sleeping person, the bench is now public property. They squeeze onto the bench one by one until we're a cozy 5 on the bench. Of course, the train's last hour into Delhi is from 9-10am, so caters to commuter traffic. Its alright though, because there is nothing quite like looking out the window of a train and admiring the passing landscape. As confining as a train should be, the moment you look in the other direction, everything opens up.
-----------
A moment from Delhi:
I was in an auto-rickshaw today. These are 3 wheelers with motorcycle engines, riddled with dents, no actual windows or doors, that weave through traffic like its nobody's business. It's as if a Montreal driver were suddenly told: Here's a vehicle that you can scratch up, and feel free to ignore any moving objects--- bike paths and sidewalks are also viable routes if the traffic is too intense, beware of angry pedestrians; hit them before they hit you. As we sped through (and I literally mean THROUGH) New Delhi traffic, I thought to myself "I know this feeling, I've felt it before". Its not fear, what is it... OH! It's the Indiana Jones ride at Universal Studios!!!
Conclusion 1: the next Indiana Jones movie NEEDS to have an auto-rickshaw chase scene..
Conclusion 2: Replace all theme-park rides with auto-rickshaws.
Conclusion 3: Must spend day in auto-rickshaw.
Conclusion 4: If Delhi had snow, this would be crazy-mad-awesome fun.
Conclusion 5: I want one.
The swarms of people at the train station is a really beautiful image, that is until I realize that I have to stand in that line... I decide to play the lost tourist card and head straight for the head of ticketing office.
-You're not supposed to be in here
-Oh? Um, can you help me get a ticket.
-Go stand in line
-But I don't know what train to take, I need to go to New Delhi today (its true, I don't know which train to take!)
After a complicated procedure involving filling out a form with my name, age, and gender (to identify me on the train), he hands me a ticket for 300 rupees (6$) for a 2nd Class Non-AC sleeper cart, with reserved bench. I ask him if there are any seats in the A/C cart (figuring this may be more comfortable), he says "You don't need that, and its double the price". I figure, "oh, well I guess this must be fine then, what with wind and everything". I mean, everything is cheap in India, this is pretty much the price of 2 meals, so I'm sure it'll be fine.... Sure...I get to Tara's the next day, covered in a disgusting combination of sweat (most of it my own), and dirt (most of it from my bench), and smelling of the urinals at the end of the cart. She tells me that I had actually bought a ticket to what Namrata (Tara's younger sister) charmingly calls the "cattle cart".
The train pulls up, I look at the one cart with no lights on, I pray silently "Please don't let this be my cart", knowing that it is. I stand in front of it, trying to decide whether or not to enter. I stood there dreading for a good 10 minutes. The first moment inside the cart, I inhale the fragrat smell of crap (bathrooms next to the door of course), which invades the whole cart. I find my seat. There are 2 numbers above the bench, that must mean that I have half a bench to sleep on. Right...
Then 3 guys sit next to me.
AW CMON!
Then 1 of the guys leans close to me
"My friend, where are you from?" "where are you going:" "are you married?" "No? Why not? You have a girlfriend, no?" "whats your girlfriends name?" "why is she not travelling with you" "May I have Canadian souvenir of this conversation? Canadian money?" "whats your phone number in Canada?"
I invent a story about my "girlfriend" who is travelling through Europe while I travel across India, we will meet in Turkey and then get married on the isles of Greece.
I didn't actually, although I should've... Instead, he tells me about his life, while squeezing ever closer to me.
I can't believe that I'm going to be on this train for 12hours.
He is a soldier, posted at the Kashmir border, and is going home to Jaipur to see his wife. He sits closer to me still (The way he looks at me has me convinced that his wife and him don't have very good intimate marital relations) (The way he relates to some of the other male soldiers has me convinced that he doesn't have very good marital relations). Then the guy on the bench above lets his feet hang down. He is barefoot and strategically positioned so that his feet block my view of the rest of the cart. Probably a good thing.
All I can think is: 12 hours....
I take out my book and pretend to read. This works, he looks away. Then he looks back, takes my book from me and starts looking at it, showing it to his friend (see prior post about the close relations between soldiers and monkeys). My book was rifled through several times during that night, not once with my permission...
12 hours....
I just noticed that a baby has been crying this entire time.
12 hours...
And then, the Deus Ex Machina. A man who I totally ignored in the train station ended up in the same cart as me. He comes up to me and says "is this your seat?", I look at him, feeling helpless, "Yes"- I wonder if he's going to try to squeeze in too... He says "Then why are these 3 people sitting here?", and I say "I don't know, aren't they allowed?". He looks at my ticket, and then starts yelling at the guys next to me in Hindi. Next thing I know, I'm alone on my bench. I thank him profusely.
And the feet? The conductor came along, and yelled at the guy saying something along the lines of "You have a whole bench and you stick your feet in people's faces!"--- I can only assume that thats what the conductor said as the result was the dude moving his feet out of the way.
I lock up my pack. I pull out my newly bought sleeping bag (I had an intuition before getting to the train station that I might need one), and sleep on top of it with the window open. Best sleep ever. Once you embrace the smell, the crowded space, the sweat, and the utter crazyness of it all, everything becomes alright. The train rocks you to sleep. Through the isolating music of your iPod, you hear a distant lullaby of "Tea, samosa" as the "wallas" move past you throughout the night.
The next morning, I'm awoken by the many people who decide that despite the sleeping person, the bench is now public property. They squeeze onto the bench one by one until we're a cozy 5 on the bench. Of course, the train's last hour into Delhi is from 9-10am, so caters to commuter traffic. Its alright though, because there is nothing quite like looking out the window of a train and admiring the passing landscape. As confining as a train should be, the moment you look in the other direction, everything opens up.
-----------
A moment from Delhi:
I was in an auto-rickshaw today. These are 3 wheelers with motorcycle engines, riddled with dents, no actual windows or doors, that weave through traffic like its nobody's business. It's as if a Montreal driver were suddenly told: Here's a vehicle that you can scratch up, and feel free to ignore any moving objects--- bike paths and sidewalks are also viable routes if the traffic is too intense, beware of angry pedestrians; hit them before they hit you. As we sped through (and I literally mean THROUGH) New Delhi traffic, I thought to myself "I know this feeling, I've felt it before". Its not fear, what is it... OH! It's the Indiana Jones ride at Universal Studios!!!
Conclusion 1: the next Indiana Jones movie NEEDS to have an auto-rickshaw chase scene..
Conclusion 2: Replace all theme-park rides with auto-rickshaws.
Conclusion 3: Must spend day in auto-rickshaw.
Conclusion 4: If Delhi had snow, this would be crazy-mad-awesome fun.
Conclusion 5: I want one.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
"Escuse me sir"
As an opening note: I absolutely refuse to discuss Indian bathrooms. No one needs to be subjected t that. Just know that they are an experience.
...
I wandered through the streets of Srinagar, and reached the top of a hill, where 14-year-old smoker Suleiman called to me from his (green) mosque.
He spoke Urdu, and no English. I spoke English, and no Urdu. We became friends immediately. (How did I know he was 14? It took about 30 minutes and a LOT of mime). I offered him bread. He brought me on a hike up the mountain.
Of course, I had some concerns about climbing a mountain in a region where tourists used to be beheaded, but pushed those bad thoughts out of my head quickly.
Tara, upon my return to Delhi, said that climbing up a mountain in Kashmir with an anonymous person who summoned me from a mosque may not have been the most intelligent move. She may been a bit more blunt:
"You f&@#ing idiot! How stupid can you be?????"
At the end of the hike, I let Suleiman rifle through my daypack. He asked me for my iPod. I said no. He made a very strong argument by pocketing it. I made a very strong argument by pointing to the mosque and saying "Allah!". Seriously, WWAS? (What would Allah Say?) Eventually he relented, and said "camera?", that was another debate. He gave that one up too, but not without pointing to my watch. I bargained him down to 100 rupees and a bag of chips.
...
The city is filled with (Indian) tourists (not one western tourist) and "Touts" harassing those tourists. They all call after me, some will try different languages. A surprising amount will follow me for blocks. I learn, over the course of my time in Srinagar, to walk in a determined manner, even when I was just wandering. I learn to ignore, pretend to not speak English or Hindi or anything. And finally, to yell at the assholes who just would not stop asking me if I had a hotel, or if I wanted a houseboat for ONLY 200 rupees (4$)!
Common quotes from the Touts:
"excuse me sir, you have place to stay?"
"Where you from?.. Canada? Lots of Canadians at my houseboat!"
"Taxi/ Shikara!"
"Hohtel/ Houseboat!"
"My friend"
"I am trustworthy, those others are not!"
and my favourite
"Hey, do you remember me? We met last (day/week) in (Delhi/Mughal gardens)"
[Another one that I've heard in Delhi: "I'm a student, can I practice my English with you?"]
Seriously, you have to be really dumb... These 'openers' were never ever stated only once. They must assume that all tourists are deaf. And they all have the best deal, for real!, just ask any of them. I never knew that every single person in a city could have the BEST deal. As Tara said, in India you must embrace contradictions. I notice, as travel continues, that "Contradictions" are actually a theme.
...
I succumbed to a shikara boat person. He was 85 years old, I couldn't say no. He rowed and rowed and showed me around the lake. He told me about how before partition, in 1947, he owned a houseboat. Because of the war that ensued between Pakistan and India over Kashmir, his family had to sell the boat to survive. He has been rowing ever since. It started to rain, I gave him my poncho. Then, after it kept raining and he looked increasingly uncomfortable, I asked him if he could row from under the cover of where I was seated. He did.
It made me feel a bit better about the situation... What's the difference between him and I? I was born into lucky conditions, he was born into unlucky conditions, and now when he should be retired, he's rowing for me... After 2 hours around the lake, we found what seemed like the last lotus flower of the season (good luck?). He plucked it before I could tell him not to. It was dead before the next morning.
I could see that he was struggling near the end of the boat ride, and I asked him if I could try rowing (partially because I wanted to, partially because I hated the idea that a man the same age as my grandfather was working his ass off to row some spoiled westerner around a lake so that he could eat). We rowed the last hour together (way harder than it looks) (WAY harder than it looks).
...
This is Lal Chowk market. A day after this was taken, a grenade blew up. I am a lucky individual. (See earlier post for link to news story)...
...
In the great bagel wars, Montreal, Toronto and New York battle it out to the death. Little do they know, that another contender has clandestinely entered the battle and has possibly been making these delicious bagel-type-things since before any of those cities existed.
A few days later, I sat in Delhi at the IIC (Internation Club of sorts). Kirti (Tara's mom) mentioned the security guards floating around the place because of the governor of Kashmir seated a few tables over. I had the urge to tell him what I thought about the state of his State. I decided against it... Instead, I tell you:
Don't go. It's not worth it.
...
I wandered through the streets of Srinagar, and reached the top of a hill, where 14-year-old smoker Suleiman called to me from his (green) mosque.
Tara, upon my return to Delhi, said that climbing up a mountain in Kashmir with an anonymous person who summoned me from a mosque may not have been the most intelligent move. She may been a bit more blunt:
"You f&@#ing idiot! How stupid can you be?????"
At the end of the hike, I let Suleiman rifle through my daypack. He asked me for my iPod. I said no. He made a very strong argument by pocketing it. I made a very strong argument by pointing to the mosque and saying "Allah!". Seriously, WWAS? (What would Allah Say?) Eventually he relented, and said "camera?", that was another debate. He gave that one up too, but not without pointing to my watch. I bargained him down to 100 rupees and a bag of chips.
...
The city is filled with (Indian) tourists (not one western tourist) and "Touts" harassing those tourists. They all call after me, some will try different languages. A surprising amount will follow me for blocks. I learn, over the course of my time in Srinagar, to walk in a determined manner, even when I was just wandering. I learn to ignore, pretend to not speak English or Hindi or anything. And finally, to yell at the assholes who just would not stop asking me if I had a hotel, or if I wanted a houseboat for ONLY 200 rupees (4$)!
Common quotes from the Touts:
"excuse me sir, you have place to stay?"
"Where you from?.. Canada? Lots of Canadians at my houseboat!"
"Taxi/ Shikara!"
"Hohtel/ Houseboat!"
"My friend"
"I am trustworthy, those others are not!"
and my favourite
"Hey, do you remember me? We met last (day/week) in (Delhi/Mughal gardens)"
[Another one that I've heard in Delhi: "I'm a student, can I practice my English with you?"]
Seriously, you have to be really dumb... These 'openers' were never ever stated only once. They must assume that all tourists are deaf. And they all have the best deal, for real!, just ask any of them. I never knew that every single person in a city could have the BEST deal. As Tara said, in India you must embrace contradictions. I notice, as travel continues, that "Contradictions" are actually a theme.
...
I succumbed to a shikara boat person. He was 85 years old, I couldn't say no. He rowed and rowed and showed me around the lake. He told me about how before partition, in 1947, he owned a houseboat. Because of the war that ensued between Pakistan and India over Kashmir, his family had to sell the boat to survive. He has been rowing ever since. It started to rain, I gave him my poncho. Then, after it kept raining and he looked increasingly uncomfortable, I asked him if he could row from under the cover of where I was seated. He did.
I could see that he was struggling near the end of the boat ride, and I asked him if I could try rowing (partially because I wanted to, partially because I hated the idea that a man the same age as my grandfather was working his ass off to row some spoiled westerner around a lake so that he could eat). We rowed the last hour together (way harder than it looks) (WAY harder than it looks).
...
...
In the great bagel wars, Montreal, Toronto and New York battle it out to the death. Little do they know, that another contender has clandestinely entered the battle and has possibly been making these delicious bagel-type-things since before any of those cities existed.
(Second bagel-related posting of the blog)
...
I spent my last night in Srinagar at a fancy hotel, watching HBO and eating Chin-dian food. I had escaped the houseboat and needed to feel safe. I locked the ONE door.
...
Oh yeah, the parts of Srinagar that aren't covered in army bases or ads or hotels or that are filled with ""Touts", can be quite beautiful. (on average, there would be a road block or army base every 100 metres throughout Srinagar)
other parts are truly representative of what the political situation has done to the economy. These are pictures of a 5 star hotel that I snuck past reception to photograph:
...
To get on the plane out of Kashmir, my bags went through an x-ray machine 3 times. I was frisked 3 times. After the third frisk, I decided to walk around with my arms and legs spread, figuring that it would happen again (just kidding). The contents of every passenger's carry-on were emptied out and rifled through thoroughly. Also, soldiers are like monkeys; a foreign object causes them to stare in confusion and show to other monkeys that object while scratching heads. The object in question? Bright green medical gauze. Seriously. I noticed while on the plane that my swiss card (with knife, scissors, etc.) was still in my wallet. I went through a total of 10 levels of security/checks.... Monkeys...
...A few days later, I sat in Delhi at the IIC (Internation Club of sorts). Kirti (Tara's mom) mentioned the security guards floating around the place because of the governor of Kashmir seated a few tables over. I had the urge to tell him what I thought about the state of his State. I decided against it... Instead, I tell you:
Don't go. It's not worth it.
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