Oye

"I suddenly realize that there isn't in fact any rationality in the human world"

-Gao Xingjian

Contradictions and Redundancy

On the one hand modern, on the other almost medieval, India seems to be a country of contradictions and redundancy. Not only that, being both contradictory and redundant makes it even more contradictory, for how can a place be consistently redundant and yet contradictory at the same time?

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

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")

Taj

[Facebook: always click on "View original post"]

Taj Mahal- Something's changed

As I ride the train to Agra to visit the Taj Mahal, something feels different. I look out the window from my 1^st class cart (still a long cry from ViaRail’s 2^nd class), and watch the paysages du temps qui passe.

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 for five hours due to a delay.

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). The question “Why?” is one that many times can’t be answered, and I’m learning to accept that. The buses to and from Fatipur Sikri were dirty, crowded, and hot…

so what? Nothing is predictable here, and that’s alright.

Also, no picture can accurately depict the spectacular Taj Mahal. From every angle, near and far, one can only gape in awe at its splendor. It is beautiful. I wondered: is its beauty enhanced by its relation to the environment that surrounds it? (Poverty, filth, the dried up Ganges)

The Agra fort is also remarkable. I found it even more impressive than the Taj...

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

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 picture has nothing to do with the story, I just like it.)

*(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)

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.

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?

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?

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.

"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.

(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.

The Jammu and Kashmir Bank

Because nothing says Safety, Security, and Stability, like "Kashmir"

Confession of Kashmir Paranoia

The number one rule in travelling: follow your intuition, especially when considering safety. This is a story about how my  'intuition' lead to anxiety, paranoia, irrationality, lack of sleep, and a generally miserable experience. I don't know, and will never know if my intuition was right, only that its over and may make for a great story/ learning experience.

On October 3, I flew over the Himalayas towards the wartorn region of Kashimr.
Gazing out the window at the mountain peaks piercing the clouds, I am overwhlemed by a feeling of complete awe...

'this is going to be a really good 3 days'.
As the plane started its descent, I start looking over the pages I ripped out of a 5 year old Lonely Planet (My guidebook didn't have a chapter on Kashmir, a region it-along with the government of Canada- deemed as too dangerous). There is a box that I had overlooked: "Beware of Houseboats. Never reserve and pay for your room in advance, and beware of excessively cheap rates"... CRAP
'this is going to be a really bad 3 days'.

The 65-year old houseboat owner is waiting for me at the airport (the airport is conveniently located in the centre of an army base). We get into the taxi, and the houseboat owner starts asking me where I'm from, my plans for the weekend, and how he can organize any sort of trips that I would want, etc etc. He takes my bill from my hands, crumples it up and puts it in his pocket. I don't know what to say.
"If you need buy anything, I have cousin who owns store, best deal in all Kashmir. I will take you there"
"Not now" (he persists a little, but I don't relent)
We drive past the endless number of army bases, soldiers on every block, the sign that says "Kashmir, the most beautiful place in the world". I cannot help but think "this is quite possibly the ugliest place I have ever been" (Foreshadowing 3 days filled with misinformation, or non-information).

Not starting well. I'm filled with dread about the houseboat. As we get near the lake, I notice dirty looking houseboat after dirty looking houseboat. The boats are in the middle of the lake, and there are 1000s of them. I see each one and hope secretly "I hope thats not it"; they all look disgusting, and being trapped in the middle of a lake with a complete stranger in a strange region that is the source of consistent wars between two nuclear powers is no longer as appealing as it was 2 days earlier...

The taxi stops, I get on a little boat (shikara)

and cross the lake. I'm shown the Crown of India houseboat, and the room. The bedsheets are stained. The toilet is stained (from recent use). The boat had been beautifully designed, 40 years ago, when it was built  as luxury accomodations.

For the last 20years, the clientele has changed, as Kashmir is not exactly the hottest tourist destination (more of a hot terrorism/battle destination).

I'm on a boat in the middle of a lake with all of my posessions, an elderly man who has complete control over the situation, prying about my life, who is trying to get me to pay another 1000 rupees to go on a tour of something or other, I decline. He then offers me dinner for another 500 rupees, I decline.
-But where will you eat?
-In a restaurant?
-But they are all closed at night [a blatant lie. although I didn't know it at the time]
-So i'll eat chips
-Are you sure?
-Yes
-You don't want a tour?
-No, just take me to the shore...

I spend the next 20 minutes locking up my bag to the bed (best travel investment ever: a lock and metal mesh-netting for my pack)...

Because this is the story of paranoia, I will skip over the Srinagar touring stories (for now) and go straight to the end of the day when I have to head back to the houseboat, shaking in anxiety. The few men on the drop off area for the four neighboring houseboats all ask me "How was your wandering?"-- they all know where I was, who I am, and that I am on my own. I don't like that they have that knowledge.

I feel like a child, surrounded by adults, none of whom are familiar, all of whom seem like they want to harm me in some way. I'm all alone. Its 8pm and I attach my lock to the door of my room, after spending 30 minutes explianing to the boat owner why I don't want to pay 1000 rupees for a tour. He always seems to know when I'm in my room, even though I have no idea where he is when I show up.
...
If one is attacked or mugged during the day, at least one has some level of control and awareness of the situation. One has options. When one is asleep, there is no control. Needless to say, I don't sleep.

The highlight of the night is when I hear people in the room next to me (I didn't even know there was a room there), I am no longer the only person on the boat. Nevertheless, the light in my room stays on all night. Breakfast is edible, and followed by another sales pitch. Since nothing happened during that night, I try to feel a bit better. I spend the day convincing myself that since nothing had happened during the night, and since there were only 2 more nights to go, clearly all of this is in my head and I shouldn't worry anymore.

I have almost convinced myself when I go to the houseboat for the second night.
1)Thats when I discover a blue light bulb in the room.

In theatre, a blue bulb is used so that the actors can see in the dark, and so that the audience cannot see the actors. It essentially simulates darkness, and will illuminate a space just enough to see basic contours. An audience wouldn't notice the light; a sleeping person would NEVER notice the light.
2) Next to the lightbulb, I notice, behind a curtain, a door. A door!  WHY IS THERE A DOOR HERE? The lock that I had placed on what I thought was the only door is totally useless. (there is no lock on this new door).
3) I start checking out all of the curtains in the room. 4 large windows, the lock is broken on one of them. I go to the bathroom, ANOTHER DOOR! No lock, no latch, nothing, on any of these openings.

It doesn't help that I just realized that the bag for my malaria net has dissapeared.

Panice sets in. I have to stay here the night, I don't know where else to go. I'm trapped on a boat. I feel like a prisoner. What do I do? I decide: Forget the 1000 rupees (20$) that I've already spent for the next night, come 7am, I'm leaving. But until then, what do I do? What do I do?

Primarily out of paranoia, then out of the need to feel safe, and finally because this was ridiculously fun, I created an alarm out of toothfloss, a water bottle, swiss army knife, keys...

 

If any door was opened, the bottle and keys would rattle loudly right over my head. I tested this.

The next morning I got the hell out of there. Took a taxi to the airport. Changing tickets was too pricey. Spent the day looking for a hotel, wandering through Srinagar. Found a safe place for my last night. Watched HBO.

..........

NEXT POSTS:

"Excuse me sir, where are you from?"/ A BEAUTIFUL Tourist TRAP

Tier 3 Overnight Train/ No More Personal Space.